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On the Subject of Being Awesome
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Comic Book Short: Finding Cover
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI've been putting together a few short stories in comic book form to collect into a short self-published anthology to show editors at the Emerald City Comic Con in March. I've been both writing and illustrating the stories and it's been a ton of work, but a lot of fun and a big learning experience. Here's a preview from the comic, with one of the short stories, titled "Finding Cover"...
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Comic Book Short: Two Men Walk Into A Bar
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI've been putting together a few short stories in comic book form to collect into a short self-published anthology to show editors at the Emerald City Comic Con in March. I've been both writing and illustrating the stories and it's been a ton of work, but a lot of fun and a big learning experience. Here's a preview from the comic, with one of the short stories, titled "Two Men Walk Into A Bar"...
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Comic Book Short: The Writer
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI've been putting together a few short stories in comic book form to collect into a short self-published anthology to show editors at the Emerald City Comic Con in March. I've been both writing and illustrating the stories and it's been a ton of work, but a lot of fun and a big learning experience. Here's a preview from the comic, with one of the short stories, titled "The Writer"...
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The Farmer
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeA paper crane sat in the middle of the trail that morning, right in the shadow of the abandoned tower. The farmer stooped and picked it up, puzzled.
The farmer walked past the abandoned tower every time he went to town. Nearly every weekend he had to take that trail to get supplies, and so he would pass the tower on the way there, and again on the way back, and not once had he ever heard a sound from within, nor seen any movement. So where had this come from?
He unfolded the crane, and inside, a message was written:
Dear noble sir, it read. I have watched you from the top of my tower for many years now, and think you very handsome. I believe I may love you. I am trapped here by oni who have cast a curse on me so that I may only be carried out of this tower by the man I love. Please help me.
Thinking it odd, but never one to turn down a woman in distress, the farmer turned to the tower and approached the door. Mounted above it was a blood-red katana and an oni mask of matching color. Shrugging his shoulders, the man slowly opened the door. He slipped inside the dark, musty room, which was nothing more than the floor and the bottom of a flight of stairs. He tiptoed to the stairs, but before he could take the first step, a flash of light burst in front of his face.
Floating in front of him was the bodiless head of an oni. It glowed an eerie green and had large tusks and horns protruding from its grotesque face.
“She will not love you. Turn back,” it growled in a voice that seemed to speak directly into the farmers mind.
The farmer shoved the levitating head out of the way and ascended the steps to the second floor, where he was met by a second oni.
“No matter what you do, she will never love you. Turn back.”
The farmer pushed ahead anyway. All told, there were nineteen floors, each with their own oni, which each warned him similarly.
Finally, panting heavily, the farmer reached the top, where there was a door. He pushed it open and stepped inside. There was a bed inside, and sitting upon it was the most beautiful woman the farmer had ever seen. He gulped nervously and tried to look presentable. He greeted her warmly and told her that he had received her note and that he was going to take her away with him. She smiled a dazzling smile and embraced him tightly, and then kissed him.
“Thank you, my love,” she whispered sweetly in his ear. “I knew you’d come.”
He led her back down the stairs, but the oni did not appear this time. Without any struggle, they left the tower, and walked down the trail back to the farmer’s home.
There they stayed for nineteen months, and they were deeply in love and deeply happy. But on the day before the twentieth month, the woman asked him an odd question.
“When are you going to take me to my castle?”
The farmer was puzzled at the question.
“What castle do you mean?”
“I am a princess after all, surely you didn’t think to rescue me without having a proper castle to take me back to?”
“I confess that I didn’t, my love. But I’ll build you a castle if that would make you happy.”
“Yes, do it now.”
“It will take time, my love.”
“Then you should get all of your fellow samurai to help you,” she said irritably.
Another strange thing to say, the farmer thought.
“I am not a samurai, my love. I am a farmer.”
“Then you must become one. I can’t be with a lowly farmer.”
“I will train to join the samurai, for you, but it will take time.”
“Time is something I do not have,” she hissed.
“Am I not worth waiting for, my love?” the farmer pleaded.
“No, you are not. I do not love you anymore and never will,” she said coldly.
The farmer stared at her in shock. He could feel his soul crumble as she spoke those words.
“I miss my home, please take me back.”
The farmer nodded silently and picked up a lantern. He led her down the trail to the tower and opened the door for her, tears welling up in his eyes. She lifted his chin and looked at him intensely.
“Do not cry,” she said with a smile. “A little part of you will always be with me.”
She kissed him gently and then disappeared into the shadows of her tower. The door shut silently behind her. The man collapsed to his knees, sobbing. He looked up to the top of the tower, hoping to see her face looking down, but he saw nothing. His gaze lowered down the tower until it fell upon the oni mask and the blood-red sword. He pulled them both down from their place above the door and tied the mask on.
He raised the blade… -
A New Year's Poem
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeThis,
And every year after,
I resolve
To write.
To wrong.
To sleep in too long.
To laugh.
To cry.
To ask myself why.
To hurt.
To heal.
To not be afraid to feel.
To create.
To inspire.
To stoke an artistic fire.
To run.
To hide.
To explore far and wide.
To try.
To fail.
To try again to no avail.
To live.
To love.
To not care what's above.
To forgive.
To repent.
To never be content.
To accept.
To understand.
To hold someone's hand.
To stay true to myself.
And to never stop discovering who that is. -
Character Design
» On the Subject of Being Awesome
The digital art I did that inspired the following story
"Which one is next?" says the voice in the darkness.
The man (that's what he thinks he is at least) in the glass, gel-filled tube listens. And somehow, he understands.
"This one, Lord," says the voice's shining assistant. "Subject #419."
The conveyor belt whirs beneath the man in the tube and jolts him sideways. He stops directly in front of the voice, and suddenly becomes acutely aware of his own mortality.
A mechanical arm drops down in front of the man in the tube. It has an orb at the end which emits a beam of red light. The soulless eye peers through the man, seeing his every atom, yet not seeing him at all.
"And what makes this one so special?" the voice in the darkness asks.
"Nothing, father," answers the assistant. "He's utterly unremarkable."
The soulless eye returns to whence it came, leaving the man in the tube alone once more.
"As they all are. It's what makes them perfect for these experiments. They're utterly disposable, but they are always trying to prove otherwise."
The man in the tube feels hopelessness without ever having felt hope. He feels as if he has failed, yet he knows not the terms of victory.
"Shall we subject him to the experiments then?" asks the assistant.
If only the man in the could speak. But he has not learned how. He has not had the joy of hearing language for the first time.
But if he could, this is what he would say right now. This is how he would answer the assistant's question.
"Yes. And though I may never know again the nature of my own existence, I will defy you. I will defy you by being happy in the face of your mad science. I will be nothing but a data point to you, but if I must be that, then I will be an outlier. I will not conform to you natural laws and give you the outcome of being unremarkable and dead that you hypothesize."
That is what he would say if he could speak. But he can't.
"Dump him in simulator ninety-two," says the voice coldly. "Maybe he'll surprise us." -
They Have No Answers
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeJormungand writhed about the feet of Janus as Quetzalcoatl returned to the shores from which Ra departs each day.
The hero of the story stood before them, in awe.
What answers could they provide?
More important yet, what questions could be asked of them?
He pulled out his eye and cast it into the River Styx.
“Why am I alone?” asked the hero. “What did I do that I deserved to be forsaken?”
“You did nothing at all to deserve it,” answered the snake(s) of Coatlique’s face. “And that is the greatest crime of all.”
The hero watched as the woman had to empty her cup and Loki screamed in pain as the venom struck his eyes. The shriek shook the mountain, causing Sisyphus to drop his crucifix.
“So it’s meaningless then?”
“Everything has meaning,” Izanagi told him. “Which makes meaning fairly meaningless.”
Ishmael and Abel ran past the hero, fleeing Cain and Jacob. Hades cursed Zeus for his trickery.
“I don’t understand.”
“Now you’re getting somewhere,” said Coyote. “The first step is admitting you don’t know you have a problem.”
Hercules got drunk and ran Balder through with mistletoe. The world ended.
“Where do I go now? What can I do?”
“Forward,” Anansi told him, “Something.”
The flood then receded, and Brahma helped Noah unload the animals.
“And what of love?” asked the hero of the story.
“Good question,” the universe told him. -
Slight change to my last post.
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeSo, instead of trying to overhaul this blog, I've decided to just start from scratch on a new one. That way I can keep posting here with new stories when I want to and I can post comic articles on the other without messing up the focus of either. My new blog is called Serious Issues, and will feature news from the comics and graphic novel industry, reviews, articles on the medium, interviews and more. I have a few posts up there already, focusing on digital comics, the comic art site Project Rooftop, and quick thoughts on news from the passed couple of days. I've also moved a couple of reviews and essays on comics over to that blog from their previous location here. I have a few guest writers and an interview or two lined up already, so things are well underway. I hope it interests you enough to follow the other blog as well.
--Matt -
The Return
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI know it's been a while, but I'm back for now. Today is my second day off in 25 days, and I have lots of time off this week, so what better time to return to blogging? However, I do think I'm going to be shifting the focus of the blog for a while. I'm going to be discussing comics and reviewing them. I've been writing mostly comics lately, and that is harder to share regularly than the short prose that I was doing. So, for now at least, I'll be shifting the blog into a more comic book discussion focus. I'm going to try to be updating every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. I'll also be re-formatting the blog a bit as well. I hope you all stick around enjoy this new direction.
--Matt -
Fables for Japan
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeBeen a while since you all have heard from me, but I thought the few blog followers I have would be interested in this project. I started something called "Fairy Tales for Japan" in March of this year in an attempt to raise money for disaster relief in Japan after the earthquakes. Several artists joined with me to create an illustrated book that would be sold for charity. For various reasons, it fell through. Fortunately, Jason Minor stepped in and took charge of the project. It is now called Fables for Japan and is much bigger and better than I could have ever hoped. It was released today as a digital download. It is $4.95 for 124 pages of art, story, poetry and comics! I'm very excited that the project became what it did, and I'd love for you all to buy a copy (it will work on any device, including computers, that can read PDFs) and spread the word.
Fables for Japan Website
Purchase Fables for Japan
Follow Fables for Japan on Twitter and Facebook -
Capes 101: A Case for Superheroes in the Classroom
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeIn Talking With Gods, a documentary about acclaimed comic writer Grant Morrison, Morrison presents his unique perspective on Superman: “…then for me the big thing was discovering superhero comics, because suddenly, there were people who could stop the bomb, Superman could take an atom bomb hit to the chest and just shake it off…[and then I realized] that the bomb, before it was a bomb, was an idea, and suddenly that understanding: Superman was a better idea, so why not make [Superman] real instead of [the bomb]?”
Ever since Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster created Superman in 1938, superheroes have become an integral part of American culture. As American as jazz or rock and roll, the superhero comic book is an art form that has persisted and evolved for over seventy years, changing to reflect the times that it exists in. However, their importance has always been contested by those who believe that superheroes are nothing more than children’s characters. Even though children are taught the myths of the Greeks, Romans and Norse, the myths that are being written for and by our culture are largely being ignored. Despite some critics’ demonization of the medium and claims of their immorality and immaturity, comic books actually teach history and cultural values in a way that uses classical mythological archetypes and filters them through a window that is uniquely American, and therefore should have a place in the curriculums of American classrooms. Superheroes are American myths that reflect many of the traits that are prevalent in the classical myths, making old tropes new and relevant again for a modern era, all while providing a window into American culture unlike any other genre, by placing our heroes into events reflective of those in the real world.
Like most great stories, the best place to start in the tale of the superhero is at the beginning. In this case, the beginning is Action Comics #1. Released on April 18th, 1938, Action Comics was an anthology of eleven different stories, published by National Comics, which would later become comic book titan DC Comics. Of the eleven stories in the issue, only the first one would be remembered because it was none other than the first appearance of Superman. The first superhero, Superman was created by writer Jerry Siegel and artist Joe Shuster in a thirteen page story that they sold to National for only$130—and it almost got rejected. However, despite everyone’s expectations, Superman would go on to become one of the most globally recognizable characters of all time.
America is commonly referred to as a “melting pot” of cultures due to the countless immigrants that it accepts from all over the world, and at no time in the country’s history was this truer than in the late 1930s and early 1940s. Hitler had risen to power in Germany and had begun his march of death across Europe, and hundreds of thousands of refugees fled their homes in search of new beginnings in the New World. America was becoming a country of immigrants scared the world’s first global supervillain.
It’s only appropriate then that the world’s first superhero should be an immigrant himself. Sent from the dying planet Krypton, Superman was the sole survivor of his race. As a baby, he was placed in a rocket and sent away from a world about to be ravaged by destruction and death. And where should he land but in the perfect American farm town of Smallville. Superman was a foreigner the likes of which had never been seen before, but America embraced him and made him one of their own. In fact, he became the best American of all. As time went on, Superman eventually adopted the catchphrase of “truth, justice, and the American Way.”
Siegel and Shuster had managed to tap into hopes and dreams of America’s immigrants perfectly. Their creation was the embodiment of the American dream, and with every boldly and patriotically colored page sent the message to readers that they too can become their own Superman if only they hold true to the American Way.
The war in Europe quickly escalated into a nightmare that not even the most enthusiastic skeptic could have imagined. And as the American troops finally were sent overseas, in the pages of Action Comics, Superman joined them. In his adventures, Superman encouraged his readers to help out by buying war bonds and recycling materials for the war effort, all while his stories depicted him battling the Nazis. However, his patriotism was about to be one-upped.
In December of 1940, a year prior to the attack on Pearl Harbor, Timely Comics—eventually renamed Marvel Comics—published Captain America Comics #1 by writer Joe Simon and artist Jack Kirby. The issue had what would become one of the more striking and iconic images to ever appear in a comic book: a masked man adorned in the American flag landing a solid right hook on the jaw of none other than Hitler himself. Captain America struck a chord with American audiences instantly. In an ironic twist on Hitler’s idea of the master race, Captain America’s secret identity, Steve Rogers, was a blond haired and blue-eyed teenager. Simon and Kirby, both Jews themselves, had created a hero that proved to be so popular that it sold nearly a million issues every month. Captain America tapped into the intense patriotism and anti-Nazi attitudes of the time, as well as people’s desire to help out, even if they couldn’t be overseas. Like Superman and many other popular heroes of the time, Captain America’s comics encouraged readers to buy war bonds and support the effort, but it also took it a step further. The character of Steve Rogers was also a volunteer. A skinny and sickly boy, Rogers was unable to fight in the arm forces, despite his desire to help. However, after volunteering for a military experiment, Rogers becomes the superhuman Captain America, and gets to fight on the front lines. The story resonated with many readers at the time, and encouraged them to keep volunteering, and someday they’ll get their chance.
Captain America has stayed a patriot throughout his publication history, but how he has expressed that has often changed to reflect the attitudes of the American people at the time. In summer 1972’s Captain America #153 Steve Rogers abandons the Captain America costume altogether and takes up the identity of “Nomad.” A nomad is someone who is wandering and has no fixed home, and so the name was a good fit for the character. The story occurred after Steve Rogers learned that a high-ranking government official was the leader of a secret organization of super-terrorists. The story occurs just after the Watergate scandal came to light. Captain America’s reaction mirrored that of many Americans at the time who were unsure of whether they could trust their government or their country.
Yet another example of Captain America reflecting public opinion is found in the 2006 series Civil War. In the story, a disaster occurs which prompts the government to call for the registration of all superhumans. Captain America staunchly opposes the act, calling it an invasion of privacy, and goes to battle against the government-sanctioned Iron Man for his opinions. He is eventually captured and sent to trial, but is assassinated on the steps leading up to the courtroom. The series has several direct parallels to the September 11th, 2001 attacks and their aftermath with the enactment of the Patriot Act. Captain America echoed the sentiments of many Americans who called the unconstitutional, while more pro-war voices were heard through the character of Iron Man—a billionaire weapons designer by profession. Captain America is a character who has numerous examples of his character reflecting the political climate of time he is in.
After World War II ended, superheroes fell from the limelight. The greatest villain the world had ever seen had been defeated, and people just weren’t responding in the same way to the heroes. It was the end of what comics historians call the Golden Age of comics. After witnessing the horrors of war, the world was jaded and cynical, and so crime and horror comics became the predominate genres of the medium. Superman, Batman, Captain America, and other highly popular characters continued, but not with the same success that they once had. Hundreds of lesser-known heroes vanished into obscurity as well. The stage was set for a new villain to come on to the scene.
In the early days of the Cold War between the United States and the Soviet Union, paranoia ran amuck and censorship followed closely behind. The scare of communists living within the United States—specifically in the media and entertainment industries—left the door wide open for self-appointed moral crusaders to heavily restrict artistic expression. The cinema-rating Hays Code was replaced in the late 1940s by the much more rigid MPAA and book burnings were not uncommon, a fear that was famously portrayed in Ray Bradbury’s 1953 novel Fahrenheit 451. And unfortunately, the already declining comic book industry was not to escape.
The primary opponent of comic books was psychiatrist Fredric Wertham. With his best-selling book Seduction of the Innocent, Wertham managed to convince hundreds of thousands of Americans parents that comic books were a primary cause of juvenile delinquency. He defines the negative comics as “crime comics,” which he writes are any “comic books that depict crime, whether the setting is urban, Western, science-fiction, jungle, adventure or the realm of supermen, “horror” or supernatural beings. Wertham asserts that because children can’t fully comprehend what they read, any depiction of crime in any context—even if portrayed as villainous—will lead them toward a life of crime themselves. He also goes on to blame comics for negative and deviant sexual development, illiteracy and other undesirable traits. Despite research that modern science would disregard, Wertham’s claims were taken as truth by countless Americans. There were mass-burnings of comics of all kinds, sales for the industry plummeted, the United States Congress made an inquiry into the comics industry, and publisher EC Comics was forced to cease publishing all of their comics altogether, switching instead to magazines. The comic book industry was forced to implement a self-censorship group called the Comics Code Authority that wouldn’t be abolished until over fifty years later.
Comic books were in a steady decline until the beginning of what has been christened the Silver Age of comics, which is generally accepted as starting in 1956 when writers Robert Kanigher and John Broome, along with artist Carmine Infantino created the modern version of the Flash. A wave of new DC Comics heroes such as Green Lantern and Hawkman were reimagined into the more iconic versions known today. But the superhero genre was about to get turned on its ear by the newly renamed Marvel Comics.
Writer Stan Lee and Captain America artist Jack Kirby, inspired by the space race of the time, sent four individuals into outer space in 1961. They returned to Earth as the Fantastic Four and they were to be the first of many heroes created by Lee, Kirby and a host of other artists for Marvel. In the next few years they would create the Incredible Hulk, Iron Man, Spider-Man, Daredevil, the X-Men and many other pop-culture icons.
There were three main themes of 1960s American culture that were prevalent in their superheroes: radiation, outer space and the civil rights movement. The space race was present in super-heroes that would venture into space, under the sea, or other dimensions, such as the explorer teams Fantastic Four and the Challengers of the Unknown, the test pilot turned space cop Green Lantern and last surviving Martian escaping to Earth, the Martian Manhunter. Space was a frontier being explored with superpowers as much as it was with rockets. The atomic bombs dropped on Japan at the end of WWII and the subsequent nuclear arms race between the USA and USSR meant that radiation was something that was frequently on the minds of many Americans, despite little being known about it. Comic writers alleviated these fears by using radiation as something mysterious and wonderful, as they used a radioactive spider bite, a gamma bomb, and nuclear waste to give Spider-Man his wall crawling powers, to unleash the power of the Hulk, and to give Daredevil his heightened senses. The third topic that weighed heavily on the minds of comic writers of the 1960s was the civil rights movement. African Americans across the country were rallying against segregation and racism in American society. Despite the generally peaceful nature of the protests, there was a fear of African Americans and they were often seen as a threat. These themes were explored heavily in the pages of The X-Men where young mutants (individuals born with superpowers) were hated and feared for no reason. They were forced to keep their powers a secret or they risked getting slaughtered by government Sentinels—giant robots tasked with exterminating mutants. Paranoia and the fear of those that are different was a prevalent theme in the series and has continued to this day, as the X-Men have recently moved to San Francisco and their metaphors deal more with the gay rights movement.
As comics and the United States moved into the 1970s, the cynicism of the Vietnam War grew to its peak. Moral lines dealing with war and killing were blurred as many citizens protested against the war altogether. America was unsure if it was a good guy anymore. The comic book superheroes reflected this mindset by coming up with a new breed of gritty heroes that would eventually be known as “anti-heroes.” They were killers who worked in the shadows, and made you frequently question whether they were worse than the criminals they killed. The two most popular characters of this type—Wolverine and The Punisher—both debuted in 1974, less than a year before the fall of Saigon, marking the end of the Vietnam War. They both were the protagonists of their own stories, but they frequently and often brutally murdered criminals and villains, a practice that was very rare for superheroes outside of killing Nazis thirty years prior. They were both very cynical characters unlike the sunny Supermans and joking Spider-Mans of decades prior. The Punisher’s origin story even had him as a veteran of the Vietnam War. Both employ an anti-government mindset built into their origins. Wolverine was tortured and experimented on by the government, turning him into the killer that he is, while the failure of government law enforcement led to Frank Castle’s family getting murdered by the mob, leading him to take law into his own hands as the Punisher. The sentiment of the government failing and creating mentally wounded and violent people is a reflection of the very high rate of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder among returning soldiers. Many citizens viewed this as the government’s fault because of their continuation of the war.
Superheroes provide a uniquely American filter for teaching the history of the twentieth century. They evolve along with the culture that they are portraying and reflect the prevalent ideas of their times. However, history is not the only subject that superheroes provide a useful perspective for. Literature and mythology are also a topic easily analyzed. Renowned psychologist Carl Jung first introduced the concept of the archetype in the early twentieth century by suggesting that certain abstract ideas and images are present in all humans in a “collective unconscious” only accessible through dreams and imagination, which are then expressed as art. This is how Jung accounted for similar stories—such as stories of massive floods—popping up in several cultures that are unconnected. Joseph Campbell—a respected authority on comparative mythology—later took the idea of archetypes further in his 1949 book The Hero with a Thousand Faces where he asserts that stories and mythologies that have lasted thousands of years longer than cultures that created them all share similar structures and tropes. With these widely-discussed theories in mind, a discussion of superheroes really becomes a discussion of American myths.
The commonalities between ancient myths and superhero comics are numerous, but one of the most important is that both types of story exist within a common universe, where characters from one story can crossover and appear in another. This was most apparent in the Greek myths with the story of the Argonauts which tells of a group that includes Heracles, Theseus, Orpheus, Jason and dozens of other heroes that had already had their own stories told. The Argonauts could even be thought of as a “super team” much like the Avengers or Justice League of modern day, where the greatest heroes band together to conquer enemies they couldn’t individually.
One of the premier super-groups in comics is the Justice League of America. A team of all-star DC superheroes, membership in the JLA is the absolute pinnacle of superheroics. The roster rotates, but there is a specific line up that the comics have always come back to—and that remains the most beloved—which is informally known as the “Big 7.” The seven include Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, the Flash, Green Lantern, Aquaman and the Martian Manhunter. Much like the JLA, the gods among those of Olympus were often in flux, but there was an exalted group of Twelve Olympians that represented the best of godhood. They were Zeus, Poseidon, Hades, Hera, Dionysus, Apollo, Artemis, Hermes, Athena, Ares, Aphrodite, and Hephaestus. The groups themselves have parallels, but there are many analogous traits amongst the individuals as well.
Wonder Woman draws many parallels to Athena, a warrior goddess and goddess of wisdom. Both characters had unnatural births, with Wonder Woman being carved from stone and Athena emerging from the head (or testicle depending on the source) of a titan. Wonder Woman wields the “Lasso of Truth” which connects to Athena’s theme of wisdom, and on Wonder Woman’s home island of Themyscira they even worship Athena. The Flash and the messenger god Hermes make many connections in both appearance and ability. They both are capable of moving at incredible speeds, and they both sport winged shoes, and the helmet of the Golden Age Flash is a direct copy of Hermes’ winged helmet. Finally, Aquaman uses many of the same tropes as Poseidon. Both are portrayed as rulers of the seas, and are traditionally shown wielding a trident.
An archetypal trait in heroes throughout mythology is the presence of what is commonly referred to as an “Achilles Heel.” Named for the character Achilles in The Illiad, the term refers to a singular and debilitating weakness that can be either physical or a character flaw. The most famous Achilles Heel among superheroes is Superman’s weakness to the substance known as kryptonite. Superman is nigh invincible unless he is in the vicinity of or attacked with an object made of kryptonite. This weakness to a particular substance is a common archetype. One of the more well-known stories is from the Norse myths, in which the god Baldur is a nearly unstoppable warrior until he is shot with an arrow made of mistletoe. Often, the weakness must be overcome in order to become the hero. These are often character traits that cause some personal tragedy. Before Heracles (the Greek form of Hercules) went off on any adventures, he had a wife named Megara and several children. One day he was driven into an uncontrollable rage, and blinded by anger and manipulated by Hera, murdered his whole family. His guilt over his action drove him to do penance via the Twelve Labors, after which he became the hero he was destined to be. The story has many parallels to the origin of Spider-Man, whose selfish use of his abilities led to his beloved Uncle Ben being murdered. Feeling responsible, he began using his powers for good rather than personal gain.
A primary heroic archetype that Campbell outlines is that heroes of the great stories will either die or descend into darkness in some way, only to return better than they entered. In Homer’s Odyssey the main character, Odysseus is lost at sea and can’t find his way home until he gives in and sacrifices to the dead to summon spirits of a prophet, fallen comrades and his mother. He effectively descends into the spirit world—or Hell—before returning with the answers he needs and returns home. In the 1990s, DC Comics created a new villain called Doomsday who succeeds in killing Superman. However, Superman is revived by his Kryptonian technology about a year later and returns to save the world from Doomsday. In both cases, the hero must “die” before they can be victorious in their quest. These stories recur throughout nearly every society’s myths with examples including Jesus Christ, Gilgamesh, Ra and many others. The pattern is just as prevalent with superheroes, with such characters as Captain America, Batman and Green Lantern all having a life-death-rebirth story.
The parallels don’t need to be quite so old, either. When creating Batman, Bob Kane admitted to having been influenced by the (at the time) new pulp character Zorro—where Batman gets his habit of swinging from ropes and fighting crime—and by the visuals of Dracula in the 1931 film of the same name starring Bela Lugosi—apparent in the “bat” motif and the dramatic shadowy cape. The character is also known to his readers as “the world’s greatest detective,” a characteristic inspired in no small part by Arthur Conan Doyle’s Sherlock Holmes. Stan Lee has been open about his influences while writing the character of the Incredible Hulk, citing The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson as an inspiration for Bruce Banner’s transformations into a rampaging monster. Both stories featured a brilliant scientist accidentally causing a dark and monstrous reflection of himself to physically manifest and wreak havoc. In early issues the two were even more similar, as the Hulk only appeared at nighttime—though this quickly and famously changed to the monster appearing only when Banner got angry. Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein is also a thematic inspiration for the Hulk, as both monsters have their origins in unrestrained science, not to mention the similar appearance of both characters and the combination of fear and violent hostility that the general public immediately has for both creatures. Some of these literary classics were less than a hundred years old when the superhero began to come on to the scene, and so their prominent influence on them is a warped American reflection of the mostly European popular culture characters that the superheroes were succeeding.
When teaching students—no matter the subject—it is important to make the material relevant and relatable to them. So, when teaching to American students, it would make sense to use material that is created, inspired and influenced by the culture they live in. No medium is more distinctly American than superhero comic books. As has been discussed, they provide unparalleled insight to what was important to the people of the time. Whether it’s the immigration boom of the late ‘30s in Superman, the patriotism of WWII in Captain America, the space race in the Fantastic Four, or the cynicism of the Vietnam War in the Punisher, superhero comics can teach history in an exciting and engaging way that will cause students to look at history in a different way. But history isn’t the only place that superheroes can be applied. In literature, mythology and sometimes philosophy classes, students are taught the stories of the pantheons of the Egyptians, Greeks, Romans and Vikings. If these gods and heroes of ancient and long-passed civilizations are taught to students, then so too should superheroes, the modern manifestation of the same stories. When students are interacting with material that is more relatable to them—as superheroes are—they are more likely to enjoy and put effort into understanding it. These modern myths don’t need to replace the ancient ones, just supplement them. The story of Heracles could be taught alongside that of Spider-Man or The Odyssey could be supplemented by The Death of Superman. For literature courses with more modern focus, characters such as the Incredible Hulk can even be analyzed as interpretations of even more recent works of literature such as The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde or Frankenstein.
There are countless ways in which comic book superheroes can be integrated into American classrooms. For many subjects, they will provide perspective for students that is contemporary, relatable, fresh and engaging in a way that centuries-old material simply can’t do.
Superheroes need to be in American classrooms. Not for reasons of truth or justice…but because it’s the American Way.
This was originally written for my WR 123 class. -
The American Nightmare: Examining America's Monsters in "American Vampire"
» On the Subject of Being Awesome
"Every age embraces the vampire it needs.” –Nina Auerbach More than most works in the vampire genre, writer Scott Snyder and artist Rafael Albuqueque’s comic book series American Vampire embraces the concept of vampires changing to match the needs of the society they are in. Explaining the changes in vampires as new species emerging, Snyder explores what America needs in from its vampires across several decades and areas. In the 1880s in the wild of Colorado, in 1925 in the emerging media capital of Hollywood, in 1936 crime-ridden Las Vegas, and in the Pacific front of Taipan in 1943, each presents a new strain of vampire and the new ways that they prey on America. The first five issues of the series feature the origins of Skinner Sweet, the first American vampire. A notorious outlaw of the wild west, Sweet was just as much a vampire to society before even being bit. He is a noted murderer, thief, rapist, and glutton. An interesting thing to note is that of all his crimes, his gluttony—manifesting as a “sweet tooth”—is the thing that is his nickname. This focus on gluttony betrays his biggest crime: that he always hungers for more. During his arc, he comes into conflict with a cartel of European bankers that are vampires. During this time, the west was being settled, and America was trying to distance itself more and more from the European powers that once claimed dominion over the continent. America was busy forging its own identity and getting out from the older nations’ shadows. So, this is the time when the new American vampire emerges and separates itself as a newer, stronger breed than the Europeans he comes into conflict with. Skinner is the first American vampire because he is from a time when America needed its own monsters. Holding onto Europe wasn’t good enough anymore. Pear asks Sweet in the third issue, “I’m a vampire? Like them?” and he replies, “Oh, no, Dolly. You’re a vampire like me. And believe me, there’s a big difference.” The next time to be explored is 1925 in Hollywood, California. This era was the birth of the movie star. Hollywood was just starting to become the center of the motion picture industry, and gaining the grandeur and mystique that came with it. In a way, Hollywood is becoming the capital of “The American Dream,” a place where anyone can go and make it big. However, the Dream isn’t so clean-cut all the time. As the vampires in this arc show, there’s an ugly side to the American Dream. The vampires are portrayed as the producers and directors and big shots at the movie studios. They’re the ones in charge of saying who does or doesn’t get to experience the Dream. They prey on the naiveté of the Americans who buy into the Dream, and this is exactly how they lure Pearl in to devour her. They seduce her with a chance to meet someone who can help her “make it,” but she ends up having Hollywood drain the life from her instead. As the vampires say in issue five, “A young actress, plucked from obscurity and given her big chance? It plays directly into the great national fantasy…the fantasy that everyone counts equally…It’s a country of Grand Delusions.” However, this isn’t the only vampire that Pearl finds in Hollywood. The very nature of the American Dream and of Hollywood makes it extremely competitive and cutthroat, an atmosphere that can create monsters out of formerly good people. Pearl’s best friend Hattie purposefully transforms herself into a vampire because she wants to have an edge over Pearl and an “in” with the vampires in charge. She knows the dark and nasty nature of what she’s turning herself into, but she betrays Pearl anyway, and all for her own Grand Delusion. The American Dream is the real vampire in this story. Starting in issue six, the narrative moves to 1936, Las Vegas, Nevada. It’s the height of the Great Depression for the rest of the country, but Vegas’ economy is booming thanks to the construction of the Hoover Dam, the biggest construction project in American history. A mantra repeated forebodingly by many of the citizens is “Bless the Dam”; a sentence with clear double meaning. We are introduced to a character named Cashel McCogan, who is the chief of the Vegas police force, and is tasked with trying to control the crime running rampant in the town. For the first time, prostitution and gambling has been legalized, but with it comes murders and other violent crime. The owners of the casinos are vampires, and so is the local whorehouse, owned by one Skinner Sweet. The vampires have taken advantage of the thousands of construction workers living in the area now by creating all of the entertainment they could want. However, in true vampiric fashion, they are draining Vegas of its morals and disease and crime are ravaging the city. The vampires are using their influence to bring out the worst in the people of Las Vegas, including Cashel’s father, a man belonging to an ancient breed of vampires. He hasn’t killed a man in over 700 years, but when the newer vampires come to town and exploit the city, they draw out the ugliness in all of the people there, and Cashel’s father reverts to his old ways, and is eventually killed for it. The true vampire here is the desire for money, sucking the moral blood from the city. Finally, in issue thirteen, we are taken to Taipan during the Second World War, where a squad of vampire hunters has been sent on a special mission to find a rumored nest of Japanese vampires. When they find the vampires, they are faceless and more like animals than any other breeds seen so far in the series. They attack in waves of hundreds and retain none of their personalities. It is soon discovered that the Japanese have been breeding them purposefully, transforming their own villages into weapons. This is a metaphor for a problem that the American military faced in WWII when facing Japan. The Japanese were willing to sacrifice themselves meaninglessly and freely to hurt the enemy, and the government was content treating their soldiers less like humans and more like weapons, a practice shown in the use of kamikaze pilots and banzai charges. These purposeful suicides and tossing away of life was a hard thing for the average American soldier had a hard time wrapping his head around. The breeding of faceless vampires to use as weapons is just a fictional extension of the war ideology that Japan was using at the time. The monsters, ironically, were the ones encouraging the practice, not the vampires or kamikazes themselves. Whether it’s forging a new American identity by creating our own monsters in the wild west, the vampiric draining nature of the American Dream, the unchecked desire for wealth sucking our morals dry, or the disregard for life in war, Snyder and Albuquerque’s American Vampire uses Nina Auerbach’s theory and weaves it beautifully into the ongoing narrative of the series. By making us take a good long look at our monsters, American Vampire forces us to take a look at ourselves as well.
I originally wrote this paper for my ENG 256 class. -
Another Hiatus...
» On the Subject of Being Awesome...but for good reason. I've been busy writing, you can be sure! But just not blog stories. I've been working on a new comic series that I'll tell you blog buddies about once we get farther along, but just to prove that I actually am writing, here's some concept art from the series from my collaborator, Niko.
As you can see, he's extremely talented, and I'm excited beyond belief to work with him. I'll update you on the series when we get further into it, but I figured I'd share what I've been up to. -
A Reader's Guide to Pantheon
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeEDIT: Pantheon now has its own page! Click the tab at the top of the page.
As promised! Here's a guide as to how all of the stories in the Pantheon saga fit together! I'm not going to write them in any sort of real order, as it makes it harder to keep some of the reveals under wraps. I originally thought of this story as a comic book series, which is a medium that lends itself to this style of storytelling a bit better than prose, which tends to be more linear.
The story is broken into 5 "books" which are broken down into smaller chapters. Though the reading order will roughly be the order of how I write it, this list is chronological. There are significant time jumps between each book, which is what separates them. The chapters marked with "???" are chapters that haven't been written yet, and are actually several chapters. It's just a simple way of showing a gap in the story. Also, the titles here don't match up with the titles on the actual posts, but these will be the official ones, due to the pattern.
Book 1: The First Council
Chapter 1: Ra
Chapter 2: The Fates
Chapter 3: ???
Book 2: The Storm
Chapter 4: Mars
Chapter 5: Thor
Chapter 6: Jupiter
Chapter 7: Zeus
Book 3: The Gathering
Chapter 8 Gucup-Cakix
Chapter 9: Hades
Chapter 10: ???
Book 4: The Hero
Chapter 11: Janus
Chapter 12: John
Chapter 13: ???
Book 5: The Uprising
Chapter 14: ??? -
Pantheon: Born in Fire
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeJohnathan stumbled from the chair he'd fallen asleep in toward his coat and helmet. He was in a daze, still unsure of whether he was waking up or whether he was beginning to dream. He suited up in a matter of seconds, and slid down the pole to the truck just as the sirens came to life and screamed at him, ordering him to wake. He climbed in and sat down as he rubbed his eyes.
"What do we have, Brian?" Johnathan asked his friend. Brian Gray was Johnathan's best friend. They'd known each other since high school, which they'd graduated from a decade ago, and had worked for the fire department ever since. Brian was a bald African American, with a welcoming face and mischievous smile.
"Big fire in the house across the street from you. Started on the second story."
"Oh god. Natasha and Isaac."
"Natasha? Isn't that the girl you were telling me about?"
"Did everyone get out of the house?" Johnathan asked with rising panic.
"Calm down, John. We don't know. We won't until we get there. Just chill out and get ready to do your job."
"Isaac's room is on the second floor."
Natasha was a young single mother who lived across the street from John. John spent a lot of time helping her around the house and spending time with her seven year-old son, Isaac. They went for regular walks together, and Isaac always listened, mesmerized, to John's stories about firefighting.
The firetruck sped through the streets of Phoenix, weaving between traffic. After a few more excruciating minutes, the tires screeched to a halt, and Johnathan and his team leaped out of the truck. Another fire engine had made it ahead of them, and was already blasting water at the billowing orange and red inferno that was the roof of Natasha's house. As Johnathan's boots hit the asphalt of the street, a firefighter burst through the door, covering a coughing and crying Natasha. John rushed to her and caught her as she stumbled forward.
"Tasha, where's Isaac?" Johna asked urgently. She coughed up smoke violently and barely gasped out her words.
"His room. Couldn't get to him."
John left her with the fireman who had rescued her, pulled down his mask and rushed inside. As he ran through the doorway, he heard Brian yelling at him to turn back, but he kept going. The house was lit up from every corner with haunting orange light, and smoke swirled like the greedy tendrils of some formless demon. John sprinted up the precariously weak stairs. A beam fell behind him as he got to the top, rendering the stairs useless.
A wall of fire stood in the hallway between him and where Isaac's room was. John took a deep breath and prepared to run through it, when the flames parted in front of him. Thinking it strange, but not wanting to waste time, he hurried to Isaac's door.
He yelled Isaac's name, but could hear nothing over the violent cracking of flame and splintering of wood. He slammed into the door to Isaac's bedroom with his shoulder, and it collapsed into the room. John saw Isaac huddled in the corner crying.
Without saying a word, Johnathan grabbed Isaac and took him in his arms and rushed to the window. He kicked it open and began to climb out. As he was about to step out, the room behind him exploded, knocking him and Isaac out through the window. Johnathan held Isaac tight as they fell the two stories. Johnathan landed hard on his back, and felt several bones shatter.
Then it all went dark. -
Pantheon: Beginnings
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeNote About This Story: This is part of the whole story I've been developing over the abandoned A-Z Challenge. It's title is tentatively "Pantheon." As is hopefully obvious by now, the story isn't being told chronologically at all. I'll shall compile a post explaining my method and the order and whatnot whenever it strikes me to do so (probably soon). I'm going to try to resume regular updating as of this post, sorry for the long break.
Johnathan Pax climbed the stairs in no direction and every. Like he did most nights, he was visiting his friend Mr. Escher at his immense house. That night, unbeknown to Johnathan, would be the last time he would visit the house. The last time for a very long time, at least.
The stairs climbed ever somewards and Johnathan walked that way and this. He searched for Mr. Escher, but just like every other night, he knew not where to look, nor how to get anywhere. He walked along the wall and up the floor and down the ceiling, all-side up and no-side down, searching for clues to the whereabouts of his elusive friend.
But to no avail.
Johnathan sighed in defeat and walked down a flight of stairs which he climbed up to a door. It was taller than any door he'd ever seen. It stretched all the way up into the sky, if there had been one tonight. It was made of smooth mahogany and carved with intricate designs of monsters and gods and heroes and villains. the bottom of the door depicted the Underworlds, and the carvings weaved and flowed up the door, showing a fantastic version of Earth right at Johnathan's eye-level. If he could see the top, Johnathan knew he'd see the Overworlds. Johnathan lazily examined the pictures of Earth, and gasped. There, carved into the door, was Johnathan himself. He was standing atop a mountain, battling a creature made of clouds and lightning. He was puzzled, but not entirely sure he should be. He knocked the enormous gold knocker, and the door swung open.
There was a short corridor with another door, albeit a normal sized one, on the other side. Standing right in front of the door was a bearded man wearing a white robe. He stared directly at Johnathan in a way that was somehow both welcoming and imposing. Johnathan walked up to him.
"Hello Johnathan Pax."
Johnathan found himself tongue tied.
"In times such as these, it is often better not to speak," the man said reassuringly. "I am here to tell you to embrace what is to come. Embrace your beginning. Become who you are."
The man turned away from Johnathan to open the door, and that's when Johnathan saw how strange the man really was. On the back of his head was another face, identical to the one on the front, beard and all. The rear-face smiled and winked at Johnathan as the man turned around, holding the door open.
Johnathan took one step through the doorway and
"Wake up, man!" Brian smacked Jonathan, who shook the dreams from his head. The alarm was blaring and the other firefighters were already racing down the pole to the trucks. "We got a call. Fire's right across from your house!" -
Apology For Tardiness!
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeWhile I fully intend to continue with the A-Z theme, I doubt I'll be finishing it within the allotted April time. Life recently got a lot more busy recently with school, and I recently started coaching for a middle school track team, and that's been using up what used to be my writing time. I'll get around to the blog when I have free time, but I apologize for the delay for those of you looking forward to the rest of the story. I hope you think the wait will be worth it! -
H is for Hades
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeSo close to being caught up! One more tonight? We'll see. For now, we follow Seven Macaw on his first assignment for his new master...
The screams of the damned echoed off of the cavern walls. The ghostly form coiled in the terrifying throne made of human skulls was motionless, save for the tatters of his night-black cloak waving in the gentle breeze. He had the shape of a man, but it was as if he was made of shadow. The only part of skin that was visible was his hands, and they were pale nearly to the point of being translucent. His cloak was torn and ripped in a tangled mess of shadowy cloth. His breathing was slow, gravelly and pained.
As soon as the little demon entered his domain, Hades felt his presence. The frail black bird with the glowing eyes and teeth that called itself Seven Macaw approached the Greek lord of the dead.
"Greetings, fearful Lord Hades, master over all of... Hades..." Seven Macaw cackled in mock respect.
"What do you want, minor demon? What is your business here?" Hades voice was like the last gasp of air escaping a dying body.
"My master has sent me to seek your alliance. My master is--"
"I know exactly who he is. I smelled his stench on you before you were in sight. I have no interest in helping him."
"But--"
"Argue with me and you will not leave this place, Seven Macaw. I have powers of giving you pain that those little Hero Twins never could dream of. Now leave before I lose my patience."
Seven Macaw turned around hurriedly and flapped furiously out of the cavern and out of Hades. Hades walked over to a bubbling cauldron that was hidden away in the corner of his chamber.
"Lords of the Dark Realms," Hades called out. "I send you this message: the gears have begun to spin. We must convene and decide our position in the coming war." -
G is for Gucup-Cakix
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeAnother tale of myth, this one set farther into the future of our little tale. This story stars a deity of the ancient Maya. A character from their holy book, the Popul Vuh...
Poor Gucup-Cakix. The one they call Seven Macaw lays there, a fallen star, a bird that has been knocked out of his tree. The Popul Vuh tells us of the Hero Twins, and how they found Seven Macaw in his tree, pretending to be the sun. Poor Seven Macaw. Poor false sun. He is a demon of folly. He should not pretend to be the sun. The Hero Twins shot him out of his tree with their blowguns, and he fell to the ground. But he took one of the Hero Twins' arms with him with his sharp beak. The Hero Twins have stolen his eyes and his teeth, and he can no longer pretend to be the sun. Poor Seven Macaw.
But what is this? Poor Seven Macaw lays in the dirt and a stranger approaches. The stranger is cloaked in shadow, but no matter, for poor Seven Macaw is blind without his eyes. But Seven Macaw can hear.
"Help me," says Seven Macaw. "I am blind and weak, and have been knocked from my tree. Help a poor stranger! Help poor Seven Macaw!"
"I know what it is like to be knocked unfairly from your perch, wise Gucup-Cakix," said the stranger. "I will help you."
"You are very kind, stranger. You are very kind to blind, weak, shamed Seven Macaw."
The stranger set poor Seven Macaw back upon his branch in the tree.
"I do what little I can for a kindred spirit. Tell me, Seven Macaw. How would you like to be placed on a perch higher than your own? How would you like to be placed on a perch that gave you the power to take revenge on those who wronged you?"
"Oh stranger, you are most generous. I would like that very much. Very much indeed."
The stranger took Gucup-Cakix and set him upon his shoulder.
"Then come with me, little wronged demon. We have much to discuss." -
F is for the Fates
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI'm almost caught up! We'll see if I can pull this off with another post tonight and I can be back on schedule after tomorrow. This story is a direct follow-up to the last one, just starting the next scene from a slightly different perspective...
His body was young and chiseled, but his withered face and platinum white beard betrayed his age. The whiskers on his face sparked with blue electricity, and his eyes were glowing grey like storm clouds. He sat in the throne at the end of the hall that was built onto the top of the unclimbable Mount Olympus. The hall was lined with five chairs on either side and another across from where Zeus sat. Thunder shook the hall and he rose from his seat to greet his guests.
The sun flared brighter suddenly, and a screeching falcon made of fire rode down a ray of light and landed forcefully on the floor of the hall. It stood up and from the flames formed a man with a falcon's head. A bright orb of light ignited behind his head and floated there, like his own personal sun. Ra, the greatest of all the gods of Egypt, turned to Zeus, nodded his head in greeting and took his seat.
As Ra sat, two ravens, black as a starless night, perched themselves on the back of one of the thrones. Then, as if forming out of the air itself, an enormous hulk of a man began to form. He had a pointed hat like that of a witch, a large staff made of the finest oak, and wore a green tattered vest and shorts. One of his eyes was cloaked in shadow, while the other glowed with golden light.
As Odin finally became fully solid, an unassuming Japanese man carrying a bladed spear climbed up to the top of the mountain. He stood quietly and entered the hall, and Izanagi of Japan took a seat next to Ra.
Lastly, stepping out from between the seconds, was Coatlicue. Her face was both two snakes and one, and her body was made of hands. She had long, sharp talons for fingers, a skirt made of serpents, and all of her features were never quite the same between moments.
"Welcome, most revered of All-Mothers and All-Fathers," Zeus thundered. "I, Zeus to be Jupiter, welcome you to Olympus.
"I'm sure you all know each other, but for the sake of formality, introductions are in order. From the Africa in the south, Ra, sun god of Egypt. From Asia in the east, Izanagi, creator of Japan. From Europe in the north, Odin, the King of Asgard, patron of the Norse. And, from the Americas in the west, Coatlicue, undifferentiated mother of the Aztec.
"I chose you because you are the greatest of your continents. I ask you to come here to form the Council of the Gods. I propose we forge an alliance between us to protect not only ourselves, but Earth as well, should ever problems arise that become to great for any one of us to handle alone."
"Ha!" Odin roared in laughter. "What problem could be too big for the warriors of Asgard to handle?"
"Many a scenario that I can think of, Odin. What if Hela and Hades and Anubis threw open their gates upon your shining city, and you were overrun with the dead? I ask for this alliance as a preemptive measure, for what if the gods of evil have the same idea?"
"A compelling argument, skyfather," Odin admitted. "I shall agree to your alliance."
"Agreed," hissed Coatlicue bluntly.
"I also agree," said Izanagi.
"And I shall make it unanimous," Ra finished.
"I am glad to hear it, my friends. We shall meet again soon to discuss our future together."
In the same glorious ways they had entered, the gods left the hall of Olympus, leaving Zeus sitting alone but content. After a few minutes, he stood to leave, but at that moment, three old crones emerged from behind the throne at the other end of the hall. They each were hunched and wore dark cloaks that cast shadows across their haggard faces. Between the three of them, they shared a mess of yarn and string that they wove furiously into something as they walked. It couldn't be told what it was they were making, but Zeus knew that he should hope they never finished.
"Greetings, Fates," said Zeus. "What occasion is it that I get a visit from the daughters of Erebus?"
"You've doomed thine self, wielder of lightning," growled Atropos.
"One day soon, you and all of Olympus shall fall from grace," continued Lachesis.
"An it shall be your alliance that casts you down," ended Clotho.
"Sisters, what do you me--" Zeus began to ask, but it was too late. As silently as they had come, they were gone, and Zeus was once more alone. -
E is for Egypt
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI apologize for falling behind with my stories. I'm going to the best I can to catch up. There are going to be quite a few mythology themed stories, and they're all building up to something bigger. The groundwork of the idea has been in my head for a long while, and the first story written in this universe was my story from last year, "Stormclouds and Chariots." The "A" story featuring Atlas may or may not tie into it, I'll decide later. Now, please allow me to shift your attention to Cairo in the early days of civilization...
The man stood casually in the shadows of the Cairo alleyway, leaning, unnoticeable, against the warm wall. He wore nothing but a white cloth around his waste and sandals. He was bald, and had darker skin, and there was a falcon perched upon his left shoulder.The man peered distractedly down the alley at nothing in particular, while the falcon stared intently down the busy main street that ran perpendicular. The street was lined with food vendors on either side, trying to pass their product off to the shoppers that filled always the markets at that time of day.
But the food and people were not what interested the man's falcon. The bird's fierce gaze was focused on the far end of the street, which opened into the sands of the desert, and then farther still out where there were hundreds of slaves dragging enormous stone blocks across the arid landscape, piling them to the heavens. The falcon watched intently, and though it was far away, it could see each glistening drop of sweat on their worn and beaten bodies.
A second man approached from the other end of the alley. He was tall, had pitch black skin, and red eyes. The first man turned and looked at him.
"Hello, son," said the first man.
"Hello, father," he said, looking at him irritably. "You could at least have the courtesy to look at me when I talk to you."
"Oh, settle down," said the falcon, turning its head and looking at its son. "You know how I like watching them."
"Yes, well, you have business to attend to. Some new god has asked an audience with you."
"What do they want?"
"He would not say."
"Well, Anubis, what did he say?"
"He only told us his name, and that you'd come when you heard it. He said his name was Zeus."
Ra smirked and went back to watching the workers. Anubis stood, waiting impatiently for a response.
"Father? What should I tell him?"
"Nothing. I'll tell him myself."
The falcon flapped its wings and soared into the clear blue sky above Cairo. As it rose into the air and out of sight, the man that it had been perched on crumbled to dust. -
D is for Depth
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI'm taking part in a blogging challenge where each post is themed off the letters of the alphabet. Today is a tale from the depths of the ocean...
"Command, we have just reached a depth of 35,810 feet and are still diving," said the captain into the radio. "We are now partaking in the deepest manned submarine dive in history."
The captain set the radio back on its hook and congratulated the crew in the red-lit control room of the U.S.S. Alexander.
"Well done, men," he said in his salty voice, "I'm very proud of you all. Now keep us on a steady course downward and keep in mind that everything we see from here on out has never been seen before."
The captain left the room and shut the door behind him. The room was silent, save for the steady pinging of the sonar and the omnipresent hum of the engines. Each of the crew members were focused on their own instruments, ready to face the unknown.
"Slow speed," said the navigator after a few minutes. "We're coming up on something large, probably a large out cropping from the side of the trench. Proceed with caution."
Without a word, the submarine's engines eased their whirring by a bit, and the room was silent once more. The captain soon returned to the control room, curious as to the situation.
"What's going on? Why'd you slow down?" he growled impatiently.
"Navigation reads an outcropping ahead sir, and we're slowing down to adjust," said one of the crew members.
"Well, navigation, how do we look now?"
"We..." the navigator paused. "That's odd."
"What is it?" asked the captain.
"It's gone. I don't know how, but it's gone now. How can something that big just disappear?"
"Probably a minor instrument malfunction," the captain answered. "We can't be sure how they'll hold up at these depths."
Suddenly, the noise of the engines ceased.
"Why'd you turn off engines? Full speed ahead!" the captain demanded.
"That wasn't us, sir."
"Then what the hell was it?" the captain yelled.
"I'm not su--"
The crewman's sentence was cutoff by a subdued metallic banging reverberating throughout the ship.
"What is going on, dammit? I want some f**king answers, and I want them now!" The captain was in a frenzy of confused fear and rage.
"We're not picking up anything on the instruments, sir."
Just as the captain was about to continue his tantrum, the lights went out in the control room. It was pitch black and silent, except for a tiny sound of dripping water.
The lights flickered on and off feebly, never quite making it completely back to full brightness. The captain walked over to the radio communicator and pulled it off of its hook and held it in his hand. The pounding from outside became a groaning of bending metal. The water dripped faster inside the control room. Then, the groaning became screeching and tearing. Water began rushing into the room, and the power flickered on one last time for a few seconds.
"Command," the captain said into the radio, "I think we woke something up." -
Facebook Artwork
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI've had a fun little side project going where I've been taking Facebook pictures of my friends and turning them into colorful pieces of art. I've been having a lot of fun with it, and thought I'd share the pictures so far! Let me know what you think!
AJ
Brad and Jacob (Eagle added)
Claire
Colin and Grant
David
Dustin
Dylan
Jamie
Jasper (Zeppelins added)
Jazmin
Katie
Manuel
Marie
Me
Sarah
Sean
Tayler
Tim -
C is for Circus Cosmic
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI'm taking part in a blogging challenge that requires a theme each day that begins with the letters of the alphabet. Today's is a concept I've had gestating in my head for a while, and I'll almost certainly come back to it at some point.
"Beings of the Andromeda Nebula!" roars the Ringmaster's hologram from the center of the arena. "I hope you have enjoyed the show so far! We here at Circus Cosmic appreciate you all attending today. Now, we have our final act of the night!"
The several thousand sentient beings that are packed into the seats cheer in anticipation. I roll my head around to stretch my neck and I quiver in anticipation. My antigrav platform is hovering hundreds of feet above the floor of the Big Top, but the lights are all on the Ringmaster, so the audience is unaware of my presence.The Big Top's arena floor is an enormous screen showing a galaxy of stars.
In the center is the blue hologram of the Ringmaster, who is making grandiose gestures at the crowd as he talks them into a boil of excitement. The Ringmaster is a truly terrifying being. His form is that of a slender and lanky human with pitch black skin that is covered in eyes everywhere except his face should be. His abdomen opens into a gaping mouth full of long razor-sharp teeth. He has no face and wears no clothes save for a black top hat tilted cockily upon his head.
"This act," he announces in a tone of morbid thrill, "is unlike anything you've ever seen. It is-- without a doubt-- the most dangerous act in the entire universe."
The audience is in a frenzy now, beyond ready to see me perform. The floor of the Big Top splits down the center and, with a mechanical whir, pulls apart to each side, revealing a swirl of light beneath the floor, spiraling in to the blackest spot of black you can imagine, directly below the Ringmaster's projection.
"I assure you, you are quite safe!" the Ringmaster says to the terrified audience. "This is a controlled environment, and you are in no danger. Our trapeze artist, however, is not so lucky."
The spotlight mounted on my antigrav platform lights me from below, revealing me to the audience.
"Straight from the planet Earth in the Orion Arm of the Milky Way galaxy, the death-defying Grayson 'Mister Gravity' Miller shall swing on his trapeze from his antigrav platform, across the center of a black hole, and onto a platform on the other side of the arena. Please, do not try this at home."
I take a deep breath and take hold of the trapeze bar. I throw my legs over it so I'm hanging upside down from the bar by my knees. I take another breath and shove off of the platform.
I fall faster than I ever would on Earth. I rush toward the black hole at an unbelievable speed. The momentum carries me past the center, where I let go, just as the first bar disintegrates and disappears into the void. I can feel my entire body being pulled down hungrily. I back-flip to the next bar that I barely grab with my hands. I feel the momentum of the initial fall starting to lose its battle with the immeasurable gravity of the black hole. I swing and barely make it to the platform on the other side where I collapse ungracefully onto the floor. The second bar is sucked down into the black hole as well, just as I let go.
The floor closes, hiding the black hole, and my antigrav platform floats down to the center of the arena next to the Ringmaster, now physically walking out onto the floor. I stand wobbly to my feet and the awestruck crowd cheers deafeningly.
"Ladies and gentlemen," cries the Ringmaster, "the fabulous Mr. Gravity of Earth! Seen here, and only here, at the Circus Cosmic!" -
B is for Black Enigma
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI'm taking part in a blogging challenge where each day's post is themed by the letters of the alphabet. Today's is a one- off story set in the world of The Black Enigma. Click the Black Enigma tab at the top of the page to read more on the story. The following takes place between the events of Masquerade and Raven.
THE BLACK ENIGMA: SMOKE
Sir Skull's eyes were locked on her legs from across the table. As she tended to do, Sister spider was sitting up on the round table with her one stilettoed foot set flat upon the surface, which curved her fishnet-clad legs seductively up into the skin tight black leotard that she was wearing. Her hair was as black as coal. It was a perfect match for her soul.
Snapping out of his lustful daze, Sir Skull scanned the rest of the room. To his right, Baron Boom was smoking through a large cigar, and it filled the eerily lit room with thick white smoke, giving the scene a dreamlike haze. The baron wore a blood red tuxedo with a stark white mask, and his trademark monocle. Between him and Sister Spider sat the ever-silent Great Muerte. He wore a dark crimson mask that covered his entire face and head, along with a matching collar that stood dramatically up to the height of where his eyes would be. He too dressed in a suit, though his was that of a stage magician's and was black. His magnificent cape--attached to his shoulders with golden clasps-- flowed off of him and down around the chair to the floor. His mysterious top hat sat ominously upon the table in front of its master.
The seat to Sir Skull's left was the only one empty, but at that moment, its intended resident was entering the room-- right through the wall. The Poltergeist walked through the brick wall, as if he were a ghost, as some believed he was. He was enveloped in a flowing white hooded cloak, and seemed to have glowing white warpaint on his black face. As always, he was heavily armed, with several guns strapped to his ghostly torso, along with belts of ammunition. He walked silently through the back of the chair, solidified, and took a seat.
"Dramatic as always," chuckled Baron Boom.
"Now that we're all here," began Sir Skull, "I suppose it's time to discuss the score. So far, Baron Boom is leading the competition with twenty-six kills at the mayor's party earlier today."
"Twenty-seven actually," said the Baron. "I hit someone with the car while I was getting away."
"Well, the media was reporting twenty-six. And you know the rules: the kill only counts if it makes the news and you don't get caught. The unfortunate Mister Twenty-Seven failed to make the 6 o'clock."
"Damn rules."
"We here at the World Murder League are nothing if not fair, Baron," said Skull.
"So how'd you go about it, Boomy?" cooed Sister Spider as she twirled her hair around her finger flirtatiously.
"I dressed up as that Black Enigma fellow and blew the place up in a suitably ostentatious fashion."
"Dramatic as always," quipped the Poltergeist flatly.
"I'd kill you, but it wouldn't make the news," the Baron retorted.
"Well before this gets out of hand, let's wrap this up," said Sir Skull, standing from his seat. He was dressed in black form fitting body armor with painted white in places to give him the look of a skeleton. He wore a black fencing mask as well, which had a skull painted on it. His rapier hung from his hip. "Does anyone have any other kills to report?"
The group was silent. The smoke from Boom's cigar lingered in a swirling cloud of grey-white tendrils above the table.
"We have nothing left to discuss then. This marks the end of week one. We have nine more weeks in Pulopolis, then it's on to Rio. I'll see you all in a week." -
A is for Atlas
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI'm taking part in a blog challenge where you post each day with the theme being each letter of the alphabet.
Mine is the burden of all burdens. I hold up the sky. I am Atlas. No one can match my strength, but no one can match my pain either. No one can ever understand the weight of my suffering. I stand atop this hill for all eternity, with the sky heaped upon my aching and weary shoulders, and so I shall remain for eternity. For who would wish to trade places with me? Who would wish to carry the load that I carry?
A villager approaches. He climbs the hill in his rags, limping along the trail with his walking stick. He is old and feeble. What does business could a peasant have with a Titan? He hobbles to my feet and falls to his knees. He is sobbing.
"Mighty Atlas," he cries, "I ask for your help. I ask that you might carry my burden, and in turn, that I might carry yours, at least for a while."
"Peasant, you know not what you ask, or you would never think to ask it."
"I know all too well what I am asking, skybearer."
"Intriguing. What is the burden that you carry, that you are so desperate to take mine?"
"My wife," says the peasant through his sobbing, "she has died from illness. She has died, and I cannot bear to tell my son and two daughters. You may think it cowardice, but as a father, I can't bring myself to inflict such pain upon my children. I sent them to stay with my sister while I tended to their mother."
"So, you wish me to tell them, and in exchange, you shall hold up the sky?"
"Yes, mighty Atlas. That is my prayer. Ease my burden."
"Then my load is yours to carry, naive peasant."
I heave the sky off of my shoulders and place it on the back of the quivering man. For a moment, I think I hear him sigh. I shrink down to human size and take on the appearance of the man and pick up his walking stick. I stretch my arms for the first time in centuries and walk down the hill to the village. I feel as if I could float right off of the Earth, I am so free, so weightless. I find the peasant's sister's hut and walk inside.
Immediately, I see three small children, the eldest girl can't yet be seven years of age, the young son barely three. They see me enter and rush at me, and shower me with hugs. They look up at me with wide eyes, hoping with a child's hope that I come bearing good news. I look down at their eyes and feel sorrow.
"How is mother?" asks the middle sibling, a girl.
I clench my teeth, and try to make the words come, but I cannot. I avert my eyes from theirs and hold them tight.
"I..." I pause, not knowing what to say. "I do not know, children."
They look worried, but their hope has not gone away. My lie pains me inside.
"I must return to your mother. I will come again soon." I walk out the door without another word and make the long walk back up my hill, my eyes staring at the ground the whole way. I approach the man and silently lift the sky off of his back and onto my own.
"Your burden," I tell him as I settle into my all too familiar stance, "is greater than mine." -
Fairy Tales for Japan: Meet the Artists
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI don't think I have all of them in yet, but here are profiles for the first of the artists! I asked them to answer the following questions: --Full Name and age--Where you're from--Assignment for the book--How you found out about the project--How the situation in Japan has affected you personally--Why you picked the story that you did (if applicable)--What kind of art you do, if you have any professional work--Your website, if you have one
1. Nathanael C Dodge, 27
2. Born in NY but live in Sendai Japan
3. I'm writing a short bit about where I was during the sendai earthquake and the following days as an intro to the book. I will also be working on illustrating monkey and wolf.
4. I originally saw a tweet from Humberto Ramos and then contacted Matt directly since I was directly affected by the quake.
5. I will leave the core of the story of how I was affected by the quake for the into piece. I was and am still in Sendai Japan and was knocked down by the quake and left without essentials and any clue of my friends had survived.
6. The story was recommended to me by Matt and after reading it I enjoyed the simple message that it had about our view of one another. I have done similar projects in the past, one of which is mixeddrinksfilm.com
7. I'm a professional animator at Winestudio in Sendai Japan. I've worked in Japan for three years and before that I was a freelance artist in Brooklyn.
8. I have two websites you can see more about me and previous works.
nathanaeldodge.com
And
mixeddrinksfilm.com
********************************************************************************
1. Dani Abram, 25
2. Bristol, UK
3. I will be the artist on Fox and Bear
4. I arose on Monday morning to find lots of comic peeps I follow on twitter RT'ing and spreading the word about Fairy Tales for Japan! I read the blog post and went bright red! Never have I felt the need to draw a story so much - Fox and Bear hit me in the face -I think it's absolutely beautiful! I had so much imagery coming to me whilst reading it that I knew I had to email this Funk guy and beg for him to let me help!
5. I am a self confessed Japanophile. All my friends know me as the Japan nut and since I was old enough to know the word Japan I have insisted my parents stole me from the country at birth! I read everything and anything I could growing up and eventually studied Japanese at University around my day job!
My partner works for Sony and gets sent to Japan to work often, we have Japanese friends through their visits to the Bristol office and we were immediately worried when we heard the news. The news showed images of people running out of buildings and some smoke and fire with warnings in Tokyo - Dave ran to work as early as he could to contact the people working in the Shinagawa Sony office. Luckily Tokyo turned out to not be so bad, and our friends informed us they were staying in the office to sleep and were safe and well. As we watched the news unfold over the next few hours and days, and through twitter updates as they happened I felt a deep seated horror and extreme empathy, as I'm sure we all did. If I wasn't working on such an intense production I'd have flown there just to hold someones hand! I have been trying to think of something I could do to help properly, and this project just seems to be the most beautiful idea! Fairy Tales for Japan gets my full support and all my time and resources, anything I can give.
6. I touched on this, but in a nutshell - I am really into Japanese urban legends and fables and fairytales! When I read the idea for a collection of pieces based on just this I almost fell off my chair in excitement! Unfortunately I was at work when I read it, and spent most of the day dreaming up ideas for the tale that spoke the most to me.
7. I am professionally a CG Animator, and have worked in the games industry (GTA IV, Topspin 3) childrens television (Driver Dans Story Train) and currently in feature film (Aardman - The Pirates!) I have a small body of work published in indie comic books/zines and a comic strip blog with a growing following!
8. www.bintykins.blogspot.com
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1. Igor Noronha, 25
2. Brazil, living in Denmark
3. Illustrate tale "Moon and Sun", make the book design
4. Someone retweeted.
5. It has caused me a great sorrow, and has made me willing to help those people in a bigger way than donating money directly - because I can't donate the amount of money I would like to anyway.
6. It's charming!
7. I make comic books and animation at my studio in Denmark, Amazu.tv.
8. www.lightapprentice.com
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Okay. My name is Leigh Walls. I am a pro illustrator and cartoonist living in New York City (Queens), NY. I am 34 Years old and I have chosen and been chosen to illustrate "There Was a Troll Under the Bridge." I first heard about this project when Kurt Busiek retweeted Matt's tweet about wanting artists and writers for this Japan Charity book and it was literally a few hours after I told my girlfriend that I would like to do something for Japan.
For me, personally, Japan is my Mecca. I am a GIANT (GIANT!) Otaku. Though, it can be pointed out that I can't be that giant of an otaku because of the aforementioned "girlfriend" but trust me (GIANT!). Japan has always and will always be the place I want to go and just soak up some of the amazing history and culture. I saw pictures after the tsunami and it looked like a picture of a loved one after a horrific car accident. I want to be a part of something that will help her and her people get back on their feet.
I chose the story of the Troll under the bridge because of its iconic imagery, it was a story that gave me a chance to draw differently than I usually do and because of it's darkly comedic finale. And because I'm doing it in comic form, I'm gonna try and knock it out of the park!
Speaking of art I normally do, I am a superhero comic artist, through and through. Ahem.. let me rephrase that: I'm a LAPSED superhero comic artist, through and through. Sorry, I just drew a story for a comic book (Guardian Knight Presents) called Bug-Man Begins that is my first superhero story in about 13 years and the first superhero story I wrote myself. I was all about the guys and gals in tights until I went to college and got all that learnin' that got me believing that I could be the next great American graphic novelist. So, 13 years later, I draw a superhero comic. ha ha ha! It's listed on www.IndyPlanet.com, if you're interested.
Websites... websites... oh, here they are...
I can be viewed on a number of sites:
[aertistx.deviantart.com]
[lexxwaxxwuzhere.blogspot.com]
and I'm on facebook as Leigh Walls and as Leigh Walls-Artist.
I also have www.leighwalls.com (but it's ugly, I'm working on it!). ********************************************************************************
1. Yao Xiao, 21
2. I'm from Tianjin, China.
3. Illustrations for "There were pixies dancing"
4. An artist friend of mine posted it to my facebook page.
5. I was shocked by how close we are to losing what we have today in our lives, and how tiny humans are in front of natural forces. But at the same time it gives reasons for us to unite with each other as one human race, because we need each other to survive. That's what was on my mind when I heard the news. My hometown, Tianjin, as a coastal city in China was also been struck by earthquake in the past. My family and I have always been aware of how much damage they could do to ordinary people.
6. I liked "there were pixies dancing" because it has things to do with nature, being humble and being kind to even the ones different from you. I also enjoy drawing human figures and dainty gestures, and I see the story has potential for expressive figurative images.
7. I make illustrations. I enjoy most genres of illustrations, as long as there is room for fun figurative drawing and ornamental details. I have done work for children's books, elementary school textbooks and short stories in magazines. I also provide drawings to filmmakers as a storyboard artist. I'm currently working on an illuminated E-book project with a fellow artist. My latest published piece will be in the Transmetropolitan Art Book.
8. [www.artifolio.com]
-
Fairy Tales for Japan update
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeHey everyone, thanks for the incredible amount of support for this project. I can barely keep up with all the emails and comments. I really did not expect this at all! I'm quickly running out of stories, but I'd like to get as many artists involved as possible. So, I'll be trying to write a few more fairy tales here in the next few days, and possibly getting some more writers involved as well. So if you know anyone who'd be interested in writing a short (up to 1000 words) fairy tale or fable, please send them my way. We already have one writer/artist who is wanting to do his own story, so that's great. Currently we have 2 stories up for grabs:
Monkey and Wolf
To My Masterpiece
I'm trying to get a feel for when a good deadline should be and I feel like the end of April would be reasonable. What do the artists think of that? Is it too long, too short? I'd love some feedback.
Thanks again for all of your support. I'm glad this is coming together. -
CHARITY BOOK FOR JAPAN
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeSo, I have a little project I'd like to have some help on. I need artists, primarily, but if the art turnout is big enough, writers would be needed too.
I'd like to put a book together of original fairy tales and fables illustrated by various artists. I'd have them printed and sold, and donate any profits to the Red Cross for the Japan relief effort. The stories vary anywhere from 250-1000 words in length and each artist would be responsible for full page illustrations for their story and formatting the text over the page. If you're a writer/artist, then you're welcome to spin your own tale and illustrate it as well. Just keep in mind that this is intended as a children's book, and keep it appropriate for that audience.
Ways you can contribute:
-Illustrating story pages
-Illustrating a cover
-Writing a tale (pending enough artists for existing stories)
-Donating for printing costs
-Buying a copy when (and if) it gets put together.
-Spreading the word! The more people that know about this the better. Tweet it, blog it, Facebook it, post it on deviantArt, however you communicate, get the word out.
If you're interested, or know someone who would be, please link them to this post! When it gets put together, I'll probably be using KaBlam! printing to get the books printed as 6.75x10.25 trade paperbacks. If you have any suggestions for cheaper printing options, please let me know.
This post will be updated as artists sign on, and with a list to each of the stories. Please do what you can to get this idea out there.
EDIT 1: There is now a permanent page for this project on this blog, which can be found at the top of the page, or by this link. Commenting on either that page or this post will work.
EDIT 2: Links to stories:
Sun and Moon--Taken by Igor
Fox and Bear-- Taken by Dani
Monkey and Wolf
Isaiah the Angel--Taken by Gerald
Origins of the Flying Fish--Taken by Amy
To My Masterpiece
There Was A Troll Under the Bridge--Taken by Leigh
There Were Pixies Dancing--Taken by Yao
Story written and drawn by Jason
Note that most of these are edited only by myself, and some of the older ones need reformatting, so if you see any mistakes, please don't hesitate to point them out.
EDIT 3: My email is drfunkphd@yahoo.com if you'd like to email me questions. I probably should've put that up earlier.
EDIT 4: Questions! And accompanying answers!
1. How many illustrations are there needed for one story?
A: How much you illustrate is up to you and you can format the text however you'd like. So if you want the illustration to be behind the text or a border or something of that sort, then all the text would fit on one page, but if you'd like, you can have multiple pages and illustrations. Even one page of text and a full page illustration would work. Whatever works best for you.
2. are they going to be printed in color or black& white?
A: I'm planning on going for color.
3.When and where will they be sold and how much will they be sold for?
A: I think I'll probably set up an online store where people can pre-order and then order them. As for how much, I'm not sure until I get the page count finalized. I'll have to know how many artists are going to participate.
4.Will I be credited for the artwork in the book?
A: Absolutely! I'll put a table of contents in the front with the names of everyone contributing.
5.Are these stories supposed to be Japanese folklores?( should the characters be illustrated as japanese?)
A: No, they don't have to be, but if you think that would work, then go for it! Either way would be fine. -
There Were Pixies Dancing
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeThere were pixies dancing happily about in a circle. In the center of the circle was an intricate design made of the petals of roses and daisies. There were exactly a dozen pixies in all. They were varying shades of glowing pink and purple, and about 4 inches tall. They had beautiful butterfly wings and long flowing hair that was decorated with petals and ivy. Each of them was female, and each of them was naked.
They danced about the flower petals because it was a very special day. It was the first day of spring. They had all emerged from their dens that morning after a long sleep through the winter, and immediately took to arranging the petals for their ritual. When they completed the dance, their magic would be released and spring would officially start.
There was a prince walking through the woods, on a hunt for a princess, or a stag, or a dragon or whatever it is that princes hunt in the woods. He was searching and trudging through the trees and brush when he stumbled upon a circle of glowing pink and purple creatures. And they appeared to be dancing.
How peculiar! thought the prince. I wonder what manner of insect they are. The prince crept closer to the circle, and saw the pixies for what they really were.
"Pixies!" he exclaimed. "Impossible!"
The prince startled the pixies with his shouting, and they panicked and scattered away into the bushes and trees. They peered out at the prince from behind leaves and branches, waiting for him to leave.
"No, don't go!" he said. "I won't hurt you."
One of the pixies fluttered its wings nervously and came out from its hiding place. The prince held out his hand with his palm up, inviting her to come to him. She warily floated over to him and landed in his hand and sat there. The prince raised her to eye level and examined her.
"Well aren't you beautiful?" the prince said to her. She pulled her legs in close timidly and turned away, as if she were embarrassed. She said something to the prince in a quiet, high-pitched voice, but he couldn't hear her. "What was that? Can you speak louder?"
She tried again, but she was too small, and her voice wouldn't reach his ears.
"I wish I could hear what you were saying. I imagine you have a lovely voice. I'm sure I could hear it if we were the same size."
Hearing this, the pixie perked up, and fluttered happily up to the prince's mouth. She tossed some sparkling dust on his lips and kissed them gently. There was a flash of golden light and the prince was no longer there. There was a pile of his fancy clothes where his feet had been. The pixies all came from their hiding places and flew down to the clothes. After a quick search, they found a tiny naked man, buried under a pair of trousers. It was the prince! But he had been shrunk down to pixie size. He was bent over, trying to cover himself.
"What happened?" he cried. "Why am I tiny?"
"You wished to be the same size as me, so that you may hear what I was saying," said the pixie that he had been holding as she approached him.
"I wanted you to be big, not me tiny!" he declared.
"Well you should have specified, then. At least you can hear me now, like you wanted, yes?"
"I didn't want it that bad!" cried the prince.
"Well," said the pixie, obviously offended, "now you won't get to hear it at all."
The pixies gathered their petals from the ground and flew off into the woods to complete their dance elsewhere. The prince stood there, tiny, naked, and alone.
A gnome came out of the trunk of a tree and plodded clumsily over to the prince.
"I seen the whole thing," said the gnome. "She cast a spell yeh."
"How can I break it?"
"Yeh gotta kiss a prinsis of course," the gnome chortled.
"Where could I find a princess around here?" the prince said sadly.
"Well," the gnome chuckled, "you already kissed one."
The prince's shoulders slumped and he fell to the ground with a hopeless thud.
"Best be mindin' yer manners nextime, purty boy." -
There Was A Troll Under The Bridge
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeThere was a troll under the bridge. He had olive green skin, was the size of a young elephant, and had hair in places he shouldn't. His lower jaw jutted out and two large yellowing canines stuck up out of his mouth like tusks. His bridge wasn't particularly nice. It covered him when it rained, and it hadn't yet collapsed under the weight of the people entering or exiting the village, but there wasn't anything special about it. It was just wood. The babbling brook that flowed under the bridge supplied the troll with water and enough fish to eat to sustain himself. Occasionally a gruff old billy goat or a pig or other farm animal would wander under the bridge and he'd have a treat, and the villagers would become angry with him, but they were too frightened to ever do anything about it.
The knight had been re-assigned to patrolling the part of the woods that the bridge was in recently, and so he did not know of the troll. One day, he tied his horse to a tree and walked down to the shore of the stream to cool off. He splashed his face with the water and drank a bit. His gaze turned toward the bridge where he saw the troll. He cried out, startled, and stumbled over into the mud.
"Stay back!" he yelled, drawing his sword. The troll sighed and turned away from the knight, withdrawing into the shadows under the bridge. The knight, somewhat surprised that the troll had obeyed him, sheathed his sword. He took a deep breath of relief, and then coughed and gagged. "What is that horrible stench? Is that you?"
"You don't smell like roses either," the troll replied.
"Well, it's not easy to stay fresh in this armor and in this summer heat," said the knight.
"It's about as easy for me to bathe as it is for you," said the troll. "The stream barely covers my ankles."
"Well why don't you go somewhere else then?"
"I can't," the troll murmured. The knight heard something that sounded like the rattling of chains from under the bridge.
"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were locked up."
"I've been here for longer than anyone living in the village has been alive. They have long since forgotten that they're the reason I can't leave. They fear me for no reason at all."
"Why don't you tell them?" the knight asked. "Surely they'd understand."
"Because I've eaten a few animals because I'm starving. They think I'll eat them next if they get too close."
The knight could hear the sadness in the troll's voice, and couldn't but feel sympathy for the monster. He drew his sword and walked up to the troll. He found where the chain was hooked to the bridge and started to hack away at the lock.
"Let's get you out of here, friend," said the knight as he sliced at the chain with all his might. He swung his blade again and again, but he hardly made a dent. He tried until he had no strength left, and collapsed on the shore, peering into the water. "I'm sorry. I tried."
The troll was silent, but he stood and then sat down right behind the knight. As the knight gazed into the sparkling water, he saw something gleaming in the sunlight, half buried in the mud about a foot from him. The knight walked into the water about a yard and pulled the object up. He cleaned it off and found that it was a rusted metal breastplate, not unlike his own.
"How'd this get here?" the knight asked as he felt an enormous hand close around his neck.
"Apparently, they didn't tell you how the last guy lost his job." -
The Dark Room, part 7
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeThe man sat back down as another, closer still to the boy, stood up. He had a fork in his hand, which he angrily and repeatedly stabbed into the table, creating a dull thud noise. With his free hand, he reached to the lid of the next platter, licked his lips and and lifted it with vigor.
Thousands of fire ants and glowing scorpions and hairy black spiders flowed out across the table, like a terrible clattering avalanche of legs and pincers and stingers. The boy squealed in fright and backed up against the wall as they came toward him. He shook and curled up in a ball as they overcame him. The raven cawed in a manner that sounded like horrible gleeful laughter. The boy yelled and swatted at the insects and arachnids but it made no difference. They covered every inch of him and scurried in a frenzy over his body.
"Are you afraid of the creepy crawlies?" the raven screamed. From the raven's gaping beak, snakes slithered out by the dozens and joined the bugs on the boy. They coiled and slid around him, hissing their tongues and rattling their rattlers, and squeezing their bodies about him.
The dragon swooped in, and a purple flame spilled forth from his mouth, in an attempt to clear away the insects. His efforts were valiant, but futile, and they did not stop coming.
"Are you afraid?" the raven screeched.
"Don't be!" roared the dragon, as purple flame erupted from its nostrils and mouth. "You are brave! And I am here."
The boy cried out meekly and curled up tighter.
"You are afraid!" the raven said in triumph.
"No, he is brave!" the dragon boomed. "Be brave young one!"
"I'm not afraid!" the boy screamed from beneath the pile of creeping creatures. The man slammed the lid down in frustration, causing the spiders and ants and scorpions and snakes to disappear.
The boy stood up, shivering. The dragon flew over and perched itself on the boy's shoulder.
"You are very brave," he said. "You mustn't give in."
"I won't," said the boy.
"We will feed," the raven cawed. "That I assure you." -
The Dark Room, part 6
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeThe boy could feel himself flipping backwards, and the air rushing by him. Whenever he caught a glimpse of see a circular light above him, and it kept getting smaller and smaller. He righted himself, so his arms and legs were spread in an X shape, and he became aware of the dragon and the raven diving on either side of him.
"Are you afraid of falling?" the raven repeated with a worrying glimmer in his blood red eye. The boy didn't answer. He clenched his teeth as the air rushed by his face, and didn't want to open his mouth to respond to the raven.
"Are you afraid of falling?" the raven asked again, louder.
"I..." the boy began to whisper feebly.
"Why would he be?" the dragon interrupted from the other side of the boy. The dragon's nostrils sparked warmly. He looked at the boy as reassuringly as a dragon is capable. "Are you in pain?"
"Well, no," the boy answered.
"Do you feel like you are in danger?"
"No, not particularly."
"Do you feel like this is really happening?"
"No... no this feels fake," the boy said confidently.
"Are you afraid?!" the raven screeched at the top of its lungs.
"No, I'm not," the boy said with a smile. He blinked, and when he opened his eyes, he was laying on the floor, with the chair tipped over. The two demons that had pushed him over were circling a few feet above him, giggling.
The man set the lid back on the platter and they disappeared. -
Mere Mortals
» On the Subject of Being Awesome
Artwork by Jacob RisenhooverIn case you've been wondering what it is that's been keeping me so busy lately, here's your answer: this is the wraparound cover for the pitch for a comic book series called "Mere Mortals" that I'm writing with artist Jacob Risenhoover. I'll be taking it to Seattle this weekend to show to publishers at Emerald City Comic Con. I'm very excited about this project, and I'm very thankful for all of Jacob's hard work. I'll keep you guys updated on any news regarding the series. -
The Dark Room, part 5
» On the Subject of Being Awesome"Flee," the raven whispered to the boy. "Before it's too late."
"Be brave," the dragon said in his other ear.
The man across from the boy lifted the lid of the platter slowly, and as he did, thick black smoke billowed out from under it, swirling down the sides of the table. The tendrils of the dark smoke slithered across the floor, curling around the legs of the chairs. It flowed over the table as well, heading towards the boy like a wave of black serpents.Red orbs of light shown from within the smoke, as if there were hundreds of eyes of un-seeable creatures peering out of it, and the boy felt like each eye was trained on him.
"Do you fear the unknown?" asked the raven slyly.
The boy felt the tentacles of smoke coiling about his ankles and sneaking up his legs.
"You must be courageous. Do not give in."
The boy gritted his teeth and looked down the table at the man who had lifted the lid. The man was smiling hungrily.
"I am not afraid," said the boy defiantly.
The smile on the man's face disappeared instantly. He slammed the lid down on the platter, and all of the black smoke disappeared with a poof. The man opposite the boy sat back down in his seat, and simultaneously, another stood up. He smiled a toothy smile, eerily similar to the first man's. He put his hand on the platter lid closest to him and chuckled. He lifted the lid and a pair of demons, blood red and screaming, shot out. They slammed into the boy's shoulders, knocking his chair backward and sending him tumbling.
And tumbling...
And tumbling...
"Do you fear falling?" asked the raven cruelly. -
The Dark Room, part 4
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeOn the other side of that oddly un-assuming door was a dining hall that very much made up for it. It was as long across as a city block, and the table that sat in the center of the hall extended nearly the entire length. It was covered with ornate candelabras, shining silverware and expensive china, fourteen places down either side, and one at each end. At each place along the table there was a solid wood chair with a tall back, and all up and down they were carved with images of monsters devouring children and demons torturing them, and phantoms sucking their souls out. As the boy approached the chair closest to him, he could make out more of the terrible details engraved in the dark ancient wood. He leaned in to examine the horrible art and it made him uneasy.
"Be careful," muttered the dragon on his right shoulder.
"No," cracked the raven, "be afraid."
At that moment, doors that the boy had not previously noticed opened up on either side of the dining hall, and twenty-nine identical short, fat men in business suits trotted out and took their seats at all but the one closest to the boy. They had slicked-back black hair and wore dark sunglasses, and they showed no emotion. They sat silently, except the one at the far end of the table, who sat scraping to knives against each other menacingly.
"Please," he said with a cold smile, "take a seat."
"Be careful," the dragon whispered again.
"Be afraid," repeated the raven sharply.
The boy climbed into the disturbing woodwork of the chair and sat nervously at the end of the table. The man at the opposite end of the table continued sharpening his knives. The boy didn't say anything. He looked down the table, and couldn't help but notice that he was the only one without silverware or a plate. The boy chose not to think too much of it.
"Be afraid."
The man at the other end of the table stopped sharpening his knives and set them down gently on the black table cloth. All of the twenty-nine pairs turned and looked right at the boy.
"Dinner is served," said the man at the end. There was a flash and puffs of smoke all the way down the table. After the smoke cleared, the boy saw six covered silver platters along the center of the table. The man at the end put his hand on the first and smiled toothily, as a predator would to its prey. "Let's see what the first course is." -
The Dark Room, part 3
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeHe climbed lower, slower, deeper into the depths of the old dying dark house. The stairs spiraled counter-clockwise downward and were very steep. Every ten steps or so, there was a torch mounted on the wall that feebly flickered a weak orange glow, but they all seemed to have given up trying to keep the shadows at bay centuries ago. The boy went down, down, down. Spiralling into the depths of the house. He wished to leave the staircase, but there were no doors, no windows, no escape. Only the hope that there was a bottom, and that the bottom wasn't worse than the top.
"Where does this lead?" the boy asked the raven that still occupied his shoulder.
"Lead? Led. Lead? Poison. Pain. Death?" the raven babbled, cryptic as ever.
The boy sighed and clutched his dragon and continued on down the stairs. He soon came to another torch, much like the ones he had passed countless times before on his journey downward. This one was slightly different, however, in that it glowed purple instead of orange.
"How strange," the boy said to himself, no longer expecting the raven to tell him anything of value. He reached up on his tip-toes and pulled the torch off of the wall and examined the flame. It cracked loudly and a dozen purple-glowing fairies shot out of it, and began to swarm the boy, pinching him and biting him. He tried to swat them away, but they zipped and zoomed and buzzed in circles around his body and head. Finally, the boy caught one of the pixies by its wings and trapped it in his hands.
"Stop!" he demanded of the remaining purple nuisances. "Or I'll squash her! I'll do it!"
The fairies all screeched to a halt in mid-air and hovered in place. Then they all buzzed around so that all eleven of them were on eye level with the boy. They were glowing little women with violet skin and fluorescent pink hair. They were naked and they had narrow cat-like eyes, sharp teeth and slender clawed fingers. The boy could see that they were genuinely concerned for their friend that he held captive.
"Please," they begged in high-pitched, rhythmic unison, "let her go."
"How do I know you won't just attack me again?" the boy asked.
"We won't! We swear it."
"Prove it."
"How about we free your poor little dragon there?" the fairies asked.
"Free him from what?"
"His curse of course," said the fairies.
"He doesn't have any curse," the boy replied, confused as to why they'd think such a thing.
"If he hasn't a curse, then why isn't he moving, or breathing fire, or flying about like any proper dragon would be?"
"True enough, I suppose," the boy conceded. He set his dragon on the stair steps. "Break his curse, and I'll free your friend."
The fairies flew quickly down to the stuffed dragon and began to cast powders and dusts over it, until the dragon was covered in glowing purple. Then, one of the fairies flew down in front of the dragon and kissed its snout gently. There was a bright flash of violet light, and the boy was blinded momentarily. When he regained his vision, in the place where his dragon had been, there now was a real dragon. It was about the same size-- a foot and a half from snout to tail-- and looked the same, but now it was moving, and in place of its cotton and fabric was now shining red scales and yellow skinned wings and horns. It stretched like a cat and yawned, a cloud of smoke escaping from its mouth.
"That's much better," he said in a gravelly voice. He flapped his wings a few times and glided to the boy's unoccupied shoulder, and perched himself opposite the raven.
"Wow," said the boy. "You weren't kidding. Here's your friend back." The boy released the fairy he held in his hands and it darted away and over to its kin. "No hard feelings, I hope?"
"Of course not," said the fairies. "Good luck to you."
The fairies shot off up the staircase, and out of sight. The boy turned around, with his raven and his dragon, and walked down the steps of the spiralling staircase. He hadn't taken but twenty steps when he came to the bottom. And at the bottom of the seemingly un-ending staircase, there was a door. There was nothing special about the door, other than it being the end of an un-ending staircase. It was made of wood that looked aged, but in respectable condition, had no design or ornamentation of any kind, and had a standard round brass doorknob. All in all, it was a spectacularly average door.
So, the boy opened it. -
The Dark Room, part 2
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeThe feet of the boy's pajamas shuffled silently across the deep grey rug. The painted eyes that lined the walls seemed to follow the boy as he walked past them, and he felt like he was shrinking. He set his eyes on the end of the hallway that he walked toward, but it seemed to be moving ever farther from where he was.
"Fa," cackled the raven. "A long long way to run."
"Please, raven, tell me what is going on," the boy pleaded as he began to try to run in a a panic down the hallway, but going nowhere.
"Shh!" the raven shushed him. "The eyes have ears."
The boy went quiet and stopped moving. He stood perfectly still. He looked behind him and at the paintings, wary of the shadowy things that he felt were hiding in the nooks and crannies of the dark weathered house. Seeing nothing, he looked back to the end of the hallway, and he was there. The boy stood, befuddled and disturbed, looking down into the stairwell at the end of the hallway that he had somehow traversed. He looked back, and saw that the hallway hadn't been all that long to begin with. He clenched his stuffed dragon tightly to his chest and shivered. He looked down the stairwell again. It curved down and to the left, and from the flickering orange glow, there was a torch or candle lighting it from farther down.
"Are you sure this is the right way?" the boy asked the raven.
"Do you see another way?"
The boy silently agreed and began descending the steps, hugging the brick wall as he went. -
The Dark Room, part 1
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeThe boy woke up.
The room, like the sheets of the unfamiliar bed he found himself in, and like the curtains of the dusty windows, and the wooden panelling of the walls, was dark. Jet. Raven.
A frightful squawk startled him out from under the sheets of which he'd no recollection of. He looked to his right, in search of the origin of the ungodly sound. He could see nothing. Even if there were something to be seen, he wouldn't have seen it, because the room was so very dark. He turned his gaze back to the dusty window with the black velvet curtains. Perched on the sill was a raven. It was as the color of the void, but for its eyes that glowed an unsettling crimson. It shook gently and unruffled its feathers, and regarded the boy with a hint of condescension.
"You'll do, I suppose," spoke the raven to the boy. The boy tilted his head in puzzlement. "Go on then, get up. We best be getting you out of here before they find you."
"Before who finds me?" the bewildered and befuddled boy asked the fowl creature.
"Them. They. Those. Things. There. The. Thirty. Thieves," the raven uttered cryptically and menacingly, turning its head so but a single blood colored eye peered at the boy.
"Pardon?" the boy said weakly, now even more confused than before.
"I told you to get up, didn't I?" the raven cackled. "Do what you're told, boy."
Hesitantly, the boy slid off of the bed onto the creaky boards of the aging floor. He still wore his pajamas, and the stuffed dragon that he took to bed with him every night was held tightly under one arm. The raven glided over to the boy, making no more sound than he did color, and perched himself on the boy's shoulder.
"The door."
And so there was one. The boy could not recall seeing a door in that particular spot on the wall before the raven had mentioned it, but it had been quite dark. He couldn't shake the feeling, though, that there hadn't been a door at all before the raven had said there was. The boy stumbled across the rotting floor to the door and grasped the handle, turning it gently and as silently as he could. He squeaked the door open, and stepped outside that very dark room, into a hallway that was every bit as lightless. He closed the door behind him. He began to walk cautiously down the ancient hallway, glancing at the all-seeing portraits that lined the walls, and stepping ever so carefully across the black rug that didn't seem to end. -
The Theatre De Pénombre, part 4
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeClick here for chapters one, two, and three.
They arrived at the next town early the next morning. Rowland hadn't said a word since they left his village, and Rebecca had responded in kind by not looking at him for an equal amount of time. Puppy purred and took turns rubbing up against both of their legs, either oblivious or simply not interested in the tense mood. The wagon creaked to a halt and Rowland could hear they neighing and sputtering of the horses out front.
"Get back in that chest and don't come out until I tell you to," Rebecca said without looking at him. Rowland picked up Puppy and followed her instructions, weary of conflict.
Rowland could hear the back door open and what sounded like the same man as before--the Grandmaster-- spoke to Rebecca.
"I don't think we'll be needing you for the opener, dear. Rest up for the show tonight."
"Of course, Grandmaster," she replied. "Good day."
The door squeaked gently closed. Rebecca walked angrily over to the chest and kicked it as hard as she could, making Rowland jump and hit his head once more on the lid of the chest.
"Ow," he moaned as he lifted the lid and Puppy pushed off of his crotch and out of the chest. "I'd like if we could take turns with the physical and emotional beatings. Both at the same time is getting to be a bit much."
"It's no one's fault but yours, Rowland."
"Oh, definitely not. You're the one sending mixed messages. Do you like me or not? Because the love-hate attitude is really confusing."
"That isn't even relevant. You can't come with us. As soon as the opening performance starts, you're getting out of this wagon and you're staying here."
"Well, unfortunately, you haven't given actual answers to any of my questions. If you would do that, I might be more cooperative about getting out of your hair."
"You are unbelievable, Rowland."
"Why can't I go with you? You said they'd kill me. Why?"
"Because," Rebecca sighed in defeat, "these people, in this group, we aren't good people. We aren't normal people. And we don't take kindly to strangers."
Rowland sat down next to Rebecca and put his arms around her.
"Then teach me to be one of you."
"It isn't that easy. And if you knew, you'd never want to do it."
"I want to be with you, Becc. I'll do whatever it takes." Rowland brushed her golden hair out of her face and lifted her chin gently so that she was looking at him for the first time since they left his village. She kissed him passionately, and he held her tight to him. She kissed his cheek and down his neck.
Rowland felt her teeth sink into his neck quickly, and then back out. She looked at him, with tears in her eyes, as his vision began to blur and he became dizzy. He heard her whisper, "I'm sorry," and then everything went dark. -
Blogfest
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeThis is for a Blogfest (details here) that I'm partaking in to expose myself to more followers. Basically, I and a bunch of other bloggers answer the following questions, and then go to all the other blogs participating. So, heeeeere we go...
1. What is your favorite word? This is an utterly un-answerable question. I did have a running joke in my junior year English class about the word "juxtaposed" though, so I'll go with that.
2. What is your leased favorite word? Jaguar. Because everyone pronounces it "jag-wire" and I find it intensely irritating.
3.What turns you on creatively, spiritually or emotionally? Creatively, bookstores, and being somewhere with nothing to do. It gets my mind going because I have nothing else to focus on. Spiritually, a good philosophical or moral debate always works. Emotionally, a really good book or comic.
4. What turns you off? Stress, trying to force my imagination to work. Emotionally/spiritually, closed-minded people. Even if you have a different opinion than me, I can respect you. But not if you can't see other opinions.
5. What is your favorite curse word? Abra kadabra. (get it...? No? Oh well...)
6. What sound or noise do you love? My cat purring and my girlfriend's voice.
7. What sound or noise do you hate? Two balloons rubbing together. Gives me goosebumps.
8. What profession other than your own would you like to attempt? Physical therapist. I think it would be rewarding and fun.
9. What profession would you not like to do? Anything to do with fast food. Been there, done that. Never again.
10. If Heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you enter the Pearly Gates? "Wow! I mean... too bad about the landing, but... that was really cool." -
150th Post: "A Zeppelin Over Paris"
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeAxel slid the rusting steel door of the zeppelin open and the cold wind of the Paris sky rushed across his face. He pulled his goggles over his eyes and strapped his flight cap on. He tightened the leather belts that criss-crossed his chest, holding the heavy pneumatic tank on his back. He looked behind him at the three other men in his squadron, doing similar motions with their harnesses and gear. Axel looked back out of the opening, gazing at the golden-orange glow of the Paris night life below.
Seemingly from nowhere, Axel began to hear the sound of propellers. Then he saw it, below their zeppelin was a massive airship, rising slowly toward them. Every one of its dozens of cannons pointed at Axel's ship. A powerful speaker system sent a deep and menacing voice into the air.
"I am Captain Jackson Henry," said the speakers, "the commanding officer of the Aerospear. By the authority of the Irongate Empire, I order you to land your ship immediately or be blown out of the sky."
Axel turned and faced his gathered allies, now ten of them, the pilots and crew having abandoned their posts at the controls.
"Let's fly," Axel said with a smirk. He leaped out of the zeppelin and clicked a knob on his chest plate counter-clockwise. There was a loud hiss of released steam and wings unfolded from Axel's back, as did a propeller and tail rudder. He banked hard down toward the Aerospear and his friends followed, as their ship was blasted into oblivion in the Paris sky.
This marks 150 blog posts. This story will be turned into a piece of artwork for the Steampunk art show a friend of mine is organizing. This may or may not be continued. Let me know what you think! -
My arguement against hate
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeA lot of the people in my family have always been very intolerant and flat-out racist. I've got quite a few emails forwarded recently from family members who will remain unnamed. Today, I got sick of it. This is the email, followed by my reply (bare with me it's lengthy):
"ALL EUROPEAN LIFE DIED IN AUSCHWITZ By Sebastian Vilar Rodrigez
I walked down the street in Barcelona , and suddenly discovered a terrible truth - Europe died in Auschwitz ... We killed six million Jews and replaced them with 20 million Muslims. In Auschwitz we burned a culture, thought, creativity, talent. We destroyed the chosen people, truly chosen, because they produced great and wonderful people who changed the world.
The contribution of this people is felt in all areas of life: science, art, international trade, and above all, as the conscience of the world. These are the people we burned.
And under the pretense of tolerance, and because we wanted to prove to ourselves that we were cured of the disease of racism, we opened our gates to 20 million Muslims, who brought us stupidity and ignorance, religious extremism and lack of tolerance, crime and poverty, due to an unwillingness to work and support their families with pride.
They have blown up our trains and turned our beautiful Spanish cities into the third world, drowning in filth and crime.
Shut up in the apartments they receive free from the government, they plan the murder and destruction of their naive hosts.
And thus, in our misery, we have exchanged culture for fanatical hatred, creative skill for destructive skill, intelligence for backwardness and superstition.
We have exchanged the pursuit of peace of the Jews of Europe and their talent for a better future for their children, their determined clinging to life because life is holy, for those who pursue death, for people consumed by the desire for death for themselves and others, for our children and theirs.
What a terrible mistake was made by miserable Europe ..
***********************************
The Global Islamic population is approximately 1,200,000,000; that is ONE BILLION TWO HUNDRED MILLION or 20% of the world's population. They have received the following Nobel Prizes:
Literature:
1988 - Najib Mahfooz
Peace:
1978 - Mohamed Anwar El-Sadat
1990 - Elias James Corey
1994 - Yaser Arafat:
1999 - Ahmed Zewai
Economics:
(zero)
Physics:
(zero)
Medicine:
1960 - Peter Brian Medawar
1998 - Ferid Mourad
TOTAL: 7 SEVEN
The Global Jewish population is approximately 14,000,000; that is FOURTEEN MILLION or about 0.02% of the world's population. They have received the following Nobel Prizes:
Literature:
1910 - Paul Heyse
1927 - Henri Bergson
1958 - Boris Pasternak
1966 - Shmuel Yosef Agnon
1966 - Nelly Sachs
1976 - Saul Bellow
1978 - Isaac Bashevis Singer
1981 - Elias Canetti
1987 - Joseph Brodsky
1991 - Nadine Gordimer World
Peace:
1911 - Alfred Fried
1911 - Tobias Michael Carel Asser
1968 - Rene Cassin
1973 - Henry Kissinger
1978 - Menachem Begin
1986 - Elie Wiesel
1994 - Shimon Peres
1994 - Yitzhak Rabin
Physics:
1905 - Adolph Von Baeyer
1906 - Henri Moissan
1907 - Albert Abraham Michelson
1908 - Gabriel Lippmann
1910 - Otto Wallach
1915 - Richard Willstaetter
1918 - Fritz Haber
1921 - Albert Einstein
1922 - Niels Bohr
1925 - James Franck
1925 - Gustav Hertz
1943 - Gustav Stern
1943 - George Charles de Hevesy
1944 - Isidor Issac Rabi
1952 - Felix Bloch
1954 - Max Born
1958 - Igor Tamm
1959 - Emilio Segre
1960 - Donald A. Glaser
1961 - Robert Hofstadter
1961 - Melvin Calvin
1962 - Lev Davidovich Landau
1962 - Max Ferdinand Perutz
1965 - Richard Phillips Feynman
1965 - Julian Schwinger
1969 - Murray Gell-Mann
1971 - Dennis Gabor
1972 - William Howard Stein
1973 - Brian David Josephson
1975 - Benjamin Mottleson
1976 - Burton Richter
1977 - Ilya Prigogine
1978 - Arno Allan Penzias
1978 - Peter L Kapitza
1979 - Stephen Weinberg
1979 - Sheldon Glashow
1979 - Herbert Charles Brown
1980 - Paul Berg
1980 - Walter Gilbert
1981 - Roald Hoffmann
1982 - Aaron Klug
1985 - Albert A. Hauptman
1985 - Jerome Karle
1986 - Dudley R. Herschbach
1988 - Robert Huber
1988 - Leon Lederman
1988 - Melvin Schwartz
1988 - Jack Steinberger
1989 - Sidney Altman
1990 - Jerome Friedman
1992 - Rudolph Marcus
1995 - Martin Perl
2000 - Alan J. Heeger
Economics:
1970 - Paul Anthony Samuelson
1971 - Simon Kuznets
1972 - Kenneth Joseph Arrow
1975 - Leonid Kantorovich
1976 - Milton Friedman
1978 - Herbert A. Simon
1980 - Lawrence Robert Klein
1985 - Franco Modigliani
1987 - Robert M. Solow
1990 - Harry Markowitz
1990 - Merton Miller
1992 - Gary Becker
1993 - Robert Fogel
Medicine:
1908 - Elie Metchnikoff
1908 - Paul Erlich
1914 - Robert Barany
1922 - Otto Meyerhof
1930 - Karl Landsteiner
1931 - Otto Warburg
1936 - Otto Loewi
1944 - Joseph Erlanger
1944 - Herbert Spencer Gasser
1945 - Ernst Boris Chain
1946 - Hermann Joseph Muller
1950 - Tadeus Reichstein
1952 - Selman Abraham Waksman
1953 - Hans Krebs
1953 - Fritz Albert Lipmann
1958 - Joshua Lederberg
1959 - Arthur Kornberg
1964 - Konrad Bloch
1965 - Francois Jacob
1965 - Andre Lwoff
1967 - George Wald
1968 - Marshall W. Nirenberg
1969 - Salvador Luria
1970 - Julius Axelrod
1970 - Sir Bernard Katz
1972 - Gerald Maurice Edelman
1975 - Howard Martin Temin
1976 - Baruch S. Blumberg
1977 - Roselyn Sussman Yalow
1978 - Daniel Nathans
1980 - Baruj Benacerraf
1984 - Cesar Milstein
1985 - Michael Stuart Brown
1985 - Joseph L. Goldstein
1986 - Stanley Cohen [& Rita Levi-Montalcini]
1988 - Gertrude Elion
1989 - Harold Varmus
1991 - Erwin Neher
1991 - Bert Sakmann
1993 - Richard J. Roberts
1993 - Phillip Sharp
1994 - Alfred Gilman
1995 - Edward B. Lewis
1996- Lu RoseIacovino
TOTAL: 129!
The Jews are NOT promoting brain washing children in military training camps, teaching them how to blow themselves up and cause maximum deaths of Jews and other non Muslims. The Jews don't hijack planes, nor kill athletes at the Olympics, or blow themselves up in German restaurants. There is NOT one single Jew who has destroyed a church. There is NOT a single Jew who protests by killing people.
The Jews don't traffic slaves, nor have leaders calling for Jihad and death to all the Infidels.
Perhaps the world's Muslims should consider investing more in standard education and less in blaming the Jews for all their problems.
Muslims must ask 'what can they do for humankind' before they demand that humankind respects them.
Regardless of your feelings about the crisis between Israel and the Palestinians and Arab neighbors, even if you believe there is more culpability on Israel 's part, the following two sentences really say it all:
<span> </span>
<span>He did this because he said in words to this effect:</span>
<span> </span>
<span>'</span>Get it all on record now - get the films - get the witnesses - because somewhere down the road of history some bastard will get up and say that this never happened'
<span> </span>
Recently, the UK debated whether to remove The Holocaust from its school curriculum because it 'offends' the Muslim population which claims it never occurred. It is not removed as yet. However, this is a frightening portent of the fear that is gripping the world and how easily each country is giving into it.
It is now more than 60 years after the Second World War in Europe ended. This e-mail is being sent as a memorial chain, in memory of the, 6 million Jews, 20 million Russians, 10 million Christians, and 1,900 Catholic priests who were 'murdered, raped, burned, starved, beaten, experimented on and humiliated' while many people looked the other way.
Now, more than ever, with Iran , among others, claiming the Holocaust to be 'a myth,' it is imperative to make sure the world never forgets.
This e-mail is intended to reach 400 million people. Be a link in the memorial chain and help distribute this around the world.
How many years will it be before the attack on the World Trade Center 'NEVER HAPPENED' because it offends some Muslim in the United States?"
'If the Arabs put down their weapons today, there would be no more violence. If the Jews put down their weapons today, there would be no more Israel ." Benjamin Netanyahu
General Eisenhower Warned Us It is a matter of history that when the Supreme Commander of the Allied Forces, General Dwight Eisenhower, found the victims of the death camps he ordered all possible photographs to be taken, and for the German people from surrounding villages to be ushered through the camps and even made to bury the dead.
THE FOLLOWING IS MY REPLY:
I'm sorry, but this is simply racist and nothing else. I'm sending this not to start a fight, but to show you the truth. This is wrong.
Here are some of the things Muslims have done:
Invented the base-ten decimal point number system
Invented solutions for linear and quadratic equations
Invented Algebra
First to calculate the diameter of the earth (when Europe still thought it was flat)
First to prove that the planets and stars followed the same physical laws as Earth
First to prove the principle of conservation of mass
Conducted the first organized scientific research
Determined of the solar year as being 365 days, 5 hours, 46 minutes and 24 seconds
Determined the base equations of trigonometry
Proved the existence of the vaccuum
First to distinguish metal and non-metal elements
Devised new methods of breaking Ciphers
Introduced the scientific method
Discovered the distance between the Earth and the sun
Pioneered neurosurgery
Pioneered pharmaceutical practice
etc.
You know why they didn't get Nobel Prizes? Because they didn't exist yet. Pure and simple. You know who else got a Nobel Prize? Barack Obama. Who you hate. I'd hardly take that seriously.
This guy also doesn't know what he's talking about in regards to Muslims in Spain. They've been living their since at least 711 AD, when the Moor army came in from northern Africa. Muslims have been inhabiting the Iberian Peninsula ever since that time.
The next point I'd like to make is this: Christianity and Judaism both acknowledge and validate the fact that Islam follows the same God. In the story of Abraham in Genesis, Abraham has a son with his slave, thinking his wife infertile. He names this son Ishmael, intending to leave him his inheritance. Shortly after, his wife becomes pregnant with Isaac, and Ishmael and his mother are left to die in the desert. They pray to God, who answers them telling Ishmael that he will "father a great kingdom." Ishmael is acknowledged by ALL THREE of the big monotheistic religions as being the father of Islam.
In this vein, here are a few things you might not have known about Islam:
The following figures are acknowledged as prophets:
Jesus, Abraham, Noah, Lot, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Job, Moses, Aaron, David, Solomon, Elijah, Jonah, and John the Baptist. Every one of which are also in the Bible.
The word "Allah" means "God." Just like "Jehovah" and "Yaweh" in Judeo-Chistianity.
The term "jihad" simply means "holy struggle." For everyone except violent extremists, this refers to the internal struggle between righteousness and sin.
Christians slaughtered nearly 10 MILLION Muslims in the Crusades. To put that in perspective, that's about a twentieth of the entire population of the world at the time. They did it for nearly identical reasons as what Muslim extremists use to justify their actions today.
There is a line in the Declaration of Independence that goes like this: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal." To cast aside a people using gross generallizations and flat-out lies is against everything this country stands for. Please don't jump to racism and intolerance of billions of peaceful Muslims just because a few extremists twisted their religion to violence. We don't hold it against all Germans what Hitler did. We don't hold it against all Christians what the leaders of the Crusades did. You can't blame the entire religion for the mistakes of a few.
"Then said Jesus unto him, Put up again thy sword into his place: for all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword."--Matthew 26:52
The word "sword" could easily be replaced by the word "hate."
Love,
Matt -
Check out a couple of pages from ...
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeCheck out a couple of pages from my sketchbook, featuring characters from The Black Enigma! This installment features the recently introduced Raven and the mysterious new Dr. Toxic! Let me know what you think. For more sketches of characters in Black Enigma's world, click here and here.
Black Enigma's new ally, The Raven! Introduced in the latest chapter of The Black Enigma
A character yet to be introduced: Dr. Toxic! -
Creator Owned Awesome: THE INFINITE VACATION
» On the Subject of Being Awesome
Wish you could pay a fee and change every detail in your world to exactly the way you wanted it, over and over again? Well, as they say, there's an app for that.
There you have the basic premise of The Infinite Vacation, the brand new series from Image Comics's Shadowline imprint, written by rising star Nick Spencer and illustrated by Christian Ward.
The Infinite Vacation is set in a world where hopping between alternate realities has become a big industry. With the click of a touch-screen button, the people inhabitting this world can switch places with any of the infinite versions of their own life. The possibilities are as big as you want: spill your coffee on your crotch? Hop to a reality where you didn't. Want to be an astronaut? Well, there's an alternate version of you that's got you covered. This is a world of infinite possibility... and zero accountability.
The main character of the series is Mark. He's a bit of an infinite vacation app addict. Mark never makes mistakes, because he switches realities every time he does. However, every time, he seems to end up just as bored and unsatisfied with his life as before.
There has only been one issue released so far, so there's not a whole lot of story revealed yet, but we do know that a bunch of alternate reality Marks are being killed off and that Mark meets a mysterious purple haired girl.
The idea of the series is intriguing, to say the least. It's a philosophical, mind bending story in the style of Inception and The Matrix movies, and so far, Nick Spencer has pulled it off beautifully. The art is also superb. It's psychedelic and colorful, filled with trippy details and tie-dye watercolors, as well as some truly unique layouts. Christian Ward really blows this series out of the water with his art.
This is a great series for newcomers to the comic scene, as it's only one issue in and it's not part of any larger universe of stories. It's a lot of fun and gorgeous to look at. I'd highly recommend giving The Infinite Vacation a shot.
The Infinite Vacation is a comic book series published through Image's Shadowline imprint. It is written by Nick Spencer with artwork by Christian Ward. The first issue is in stores now. -
Creator Owned Awesome: Daytripper
» On the Subject of Being Awesome
I'll just be upfront about my bias on this one: this is one of the best comics I've read. Ever. Daytripper by twin brothers Gabriel Ba and Fabio Moon is a comic book that will tear your heart out with every chapter, and you'll keep coming back for more.
It's hard to talk about Daytripper without doing one of two things: spoiling it or not doing it justice. Daytripper is really simply a story about life. And more specifically presented through one life in particular, the life of Bras de Oliva Domingos, a Brazilian writer. Each issue is one day in his life. They are not sequential, and take place anywhere from the day he was born to the day he dies. Which, incidentally is every day.
Confused? Allow me to explain...
If you read this you'll find out that at the end of every chapter, which are each turning points in Bras's life, Bras dies. They are hardly forced or contrived deaths, but ones with real emotion and build up. And there is a reason. This isn't shock-value and it's not some weird super power or sci-fi trope. He simply dies, and then, in the next chapter, it's as if he didn't. Bras dies for very a very specific reason and by the time the series ends, the reader will learn the lesson right along with Bras.
The artwork is very soft and real, with gorgeous watercolors. The characters are instantly recognizable no matter what the age, and the world they inhabit seems real and full. Nothing is left to chance in this series.
Daytripper is one of the very few comic book series that I've felt truly emotionally moved by. In fact, I've been meaning to read a second time, but each time I try, I never feel quite up to the heartache. Reading the series as it came out once a month was a moving experience, and I'm sure reading it in the recently released trade paperback is just as gripping.
If you read one graphic novel in your life, make it Daytripper.
Daytripper is a ten issue limited series from Vertigo, written and drawn by Fabio Moon and Gabriel Ba. The trade paperback collection of the whole series is out now. -
Creator Owned Awesome: Cowboy Ninja Viking
» On the Subject of Being Awesome
Just so you're aware ahead of time, this book is every bit as awesome as its title suggests. Recently completed, Cowboy Ninja Viking is an Image Comics series by writer A.J. Lieberman and artist Riley Rossmo that follows the main character, a "triplet" named Duncan on his zany adventures around the world.
Duncan has multiple personality disorder. Sometime in the past, a particularly shady corner of the government kidnapped him and a dozen or so others with similar afflictions and performed experiments on them (because that's pretty much what the government does). These experiments involved programming their personalities to have certain skill sets that would be advantageous for a black-ops agent to have. Duncan's three personalities that he's programmed with? You guessed it: a cowboy, a ninja and a viking. That means that he can throw a ninja star as well as he can shoot a revolver. And he's not too shabby with a battle axe either.
The first 5 issue story arc of CNV sees all of the Triplets--except Duncan-- go rogue. Duncan is tasked with the thankless and very dangerous task of bringing in the rest of the triplets. The story is much more complex than the title implies. While the concept provides ridiculous visceral fun, it also has a very deep and psychological thread of finding one's identity at its core.
The action and emotion is brought to life by the talented pencil of Riley Rossmo, who renders the series in a beautifully chaotic style that fits the themes of the title perfectly. Most issues are colored in a monochromatic fashion, which uses color masterfully to drive home emotional moments. Rossmo's lines are loose and sketchy, and sometimes a bit unfocused, but it's always done intentionally and effectively, because really, that's what the series is about.
If there's one complaint I could make about the series, it's that it ended too soon. After only ten issues in, the series was canceled for as-of-yet unknown reasons. The end of issue ten was hardly climatic, and it was obvious the creators intended to keep going. It's sad to see such a fun series go, but I'm thankful for what we got.
To end on a high note, last November, Disney bought the film rights to Cowboy Ninja Viking and hired Zombieland writers Paul Wernick and Rhett Reese to write a script. The film has no release date yet, but it is an exciting prospect, and hopefully the success will inspire a continuation of the series sometime in the future.
CNV to me, is really what comic books are all about. Taking the most off-the-wall crazy cool ideas that no other medium would ever even look at and turning them into something fun and entertaining.
Cowboy Ninja Viking is a comic book series published through Image Comics' Shadowline imprint, and is written by A.J. Lieberman and drawn by Riley Rossmo.Both volumes are now out in trade paperback. -
Creator Owned Awesome: AMERICAN VAMPIRE
» On the Subject of Being Awesome
I'll be upfront about this: this is probably one of the few creator owned comics that doesn't need extra publicity. Launched about about a year ago, American Vampire from Vertigo was surrounded with buzz. The main source of that buzz was the name of one of the co-writers: Stephen King. With each of the first five issues featuring two different stories, Stephen King would make his first foray into writing specifically for comic books by writing half of the issue, set in the American Old West.
Then, something happened that shocked everybody.
Over the course of the first five issues, it became apparent that the first half of each issue, written by series creator Scott Snyder, was actually better than King's half. While the entire package was spectacular, no one was expecting Snyder to outshine who many regard as a modern master. Surely, thought many critics, it was just a fluke.
Now, eleven issues into the series, Scott Snyder and series artist Rafael Albuquerque have silenced even the harshest of critics with their series.
Set throughout American history, American Vampire plays with the classic vampire mythology in an intriguing new way by asking the question: what would a new species of vampire be like? The first arc revealed to readers that after arriving in the new world, the old breed of European vampires didn't create a single new American vampire. Until they had a small accident. In King's story, it was revealed that Skinner Sweet, a sadistic cowboy outlaw became the first of a new breed of American vampire, one with entirely new strengths and weaknesses. We follow Sweet throughout various eras in the following stories, including Las Vegas during the construction of the Hoover Dam, the Prohibition, and even 1930s Hollywood, where we meet our protagonist, Pearl, an aspiring actress.
The series is rendered beautifully by Rafael Albuquerque in a style that is just sketchy enough to be perfect for the rough and rural American settings, as well as shocking horror.
The series will be moving on to World War II and beyond in the coming months, and the next issue, #12, is a perfect jumping on point for new readers, as it's the start of a new story arc. This series is one of the most solid out there, and is definitely worth picking up.
American Vampire is a comic book series published by Vertigo, and written and created by Scott Snyder, with art by Rafael Albuquerque. The first hardcover is out now, with the second due for release in May. -
On the Subject of Being (Creator Owned) Awesome
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeAbout a week ago, Eric Powell, creator of the Dark Horse Comics' The Goon, set the comic book Internet community ablaze with a YouTube video asking for a call-to-arms to support the diversifying of the comic book medium. Powell said the following:
Among other things, which caused him to pull the video after a few days. It turned out to be quite controversial to many people, because many saw it as an attack on superhero fans. Despite that quite clearly not being the case, he made a follow up statement via Facebook:No other entertainment industry is sustained from one genre and 50 year old material. The comic book industry is living off of decades old company owned super hero titles while shoving new original content to the side. The result is the industry has slowly been losing readers for years and alienates anyone who is not interested in reading books about guys in tights
Frankly, I feel like Powell--while his execution might have failed-- hit the nail on the head. I agree that comics in general need to broaden their horizons if they're ever to get rid of the "nerd in the basement" stigma they've been carrying for decades. I commented on Powell's Facebook page saying the following:I work in satire and humor. Apparently those aspects of the video were lost on some people. If anyone misconstrued the meaning, my exact quote at the end of the video was, “We have to make original creator owned content just as vital to sustaining this industry as the Marvel and DC super hero books.” And that’s exactly what I meant and feel. At no point did I say or even allude that no one should buy Super Hero comics. I believe diversification is the only way to keep this industry vital and strong. Our country just went through a major “TOO BIG TO FAIL” scenario. Marvel and DC control 70% of the market and there are plenty of reasons that the corporations that own them could find to stop producing comics and use those super hero properties in more profitable ventures. I still believe that to be a legitimate fear.
I want to make sure my point is misconstrued the same way Powell's was. The fact of the matter is, I love superheroes. They're probably about 70% of what I buy in single issues (in TPB/Graphic novel form, I buy a lot more non-superhero). But the problem is that they're not creating new fans. The reason they aren't is because Marvel and DC are comfortable to "keep on keepin' on" with their current audience. That audience is getting smaller and is getting older all the time. What the Big 2 fail to realize is that the majority of their readers got into superhero comics twenty to forty years ago as little kids. That's when you create fans: when they're kids. And we don't need fans of just superheroes (though there's certainly nothing wrong with that) if this industry is to survive. What we need is fans of comics. People who are willing to read things because they look good, or they seem interesting, not because they have Batman.While the point is spot on, here, I really think not enough blame gets put on the audience. I work in a shop, and I know that people are very unwilling to try something new, regardless of quality. While Marvel and DC could put more effort into diversifying their output, it's hard to blame them when no one will buy anything that isn't wearing tights. They are a business.
That said, a huge part of this is getting the audience back. Comic readers are getting older and older, and young people like me are few and far between. To have a diverse output, we need a diverse audience. The only long-term solution to getting a diverse audience is by getting kids and teens back in comic shops. This is where Marvel and DC are truly failing. They control the comic book "gateway drugs." 99.99% of people who regularly read comics started because of superheroes. Marvel and DC hold the icons, the brand recognition, and everything they need to bring younger readers in, but they continue to cater to the dying 40 year old reader population. If we get more a more diverse audience, then they are going to want a larger range of entertainment.
Look at the comic book industry in comparison to movies or music. If movies acted like comics, 90% of what ended up in theaters would be westerns, most of which would be sequels to John Wayne movies. And if actors wanted to make a living, they would have to be in those westerns, regardless of whether that's what they wanted to do. And that's wrong. Not because there's anything inherently wrong with westerns (or superheroes) but because there are a thousand other genres--and their potential fans-- that are getting shafted. It's essentially saying that if you want to read comics, you better like superheroes, if not, we don't need you. That's a very short-sighted mindset.
I'm already reading a healthy amount of creator owned comics, and am in the process of producing one. The only thing left for me to do is promote the good stuff that is out there already. So, stay tuned to On the Subject of Being Awesome, where I (and possibly some guest reviewers) will be posting reviews of recent creator-owned books that you should go out and read. If you have anything you'd like reviewed, or have a review you'd like posted, shoot me an email at drfunkphd@yahoo.com and I'll post it. I'll be posting at least one review every day this week, starting later today.
As always, thanks for reading.
--Matt Funk -
The Black Enigma: Raven, part 3
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeFor the preceding chapters in The Black Enigma series, click the tab at the top of the page.
"So, what do you go by, flyboy?" I ask my tenuous ally.
"This ebony bird," he says cryptically, " is but a stately raven of the saintly days of yore."
"Okay," I tell him as I reload my harpoon lines, "you're really going to have to stop talking like that. It's creepy, and I have no idea what you're saying."
"It, like I," he responds smugly, "am The Raven."
"Well, it's nice to meet you, Raven. Though, if you don't mind, can we keep the Poe to a minimum for the rest of the night?"
"I suppose," he chuckles. "Some people just don't appreciate literature."
"Let's get moving, smart ass," I say, as I turn around. I sprint to the edge of the roof and leap off. I soar across the gap and land smoothly on the roof of the adjacent building. I head toward the bay, leaping from rooftop to rooftop. I'm sprinting across the roof of an apartment building when I hear a dull hum approach me from behind.
"There's an easier way to do that, you know," The Raven says as he glides up next to me. He swerves behind me and hooks his arms under my armpits, lifting me once more into the air. We soar high over the city streets, the lights glimmering far below us like neon stars in an asphalt sky. We bank slowly down to the warehouses near the harbor, and I tell The Raven to land. We come to a silent landing on the roof of an abandoned meat-processing plant.
"Black Enigma to Brains," I talk into the tiny speaker in my glove.
"What the hell happened, Mark?!" Harvey shouts into my ear. "You've been silent for twenty minutes!"
"Our impostor planted a few explosives as a gift for whoever came looking for the bullet. I barely made it out."
"Well that was a huge waste of time. Come back home and we'll talk about our next move."
"Actually, I was hoping I could still go for that big drug bust we talked about earlier."
"Mark, you almost got blown up a half hour ago, now you want to fight a warehouse full of criminals?"
"I can handle it," I tell him slyly. "I have backup."
"Backup? What are you talking about?"
"Just trust me, here, okay?" Harvey says nothing. I can hear him groan on the other end of the line. "I'm going to need the location of that warehouse."
"You're a maniac, Mark," Harvey sighs. He takes another long pause and then finally continues. "Three blocks south from your current location, the one closest to the water. Warehouse 85."
"Your a doll, Brains," I tell Harvey as I grin cheesily. "A real doll."
I click off my communicator and turn back to The Raven, who is perched impatiently on the edge of the roof. He looks up at me and taps his fingers impatiently.
"Well?"
"Time to get to work." -
The Black Enigma: Raven, part 2
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeFor the previous chapters in The Black Enigma, click the tab at the top of the page.
Looking down, now thirty stories up, I apologize in my mind to the sidewalk. I normally don't get so intimate so quickly, but I have no choice in the matter. I am drawn to the concrete as if by gravity. Oh wait.
I twirl as best I can to face up and shoot my other harpoon line in an effort to catch myself, but it bounces uselessly off of a pane of glass. I close my eyes and inhale deeply. What a crappy way to go.
I get hard from my right side, like getting rammed by a linebacker. The wind rushes sideways across my face, and I feel as if I've stopped falling. I open my eyes and see that my feeling was correct. I look to my right and see a beaked black mask and goggles covering a man's face. That man has what looks to be some sort of jet turbine strapped to his back along with to huge steel wings. As soon as I'm done recovering from the shock of my fall, I'll begin to be shocked by my mechanical flying hero.
Banking down and to the left, we make a soft spiral and land gently on the rooftop of one of the many science labs run by Pulopolis University. My avian savior sets me down, and wobbly kneed, I collapse onto my buttocks and breath a shaky sigh of relief.
"Whoever--and whatever--you are, thank you," I gasp. "I was seconds away from being graffiti."
"Indeed," says the winged man. "you would have been Nevermore." He clicks something inside his aviator jacket and his wings give a pneumatic hiss and begin folding into themselves. They collapse into a barely noticeable position next to the turbine on his back. "Is it the Black Enigma whom I've caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster followed fast and followed faster?"
"Yes, I am the Black Enigma," I say, a bit puzzled. "Though I'm not positive if that's what you're asking."
"Thing of evil!" he exclaims as he draws a pistol and points it at me. "You're a wanted criminal. You killed all of those people at the mayor's party!"
"No, I'm not, I've been framed. That was an impostor. I'm the good guy."
"Tell this soul with sorrow laden why it should believe you."
"I don't know. I have no proof."
"You must convince me you're noble, or I tie you up and leave you at the doorstep of the police station."
"How about this," I say as calmly as possible, my eyes fixed on the end of his gun's barrel. "I have the location of a major cocaine shipment that the Farleones are unloading tonight. We'll go bust it together and I'll show you that I'm one of the good guys, all right?"
The flying masked man is silent for a moment. Then he holsters his gun and pulls his goggle up onto his forehead. He extends his hand to me and he helps me up.
"Fair enough. But one wrong move," he drags his finger across his throat threateningly. "Merely this and nothing more." -
The Black Enigma: Raven, part 1
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeFor the previous chapters in the story, click The Black Enigma tab at the top of the page.
"The computer is reading the bullet as being four floors below you, Enigma," Harvey's voice tells me through the earpiece in my right ear. "That's the forty-first floor. Looks like some sort of suite according to the blueprints I'm looking at."
"Your computer's a pile, Harv," I tell him bluntly. "I'm on top of a damn skyscraper. How would that car get this far up?"
"He may have found the bullet," Harvey says. "You should investigate either way."
"Whatever," I sigh irritably.
My city is restless tonight. The moon is ominously bright, and the sky lit up with the blinking neon mask that Pulopolis wears with unashamed vanity. The wind whips my through my hair and makes my trenchcoat flutter like a black flag defiant of surrender. The howling air chills me to the bone, and it causes eerie concrete screams to swirl from the corners of dead-ended alleyways. I shiver in the night.
I fire a harpoon line into the roof of the building and tug on it to make sure it's secure. Then I lower myself slowly down the side of the wall, the small motor mounted on my wrist whirring as it lets out more line. Step by step I walk down the glass panes. After what seems like hours of trying to not look down, I finally reach my floor. Cupping my gloved hands around my mask, I peer inside. The room is a very expensive looking penthouse. There are no lights on, and it appears to be absent of life.
I pull a small laser out of my pocket and cut a big circle in the glass and push it into the room gently. It lands with a dull thud on the thick carpet and I step inside.
"Harvey, I'm in."
I peek inside the side rooms but there are no occupants. I find a desk in the bedroom and begin going through the drawers. They are all empty, except the last one. I pull a normal white envelope out of the drawer and open it. My tracking bullet falls out and clinks on the desk, followed by a folded letter. I unfold it and click on a light.
Hello there, it reads in a flourished handwriting. I imagine you're one of the Farleone's goons, come to find me. Slick little bullet you have there. Not too subtle though. Better luck next time. Well, that is if you can survive the next thirty seconds to even have a "next time." Sincerely, The Black Enigma.
"Oh s**t," I say, dropping everything. I sprint out of the bedroom toward the window. There's a deafening boom, and I dive through the hole I made just as the heat from the bombs in the room hit me. I exit the window at the same instant that it shatters and I grab for the rope I had climbed down on.
I miss.
I look down.
Forty-one floors down, a man on the sidewalk looks up at me, and I imagine his face looks the same as mine does right now. -
TOP SECRET PROJECT
» On the Subject of Being Awesome
Art by Jacob RisenhooverCheck out this gorgeous first image from the comic book that I'm working on! Don't want to give away too much yet, but stay tuned to the blog for updates on this project. -
So Much Happening
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI apologize for the non-existent updates as of late. Currently, I have a lot on my plate. Just to give you an idea of what I'm trying to take care of right now:
-Apply for graduation from COCC (should happen in August)
-Apply to attend CWU in September
-Apply for (a ton of) scholarships to fund my CWU education
-Apply for my major/minor at CWU
-Get my transcripts from COCC to CWU (must happen after the first thing)
-Get my transcripts from MVHS to CWU
-Midterms
-Sign up for spring classes sometime this month
-Save money for Emerald City Comic Con in March
-Plan to attend ECCC in March to try to promote my series to editors
-Work on getting the first issue done
-Write/edit more scripts for following issues
-Edit the first 50 pages of my novel
-Work at Pegasus Books
-Try to find second job
-Try to keep my girlfriend happy by finding time for her
-Oh yeah, and I have a blog
So, as you can see, I'm pretty swamped with stuff. However, I fully intend to get back to the blog. I'm hoping to resume regular updates tomorrow night, and then keep it going until I can't handle it again. This has been a really really good exercise for me as a writer, and I need to try to keep improving. This is a great way to do it, and I really need to stay committed. As always, thanks for reading.
--Matt -
The Theatre De Pénombre, part 3
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeRowland stood, stunned, in the dimly lit wagon. He was unsure of what to do next and looked around nervously. Puppy meowed loudly, apparently bored. He was sitting on top of a large chest. Rowland walked over and opened, curious as to its contents. It contained piles of unorganized costumes and clothes, and it was over six feet long. More than large enough to contain Rowland.
"Perfect," he muttered. He climbed into the chest and buried himself in the soft costumes. He grabbed Puppy and pulled him in as well. He shut the lid of the chest and waited silently for Rebecca to return. He shut his eyes and fell asleep to the sound of Puppy's purring.
The wagon jerked forward and jerked Rowland awake. Startled, he smacked his head on the lid of the chest. He could hear Rebecca's voice outside. Lifting the lid slightly, he peered out of the chest. Rebecca was talking to the tall man who Rowland had seen performing as Saturninis.
"You did well tonight, Rebecca. I suspect you'll be good enough to play larger parts soon," he told her.
"Thank you Grandmaster."
"I'll let you change out of your costume. Have a good night." The man Rebecca called Grandmaster opened the door to the wagon and jumped out of the slowly moving vehicle and headed for the members of the caravan behind them. Rebecca closed the door and turned back inside. She began removing her costume and turned toward the chest that hid Rowland. Rowland ducked back inside and shut the lid. Seconds later, the top squeaked open and Puppy meowed loudly and leaped out at Rebecca, who caught him in surprise.
"Oh, hello there. You're Rowland's cat aren't you?" she talked to Puppy as she stroked his fur. "How did you get in th..."
Rebecca trailed off and set Puppy down.
"Rowland. Get out of there. Now."
Sighing in defeat, Rowland lifted the lid and climbed clumsily out of the chest, a pink dress slung over his shoulder. He grinned nervously at Rebecca.
"Are you insane?!" she barked at him.
"What's the big deal, Becc? I want to come with you. It's not like I'm going to sabotage your productions or something. I'll help out."
"You don't understand. You can't be with us. They'll kill you."
"I'm sure they'll be happy to have a helping hand."
"No, Rowland, they will actually murder you."
"Why? Why do you think it's that big of a deal?"
"Rowland, there are a lot of things you don't understand here. You need to leave as soon as you can."
"If I don't understand, why don't you just explain?"
"It isn't that simple. You'll leave when we get to the next town. No more questions."
"Becc, I--"
"Shut up, Rowland. Just... shut up." -
The Theatre De Pénombre, part 2
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeAs sunset came, the stage was set. Where there once had been an empty town square, there was now a wooden stage some twenty-five feet across and ten feet deep. The townsfolk gathered quickly and filled every open space from which the stage was visible. They stood packed up against the edge of the stage all the way back to the closed doors of the shops on the edge of the square. Surrounding houses and storefronts opened their windows on every story and excited spectators peered out. Not much happened in Rowland's little town, and the Theatre De Pénombre was one of the few times that the people got truly excited.
The curtain rolled back slowly, and all candles and lamps were extinguished in the square. A line of short orange flames flickered to life about the edge of the stage, lighting the set. Performers in white togas entered from both sides of the stage, their faces lit from below. The fire's orange glow cast deep shadows on the folds of cloth and the surfaces of their faces, giving the actors an appearance of being carved from stone.
Rowland, still at his place at the steps of the building at the far end of the square, placed Puppy on his shoulders again and crept around the edges of the crowd toward the wagons behind the stage. The actors began their performance with brilliant charisma and grace.
"Noble patricians, patrons of my right, defend the justice of my cause with arms, and, countrymen, my loving followers, plead my successive title with your swords..." the actor playing Saturninus spoke with a voice like deep crimson velvet.
Rowland and Puppy snuck around to where the troupe had parked their wagons behind the stage. Three of them had been transformed into the stage, but there were several left, and they had been put in rows out of sight but near enough that some of the actors could use them to change costume. Rowland walked quietly up to the door of one of the wagons. He glanced around to make sure was looking, took a deep breath, and knocked quietly on the wooden door.
"But let desert in pure election shine, and, Romans, fight for freedom in your choice."
A hinge creaked as a small window in the door opened enough for two mesmerizing eyes to peer out at their visitor. The window closed and the door swiftly opened. A pair of arms grabbed Rowland by his vest and tossed him inside with almost imperceptible speed, throwing him like a doll across the floor. The door was shut just as quickly as it was opened.
A candle was and the soft glow lit up the face of a beautiful young girl. She had a gentle face, blonde hair and was about the same age as Rowland. Rowland moved an irritated Puppy off of his leg and smiled up at the girl. For reasons unimaginable to Rowland, she looked furious.
"What are you doing here, Rowland?" she hissed through her teeth at him. Rowland stood up as his smile faded. Confused as to why she was upset, he looked at her and held her hand.
"I needed to see you again," Rowland answered softly. "I want to come with you."
"Absolutely not," she yelled as loudly as a whisper would allow.
"Why not? There's nothing for me here. And I love you, Rebecca."
"You can't come with us Rowland. You don't love me, either." She yanked her hand out of his and turned away.
"What is your explanation for last year then?"
"Rowland, it was one kiss."
"And what kind of man would I be if I left you with but one when you'll be longing for so many more?"
Rebecca rolled her eyes and groaned. As she was about to respond, there was another rapping upon her door.
"You're almost up, Becc. Get a move on," said a voice from outside.
"Be right there," she called. Turning back to Rowland, she pointed an accusing finger at him. "As for you, you'd better be gone when I get back."
She turned to leave, but Rowland grabbed her by the arm. He pulled her in close and kissed her. He felt Rebecca relax and melt in his arms for a moment, but it was not to last. She pushed him away and ran out the door. -
The Theatre De Pénombre, part 1
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeThat day, they came to town, and this time, Rowland was ready. He remembered when they had come the year prior. They had unfolded their wagons into a stage in the middle of the village square and put on a production of Macbeth. It was wonderful. Rowland told his mother that it had been the best performance yet, just as he had every time they came to town for the passed 15 years of his life.
But this time was different.The Theatre De Pénombre arrived in their caravan of color, their wagons and horses decorated in every imaginable hue. They danced and twirled and cart-wheeled in full costume down the main road to the village square. Their costumes covered their entire bodies, never revealing an inch of skin. Stopping next to the fountain in the center of town, they poured out, all 36 members of the troupe. Blowing their horns, plucking their lutes and lyres, shaking their tambourines and swaying their hips, they played and danced a jubilant song.
Rowland was napping in the barn on a pile of hay with his cat, Puppy. Puppy was a black, lanky cat, that followed Rowland around everywhere like a dog, which is how she gained her name. They both awoke instantly at the sounds that poured through the barn door. Rowland jumped up with a smile. Grabbing his sack from the ground, he sprinted out the door, Puppy following close behind. Rowland arrived just as they began their second song. He had to stand on his toes to see the performance over the crowd that had quickly gathered. He reached down and Puppy climbed up his arm and perched herself on Rowland's shoulders. Rowland grinned as he watched the dancers and acrobats flip and spin around on the walls of the concrete fountain.The second song came to an end and the crowd cheered and whistled. A tall male performer, dressed as jester in red and black checkered clothes stood on the shoulders of two other performers.
"Thank you for your applause!" the jester yelled happily. "You are too kind. Please be sure to come back tonight at sunset for the Theatre De Pénombre's presentation of Titus Andronicus! And bring your friends!"
The jester took a bow, bent his knees and back-flipped off of the other men's shoulders, landing, with a graceful splash, in the water of the fountain. The crowd cheered once more and slowly dispersed. All except Rowland and Puppy. They found a set of stairs nearby and watched the troupe go about their busy work, going in and out of wagons and setting up their stages in preparation for that night's fateful performance. -
Sorry for the slacking
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI've been less than regular with updates for the passed week or so, unfortunately. I just started winter term last week, and so I've been adjusting to the new schedule. I've also recently started working with an amazing new artist on my comic book series. I've had some trouble holding on to people, so I have my fingers crossed that I can hold on to him and get a finished product out. I've been working on editing and reworking my scripts and doing character descriptions and that sort of thing as well, so I have been doing a lot of writing, just not on the blog. I'll try to get back to updating again as soon as possible, but be patient with me. Thanks for reading.
--Matt -
The Black Enigma: Masquerade, part 3
» On the Subject of Being Awesome"What the hell?" I mutter. I watch as the impostor fires a clip into the crowd, wounding several partiers. I begin to move Harvey towards the door, since I'm supposed to be his bodyguard.
"There is only one crime lord in this town," the man ruining my good alter ego's name declares. "Any newcomers would do well to remember that." He pulls the pin on a hand grenade with his teeth and tosses it into the crowd, where it explodes, killing half a dozen people instantly. The fake laughs sadistically and dashes out the hole that he came through.
My fingers load a bullet into my pistol as I begin to shove people out of the way in a hurry toward the doorway. I finally push through the panicked crowd onto the steps outside just as the "Black Enigma" speeds down the road in a black sports car. I unload a clip into the back of the car and he screeches around a corner and out of sight.
Harvey emerges from the crowd and walks up next to me.
"Some bodyguard you are. Dashing off, leaving me unprotected like that.," he says with mock irritation.
Minutes later, ambulances and police cars begin arriving by the dozens, paramedics and officers rushing in to haul out the wounded and secure the scene. Dozens of people are rushed to the nearest hospital, and there are twenty-six bodies rapidly losing heat on the marble floor.
"Well that makes our decision for us," Harvey says. "We don't have a choice but to go after both sides now."
"Great," I reply. "That's much easier."
"Don't whine, Mark." Harvey's limo pulls up in front of us.
"Harvey! Harvey!" Mayor Crup yells feebly as he waddles toward us. "What the f**k was that, Harvey? That guy worked for you and your dad?"
"No, he definitely did not," Harvey tells him sternly. We both get in the limo and drive off. Harvey groans and hangs his head. "This is a mess."
"Well those cops are in your dad's pocket, so there shouldn't be too much heat."
"You think this will stay with them, Mark? Over twenty people taking dirt naps? That goes to the feds, and they are definitely not in my dad's pocket."
"Well that can only be good for us, right?" I ask. "We're trying to take down your dad, having the law on our side is a plus."
"No, it isn't. If he goes to jail now, so do I. I'll be an accomplice. And so will you. And even if we don't, and it's just him, we get our funding cut, and we have these new guys to contend with."
"So we need to find the impostor and bring him in before the feds get near the case, correct?"
"Obviously, Mark. But we have nothing to go on."
"Remember those tracking bullets you had made for me?" I ask him.
"Yeah wh..." he pauses as a grin grows across his face. "Nice work." -
The Black Enigma: Masquerade, part 2
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeFor previous chapters, click the tab at the top of the page.
I straighten my mask as Harvey straightens his white suit. We climb the steps to the enormous oak doorway and enter the mansion, finding ourselves in a vast white marble ballroom flanked on both sides by a curving staircase. Harvey snags a shrimp off of an unsuspecting servant's tray and slurps it down before we enter the crowd. They are all dressed extravagantly, and every person is masked.
"God, Harv, what are we doing here?" I ask him anxiously.
"Not much for parties, Mark?" he asks in retort. "Just relax. We're here to do some reconnaissance. If these newcomers dad is so worried about are as rich as I suspect, they'll definitely be here."
"Damn it, Harvey," I say irritably, "everyone here is wearing a mask!"
"And so are you. Use it to your advantage."
I groan and follow him as he weaves through the crowd. I scan the occupants of the ballroom, uselessly searching for anonymous master criminals. I see nothing but masks. I feel like I'd see the same thing even if they were in public.
A short, round man bumps into Harvey gently. His head is bald save for the sides, where grey hairs stick straight out. He's wearing a black suit and dark blue tie, with a matching mask. He grins with yellow, nicotine-stained teeth at Harvey.
"Psst, Harv," he whispers, "it's me!" The short fat man lifts his mask just enough for Harvey to catch a glimpse of his face.
"Good evening, Mayor Crup. How did you recognize me?"
"You wore the same bloody mask last year, boy. You have to mix it up a bit if you're going to fool old Crup."
"Apparently so, sir. Looks like a great party, so far," Harvey replies with a fake grin.
"A raging success, of course," the mayor replies, oblivious to Harvey's feigned flattery. "All my parties are. Come, let me introduce you to some people."
The mayor grabs Harvey's hand and pulls him through the crowd to a secluded corner where two men and a woman are drinking and chatting from behind their masks. The first man is of average height and build, and wears a top hat, and a red and black suit. His mask is bright red and covers his whole face except for his eyes. The second man is pale-skinned and wears a tight-fitting white suit, with a white mask that covers his eyes and curls upward from them into his platinum-blonde hair, and downward as well, next to his protruding cheek-bones. The woman wore a seductive black dress with fishnet leggings. She had a long curving body, accentuated by her dress and dangerously high heels. Her mask was black, though it's details were lost behind her long, raven hair.
"Harvey, this is Sir Steven Skellion, from Britain," Mayor Crup motions to the man in white, "Mister Josef Moria ,from Spain, and the lovely Miss Cynthia Asi, from France. They are with a group that gathers talented individuals from all over the world to join, and then they pick a city, and for one year, they go to that city to donate to its charity's and help make it a better place. This year, they've picked Pulopolis! Isn't that lovely?"
"Quite lovely, indeed," Harvey replies as he kisses Ms. Asi's hand. "What was the name of your organization, again, madame?"
"The Champions of Charity," says Mr. Moria stiffly.
"Well, Pulopolis is glad to have such generous benefactors as yourselves. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I'm going to mingle. If I don't catch you again, you all have a nice evening."
We melt into the ocean of aristocrats, and quickly out of the sight of the mayor and his European friends. Harvey looks up at me knowingly.
"So what do you think of so-called 'Champions of Charity,' Mark?" he asks me slyly.
"I think that we fou--" before I can complete my sentence, an explosion shakes the room. The wall opposite the doors is blown to bits, and dust and smoke cloud the air instantly. People begin to scream and run towards the doors, but there are too many of them to make any sort of real progress. There's another explosion, and I'm positive I see blood spray. The debris finally settles, and standing in the gaping wound in the mansion is a man wearing a black trenchcoat and masquerade mask. He is standing confidently with a handgun in one hand and a grenade in the other. He has a sadistic grin on his face, and scans the faces of the crowd hungrily.
"I am," the man yells, "the Black Enigma!" -
The Black Enigma: Preview
» On the Subject of Being Awesome
The mysterious Sir Skull
Blogger was tweaking out last night and so I didn't get a new chapter in. Today, between and after classes, I was working on these sketches! We've already caught a glimpse of Sir Skull in the Filth epilogue, but who are the four newcomers, and whose side are they on?
Character sketches of newcomers to The Black Enigma's worldThe top left is Sister Spider! She is a masked femme fatale who ensnares her prey with nets and ropes. Below her is The Poltergeist, the gun-toting spectre of the night. On the top right you'll find The Great Muerte, master magician! His enchanted hat and cape hold powers not even he knows the limits of. Finally, there is Baron Boom, the expensive and explosive man of monocled mystery.
Stay tuned to the blog to find out more about these newcomers to Pulopolis, and be sure to click the Black Enigma tab at the top of the page to catch up on the story thus far!
--Matt -
The Black Enigma: Masquerade, part 1
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeFor more on The Black Enigma, click the tab at the top of the page.
The Present, Pulopolis:
I sit in the back seat of the limousine, facing Harvey. He is wearing a white suit and is sipping from a martini glass. He has as dark of skin as you can have while still being called white, and has a thin moustache that runs by the sides of his mouth to meet up with his goatee. He is chatting on his cell phone with his father, Anthony Farleone, Pulopolis' biggest crime boss. The conversation seems typically one-sided, as Harvey says very little. I can't make out any words, but it's clear that Anthony is yelling angrily on the other end. Finally, Harvey tells his father goodbye and hangs up. He rubs his forehead irritably and downs the martini like a shot. He groans and smiles painfully at me.
"Business, Mark," he says distractedly. "It's always business with that man. Apparently that dog fighting ring that this Black Enigma character broke up last week wasn't one of his gigs, it was some new crime syndicate from out of town. Now they think that the Black Enigma was working for the Farleones and they've been hitting a bunch of our operations in retaliation."
"Well that worked even better than we hoped," I reply contentedly.
"No kidding. Nice work, Mark. This does present a problem going forward, however."
"How so?"
"We have two choices. Option one, we keep doing what we're doing, taking down all crime, without exception. Unfortunately, the new guys realize you weren't working for my dad, and both of them come after you. Our other choice is to keep fighting only the new guys and keep up this masquerade of working for the Farleones. That works in the short term, but it ends up creating large scale gang war and eventually, whoever wins ends up filling the role of both syndicates, creating one that's as large as both combined."
"No good options there," I say as I scratch my chin.
"Agreed."
"So, who are these new guys?"
"Good question. No one really knows." Harvey pours himself a glass of red wine. "We know there are multiple heads, and they are recently arrived from outside the city. That's about all we know. That's why dear-old-dad was so furious on the phone just now. He's used to knowing everything. But these guys are very well hidden."
"Great," I sigh, "That makes this much easier."
"Well, don't stress too much, because we're here." Harvey motions outside as the limo slows gently to a stop. a young man dressed formally and wearing a red feathered mask open the door and held it as Harvey and I climb out. I motion to the driver in the limo and he drives off.
"Where is 'here', exactly, Harvey?" I ask him as I look around. We're at a large Victorian-style mansion, and expensively dressed people were exiting their flashy cars and walking up the wide steps to the enormous open doorway.
"I didn't tell you?" Harvey says in mock surprise, knowing full well that he hadn't. "The mayor is throwing a masquerade ball for charity. Here, put this on."
Out of his suit pocket, Harvey pulls a black mask that was decorated with feathers and curving flourishes. I put it on and look at him. He's wearing a white mask that curves down over his nose as if it were a beak.
"This is absurd," I tell him.
"Anything but," Harvey retorts with a wink "With people like this, a masquerade is the only place where they are being truly honest with themselves." -
The Red and Blue Clad Alien
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeThe red and blue clad alien smashed his fist down into the purple monster one final time. The battle was over and he had won. The shining city he called home was safe from the menace once more. At least for now. He hovered above the damaged street, winked at some onlookers, and flew off into the robin-egg sky. And then he kept going. He kept going until the blue pastel turned slowly into black velvet, sprinkled with twinkling white.
He turned at looked down on his city from thousands of frozen miles above. There was no escaping the sound. The city's roar came to him. But it wasn't a roar to him. It was a million pleas.
"Come on Adam, we're going," the alien could hear a woman say.
"No mommy, I want to stay with daddy," he hears a young boy reply. The alien could hear the tears splashing on the floor.
"We're going now, Adam!" she yelled.
"Mary, you can't take him," he could hear the man beg, "you can't leave. I'm sorry. Please don't leave."
"It's over, Peter," the alien heard the boy scream and the door slam. He heard the tears fall still, from all three of them. He didn't need to use his eyes to know that the woman wasn't going back up those stairs tonight.
The alien wiped his own eyes, but his tears didn't fall. They floated for a second in the gravity-less vacuum and then froze. He looked down at his city from space. He saw into a window high above the street, into an office. There was a friendly-looking man with glasses and brown hair typing away at a desk. The alien could hear him humming a song.
"Hey John," said another man who walked up to his desk. "I have some bad news."
The man named John stopped humming and looked up.
"What is it, Bob?" he asked, trying to hide the worry in his voice.
"I don't know how to say this, John, so I'll just come out with it. We're getting rid of you. You do great work here, and everyone loves you, but the company is taking a hit in this economy, just like everyone else. And... well, we have to make cuts. I'm sorry, John, I really am."
"Bob," John said holding back tears, "I can't lose this. Jen can't work because of the cancer. How am I supposed to pay for her treatments? How will I feed my kids?"
"I'm sorry John. It wasn't my choice."
The alien looked away. He blocked the noise out as best he could. He could defeat monsters and villains. He could stop bullets. But he wished more than anything, that he could save people from the real things.
"Come on, hand it over, Jack," he could hear a young boy feign a deep voice. The alien honed his ears to it and looked down at the city. "Hand it over!"
"It's mine, Tyler!" another boy yelled.
"Not any more it isn't. Don't make me hit you," the alien could see a boy cornered under a tree by a larger boy. The small boy was clutching his lunchbox tightly to his chest. The alien flew back to the city as fast he could. Faster than a bird. Faster than a plane. Faster than a speeding bullet.
He landed on the grass behind the larger boy forcefully, causing the earth to shake. The larger boy stumbled and fell to the ground. The alien stood tall over the boy, his bright red cape flowing magnificently in the breeze. Tyler screamed loudly and sprinted out of the park. The alien extended his hand to Jack and helped him to his feet. Jack's lunchbox was blue and had a yellow and red "S" logo on it. Jack smiled up at the alien.
"Thank you," Jack said. He then took half of his sandwich out of the box and handed it to the alien. The alien smiled brightly. They both sat in the shade of the tree, on that warm, beautiful summer's day and ate lunch together.
The sandwich, the alien decided, made it all worth it. -
A Sports Bar On 1900 Baum Road
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeThe seven men took a seat around the table in the dimly lit sports bar. The smells of old cigarettes and greasy meat filled the air. The circular seat that circumvented the scratched wooden table was made of dark crimson leather.
"Drinks are on me, boys," Nick told them.
"What about food? I'm not thirsty, but I could eat a baby!" Hugh exclaimed.
"Just don't eat too much," Nick replied with an amused smile.
The waitress came over and took their orders. They all ordered various beers, except Hugh, who ordered beefsteak and potatoes, and H.M., who asked for water. She smiled cheerfully at them at skittered off to the kitchen in her precariously high heels. The seven men began talking cheerfully with one another, excited to catch up with old friends. They rarely were all together at once, but at one time in their lives they had been inseparable.
"So, Nick, how's the old lumber business?" Smith asked. Smith was a wide, round man with an impressively thick moustache and a distracted, almost lifeless gaze.
"It's chugging along, as ever," Nick replied. Nick had been a lumberjack his whole life. He had prosthetic arms and legs. "Thanks for asking. And yourself? Clock-making treating you well?"
"Monotonous and unchanging," Smith said bluntly.
The waitress returned with the beers and water. She informed Hugh that the beefsteak and potatoes would be just a few more minutes, then left to attend to another table. Hugh moaned and slumped in his chair.
"Kill me now!" he droned dramatically. "Whatever method you choose would be more humane than leaving me to die from hunger."
"Oh stop whining, Hugh," said Leonard. "You'll be perfectly fine. You've been hungry your whole life, yet here you are, alive and growling."
"Well, if that's how you feel, you'll be the one dragging my corpse outside after I keel over in a couple of minutes."
"Some things never change," Leonard sighed. He was a tall lanky man with spindly, crooked blond hair and he had the friendliest smile that you had ever seen.
"But what if he's right?" Jack said nervously. "People weren't made to work without food."
"He'll be fine Jack," Nick assured him. Jack was as tall and lanky as Leonard, but bald, and with sun-burnt skin. He was always grimacing uneasily and glancing about.
At that moment, the waitress appeared next to Hugh with a steaming plate. She set it on the table in front of him with some silverware--which he ignored-- and he began devouring it voraciously.
"So little sophistication, that one," said H.M. He had a nice coat and tie on, as well as a pair of glasses that would have looked perfectly at home on a librarian. He was of average build, though he was a bit short. His moustache was very French-looking, and was long and curled at the tips. "If you were one of my students back at the Royal College, you would've been reprimanded for such manners."
"Let him eat, H.M.," Nick said. "At least he's enjoying himself."
They all chatted amongst themselves and drank their beers and water for hours. They laughed and had a grand old time. Eventually, when it was well passed midnight, they walked out of the sports bar and took a stroll down the snow-dusted sidewalk. The flakes fell gently to rest on the very tips of their noses and eyelashes, and crunched underfoot, just enough to be satisfying, but not enough to soak into their shoes. They continued to reminisce about adventures of days long gone as they walked down the deserted streets of the city.
"I'm afraid," said Leo suddenly. He had been oddly quiet the whole evening. "I'm afraid of what may happen to us if we grow too far apart."
Leo was an enormous, muscular man. He had long blond hair and a thick blond beard, and weary eyes.
"What do you mean, old friend?" Nick asked gently.
"How long has it been since we all got together like this? Does anyone remember? How long shall it be until it happens again? What if it never does?"
"Of course we'll see each other again, Leo," Leonard said, hugging his friend's shoulder.
"So we'll just keep pretending until we forget?" Leo said. "Or until we die?"
"What do you mean, pretending?" Jack asked nervously.
"You all haven't been thinking it this whole time? Don't lie. Where are Shaggy Man and Saw Horse? They showed up last time. This time? Not a word. There were barely any of us that made it here in the first place, and there are fewer and fewer each time we get together."
The other six men stood in solemn silence. The snowflakes seemed heavier as they fell on their shoulders. The orange fluorescence of the street lights seemed to dim a bit in their eyes. Of course they remembered.
"There is nothing to do," Nick whispered.
"That is bulls**t, Tin Man!" the Cowardly Lion roared. "We can go back. We can find Dorothy and Ozma. We can be home again."
"Damn it, Lion, you know it isn't that easy!" Nick argued.
"What choice do we have? What kind of life is this? Sitting in this bleak, magic-less world, withering away until we die, and the memory of our home with us? We used to be heroes back home, Nick. This isn't how heroes act."
"I..." Leonard started slowly. "I agree with the Lion."
"Scarecrow, please don't encourage--"
"You don't get to tell me what to do, Tin Man," Scarecrow said assertively. "You aren't the emperor of anything here."
"I can't let any of you get hurt!" Nick Chopper yelled, then fell to his knees sobbing. "I can't... I promised her..."
"Then lend me your axe, Tin Woodman," Lion said to his oldest friend, "and defend us, as we shall you, to your dying breath. Let us take back Oz."
The Tin Woodman sniffled and wiped his eyes with his palms. H.M. Woggle-Bug T.E. extended his hand and helped him to his feet.
"We only do this," Tin Man said, "if we all do it. H.M.? Hungry Tiger? Tik-Tok? Pumpkinhead? What say you?"
They all nodded confidently.
"You win, Lion," the Tin Woodman said. "Let's go home." -
Board To Death
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI peer around the corner of the hallway into the parlor. I hug the wall closely, sticking to the shadows--of which there are many in this vast old house. At the other end of the hallway I see the old man walk out of his bedroom and stroll casually down the hall in the opposite direction. He walks at a brisk pace, and whistles to himself as he goes. From the direction he's going, I deduce that he's headed downstairs.
Lightning flashes outside the window behind me, followed immediately by a huge crash. I am startled and turn around quickly. I then return to the hallway to see the old man gone. Damn.
I straighten my monocle and trot down the hallway parallel to the one I believe the old man to be in, hugging the walls. I cut across the observatory to the other hallway, just in time to see the old man disappear down the staircase. I follow him at a distance, moving as slow and silently as possible. He gets to the ground floor and veers off to the right. Headed toward the kitchen for a midnight snack, perhaps?
I descend the rest of the stairs in pursuit, and peek around the wall to the right. I was correct, he is entering the kitchen. Gluttonous old pig.
There is a heavy golden candelabra mounted on the wall. It's not lit, so I pull it from its perch and stalk after my prey. I push the door to the kitchen open slowly, praying it doesn't creak. I see through the sliver of an opening, the old man humming to himself in briefs as he pulls ingredients from the fridge and cabinets to make a sandwich.
I pull away from the door, and grip the candelabra tightly with both hands as if it were a baseball bat. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. I then barge into the kitchen and swing the candelabra wildly at the old man, smashing it into the back of his skull with a dull crack. He drops instantly to the floor, his body limp and his head bleeding profusely. I set the candelabra on the counter and bend down to press two fingers to his wrist. No pulse. Dead.
I drag his body out of the kitchen and, with a quick glance around, quickly to the entrance of the cellar. I pull open the ancient wooden door and shove the body down the stairs, where it tumbles to a halt at the bottom. I close the door, dust myself off and ascend the stairs to my quarters, feeling quite content with myself.
2 Hours Later:
The woman in the red dress with long black hair points an accusing finger at me. All eight of the guests are standing in the cellar in a circle around the body of poor Dr. Black, who was so brutally murdered early that night. The woman holds a blood-stained candelabra in the hand that isn't pointing at me.
"It was Colonel Mustard!" Miss Scarlett declares, "In the kitchen, with the candlestick!"
Damn. -
SAMURAI: Acronyms
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeSo, the guys in charge of naming stuff really like acronyms. A lot of the major weapons to come out of the SAMURAI labs are given these absurdly contrived acronyms for names. Hell, even SAMURAI is one: Super-powered Anti-Monster Unit and Robotic Arsenal Initiative. It's kind of ridiculous.
Oh, by the way, my name is... actually very classified. But what I can tell you, is that I am the pilot of the
Winged Assault and Response Robotic Interface, Omni Rank, also known as the WARRIOR. See? Acronyms.
The WARRIOR is the best giant robot in the SAMURAI organization, and I'm the best pilot. It has more guns than you'd care to know about, it can bench press the moon, and it can fly. It also looks like some sort of bad-ass mechanical shogun, so that helps too.
I'm currently about to arrive in Nagasaki, where a giant two-headed electric snake monster is about to come ashore. The monster is the standard hundreds-of-feet tall, jet black, with a white belly and spikes that start at the heads and run down to the end of the tail. Of course, it also has intimidatingly large fangs protruding from its mouth. It's swinging its tail wildly around the beach, tossing bolts of electricity randomly to nearby conductive objects. It lunges with both heads down at the civilians who are running in terror. The heads don't seem to be working together, however, as they frequently try to move in opposite directions at the same time, preventing them from achieving any of their goals, though they do manage to swallow a few beach-goers.
It kill my rear thrusters and come in for a landing on my giant robot feet, just in front of the two-headed lightning snake. I waste no time and fire two large rockets from my robotic wrists straight into both faces. The monster tumbles backward unsteadily but shakes it off. Both faces lock their eyes on me. That was a poor choice. Now I've given it something to focus on. -
POLL
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeGo to the main page for this blog and scroll down below all the posts and you will find a poll, right above the "About Me" section. The poll asks which of the ongoing series I've been writing you enjoy the most: The Black Enigma, The Strange Casefiles of Horatio Morgan, SAMURAI, or Stormclouds and Chariots?
I desire your input, and the results will steer the course of the blog. I have ideas for all of the stories, the hard part is prioritizing. So, go vote!
Thanks for reading (and voting),
Matt -
The Black Enigma: Holes, part 3
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeFor previous chapters in The Black Enigma story, click here.
There is a hole where my dreams should be.
I try to sleep, but the dark is as elusive as comfort. I twist restlessly in my waking, and even more restlessly still in my sleep. When my eyes do stay shut, and I manage to grasp the fragile fleeting tendrils of slumber, I dream of a hole where my brother should be. I dream of bullet holes and holes in the ground, and holes in hearts. I dream of a hole, starting in the center of the city and growing outwards, devouring all in its path, swallowing the entire city into the earth. And then there is a gravestone by the hole, and as I'm about to read it, I wake, trembling, sweating, my heart pounding.
So many holes that need filling.
I return to work the next morning at the Pulopolis Public Library. I take my place behind my desk on the second floor, amidst the crime and detective fiction section. I have always had the same fascinations as Johnny, I just took them in a different direction.
My desk-mate Helen arrives a couple of minutes later, sets her purse behind her chair and sits down. She is a bespectacled brunette about my age of average looks and height. She has worked here as long as I have, and has always been a good friend to me. She glances at me at of the corner of her eye a few times as she shifts some books and papers around on her side of the desk before speaking.
"Hey Mark," she says gently. "Rough night?"
I simply nod my head, not even making eye-contact.
"I'm sorry. If you need someone to talk to, I'm here for you, alright?"
"Thank you," I say after clearly my throat. I blink my eyes to keep the tears down. "I'm alright for now, though. I appreciate the offer."
I try to make myself look busy so as to avoid her worried gaze. The day goes by in relative silence. The library is never busy in this city. No one in Pulopolis reads anymore. Not when there are people to murder and steal from. And it's a Monday to boot. No one is here.
I shelve books and write out forms and orders, and file papers away. My tasks go by monotonously and slowly, and never are granted my full attention. My conversation with Harvey from last night is never far from my mind.
Finally, the clock's diligent hands all stand at attention, and Helen tells me that I can take my lunch break first. I thank her for her kindness and pick up my coat and put it on. I walk down the stairs and out the front door into the fog. I get the feeling that I won't be seeing Helen again any time soon. I am saddened a bit at the notion, and pause to look up at the second story window. I hesitate for a moment, and take a step back toward the library door. I reach into my pocket and look at the business card with Harvey Farleone's name and phone number on it. I turn away from the library and walk down the sidewalk into the thick fog that concealed the surface of the city from prying eyes.
"Harvey?" I say into my cell phone as the gray envelopes me, "I have an answer for you." -
Site Update!
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeThe On the Subject of Being Awesome blog now has three new pages! At the top of the page, you'll see tabs for the Home page, a page dedicated to The Strange Casefiles of Horatio Morgan series, a page for The Black Enigma series, and a Selected Reading page.
As always, the Home page will list the seven most recent blog posts.
The Strange Casefiles of Horatio Morgan page lists all of the chapters of the ongoing story of the Victorian paranormal detective, along with a blurb on the story and a picture of Horatio and Thaddeus. It's a good place to catch up with one of the blog's main series if you've missed any chapters.
The Black Enigma page is dedicated to the pulp vigilante and lists all of the chapters, a reading order, and the origins of the character, as well as the original character designs. Great way to catch up on the series.
The Selected Reading page contains a list of some of my (in my opinion) better short stories that I have written for the blog. Check it out if you're new and looking to see what stuff I've written thus far.
All three of the new pages will be continually updated as is necessary. Be sure to check them out and leave me any feedback that you may have.
Thanks for reading,
Matt -
The Black Enigma : Holes, part 2
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeThis story takes place shortly after the events of this story,before the events of this story, and directly after Holes, part 1.
"What do you know?" I growl at Harvey.
"Regretfully," he sighs, "everything."
"Tell me now."
"I was getting there, stop interrupting. Johnny was a good detective. Probably the best one on the entire Pulopolis police force. You see, Mark, the P.P.D. is almost entirely in my father's pocket. Johnny was one of the few that wasn't."
"So your father had him killed. Great."
"You know what they say about assuming," he quips. "Actually, Johnny was working with me to try and take down the corruption. My sister and I fed him leads about my father's operations, ones that were too big for the police chiefs to turn a blind eye to. Apparently, he got one too many solid cases, however, because he--along with Martha-- was taken out by the police themselves. My father is furious with them now. They did it without his permission and they killed his daughter."
I stay silent. I know that Pulopolis is not exactly a shining beacon, but I'd never have thought it was this bad. Is he telling the truth? He must be. He has no reason to lie about something like this. And it would take a real bastard to twist his own sister's death to his advantage.
"I appreciate you telling me this," I tell him quietly. "I'm sorry for judging you so quickly."
"I can't say I blame you," he says solemnly. "Apology accepted. I have one more thing I'd like to discuss with you."
"What would that be?"
"Well," Harvey pauses thoughtfully, "How would you like to continue your brother's work?"
I look at him stunned. I don't know what to say. How could he expect me to do something like that?
"I'm not a cop," I stammer.
"I know that. I think that it may have been naive to think that sending one good snake into a pit of bad ones could solve the problem. No, I think a different method will be required."
"What do you think I can do? I'm a damn librarian."
"This city needs a hero and a symbol. I want that to be you. I'll do what I did for Johnny, but you'll be totally outside the law. You'll be masked and anonymous, and you'll have all of my resources backing you."
"I don't know anything about being a hero. I can't fight. Hell, I've never even shot a gun."
"I can provide you with all of the training you'll need and then some," Harvey tells me. "But there's a catch. You'll have to leave your old life behind and pose as my bodyguard when you aren't on the streets fighting corruption."
I think silently and glare out the window. I scratch the scruff that has been gathering on my face since I heard of Johnny's death. I can't deny there's a hole in the city. A hole that needs to be filled with justice. There's also a hole in me. One that needs vengeance to be filled. These holes can be filled by me filling this role that Harvey is describing. All while blowing holes in the dark void of crime that is swallowing Pulopolis.
"I need to think about this," I tell Harvey.
"I understand," he says as he hands me a business card. "Call me on that number when you have an answer."
I nod my head in acknowledgement as the limo pulls up in front of my apartment building. I thank Harvey for the ride and step out into the puddle-ridden sidewalk. I look up and see that the sky has ceased crying. The moon shines brighter than I've ever seen it in this smog-cursed city. It shines bright. As if a hole of light has pierced the darkness. -
Santa Claus: SlayRide
» On the Subject of Being Awesome'Santa Claus stretched his arms wide and yawned as he dismounted his sleigh onto the snowy roof. He yawned loudly and smiled.
"Last one," he sighed, walking to the chimney. "Then it's back to the ol' workshop."
Santa lifted one leg up into the chimney. Suddenly, he was hit by a high-velocity snowball in the solar-plexus. He lost his balance and rolled down the roof and slammed into the ground below.
"What was that?" he moaned as he got up. From around the corner of the house, a few dozen sharp-toothed snowmen with glowing red eyes emerged. "Great... Humbugs."
You see, Humbugs are evil spirits intent on destroying Christmas, and try to impede Santa on his quest every Christmas Eve. They have a knack for posessing Christmasy objects and turning them into evil creatures. Snowmen are a favorite of theirs.
"I'm on the last house. Don't you guys ever give up?" Without a word, the snowmen charged at the jolly old elf. Santa roared and tore his shirt from his body, revealing his enormous pecs, finely scul[ted abdominal muscles, and his bulging arms. He swung his fists wildly at the first two snowmen, beheading them both. A spinning back kick knocked the mid section from a third.
"Rudolph, attack!" Santa called. Instantly, red lasers began blasting from the reindeer's nose on the roof, incinerating snowmen left and right. The Humbugs were losing badly. They ran for cover behind some nearby bushes.
Suddenly, the snowmen formed into a monstrous mega snowman, and it towered above the roof of the house. It reached down and tore the Christmas lights off the house, and began swinging them wildly, like they were a whip.
Santa sprinted to the house and climbed back to the roof. He quickly unharnessed Rudolph and mounted him. They took off into the air, circling above the megasnowman's head. Rudolph shot lasers from his nose, but the snowman just shrugged them off. Santa steered the reindeer into the monster's gaping mouth, where he jumped off, and was swallowed. The Humbug laughed maniacally at his victory. Then he stopped. Santa Claus tore through abdomen of the snowman with his fists, and it roared in pain. Santa climbed up to the monster's face, and with a single punch, destroyed it.
Santa returned to the sleigh and put on a spare shirt. He walked to the chimney, slid down, and placed the presents around the tree. He then returned to the North Pole and went to sleep.
And that's the story of what happened to your snowman, Billy.'
'Dad, I saw you back into it with the car.'
'Merry Christmas, Billy.' -
The Black Enigma: Holes, part 1
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeThis story takes place shortly after the events of this story and before the events of this story.
The box that contains my brother lowers slowly into the abyss of worms and dirt that they call a grave. It's just a hole. A bullet hole in the body of the Earth, just like the one in Johnny's head. I have matching one in my heart. I loved my brother more than anything. He was the only family I had left. I am alone. Empty. A hole.
Johnny was a cop. He was a good man. Why would someone want him dead?
I look across the hole in the ground and look at his fellow police officers. They are solemn, staring down at the black coffin, their hats in their hands, rain pouring like tears down their bodies. They look like they want to weep, but the sky is already doing it for them.
I stand there for hours. I watch the hole in the ground become a scar of fresh dirt amongst the green grass. A hole of color. And what is the graveyard if not an enormous hole in this city? Holes within holes.
It becomes dark. A hole in the sky, perhaps? Fitting. I still stand by Johnny's gravestone, clutching the blood-red roses that are becoming bruised in the rain. I set them down finally and walk down the cobblestone path that weaved down through the graveyard to the gates. I walk out onto the sidewalk and look up at the stormy sky. It's still crying. At least I won't mourn alone.
A black limousine's lights pierce my eyes from down the street. It stops right next to where I'm standing on the sidewalk and the rear window rolled down.
"Are you Mark Colt?" the young, European looking man in a black suit asks me.
"Yeah," I say warily. "Why are you asking?"
"I'm very sorry about your loss. My sister was killed just minutes before your brother. Johnny was the first on the scene. I can't help feel that we could relate to each other, and was wondering if you'd like to talk."
I look up and down the street and see no other cars. I may as well get a ride home.
"Sure," I say, and the man opens his door. I step in and sit on the perfectly upholstered seat across from him. "Thanks for the ride. What's your name?"
"Harvey Farleone. My sister was named Martha." He extends his hand to me to shake it. I don't return the gesture.
"Farleone? Like the mob boss?" I ask accusingly.
"My father. But just because I'm related doesn't mean I approve of his actions."
"You sure don't seem to have a problem with his money," I say gesturing around the limo.
"A necessary facade to keep. I'd rather not be killed by my father," Harvey replies.
"I think I'll walk from here, thanks," I tell him with disgust.
"Please hear me out, Mark."
"I'm good, actually."
"I'm sorry if you're uncomfortable," he tells me bluntly. "But frankly, you're only getting out if I want you to, and you may as well hear what I have to say."
"Not interested," I reply.
"Is that so? So you'd rather not know why your brother is rotting in a hole?" -
End of Suggestionator
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeIt's sad, but true. Over the passed few days, I've been trying figure out stories for the remaining suggestions, but they are either a) so weird I can't think of anything b) too specific and the story writes itself or c) I didn't know enough about the subject. So, apologies to Lauren, Cody, Ben, Zach, Sarah, Katie, and Chris. I actually plan to do Colin's suggestion tomorrow night, but other than that, I'm done with this. It's been fun, and I may come back to some of the ideas in the future, and I'll probably do another Suggestionator series at some point. So, again, apologies to those who didn't get a story. In case you missed them, here are the stories that did get made:
Cameron: "write about the customers"
Andy: "angels, demons, kittens, Jell-O Pudding, Bill Cosby"
Jasper/Justin Combo Deal: Part 1 and Part 2
Jazmin: "the last comic book on the shelf"
David: "guitar, schizophrenia, acid, hotel, chevy"
Manny: "China, disease, fast food, giant worm, rave"
Zach V.: "blind faith leads to death" -
Suggestionator 2010: Blind Faith Leads to Death
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeToday's Suggestionator is from Zach, who said "Blind faith leads to death." This ended up being quite a bit heavier than the others so far. For more on Suggestionator 2010, click here.
He was a young Christian man. He loved his god and his country, and was unwaveringly loyal to them both. He had been tasked by his priest to join the holy knights in the Crusades. He was to fight for all he held dear by retaking the land that was the birthplace of his religion. He was to draw his sword and defeat the heathens that defiled the ground of his forefathers.
He is a young Muslim boy. He loves Allah and he loves his country. He would do anything to protect them. He has been told by the men with guns that the only way to please Allah is to take up arms in Jihad. He fights all he holds dear by repelling the infidel from his people's home. He loads bullets in his gun and straps a bomb to his chest to send the invaders to their punishment.
He could not read, and neither could the village people. But his priest could. His priest told them what the Bible said. The priest told them of the Commandments. The priest told them that they shall not kill or steal or commit adultery. The priest told them how Jesus saved through love. The priest told them how the Christian God is to be feared and obeyed. The priest told them that the Bible commanded them to take up arms and kill the heathens that stood in their way, so that they may retake what is rightfully theirs.
He can not read, and neither can anyone in his village. But the men with guns can. They read the Qur'an to the people of the village. They tell the people of Allah's will. The men with guns tell them that they shall not steal or commit adultery or kill. They tell how every Muslim struggles within themselves to not sin, and that struggle is the true Jihad. The men with guns read from the Qur'an of how Allah is a god of oneness and how he does not take sides, for he is all things. The men with guns tell the village people that the Qur'an tells them to kill the infidels that come to their land in the name of Allah.
He packed up his things and sheathed his sword. He kissed his mother and father goodbye one last time. He went and joined the other men in the village square. The king's army rode into town, and the men of the village all fell in and marched with the army of God to retake the Holy Land.
He tosses his gun over his shoulder and packs what little he owns. He bids his parents farewell. He goes to the edge of the village where he climbs into one of the many trucks that the men with guns had brought with them. They drive off into the desert to defeat the invaders.
He wasn't a skilled swordsman. He was wounded in his first battle in Jerusalem.
He isn't a very good shot. He can't shoot a single infidel.
He laid there on the ground bleeding.
He is abandoned by his group in the midst of a fire fight.
The heathens surrounded him to take him prisoner.
The infidels circle him, intending to make him talk.
With his sword, he ran himself through.
He pulls the cord on the bomb strapped to his chest.
He dies for God. Because God wants it that way. -
Suggestionator 2010: "China, disease, fast food, giant worm, rave"
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeYet another Suggestionator story! This one is courtesy of Manny who gave me the words "China, disease, fast-food, giant worm, rave" to work with. Here ya go!
This is Chad. He is twenty-two, single, and he's still living with his parents. He has a lot of (online) friends, and can definitely destroy your paladin*. Chad is standing behind the register of a McGreasey Burger at 10am on a Sunday. His job kind of sucks**, but that's fitting, because he loves in Sucktown, USA, which is located somewhere over there. You probably haven't heard of it, because you don't suck enough***.
Today is a particularly sucky day behind the counter of the suckiest suck-hole in Sucktown, because it's slow. When it's busy at the McGreasey Burger, Chad has something to focus on, and doesn't have time to stop and think. But, when it's slow, Chad has nothing to do except think, and when Chad thinks, he thinks about how sucky his job is, which in turn makes his life suck, and how he should probably exercise more, and why don't girls talk to him, and the food here sucks, and Sucktown is really not where he wants to spend the rest of his life.
Chad picks his nose and wipes it on the underside of the cash register. As soon as he removes his finger, the ground begins to shake violently. Before Chad has time to apologize to God**** about his obviously grievous health-code violation, Chad is knocked over on to the ground. He watches as a gaping hole appears in the lobby, swallowing all of that half of the building into the earth, tables, chairs, and the only working mop.
As Chad lays on the ground screaming like a wee girl, a monstrous worm, pale, horrifying, and towering over the roof, emerges from the hole. The worm has a huge mouth, filled with serrated, razor-sharp rows of teeth. It's easily a hundred feet tall, and as big around as an ancient redwood tree*****. He roars at the cowering cashier.
Chad screams. Yet again, it bears a striking resemblance to that of a small girl.
NOTES FOR 1st SECTION:
*This assuming that you do, indeed use a paladin. Chad made no guarantees that he could destroy any other class of character. But your paladin? He will make you paladin bend over and take it like a man.
**This is purely Chad's opinion. The author isn't not making a statement about McGreasey Burger franchises, nor is he using this to illustrate passed experiences in similarly named fast-food establishments.
***This statement is void if you are:
a) a vacuum cleaner
b) a prostitute
c) a tornado
d) a politician
****Chad doesn't actually practice any sort of religion. He's just one of those douche bags that start grovelling when they think they're about to die.
*****This simile only works if you're thinking of a very large ancient redwood tree. Not a small, or even moderately sized ancient redwood tree.
END NOTES FOR 1st SECTION
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Hours earlier (ignoring time zones) in Beijing, China:
This is Jim. Jim is an earthworm* of average intelligence and build for an earthworm his age. He's also single, but only temporarily. Jim is a real hit with the ladies,** so he isn't too worried. He's just taking it easy before finding the right one.
Jim is currently chilling in the sewers below a rave in a club in Beijing, banging his head*** to the sick beats. He hangs there with a few future female prospects, getting his freak on****. The rave eventually ends, and the ladies leave, with Jim having scored a few numbers.
Jim happens to be seated in a prime position right below a drain from which a janitor has just dumped the remains of various substances that he found in the club after the partiers had left. These all fell right on top of Jim. Little does Jim know, this potent mixture of ecstasy, acid, vodka and Windex***** is about to change his life forever. Jim's worm body, absorbing just the right combination of chemicals, begins to grow and mutate at an astonishing rate, turning him into a colossal mega-worm******.
Thinking that he should seize this incredible opportunity, Jim decides to burrow straight down, through the Earth's mantle, to America, where he can finally be free*******. So he does.
NOTES FOR 2nd SECTION:
* No, I didn't do that on purpose. It's a total coincidence. Don't sue me.
** Earthworms are hermaphrodites. Roll with it.
*** Actually, that might be his tail...
**** "Kids, getting your freak on is bad."--Jesus
***** "Kids, don't do Windex."--Jesus
****** This only works on earthworms. Don't try this, it will not turn you into a superhero. You'll probably just die, and dying isn't a super-power.
******* Unless Jim wants to yell "fire" in a movie theater.
END NOTES FOR 2nd SECTION
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It's now been established that Chad is a total wuss. He is cowering behind the counter of the McGreasey Burger, crying like a woman*. What Chad thinks is roaring, is actually just Jim trying to order a Double Greasey Combo with a medium Spittle. The problem is miscommunication, as Chad doesn't speak Chinese.
Instead of getting someone to translate, Chad calls the police. As Jim continues to try to order, two of Sucktown's finest** pull up in their squad cars, and began opening fire on Jim. The small caliber rounds bounce off of Jim's mega-worm skin, and one bullet even hits a passing pigeon***. Jim asks them very politely in Chinese to please stop, but they don't speak Chinese either. The police officers then completely overreact and call the military. Jim tries once more to order, but Chad is sprinting as fast as his under-worked legs can carry him across the parking lot to his mom's van that he drove to work today.
Jim, being completely appalled at the service, cuts Chad off and eats him. Jim belches and realizes that he might have been a bit drastic, but damn it, he's hungry, and if he would've just got his Double Greasey, this wouldn't have happened.
Jim worms his way back to the counter and asks for a manager. No one has time to respond to Jim's request, though, because the tanks have arrived. Just as they're about to fire and blast Jim into oblivion, Jim glows an eerie green color, and, with a flash of light, he returns to being a normal**** earthworm.
And that is the story of the day that Sucktown didn't suck. At least for a little while*****
NOTES FOR 3rd SECTION:
* That isn't sexist. If you think it is, you're probably a woman.
** Not actually very fine. It's kind of a comparative thing.
*** His name was Carl. He had a wife and two kids, with another on the way. He had so much to live for. And they took it all away. Those bastards.
**** When it is said that he is "normal," that is of course not taking into consideration Jim's uncanny ability to get women earthworms to sleep with him simply by using horribly cheesy pick-up lines.
***** This is not counting that one time. -
Suggestionator 2010: "guitar, schizophrenia, ACID, hotel, chevy."
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeFor the details on Suggestionator 2010, click here. Today's story is from David, who said "guitar, schizophrenia, ACID, hotel, chevy." I kind of forgot about the Chevy part once I got going, so sorry about that. I think it's entertaining nonetheless.
Eddy Thunder is the richest rock-star on the face of the Earth. Eddy Thunder is--to be frank-- really ~~~~ing awesome.
When he was but a young lad, Eddy Thunder climbed a tall mountain with an electric guitar strapped to his back. When he reached the top, he plugged his guitar into a storm cloud, and with music powered by lightning, he shredded on his guitar, and melted the faces of the gods. He tore power-chord-sized holes in the heavens and blasted waves of liquid epic into their almighty ears.
The gods head-banged in approval and granted Eddy Thunder three wishes. His first wish, he asked that his guitar be given magical properties, so that he may slay his demonic enemies with hellfire and lightning spitting forth from his strings. The gods reached a black fingerless-gloved hand out of the clouds and it grabbed Eddy Thunder's guitar. The hand emitted a bright white light, and handed the guitar back, now infused with god-like power.
His second wish, Eddy Thunder asked for a band unlike one ever assembled before. A band sculpted out of brimstone and ~~~-kicking; one that could rock the very fabric of reality, and trash the hotel of the universe. So the gods threw up devil horns and three almighty rockers emerged from the rock that Eddy Thunder stood on, along with their instruments. Eddy Thunder dubbed his band the Deities of Doom, and it rocked.
For his third wish, Eddy Thunder asked the gods for eternal youth for him and his band, because old people are total ~~~~es. The gods granted him his wish, and with a righteous metal-scream, they left.
Eddy Thunder and the Deities of Doom descended from the peak and went on a world tour the likes of which the world had never seen. They battled ninjas on stage in Tokyo. They had a shoot-out in a saloon in Houston. Eddy out-thundered Thor in Oslo, and wrestled a bear in Moscow.
Eddy Thunder has now gone on over a dozen world tours and released 69 albums, each of which went platinum in a single day. He is currently taking some down time in his palace that is staffed completely by his personal army of super-models.
Eddy Thunder. He's pretty ~~~~ing awesome.
********************************
Edward Thomas can hear the TV talking. Not that he can process the words. It is above and to the right of his hospital bed, and it's currently trying to play the voice of the evil media corporations over the monotonous rhythm of the EKG.
"Police had to remove a homeless man from a convenience store roof last night," says the reporter's botoxed lips that sit below her nose-job, which is attached to her fake face, atop of which sits her bleached-blond hair, which flows down to her implanted breasts. "During the thunder storm, 28 year old Edward Thomas climbed up there and held his guitar straight up in the air."
If Edward could see the screen, he would watch footage of him being dragged into a police car as he grunted out words:
"I want to share my sound with you."
"The police apprehended the normally civil street-musician and took him to the hospital. We have reports that he is currently in a coma. A drug overdose is the suspected cause."
"But he just wants to share his music with you, Jan," the strong-jawed male co-host says mockingly. They both laugh.
"What a nut job. We'll be back after the commercial break." -
Suggestionator 2010: The Last Comic Book On the Shelf
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeYou can find the details on Suggestionator 2010 here! Sorry for the delays in story production. I fell asleep early Wednesday night and went to see Tron: Legacy last night. So I'll be trying to do three posts today. We'll see if that happens. Today's suggestion comes from Jazmin, who told me to write about "the last comic book on the shelf."
It had been a long time since anyone had dared to hope. Hope was just one of the many things the bombs took away. They took everything and everyone. They took without prejudice or bias. They disregarded skin color, religion, and moral character. They most certainly didn't care how much anyone prayed or begged, or how thick of a wall they were hiding behind. They kept launching... and falling... and taking. And they loved everyone equally.
But eventually, the world ran out of bombs and rockets. And everything was silent. The shattered remains of the once great species stayed hidden away in the tunnels and caverns, like vermin they may once have shunned. They rebuilt down there, they survived. They dared not to emerge, for fear of what they might find. For fear of some new Hell that waited to be unleashed upon them. They feared fire, and radiation, and poison gas and nothingness. Nothingness most of all.
The boy was too young to remember the world before. He would ask his father of stories of the old world. His father tried to think of the stories. But all he'd think was of war, of disaster, of pain, of anger, of hopelessness. All before the bombs ever came.
So, he told the boys stories of the shining cities that stood tall, where men could fly and you never feared. He told him of the shadowed alleyways where evil men were never safe, for that's where the bats dwell. He told him of the skyscrapers from which men swung by webs, and of the heroes from wars long past who sat, frozen in ice, waiting to fight for us once more. He told the boy that somewhere in the tunnels, there were rats and turtles as big as men training to fight back. He warned his son that the CD player that he had saved, might not be a CD player at all.
His son asked him where the heroes had gone. He asked why they didn't stop the bombs. He asked why they had abandoned everyone.
"I don't think they ever abandoned us," his father said. "I think we abandoned our heroes."
It was twenty years later, and the boy was a man. His father had passed away some years ago. By now, the remnants of the human race had begun emerging from their holes, in search of something better. What they found, though, was what they feared. Nothingness.
There was ash, and charred segments of brick and concrete walls. There were skeletons on the streets and roaches and beetles.
The man wandered a street where he imagined men had flown above sometime before. He walked in and out of long abandoned and destroyed stores examining what little survived, hoping to find something of usefulness.
He came to a small shop. It was missing two-and-a-half walls, and nearly everything inside had burned. He could tell that at one point, there had been countless posters pinned to the walls, from the black rectangles of ash stuck on the walls. There were the remains of toys, in melted plastic packaging, scattered across the floor. Decaying wooden shelves that had once held books and magazines held piles of ash.
There was one shelf, however, that was hidden away in the back. It held something colorful. The man walked over to the color, drawn like a moth to a flame. He picked up the small magazine. It was miraculously untouched, save for a couple of charred corners. The man examined it, not knowing what it was. He had never learned to read, because he had never had anything that needed reading. He simply looked at the picture on the cover.
There, on this thing he held in his hands, the last thing of its kind, was a man, attired in bright colors. His cape was blowing regally behind him. He was high above a shining city, like the ones the man's father had told him about.
And he was flying. -
Suggestionator 2010: Combo Deal, part 2
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI apologize for the delayed post. I was without my computer all night.
I decided to combine two of the suggestions into one story, here, and I think the result is going to be better because they really just fit. As it's two suggestions, it's also twice the length, and so this one will be a two parter! The two suggestions were Justin with "laser, meson, badger, cargo ship, cactus" and Jasper with "steampunk otter space pirates." Hope you enjoy it guys! (Part one is located here)
As Stripe rose to his feet, a face appeared on his hologram projector. It was a particularly smug looking otter with a red bandanna over its head that held down its ears. It had a scar along its right cheek bone, and appeared to be young.
"Good evening, Captain!" The otter greeted Stripe cheerfully. "If it is evening. I can never keep track in space."
"I'm going to kill you Canadensis. You've caused too much damage already, and I'm not going to let you take this ship."
"Please, Captain, call me Densis," he replied mockingly. "And I don't want the Titan. I just want what you're carrying."
"Not a chance, pirate scum," Stripe growled. "You don't know what you're toying with."
"A top secret experimental weapon. A meson bomb. I'm no physicist, but it seems to me that it wipes out all the neutral subatomic particles around it to implode, creating a shockwave of temporary, but still unimaginably destructive black holes. Sound about right, Captain?"
"You... how did you know?" Stripe said, shocked.
"I'm pretty resourceful, Cap. You should no that by now. Now you can hand over the bomb, and I won't be forced to board you and take it with gratuitous violence."
Stripe reached into his uniform and removed a black sword hilt. He pressed a button, and a glowing red blade emerged from the hilt. Densis's face flickered away.
"Prepare to be boarded!" Stripe yelled. He turned and ran out of the bridge as a second explosion hit the ship.
"Ship breached," said a robotic female voice over the ship speakers. "Ship breached. All security to hangar."
Stripe got into an elevator with a squadron of four heavily armed and armored security officers. Each one had a dark visor and helmet over their face and head, and matching breastplates and arm and leg guards. They carried high-powered laser rifles and had beam swords and pistols on their belts. The elevator door opened into the hangar.
Lasers were already flying in every direction. The sleek rustic form of the Steampunk was visible through the gaping, smoking hole in the wall, and pirate otters were pouring in on jetpacks. The otters were forcing the Titan's crew into close-combat, where they were more skilled with the blade. Others flew above on their jetpacks and fired from above, taking out the others. The Steampunk opened up its side and enormous plasma cannons emerged and began firing into the side of the ship, providing more entry points for the Steampunk's crew to board.
An otter with a jetpack came barreling off of the Steampunk and through the hole in the hangar. He flew straight over the battle and right at Captain Stripe, and tackled him. They both tumbled across the metal hangar floor and then came to a stop with Densis pinning Stripe down. The otter captain pulled out his beam sword and held it against Stripe's throat.
"Take me to it."
"Never."
"Take me to it now, or I destroy the Titan completely. It's all the same to me."
Stripe glared up at him angrily and nodded slightly. Densis reached into Stripe's uniform and removed the captain's beam sword. Densis stood up and let the unarmed captain to his feet.
"Move," Densis ordered. He held his beam sword to Stripe's back and they entered another elevator.
"What do you intend to do with it, exactly?" Stripe asked solemnly as the elevator shot upward. "Ransom?"
"I intend to disarm it and destroy all evidence of it," Densis replied simply.
"What?" Stripe said, shocked. "Why would you do such a thing? There's no gain for you."
"No gain?" Densis hissed angrily through his teeth. "Saving millions of lives doesn't seem like a gain to you?"
"I fail to see how this saves lives, pirate."
"Because I prevent your corrupt Intergalactic Alliance overlords from using it. What do you think they planning to do with a bomb that is capable of so much destruction? It could wipe out a solar system! No one should have that power. Especially not the criminals that are paying you and your men."
Stripe stood silently. The elevator door opened and Stripe led Densis down a long hallway to a blast door. Stripe entered a code on the keypad next to the door and it opened. Suspended in the middle of the circular chamber was a cube, about as big as a human head.
"That's it?" Densis asked warily.
"You're the expert," Stripe retorted.
Densis pulled a communicator from his vest and talked into it. "I've got it. Lock on my position for pick up."
Stripe glared at the otter pirate angrily.
"You've ruined me with this," he growled. "I'll be stripped of my rank, maybe even discharged."
"Well, at least they haven't stripped you of your morals, eh, Captain?"
At that moment, the room started vibrating, and a hole melted through the ceiling. Two otters fell through, attached to tow lines. One pointed his gun at Stripe while the other grabbed the meson bomb. The otter with the bomb tugged on his line, and was reeled back up through the hole. Densis walked up to the second otter and held onto the line.
"Tell your bosses I said 'hi', Captain," Densis said to Stripe. He tugged on the line and bothe otters flew up through the hole, back to the Steampunk. -
Suggestionator 2010: Combo Deal!
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI decided to combine two of the suggestions into one story, here, and I think the result is going to be betterm because they really just fit. As it's two suggestions, it's also twice the length, and so this one will be a two parter! The two suggestions were Justin with "laser, meson, badger, cargo ship, cactus" and Jasper with "steampunk otter space pirates." Hope you enjoy it guys!
30,157 AD:
Captain Stripe of the Intergalactic Alliance's 616th fleet strolled confidently out onto the bridge of his starship. He was the commanding officer on the I.A.S. Titan, a Class Omega battlecruiser and cargo carrier. It was the flagship and pride of the 616th. The Titan was currently transporting a top secret military weapon to a base on an asteroid outpost on the other side of the galaxy. Only Stripe knew what the weapon actually was, and he was sworn to secrecy.
Captain Stripe was a badger from Earth. Not a badger as we know them now, however. He was a six foot tall, highly-evolved anthropomorphic badger, with all the dexterity and intelligence of a human being. He even walked on two legs. This was not an uncommon occurrence at this point in Earth's existence, as now homo sapiens shared dominance of the planet with various other evolved mammals, such as otters, bears, dogs, cats and monkies.
The crew of the Titan was made up of various Terran species, and even a few sentients from other planets. They were handpicked from the elite of the 616th, and were all the very best at what they did.
Stripe walked to the center of the bridge and brought up a large green hologram in front of him. It was a highly detailed map of the sector they were in, complete with real-time movement of planets, asteroids and other ships. Using his clawed, furry hands, he directed the smaller starfighters that were escorting the Titan.
"Pilot," Captain Stripe ordered, "take it nice and easy on the asteroid field up ahead. This is not cargo we can take risks with."
"Yes, sir," answered the pilot, a surly looking gorilla. "Reducing thrusters to ten percent."
Stripe ordered a squadron of fighter escorts to scout ahead of the Titan as they entered the asteroid field. He watched them on his hologram as the darted amongst the space rubble. All of a sudden, the hologram, and all of the lights flickered off and then back on again. The starfighter scouts were gone from the hologram.
"Report!" the captain yelled. "Engineering, what just happened?"
"It appears that was isolated to us, sir. Only the bridge lost power momentarily. Everything is back online now, and all readings are positive."
"Pilot, cut the engines."
"Cutting engines, sir. Thrusters reduced to minimal output."
"Navigation, is there any way around this field?" Stripe asked.
"No, sir. We're too far in now, and backing up is too risky."
"Do we have any contact with the scouting party?"
"Nothing, sir," responded the raccoon in charge of communications.
"I want all remaining starfighters on high alert. Any fighters not out there already, get them out."
There was a loud explosion, and the Titan shook violently. Stripe was knocked off balance and fell to the ground.
"Report! What hit us?!" he barked, standing back up.
"Sir," one of the officers said urgently, "we're under attack. It's the Steampunk."
To be continued!!! -
Suggestionator 2010: "angels, demons, kittens, jell-o pudding, bill cosby"
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeTo view the Suggestionator 2010 details and suggestions, click here.
Next suggestion comes from Andy, who said "angels, demons, kittens, jell-o-pudding, bill cosby." I think this ended up being a pretty decent story, though I ended up not being able to fit the Jell-O in there. Hopefully Andy can forgive me.
The kitten is fluffy, round and black-furred. It peers around the corner into the living room, where the child is watching "The Cosby Show" on the television. It rolls its eyes and sighs and dashes behind the couch. How the **** did I get stuck with this ****y-*** job? the kitten thinks to himself. What makes this rugrat so ****ing special anyways?
The kitten's name is Snuggles. The demon that is currently controlling the form of the kitten is named Larry, and he absolutely abhors being called Snuggles. Satan recently tasked him with killing the two year old on the other side of the couch. Because Satan is a bit of twisted old bastard, he told Larry to do it by way of possessing the family's new pet kitten. Larry thinks it's simply a job to keep him busy, but when your boss is Satan, you don't ask questions.
The family that Larry-Snuggles belonged to was a fairly average, middle-class, suburban family living in southern California. There was nothing at all remarkable about them, as far as Larry-Snuggles could tell. There was the wife, who was a reasonably attractive, stay-at-home mom, the husband was a hard-working and honest accountant, and the child was their first, and her name was Daisy.
Larry-Snuggles had been acquired about a week ago, and the family loved him--despite his utter loathing of them. The same day that Larry-Snuggles had been brought home to Daisy, they had also got a yellow Labrador puppy. The puppy's name is Bones. Larry-Snuggles hates him with a fiery passion and has decided that he was going to kill Bones immediately after killing Daisy.
Larry-Snuggles peers around the couch at the little girl and kneads his front paws on the couch, sheathing and unsheathing his claws. A single drop of saliva splashes on the top of Larry-Snuggles's head, and he flinches and looks up. He sees Bones standing behind him, his mouth agape, and his tongue hanging out. Larry-Snuggles wipes his head with his paw and turns away, muttering.
"Worthless pile of **** animal," he says quietly.
"That's not nice," Bones whines. Larry-Snuggles turns around and stares at Bones, baffled.
"You can talk?" he asks.
"So can you," Bones says matter-of-factly.
"True enough," Larry-Snuggles says shrugging, "But that's because I'm actually a demon. And you aren't a demon."
"Nope. Not a demon."
"Damn it. Must you interfere with everything, Steve?" Larry-Snuggles moans. "Eternal damnation in the fiery pits is bad enough without you messing up every assignment I'm given."
Steve is an angel. He's currently housed in the body of Bones. He is tasked by God to make sure that Larry succeeds in as little mischief as possible. Why, just earlier in the week, Steve had helped a blind man crossing the street, thwarting Larry's plan to run him over with a sixteen-wheeler. Larry and Steve both understood that there was nothing personal about their rivalry, it was purely professional. But they were incredibly competitive, nonetheless. Steve is currently on a particularly lengthy winning streak, and Larry is getting peeved.
"It's my job, Larry," Steve-Bones says, "you know that."
"Yes, but I have quotas to fill here. The boss will crucify me if I don't come home with this one. Just give me a break here."
"No can do, pal," Steve-Bones replies. "By the way, your head is sizzling."
Larry-Snuggles screams and swipes at his smoking head. "What did you do to me?!" he cries.
"That's where my drool landed. I'm an angel. That makes my saliva holy water."
"You disgust me," Larry-Snuggles hisses. Steve-Bones opens his mouth wide and gives the possessed kitten a huge lick.
"I know," he replies, as the ethereal form of the demon leaves the confused feline. Larry turns to Steve-Bones and raises both of his middle fingers to him. Bones just pants dumbly.
*******
Ka-crack! goes Satan's whip. It's one of Satan's favorites, actually. It's lined with great white shark teeth that have been dipped in king cobra venom. It's also on fire. Satan mostly likes the fire.
Ka-crack! goes the whip as it digs into Larry's crimson scaly demon-flesh.
Ka-crack!
"I can't tolerate this kind of failure, Larry," Satan says in his businessman voice. "It's just unacceptable."
Ka-crack!
"But master," Larry says in between lashes, "why did they matter? That family was completely ordinary!"
Ka-crack!
"No," says Satan sternly, "they weren't."
Ka-crack!
"What was so ****ing special about them then?!"
Satan pauses in his torture to re-apply venom to the teeth of the whip.
"They were happy."
Ka-crack! -
Suggestionator 2010: "Write about the customers"
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeTo view the Suggestionator 2010 details and suggestions, click here.
I'm going to go out of order on the suggestions as I have ideas come to me. Cameron's suggestion was "write about the customers." I work with Cameron at Pegasus Books of Bend, our local comic store, so that's what he was referring to. Hope you like it Cameron (and Jasper and Duncan too, if they read it).
It was a day like any other. Or at least it started out as one. It was 1:33pm on a December Saturday, and I was standing behind the counter at the comic book store. I flipped the page of the latest issue of New Avengers (which is interesting enough to read, but crappy enough not to spend money on) and glanced out the window, and saw the snow blow gently across the sparse downtown streets. The neon sign in the window read "open" but the white powder covering the sidewalks told Bend to stay inside.
It was a slow day. There had been a few regulars in to pick up their comics, and a board game player or two, but nothing extraordinary. I returned my attention to the comic book on the counter and chuckled as Spider-Man made a poop joke.
The bell on the door jingled softly and a quick gust of cold air swept in, followed by the door closing a bit too forcefully. I looked up and saw a well-built man in a long grey coat. He had glasses and a hat to accompany his warm smile and strong jaw-line. He had dark black hair that was all neat but for a single curl hanging in front of his forehead. He smiled warmly and I greeted him.
"Hi, how are you?" I said, putting the comic out of sight under the counter.
"I'm just fine, thanks," he replied. "It's pretty chilly."
"I know, I can't stand it," I replied.
"I've vacationed in colder spots," he said, as he looked at a collection of Prince Valiant comic strips.
"Can I help you find anything?" I ask the visitor.
"No, I don't think so. I'm just browsing. Thank you though."
"Alright. Just so you know, the used books on the other side of the store are half of the cover price," I told him habitually. He nodded in acknowledgement and wandered over to the used section.
I walked around the store for a few minutes, straightening books while the customer browsed the books silently. I was returning a copy of The Hunger Games back to its appropriate place on the shelf when I heard the man say something from the other side of the shelf:
"Oh no. Not now."
Instantly, the window shattered into countless shards as a grey-skinned man dressed in an off-color Superman costume crashed into the store.
"You am not looking for Superman," he grunted at me with crossed eyes.
"Excuse me?"
"Bizarro am not looking for Superman."
"Kid," the customer poked his head around the corner. "Are there any phone booths around here?"
"Who uses phone booths?" I asked, confused.
"Customer service is great in this store! Bizzaro am not trying to talk!"
"Just answer me!" the customer said urgently.
"Yeah, actually. There's one down that street," I said as I pointed down Bond Street. "Probably the last one in the county."
The customer ignored my remark and dashed out the door towards the phone booth. I turned back towards the crazed Superman fan that had crashed through the window.
"Bizarro not wants Superman later!" he yelled at me.
"Superman?" I asked warily. I dashed around the corner and grabbed the latest issue of the "Grounded" story arc and handed it to him. The writing was crap, but he didn't seem like much of a critic. He stared at the cover for a moment, then tore it in half and tossed it on the floor.
"Bizarro am not wanting real Superman!"
The bell on the door jingled again.
"Wish granted, Bizarro."
Superman punched Bizarro straight back out the open window. He turned to me and winked, then shot out after him.
I looked down at the floor. There was broken glass everywhere, an issue of Superman laid in shreds, and a copy of Ice Towers had been destroyed by Bizarro in his entry.
"Duncan is going to be so pissed," I said. -
SAMURAI: Laser-Beam Shark-Dragon
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI narrowly dodge the laser beam that blasts out of the shark's mouth. Yes, laser beam, yes shark. Though, to be fair, it's a giant shark (giant meaning humpback whale sized). And it's also flying and has short clawed arms and legs. Sort of a dragon-shark. The laser isn't so hard to accept now, is it?
I'm an agent of SAMURAI, so it's my job to take this guy down before he causes too much damage. There are three different divisions of SAMURAI: experimental weapons division, giant robots division, and superhuman division. I'm one of the latter. My name is Warrior Who Strikes Like Tsunami. It sounds cooler in Japanese.
So, back to the shark-dragon. He flaps his enormous wings above the water, hovering in place. The force of his wings creating huge waves that are crashing up into the harbor, and gale-force winds to accompany them. I fly straight at him, my blue and white spandex super-suit protecting me from the wind sheer. He fires another blast from his mouth, and I roll quickly to the right, dodging it. He roars in anger as I slam into him, putting my super-strength to use. I punch holes into his snout, but it has no effect except aggravating him further.
I need to change my strategy. I can't let him get above land.
I push forcefully off of his snout, slamming his mouth shut. I fly at top-speed to his leathery wings and grab on. I hold on tightly as he flaps wildly, trying to throw me off. I pull with all my strength and tear a huge hole in the wing, which covers me in purple dragon-shark blood. He flails in mid-air, unable to to keep flying with just one wing, and he crashes into the sea.
You'd think that would be a job well done. You'd be wrong. See, there are two things wrong here. First one, I fell into the water with the shark-dragon, and he's super pissed right now. Second thing, is he's still alive. Tokyo has a zero-tolerance policy when it comes to giant monsters. That means I have to put this sucker down.
The monster whirls around, now much quicker in the water. He looks at me and opens his mouth wide and lunges at me. I shoot into his mouth and down his throat. You'd be surprised at how often getting eaten is actually part of the plan. Now comes the gross part. I put my super-strength to use one more time and double-punch a huge hole out of the creature's stomach. I fly to the surface and out into the open air, covered in purple monster ooze and sea water.
Just another day at the office. -
SAMURAI: Secret Anti-Monster Unit and Robotic Arsenal Initiative
» On the Subject of Being Awesome"Wow," my partner said to me, staring straight up. "He's a big one."
"Yeah," I said in agreement. "And I think he might be growing."
We have some pretty unique problems here in Tokyo. Most big cities are worried about their economies, or their effect on the environment, or something like that. We don't give stuff like that too much thought here (though we try to keep radioactive waste to an absolute minimum). Our problems are a bit bigger than that. The USA is always complaining about their immigrants. Well they can complain once they've seen the characters we get. At least Mexican people work.
Yeah, our problems are pretty gargantuan. And it's my job to deal with them, as a SAMURAI field agent. That doesn't mean I get to walk around with a ponytail and swinging a katana either. Though I do get to use katanas when I feel like it. No, usually these sort of problems take weapons with a bit more kick. I'm just one of the guys who gets to pull the trigger.
I'm Hayato Murakami, I'm an agent of SAMURAI, and I fight giant monsters.
Short teaser for an upcoming story. More to come! -
The Strange Casefiles of Horatio Morgan, Chapter 7
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeFor the previous chapters in the series, click here.
"Lovely night, isn't it, Ferris?" Horatio asked his surly companion as the strolled the gas-lit streets of London.
"Quite," Ferris said distractedly.
"I've been meaning to ask you something, Ferris. Why is it that you were able to change in daytime? There's no moon, let alone a full one."
"We can do it at will. However, when there's a full moon, we can't control the transformation during a full moon," he answered in his gruff voice.
"I see," Horatio said thoughtfully. "Why was Roderick outside, then, knowing that?"
"I don't kn--" Ferris was interrupted by Horatio shushing him and yanking him by the shirt into dark side alley and holding a hand over his mouth. Horatio held a finger to his lips and pointed. Three men rounded the street corner. They had hoods over their heads and were dressed in black cloaks with gold trim and wore decorative masks that were bright crimson. They talked quietly to one another and walked slowly with their hands together like monks. They turned down another street and out of sight. Horatio motioned for Ferris to follow and they snuck after the three.
They wound through the streets, keeping a safe distance from them, but never letting them out of sight. As they went farther, more of them came out of houses and alleyways to join the group. They grew in number as they went, until there were over twenty of them.
A nearby clock tower began chiming the notes of the witching hour. The group came to join numerous others already gathered, and knelt, as if they worshipped the chimes.
"The Temple of Time," Horatio said quietly, "it's Big Ben." -
Season's Beatings
» On the Subject of Being Awesome
I couldn't think of a story tonight, so I drew you a quick picture instead. -
The Black Enigma: Filth, epilogue
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeHe stared down at the city streets far below, through window panes distorted with sheets of rolling rain, his frame silhouetted by fluorescent lights from a skyscraper on the opposite side of the street. He twirled his sword frivolously as he took a haughty sip of red wine from a sexually curved glass. All the lights in the penthouse room behind him were off, the only light was that which entered through the window, causing an dull, eerie, multi-colored blanket to be tossed across the walls.
The door behind him opened and a short, pathetic, snivelling man waddled toward him on a bridge of light cast by the opened door.
"Sir Skull," the little man whined, "forgive my...hff... intrusion. But we have just got some...hrn...unfortunate...news from your dog-fighting tournament."
Sir Skull raised his silk-robed arm and slowly sipped his wine, never looking away from the window. "And?"
"And it appears it has been...urr... discovered, and the dogs...heh... let loose, and...ahem... many men were killed." He coughed and sniffed his nose loudly, sucking his mucus farther back into his nostrils.
Sir Skull stood silent. He sipped his wine one more time. "And this is all we know?"
"Apparently...hhk... the man who did it... hak!... calls himself 'The Black Enigma.'"
"That room," Sir Skull said slowly in a silky French accent, "was filled to capacity with thugs and killers, and you're trying to tell me that one man was able to take them all down?"
"Ahem... yes, sir," the little squeaked.
"Is that all you have to tell me?"
"Yes, sir."
Sir Skull grabbed the little man by the back of his neck and raised him off the ground. He moved his sword with near imperceptible speed and ran him through his stomach. He pulled the sword out as smoothly as it had entered and smashed the man against the window, which shatters, and the man falls to the puddled pavement below.
"An enigma," Sir Skull said to himself between sips of wine, "is just begging to be solved." -
The Black Enigma: Filth, part 3
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI move slowly and casually around the edges of the screaming mob. Curses and vulgarities are tossed about as casually as their money and the innocent dogs' lives. They yell angrily down into the middle where two dogs snap at each others' throats for the benefit of their owner's wallet. I sneak up behind the guard next to the iron door. I pull a tranquilizer dart out of the inside of my coat and stab it into his jugular as I pull the keys out of his pocket. I unlock the heavy door and slide inside, and pull it shut behind me.
I turn and see rows of cages housing angry starved dogs of all breeds. They look at me with hungry eyes and bear their teeth with a combination of growls and whimpers. I turn to lock the door, and hear the unmistakable sound of two pistols behind me. I turn around and see two men, who I presume to be canine slave-drivers, pointing their firearms at me from the other end of the room.
"Well," I say as I reach unnoticeably into my coat pocket, "this isn't the lady's room." I toss a couple smoke-pellets at the criminals and dive for cover as they open fire. The smoke fills the room quickly and I can hear the two men coughing wildly. I dart around the room, following the wall. Drawing my escrima sticks from my jacket, and leap at them from behind. I land a solid blow on the back of one of their heads, and he goes down instantly. The second whips around and fires his gun wildly, missing me by a healthy distance. I bring my right stick down on his wrist hard, breaking it, and he drops the gun. I extend my right arm, and bring the end of the stick swiftly across his face, and he falls to the ground.
I take miniature plastic explosives out of the inside pockets of my trenchcoat and stick them on the locks to each cage. There were about fifty dogs in all. I wake one of the two men and sit him up.
"I need your help with something," I say politely.
"F**k you man," he growls at me. I smack him across the face with the escrima stick again, knocking him out. I wake him again.
"I need your help with something," I repeat.
"You got it," he says groggily. "Anything."
"You're too gracious. Now, I've set explosives on each of the cages here. I have the detonator. I'm going to go out there in the middle of all those scumbags, and let loose the two dogs fighting. When I'm clear, I need you to open that door. Can you do that?" He nods at me and I pat him on the shoulder. "Good. Because if you don't, I will hunt you down and put a bullet between your eyes."
I stand and walk over to the door. Before unlocking it, I make sure my pipe is filled. I click the key, and step out. I push my way down through the crowd until I'm right next to the fenced in dog-fighting ring. I take every smoke pellet I have left and toss them into the ring, blinding everyone in the room. I put a tranquilizer dart in each of the dogs to keep them from attacking me, and step over the fence. I wait for the smoke to clear, and strike a pose filled with ego and machismo. I puff on my pipe and the smoke clears, revealing me, standing in the center of a hundred criminals and low-lifes, with the fence down, and the dogs unconscious. They yell insults and threats at me, but I just smirk and chuckle.
"You are all scum," I say loudly, silencing the crowd. "Criminals, depraved and worthless. You are filth. And you've been flowing over this city's streets un-opposed for far too long. That changes now. I am The Black Enigma, and I'm coming for you."
I bend down and give both dogs the antidote, who wake instantly and angrily. I fire my harpoon line into the ceiling high above and start retracting it, raising me into the air to safety as the dogs begin attacking the nearest spectators. I detonate the explosives and see my helper throw the door open and the dogs pour out into the crowd, attacking hungrily. I swing on my cable to the door I'd come in from and land safely on the ground. I shut and bolt it, and turn down the tunnel from which I came. I can hear barks and screams and cries from within the room.
"Not bad," I say to myself. "Not bad at all." -
The Black Enigma: Filth, part 2
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeMy unfortunate victim passes out instantly. I lift him off the ground and toss him in the dumpster for safe keeping. I pull my pipe from my mouth, let a ring of smoke escape my mouth, and glance down at the puddle that the man had landed in. In my reflection, I am wearing red gloves, a black domino mask, black pants and boots and a long black trench coat with red buttons over a dark brown shirt and red tie. I am The Black Enigma.
I walk over to the entryway to the subterranean scandal and remove the manhole cover. A pungent stink belches forth from the exposed orifice in the asphalt. Waste, death and crime assault my nostrils with astounding force. Its a aroma that can be described most aptly as filth.
I use the flash light built into the tips of my gloves' index fingers and scan the bottom of the hole for potential ambushes. Seeing nothing but bile-green water and rats, I descend the iron ladder into the liquid scum and vermin. I step in, ankle deep in feces and urine, and draw my gun. I hold it with both hands, right finger on the trigger, left shining its flashlight. I scan once more around and see nothing suspicious. I realize now that I have a problem. I am unsure of which way the first two men had gone in the tunnel.
"If I were filth, which way would I go?" I ask myself quietly. I glance down at the sewage flowing around my feet and see its flowing to my right. "I suppose I'd follow the rest of the filth."
I begin walking down the tunnel with the direction of the stream. Every step seems to echo endlessly in either direction, and the squeaking rats seem to surround me at all times. After a long time, the exact duration of which I'm not sure, I begin to hear barking and voices from further down the tunnel. I flick off my finger light and proceed slowly, hugging the slimy gray wall. The barking is louder now and I see lights coming from an opening ahead. I make way to the corner, and the roar of human yells, canine barks, and bestial growls is deafening now.
I peer slowly around the corner and see an unnaturally large guard blocking the entrance. No way I'll be able to take this behemoth down one-on-one. I holster my gun and reach inside my right glove and click something. I straighten my jacket, and strut around the corner and walk confidently straight at the rhinoceros of a man.
"Hey, who the he--" He begins to try to stop me but I slam my right palm into his sternum, which sends him flying into the wall, and limply, he crumples into the scum. Glove-taser.
Before anyone can notice, I dart inside and find a shadowed corner to observe from, unnoticed. The room is the size of a small school cafeteria, with a domed ceiling and a floor that descends to what I assume is the area where the dogs are fighting. There are over a hundred shady looking individuals crowded in the center, blocking my view, but that's where most of the barking is coming from. Most. Where are the rest of the dogs? I scan the perimeter of the room and see an iron door directly across from me, and another plus-sized individual guarding it. And just like that, I have a plan. -
The Black Enigma: Filth, part 1
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeThe skies of my city were weeping. I watch the steamy breath from my nostrils mingle with the smoke of my pipe as the clouds' tears drew rivulets in the creases in my trench coat and dripped off the ends of my hair before my eyes. The all too familiar wail of distant police sirens plays a melody against the beat of the rain striking concrete. The rhythm it composes is like the beating of a heart that keeps the city flowing. But it's a black heart. A heart that pains itself with every pump.
I crouch here, perched among the dark spires high above the neon and asphalt. It is the witching hour, but in this town, there is always more than magic afoot. I glance down into the alleyway to my left and see two men removing a man hole cover. I watch as they glance around nervously and descend into darkness. Another man comes up from the hole and covers it back up. He walks over and stands behind a nearby dumpster, cloaked in shadows. Catching a smoke between his sanitation shifts? Not likely.
I back up from my perch on the edge of the building. Taking a pinch of tobacco from my pocket, I make certain my pipe is suitably loaded. I tighten my mask, straighten my trenchcoat. With ease, I take a running leap and land silent on the roof of the building across the alley, which the man is leaning against. I stand and brush myself off and peer down at the man below, who doesn't seem to have noticed my acrobatics. I lock my wrist-mounted harpoon zipline onto the roof, pull out one of my pistols, and began to lower myself down the wall, as if I were just another of the countless raindrops. A few feet above the man's head, I reach into my pocket and drop three smoke-pellets into the alley. The next thing the shocked, blinded and coughing man knows, I am behind him with my arm around his neck and the barrel of my gun pressed aggressively against his temple.
The rain quickly washes away the smoke, and I can see my victim clearly. He is a scruffy man, with ragged clothing. From his smell, I can tell he likes cheap cigarettes and even cheaper liquor. He squirms futilely and grunts colorful phrases at me. I reach around and pluck the cigarette from his mouth and toss it to the pavement, where it hisses in a puddle. I remove my pipe from my mouth and pass it under his nostrils, letting the smoke invade his olfactory.
"Smell that?" I ask in my best tough-man growl, "That's what real tobacco smells like. If what you were smoking tastes half as bad as it smelled, it would still make me vomit."
"Who the hell are you, man?" he squeaks in an attempt at machismo.
"I might answer you after you answer all of my questions. Why did those two men go down there?"
"I'm telling you! You a cop or something?"
"I told you, I'm in more of a mood to ask right now. Now tell me why they went down there."
"No way!" he says defiantly.
I pull my pipe out of my mouth once more and press the hot end against neck, leaving a circular red burn.
"Ah! S**t!" He pulls away in pain.
"Tell me."
"Okay okay! Jesus!" he whines. "They got a dog fighting league going on down under. Those two guys were just small time. Not owners, just going to bet. I'm the lookout."
"That wasn't so hard was it?" I let go of him and toss him on the asphalt. He lands on his back in a puddle, looking up at me. I point my gun at his chest and pull back the hammer. "And to answer your question," I fire the gun, which sticks a bright red tranquilizer dart into him. "I am The Black Enigma." -
Meet The Black Enigma
» On the Subject of Being Awesome
Click to biggify.
Please forgive the poor scanning quality. The above is the preliminary design for a pulp-noir-detective character I created last night/this morning with the tentative name of "The Black Enigma." He came about from a desire to write Batman stories, but, having told myself that I'd never write fan-fic, I had to make a Batman-esque character. The only thing I had to go off of initially is that he was going to be a darkly-clad vigilante and he had to have a domino mask. The first botched attempt is seen in the top left. I decided that the face looks too much like Green Lantern, and the rest of the design already looked boring. The next one I gave up on quickly because I pretty much had started drawing Kato from Green Hornet. My best design is the colored full body shot. I'm pretty happy with it. It ended up being a sort of visual mash-up of Sherlock Holmes and Will Eisner's Spirit. In the top right are also some random names that a was tossing around. I think that Black Enigma is the strongest one though. Storywise, I'm not quite ready to reveal anything yet, but that may change come tonight's post. Tell me what you think of the name and the look. -
Stormclouds and Chariots, part 4
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeLightning flaring from his nostrils, Thor spun around to face the voice. There stood a fair skinned giant, who was donned with a toga, and had a massive white beard. His eyes glowed an electric blue and his skin crackled in much the same way as Thor's.
"And who are you, exactly?" Thor asked, unimpressed.
"I am Jupiter," boomed the newcomer. "Though I am more fond of the Greeks' name for me: Zeus. I am the Skyfather. I command the lightning."
Almost as soon as Zeus finished his sentence, Thor began hurling beams of electricity at the Olympian, each of them bouncing of of his skin. From a quiver that he wore on his back, Zeus pulled a spear made of lightning. He lunged at Thor with the point, but he was parried by Mjolnir. Thor took a mighty swing at Zeus with his hammer, but the blow was evaded. They went on like that, never landing a blow on each other, for what seemed like hours. Lightning and thunder flew off of them like beads of sweat from their bodies, and grey clouds swirled and spiraled around them. The force of their strikes threatened to tear the Earth itself to shreds.
The viking and Roman armies cowered far away from the titans, trying to avoid flying debris and stray lightning. They laid on the ground, clutching their helmets tightly to their heads and stared, mesmerized at the two storms as they collided. The battle raged on and on.
"Look!" yelled the viking sentry, trying to be heard above the booming. a few yards away from the battle, there was a bright light shining through some sort of portal, like a hole had been torn, ever so precisely, in the fabric of the world. Through it, stepped a series of awesome and fearsome beings.
The first was clearly of the same blood as Thor. He was shirtless, but wore a wide-brimmed hat, and an eye patch. Two ravens were perched on his shoulders, and he carried a spear that glowed with fluorescent green runes. He was old and wise-looking, with a thick brown beard.
Behind him, a woman-like figure followed, adorned with a dress of writhing snakes. Her torso was covered in human hands and hearts, and her head was made of two serpents, but just one. She had enormous claws, and her whole body never seemed to look quite the same at any one moment.
A man with the head of a falcon followed. On top of his head, a orb of fire glowed brightly. He was shirtless, but wore a white tunic. In his left hand he carried an ankh, and in the other a black scepter. His skin was bronze and his arms and legs were adorned with blue and gold jewelry.
The final being to step through the glowing rift was perhaps the least spectacular. He was Japanese, and had long jet black hair, a short mustache and a goatee. He wore a loose orange fabric shirt, tan colored pants, and a white sash around his waste. He was barefoot and carried a staff that was tipped with a curved blade.
"Cease your fighting immediately, Thor," the first said. "You stupid, arrogant boy."
"Father!" Thor said, shocked. He stopped at once and knelt. "How have I offended you?"
"I don't know, nor do I care, why you saw fit to battle Zeus. But your doing so is liable to destroy the planet. No matter your petty squabble, I forbid you from continuing this madness."
"But father, he--" Thor started
"Silence Thor!" the man in the eyepatch and hat roared. "Lest you feel the wrath of Odin."
Thor hung his head wordlessly.
"As for you," the snake-headed woman hissed, "you ought to know better, Zeus. This never should have happened."
"I won't be talked to by you, Coatlicue," Zeus growled.
"You can, and you will," said the man with the falcon head. "You are removed from the Council of Gods, effective immediately."
"What?!" cried Zeus. "You can't do that! That's ridiculous! I was one of the founders."
"We already voted on it, Zeus," said the Japanese man. "Time and time again, you have proven yourself to be rash, hot-headed and dangerous. Starting wars, siring demi-god child after demi-god child, and now this. Thor has the excuse of being young and not knowing who you are. You have no such alibi."
"Izanagi," he pleaded, "How could you do this to me? Did no one vote in my favor? Ra? Odin?"
The other gods were silent.
"Fine," Zeus said with growing anger. "I leave your company, then. But know this: Olympus is coming for each of you."
A flash of lightning, and Zeus and the unconscious Mars were gone. -
Stormclouds and Chariots, part 3
» On the Subject of Being Awesome"Return to Rome," Thor threatened Mars, who was now grunting and returning to his feet, "and take your toys with you." He motioned with his hammer toward the Roman legion.
Mars growled as he stood, and rolled his neck, popping it. He grinned maniacally as he stared up at Thor. "The only toy I see," he mocked, "is that hammer of yours, barbarian scum."
Thor's eyes narrowed in anger, and his muscles tensed. He gripped the handle of his hammer tightly with both hands and clenched his teeth.
"You'll find Mjolnir a worthy weapon when she is caving in your arrogant skull, god of hubris," Thor retorted. With the finishing of his sentence, he swung the hammer straight down at the ground, and as he did so, a bolt of lightning from the stormclouds above mirrored the motion. Mars, faster than could be perceived by the gathered humans, rolled out of the way of the lightning. His dogs were not as nimble, and their flesh was seared from their bones, killing them instantly. The frontlines of the Roman legion went flying backwards from the shockwave of thunder the bolt emitted as it caused the very air around it to explode.
"Don't think the same trick will work twice, pretender," Mars hissed. He charged up the hill at the thunder god, his swords trailing as before. Thor dashed forward as well, pulling back with his hammer.
Hammer and swords collided in a cataclysm of fire and lightning. The earth shook from the force of their blows, shockwaves knocked the awe-struck armies to the ground.
Thunder rang out across the sea. Suddenly, Japan was hit with tidal waves. Aborigines in Australia felt the ground tremble. Monks in Tibet ran from the avalanche of snow crashing down the mountains. Trees begin falling in a forest, scaring off the white-tailed prey of a Cherokee hunter.
Blow after blow, they fought. Mars, wildly swinging his enormous broad-swords, Thor blocking and striking his equally god-sized hammer. For the onlooking warriors, seconds turned into minutes. Minutes turned to hours. All time seemed to slow around them as the gods did battle at blinding speed, with earth-shattering power.
Parrying Mars' attack, Thor dashed in closely and struck him in the chin with his hammer. Thor grabbed the god of war in a powerful embrace and roared. The stormcloud lit up once more and a lightning bolt struck them both. And then another, and another. Bolt upon bolt came down from the sky, striking the thunder god and his helpless opponent. Finally, after dozens of blinding blasts of electricity, Thor let go. Mars collapsed to the ground, his flesh charred and black, his armor melting off of his skin. It was evident, however, that he was still breathing, and he coughed smoky air out of his lungs. Thor stood, triumphant, electricity crackling in his beard and arcing across his skin.
"Leave," he yelled down at the cowering Roman army. "Before I call down my lighting on all of you."
"Your lightning?" A voice boomed. "Who dares to lay claim to Jupiter's birthright?" -
Stormclouds and Chariots, part 2
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeThe wind whistled through the lines of opposing warriors, chilling them under their rattling armor. The only sounds that could be heard was the shifting of metal and fabric, and the rustling of the grass underfoot. From atop the hill, the gathered vikings gazed scornfully down at the gathered army. Above them, a deep grey storm cloud gathered. Moving his brothers-in-arms aside, the viking sentry moved to the front and looked down at the enormous warrior that claimed to be a god. He was grinning psychotically, and his eyes were wide.
"What is your name," the sentry called out, "so that we may know what god we shall slay today?"
"I am Mars," the god of war called back, "and I give you one more un-deserved chance to yield."
"Mars of Rome," the sentry yelled, "We fear no false gods!" The viking warriors roared in approval and raised their weapons in the air. The stormcloud rumbled above.
"As I expected," Mars said to himself. He turned and motioned to his generals to keep the men back. "And as I hoped."
Mars leaned forward and charged up the hill. He yelled as he sprinted faster than any man. His godly swords dragging in the ground behind him, digging trenches in the ground from which sparks flew out into the air. His two hellhounds barked, snapped and drooled as they followed right behind.
The storm cloud above crackled and roared. A blinding white lightning bolt intercepted Mars as it struck the ground right in front of him, sending him and his dogs flying backwards and tumbling down the hill, back to their stunned soldiers.
Where the bolt had hit, a swirling pillar of smoke arose from a crater. As the smoke began to clear, a silhouette of a man became visible from within the crater. But it was no ordinary man. He stepped out of the smoke, even larger than Mars. He was shirtless, with bulging muscles and curly red hair and beard. He wore an armored tunic and held a massive hammer. Static sparks and tiny lightning bolts crackled across his skin, within his hair, and off of the hammer. His skin steamed, giving him the look of being constantly enveloped in a swirling cloud. His eyes glowed white with electricity, and his voice was like thunder when he spoke:
"The Romans are not the only ones with gods, foolish warmonger," he boomed. He extended his arm, pointing the top of the hammer at Mars, who was still lying dazed on the ground. "I am Thor, god of thunder. And you are trespassing on my lands." -
Stormclouds and Chariots, part 1
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeAawoooom! went the call of the sentry's horn. Aawoooom! it went as he blew again from atop the hill that overlooked the viking village. Aawoooom! sounded the horn a third time, signalling an approaching enemy.
"They come! The legions of Rome are upon us!" The sentry repeated his call again and again from his vantage point. His voice echoed down through the huts in the viking village, and the women and children scrambled to hide within the buildings. Armed with their axes, swords and warhammers, the viking men rushed to the top of the hill to join the sentry. They were all thick and burly men, most adorned with full beards. They wore light armor and large fur clothes along with helmets from which horns protruded. They gathered, over a hundred men in all.
And they peered down at what the sentry had warned them of.
And they knew they were not enough.
Gathered on the field below were thousands of Roman legionnaires, armed with lances and short-swords, armored with the strongest chestplates that could be made, their helmets' red-haired crests blowing in the wind. Some were mounted on horses and chariots, others were armed with bows and arrows.
The front line of the army parted in the center, and a warrior, nine feet tall and holding a sword as big as a man in each hand, stepped forth. He wore armor of gold and his muscles glistened in the waning sunlight. His eyes burned black and red above a jet-black-bearded face and a ghostly pair of huge and unholy black hounds circled hungrily about his feet.
"Heed your watchman's warning, barbarians," the warrior called out in a voice like scarping iron and smoke, "for Rome has come for your lands. And they have brought their gods with them." -
Up and Down, part 7
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeUp groaned loudly as he sat up a few minutes later. He held his face in his hands and moaned as he sat on the wooden floor. Scruff patted him on the shoulder and handed him more water, which he drank.
"Someone isn't too fond of heights," Scruff teased gently. "We'll take you down to the ground if you like."
"I'd appreciate that," Up replied. "But how do you propose I get down?"
"There's a tunnel carved inside the tree. It spirals down to the ground. The rabbits use it to walk up the stairs when they want to visit us," Poof answered.
"There are rabbits here?" Up said, surprised.
"Oh yes," said Poof. "A couple families live at the base of the tree, and there are three or four others that have farms out in the fields a ways. Some mice live in the area too. Everyone is friendly enough, but most of us are pretty independent of each other. You might change that though."
"Why would I change that?" Up asked, puzzled. Poof looked at Scruff apprehensively.
"Why don't you have a seat on the bed, there... say, we haven't bothered asking your name. What are you called?" Scruff asked.
"My name is Up," he replied, sinking back onto the bed, grimacing from his body-wide pain.
"Y'see, Up, all these rabbits and mice that Poof told you about, and us too, we haven't always lived here. A long time ago, far to the north, on the other side of the river, we all lived as peasants under the cruel King Omega. He was a vicious, merciless and soulless black wolf, who forced all of the smaller animals into poverty. Our people lived like that, oppressed and hopeless for many years under Omega and his army of dark wolves.
"But one day, we were given hope. Three village elders were each given a prophecy. The first foretold of a fruitful and peaceful land far to the south of the river, where we could find freedom. The second told of a great warrior, who would come from the heavens to lead us. The third told of a shining city, unlike any before seen, rising around the place of the hero's arrival."
"And you think I'm this great warrior?" Up asked skeptically.
"Do you see anyone else falling from the sky around here, dear?" Poof asked gently.
"I'm no hero," Up said solemnly. "You've got the wrong guy."
"Up, you battled an eagle, fell from the sky, and survived the whole thing with only a broken arm! What part of that doesn't seem miraculous to you?" Scruff declared.
"If I was a hero," Up answered, "my brother would be alive."
Scruff and Poof were silent for a long while, their eyes cast to the floor.
"Up," Poof said quietly as she sat on the bed next to him. "I'm truly sorry about your brother. And I'm sorry that you couldn't be the hero that he needed." She put her paw on Up's shoulder. "But, he isn't coming back. The only thing you can do now, is be a hero for someone else who needs it. And we need it, Up. We need you to be our hero. Whether you believe you are or not, it doesn't matter. But you can give us more hope than we've ever had, if you let us believe that you are."
Up stared at the wall at the head of the bed, not making eye contact with the squirrels. His breathing was uneasy, and he shook a bit. He sniffed loudly, wiped his eyes quickly with his good paw and cleared his throat.
"All right," he said. "I'll be your hero." -
Up and Down, part 6
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeUp's eyes opened slowly. His vision was blurry and his throbbing head made him dizzy, but he could see that he was inside some sort of wooden hut. Moaning loudly, he rolled to the side and shut his eyes again.
"Hey Poof! He's waking up, come in here!" said a squeaky voice from behind Up. He heard the pitter-patter of two sets of feet approach him. Up rolled to the other side and opened his eyes once more. He was inside a small but cozy hut, as he had guessed, and in front of him stood two grey squirrels, a male and a female.
"Ah!" squeaked the female. "You were right! He's awake! Scruff, go fetch water!" The he-squirrel nodded and dashed out the door. The female knelt beside Up and placed her paw on his forehead, feeling for a fever. She removed her paw and smiled gently at him. "How you feelin' hon? You've been out for a couple days now, we were worried you wouldn't come out of it!"
Up struggled to try to sit up, but failed. "Where am I?" he asked groggily.
"Oh, we aren't a town or anything. Just me an ol' Scruff live here, in the lone oak tree in the grass," she said. "Couple days ago, you just came tumbling out the sky and crashed into the top of the tree. You've been unconscious since then, and your arm is broken. I tried to mend it best I could." Up looked down and noticed for the first time that his arm was in a sling. "How's it that you came to be flying? That isn't a natural thing for a respectable rabbit to be doing."
"I was fighting an eagle," Up answered, still trying to lift himself up. Poof shook her head and propped up some pillows behind Up, which he leaned back on. He thanked her with a pained smile.
"An eagle?" she asked. Scruff re-entered with a wooden pail filled with water. He dipped a cup into it and handed it to Up, who drank it in huge gulps. "I suppose that explains this," Poof reached below Up's bed and pulled out a magnificent feather. "This is all you had with you when you crashed. Why were you fightin' eagles?"
"It ate my brother," Up said solemnly.
"Aw, honey, I'm so sorry. That'll be teachin' me to stop snoopin' in other people's stories."
"It's alright."
"Where you from, friend?" Scruff asked. "Your accent don't sound like it's from around here."
"I'm from a little village far to the east of the mountains," Up answered.
"Wow, you've come quite a ways!" Scruff said, impressed. "No wonder you're so beat-up. Hardly anyone makes it over those mountains in one piece."
Up slowly moved to the edge of the bed and set his feet on the floor. "Take it slow sweety," Poof said uneasily. "Wouldn't want you hurting yourself, now." Groaning, he pushed himself up and stood shakily. He stumbled to the door to look outside. He pushed the hanging cloth door to one side and peered out. The sunlight was powerful and stung his eyes, blinding him for a moment. When his vision recovered, he looked out and saw that he had not left the oak tree that he'd landed in. He was hundreds of feet in the air, in a hut that was perched on a branch. Vertigo overcame the poor rabbit and he fell backwards into the hut, and fainted. -
Up and Down, part 5
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeThe golden eagle swooped and perched on the edge of the nest right above Up. A bass fell with a slap to the floor of the nest right in front of Up, twitching and leaking blood from its gills and mouth, eyes bulging and gasping futilely for water that wasn't there. Up scooted farther back into the shadows as a mighty beak pecked and tore at the dying creature, ripping slimy, sinewy flesh from the fish, and gulping it down voraciously.
Up breathed in and out slowly, trying to remain calm and silent in the face of the horrifying ritual. He gripped both spears tightly, and readied himself, bending his legs in preparation to strike. The eagle's huge head came down again on the now motionless fish, burying its beak into the steaming meat. Up charged and latched onto the underside of its neck. The eagle screeched piercingly and flailed in a wild panic as Up scrambled to the beast's head. He held on tightly to the feathers and the spears as the golden eagle flapped its huge wings and took off.
"You killed him!" Up cried as they soared down the western side of the mountain at a terrifying speed. He pulled, hand over hand up onto the eagle's head, who kept trying to shake him off. They soared down the slope, and over the canopies of the forest. They flew over a deserted town below, and over more forest. The trees turned to grassy plains.
Finally, wind flying by, his ears flapping behind him, Up pulled himself on top of the eagle's head. Holding on with his back legs, he raised both of the spears above his head and thrust them down into the great raptor's eyes.
The eagle cried out in agony, it's scream echoing across the fields below. He dove sharply and rolled, throwing Up off of him. The eagle Flapped wildly in pace and reached up with his talons and yanked the spears out from his blood-gushing eyes. He turned and flew wobbly back towards the mountains to the east.
Up fell through the air, screaming in terror, tumbling head over tail. His limbs flailed and his ears whipped as he sped towards the ground. After long, horrible seconds, Up crashed forcefully into an huge oak tree that stood alone in the tall grass. -
Political Detour: The Economy
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeThe following is actually an essay I recently wrote for a class. I think it has some good stuff in it, however, so I thought it would be a good one to post.
And The Winner Is… In the ongoing battle for global economic success, there are currently very few promising competitors. The post-Fordist economic model seems to have run its course, and no one knows what to do next. The current industrial state is not a sustainable economic course, and countries must adapt into either a self-sustaining entity, or a massive-scale cooperative world economy must emerge.
1: The Definition of Insanity The response from the majority of civilized countries to the global recession is to attempt to let the current model “straighten itself out.” Governments are extremely hesitant to allow for large scale change where it seems to be the only logical response. The former system is flawed and broken, so instead of waiting to see if it recovers, why not learn a lesson from recent failures and build a better system? While humanity has always been at least slightly hesitant to change, when it comes to large-scale economic revolution, it is usually embraced due to the fact that it benefits everyone. See the examples of the Agricultural Revolution, the Industrial Revolution, the Transportation Revolution, the Information Revolution, and currently the early stages of what appears to be an Energy Revolution. When there are going to be obvious benefits to change, the general public will embrace the change, yet bureaucrats are still hesitant to reform. They want to keep using the previous model of economy, because that’s where they have been successful. But, change is the only response. It always has been. Stagnation is what will kill the world economy. Insanity: trying the same thing again and again, expecting a different result.2: A World Power One revolution that could take the place of the post-Fordist model is one of a truly global economy. With the whole developed world cooperating as a single entity, success is easier to achieve because of a pooling of resources. One of the major things killing advanced economies is the high taxing and tariffs on both imports and exports. With a global dissolving of these tariffs, resources would become readily available where they previously were not, and it would jump start innovation and entrepreneurship within all borders. It would encourage the sharing of products, resources, ideas and manpower between countries, and this would encourage cooperation on technological and scientific advances. The beginnings of this style of economy are starting to emerge within the European Union. 3: Every Man for Himself While a true world economy might be ideal, it is far from likely or practical. Luckily, the opposite would prove to be just as effective. Countries creating self-sufficient economies that provide both the supply and the demand would effectively pull individual economies out of the global recession and ahead of the rest of the world. Essentially, this idea is the exact opposite of the last. Putting high tariffs on imports, no tariffs on exports, and very high taxes on companies who outsource jobs to other countries would encourage growth of local micro-economies, and increase employment rates. This creates new markets within countries, such as the United States, that will utilize their natural resources that had previously been underused due to cheaper markets elsewhere. By creating an economy that is no longer dependent on other countries for its own success, it avoids many of the pitfalls that led to the current global recession.4: Declining Life Support A final point that countries need to consider is the life span of industries. This ties in to the first section of the governments being overly attached to existing economic models. The same is also true of their dependence on certain industries. As evidenced by the US’s response to the initial banking collapse, governments’ have a tendency to hold on to and try and save industries and businesses that have clearly run their course. Governments need to take a cue from the practices of Japan and let the old businesses and systems die. At the same time, money and resources needs to be pumped into the burgeoning markets and technologies of tomorrow. Future assets and industries need to be recognized and supported, letting them grow and take their natural place in the cycle of boom and bust. The old guard needs to be allowed to die out to make room for the new models to improve upon and take their place.5: Industrial Darwinism As evidenced through the governmental dependence on outdated economical systems and businesses, there is a huge resistance to change. However, just like dinosaurs must die out to make room for mammals, post-Fordist economies must die out to make room for a newer and more efficient predator. Whether it’s an isolationist and self-sufficient model or one of global cooperation, eventually a new system will emerge. It’s not because post-Fordism is any better or worse than what came before, but simply because that’s what always happens. Just like in Darwin’s Evolutionary Theory, economies—just like animals—will continue to change and improve. Because adapting is what they do. -
Suggestionator 2010
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI initially posted this on my Facebook, but on the off-chance that someone not following me on Facebook is a regular reader, I might as well re-post:
Each day in December, through Christmas I'll be writing a story suggested by one of you, my loyal readers. Rules: 1 suggestion per person. The first 24 suggestions will be used. Suggestions can be NO MORE THAN 5 WORDS LONG. I reserve the right to deviate from the initial suggestion for the sake of quality, but they will be used as a starting point. Suggest away.
Suggestions so far:
1) Lauren: psychedelics, elephantiasis, quest, rubble, blowtorch (should be... interesting)
2) Cody: Potato, Willie, rubberband, broom, cow (No idea what this will end up being)
3) Cameron: Write about the customers (Have an awesome idea for this one)
4) Jasper: steampunk otter space pirates (I love anthropomorphic animals as characters, so this will be fun)
5) Ben (who ignored the 5 word rule): Dr. House has to fight an outbreak of ZOMBIES!!! in the Clinic, he is sooooo badass. WITH his cane (This one really writes itself)
6) Justin: laser, meson, badger, cargo ship, cactus (Not sure where the cactus will fit)
7) David: guitar, schizophrenia, ACID, hotel, chevy (Story about any rockstar ever? I think so.)
8) Zach: a follow up to gunslinger. (Still need clarification on what that means)
9) Sarah: Snow, hot cocoa, igloo, Matt, Sarah (Sigh... girlfriends...)
10) Manuel: China, disease, fast-food, giant worm, rave. (I have the beginning of an idea here that could be fun.
11) Katie (who also ignored the 5 word rule): story about someone who can't have children (this is probably going to be a bit more serious than the others so far)
12) Jazmin: The last comic book on the shelf
13) Zach Vincent: Blind faith leads to death
14) Andy: angels, demons, kittens, jell-o-pudding, bill cosby
15) Chris: (Didn't follow rules, need clarification)
16) Colin: Write a story about your Santa
OTHER SPOTS NOW CLOSED. -
Up and Down, part 4
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeThe sun pierced Up's eyelids as it first peered over the top of the trees on the horizon. He rose from the cave floor and stretched his arms and back. He picked up his goat-fur blanket and tied it about his shoulders and tossed Down's spear and his pack on to his back. Up bent down and picked up his spear, and exited the cave.
The rocks were damp and cold beneath his feet, and the air felt chilled. Fortunately, the wind from the previous night had blown many of the loose rocks down the hill, and so Up's climb was much easier. He traversed the terrain much quicker, and without slipping and tripping as much as he had. By early afternoon, he could see the top.
The mountain's top was a tall, sharp pointed rock, on top of which was a circular weaving of twigs, brush and branches: the golden eagle's nest. From where Up stood, it appeared the eagle was away from the nest, and so he decided to seize the opportunity. Up shimmied up the stone spire as fast he could and climbed into the huge nest.
Within the walls of the massive mess of sticks, tufts of old fur and dried up skeletons laid scattered about. Up scanned around the grim scene, and his eyes landed on a fresh-looking pile of white-furred remains. Next to the carcass was a familiar, albeit tattered, pack filled with rations.
The carcass belonged to Down.
Up crumbled to his knees and cried tears of anguish and rage. Trembling, he removed Down's spear from his back. A spear in each hand, he moved to shadowy corner of the nest and waited. Finally, after what seemed to Up to be an eternity of suspense, a huge shadow passed across the sun. -
Up and Down, part 3
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeUp stumbled backwards and tripped over a rock, landing on his buttocks with his mouth agape. He stared, horrified up at the huge black bear that loomed above him.
"P-please," he stammered, "don't eat me."
"You've no need to worry about that," the bear growled in his low, rumbling voice. "I already ate the beast that those previously belonged too." He motioned with an intimidatingly large claw towards a pile of fur and two spiral horns that sat against the far wall of the cave. "However, if you stay too long, I can't make any promises."
"Th-thank y-you," Up said nervously, not quite believing the bear.
"Of course, my large-eared little friend. You may stay the night in my cave. For your sake, though, I'd avoid your being here for breakfast."
"I'll be sure to be gone by then. Thank you for your graciousness."
"It's the least I can do for a fellow adventurer." The bear turned slowly and lumbered back into the darkness of his cave. Up collapsed onto his back with a massive sigh. He laid there for a few minutes before finally standing up. He found a sharp, thin rock and went over to the remains of the mountain goat. Using the rock, he sliced a section of fur off. He scraped the blood and gut off of the inside of the skin. he picked it up and pulled the fur around him for warmth. He went back to where his pack and spears laid and quickly fell asleep. -
Up and Down, part 2
» On the Subject of Being Awesome"Adventure," repeated Up. He gazed up at the spot where the eagle had disappeared. "Grand, epic adventure!"
"What type of quest are you proposing, dear brother?" asked Down.
"We shall scale the mountain and bring back a feather of that magnificent eagle!" Up declared.
"That is indeed grand and epic and all those things you said. But quite risky. We have but our spears and the rations on our backs. You think we'll survive?"
"I don't know, Down, but that's what makes it an adventure! Who knows if we'll live to tell the tale? It's a risk worth taking."
"I don't know," Down said nervously.
"Come on, Down! This is why we left! Our lives in the village were the same every day, no excitement, no danger, no meaning. We would be just as forgotten as all the other farmer rabbits. But this? We'll be heroes! This is an opportunity that won't come again." Up extended his paw to his brother, urging him to go along. "Will you live, Down?"
Down stared at the ground for a long while and shifted from foot to foot uneasily. He was silent.
"Up," he said finally, "I can't go with you. I'll go back home and tell them your tale, but I shan't be a part of it." Down picked up his spear and handed it his brother. "Take it. Try not to die."
Down turned and walked solemnly into the woods, his head hanging along with his ears. Up watched him disappear into the trees, and then sat on a rock and wept.
That night, Up built a fire at the base of the mountain and lay on his back staring up at the peaks until he fell into a restless sleep.
The sun awoke at the same time as Up the next morning. He put out the small embers that remained of his fire, gathered up what few supplies he had and put them in his pack, and slung his pack onto his back. He picked up Down's spear begrudgingly, and tied it diagonally across his back. Then, picking up his own spear, he set off up the mountain.
From the bottom, the mountain looked steep, but easily navigable. After but an hour's climb, Up found this to be a deception on the part of nature. The jagged rocks were loose and sharp and slick, making traversing them very difficult. Up fell and rolled many times, cutting and bruising his body. But, undeterred, he trudged on. He dug his spear into the gravel as he went, leaning on it as a walking stick. As the sky began to slowly don its dark gown of night, the already sharp winds became more violent, and rain started to fall, and so Up started searching frantically for shelter. He soon found a large stone cave and darted inside. He shed his wet pack and shook out his fur and flapped his soggy ears. Shivering, he leaned against the wall and watched the rain outside.
A low rumbling shook the cave floor. Up assumed it was just thunder, and shut his eyes. It rumbled again, stronger this time. Up rolled over, stretched, and laid his head on his ears. The cave floor shook violently. Up jumped to his feet and looked into the cave, where he saw two huge black eyes gazing straight at him.
A growling voice emanated from below the eyes.
"I wasn't expecting company..."
To be continued... -
Up and Down, part 1
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeA very, very long time ago, there were twin rabbit brothers named Up and Down. They were completely identical to each other, both having black eyes and shiny white fur. The only way that you could tell them apart was by their ears. Up's ears stood straight up at all times and Down's ears were droopy and hung down at all times. They lived in a tiny village far to the east. The village was a small community of farmers and gatherers, and Up and Down were miserable. They longed for the adventure that they heard of in the stories that the travelers from the west brought with them.
One day, Up and Down finally decided to leave. They filled their packs with food and grabbed their wooden spears and set off into the forest, headed west. They followed little-walked trails and walked amongst ancient trees.
They walked for weeks, through villages filled with all sorts of mysterious people. Everywhere they went, they listened to the people's stories of adventure and magic, somewhere to the west. But no matter how far west their journey took them, they never seemed to find the place in the stories.
Up and Down emerged from the forest one day and found themselves at the base of a jagged stone mountain range. It reached up into the clouds far above them and stretched off into the horizons to the north and south.
They gazed up at the concealed peaks, amazed.
Suddenly, an enormous golden eagle flew out of the trees behind the twins and soared into the clouds toward the peak of the mountain. Up turned to face Down and they both grinned.
"Adventure," they said.
This is another story set in the same world as my novel, and the Lurus and Destiny stories. It's shorter than normal, but I can hardly keep my eyes open at the moment. I shall continue in the morning! -
Black-Ops, Writers, Why Harry Potter is Going to Suck, and Don't Ask Don't Tell
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI don't know what to write about. My imagination is overworked, so you're going to get mindless rambling instead.
It was my brother's birthday today, and he got the new Call of Duty for the Wii. As a general rule I don't like war games, for a few reasons. I think video games should be escapism. When they're just re-creations of events where real people actually died, it sucks that out of it for me. They aren't particularly fun for me just because of all the de-sensitized and glorified violence, which is probably also why I can't stand football. I don't mind games like Halo or Gears of War that place all of the action in a fictional setting, because that takes away both of the problems. It becomes fantasy again. I'm not very good at those games though. So, give me Mario, Donkey Kong and Sonic any day.
That said, out of any war game I've tried, Black Ops is by far the best. My favorite mode? Nazi Zombies. There's that fantasy thing again. It just can't be fun without it, in my opinion...
I'm artistically conflicted about my comic. While the artist working on my story is very talented, I don't know if she's a good fit tonally. I'm debating whether or not to just keep writing it and put off the art until I find someone else. Or maybe drawing it myself and having her ink and color. I don't think I'm nearly good enough for that though.
I've found that I come up with stories a lot more frequently when I travel. On at least three separate occasions, I've come up with pretty good story ideas while on the road. I think it's just being in an unfamiliar environment makes me more observant and imaginative. Staying in one place too long makes my mind become complacent.
I need to get out of COCC. It sucks so much. I have not met a single person my age the entire term. I have no problem with older people getting an education. In fact, I think that's an admirable thing to do. However, those are not the type of people I want to be surrounded by four days a week.
This week, two issues of Grant Morrison-written Batman came out, and they were both amazing. I don't think Morrison is capable of writing a bad comic. I've never read anything by him that I haven't loved. He's definitely my favorite comic writer.
My favorite overall writer is Neil Gaiman. I'm a bit of the way into his short story collection Fragile Things, and it's a lot of fun. It opens with a Sherlock Holmes story in a Lovecraftian setting, and it is brilliant. Gaiman is a huge inspiration to me. He's written comics, books and movies in the genres of horror, fantasy, sci-fi, and comedy for children, teens, and adults. I can only hope to some day match his diversity in medium and genre.
Harry Potter 7.1 came out tonight, in case you hadn't noticed. I won't be seeing this one. The 7th book was completely anti-climatic and extremely disappointing in nearly every way imaginable. Multiply that by the fact that, aside from the first two, the movie adaptations have been lifeless, angsty and boring. Now take that result and add in the fact that they're stretching the suck out over two movies for no reason other than wanting more money, and you have recipe for cinematic catastrophe. But the boys are cute and British, so teenage girls will see it multiple times and make it a success.
In regards to Don't Ask Don't Tell, I haven't heard a single argument for it that wasn't used verbatim when they were trying to keep blacks and women out of the military. -
The Job
» On the Subject of Being Awesome14 years ago today, my little brother Raymond (or Ray-Ray) was born. He has a small obsession with Mafia-related media, particularly The Godfather. So, for his birthday, I decided to write this story for him. Happy 14th birthday Ray-Ray.
Franky pulled the gun out of its hiding place behind the brooms and mops in the closet and slammed the door shut. This is the last one, he thought. The last job. He clicked the latch and removed the empty drum from the Tommy gun. Carefully and slowly, he put loaded the bullets. I won't even need to use these. It's an easy job. Just have to drop it off.
He quietly walked up the narrow stairs of his cramped Chicago apartment and tip-toed into his bedroom, where his wife lay sleeping in bed. Turning, he gently opened the closet and removed a black suit and a matching tie. As he dressed himself, he recalled how people always thought that they wore suits to create the illusion of status. That was not it at all, though. They were professionals, simple as that. Like any other occupation, they always took pride in their work, so they dressed to reflect that.
Say what you will about us, about the things we do, Franky thought, tightening his tie, But we have always been honorable in every job we do.
He walked silently back downstairs and picked up the machine gun from the table where he'd left it. Sighing, he strolled to the door, picked his fedora off of the hook by the door, and placed it heavily upon his head, casting shadows over his eyes. After this, we can leave. No more fear, no more guilt, no more.
Outside, in the pouring rain, a jet black car idled next to the sidewalk, its headlights illuminating the water, making the rain look like falling drops of gold. Franky opened the door and sat down in the back seat. There were two other men in the car, the driver, and another man in the seat next to Franky.
"It is wonderful to see you Franky," said the man next to him as the car lurched forward. He spoke with an oozing amalgam of Italian and New York accents. "How are you this delightful evening? I trust your family is well?"
"Yes, very much. Thank you," Franky mumbled.
"You seem nervous Franky! Don't be. This is a simple job." The man bent down and pulled a briefcase from under the seat and set it in between them. "All I need you to do is take this payment to don Falone. We will drive you right up to his mansion, you shall go inside and deliver it, and we'll be outside waiting for you after he receives his gift. Simple enough, yes?"
Franky nodded his head uneasily.
"Good, good," chuckled the man, as he patted Franky on the back. "I know I can always count on you."
The car plodded along in silence, though the pitter-pattering of the raindrops was deafening enough. Finally, the car slowed to a gentle stop.
"We're here," said the driver.
Franky pushed his fedora farther down over his eyes, grabbed the briefcase, and opened the door.
"We'll be waiting right here, Franky," said the man.
Franky went out into the rain and slammed the door shut. He walked up the steps into the house, where an armed bodyguard showed him the way up the spiral staircase to the office of the don. Franky entered and was greeted with a cold silent glare from the gangster. Franky approached him and set the briefcase on the table, not saying a word. The don grinned greedily and unlatched the case.
With a flick of his wrists he flung it open. There was a click from within the briefcase, followed by mechanical whirring. The bomb inside the briefcase went off, and Franky and the don both died instantly. -
A Burning Passion
» On the Subject of Being Awesome48 BC, Alexandria, Egypt
He walked the spacious halls of the library, admiring the vaulting dome ceiling, the magnificent stone pillars, the beautiful paintings adorning every surface. He revelled in the open air of the structure, and smelled the gentle aroma of words mixed with salt water and smoke from a distant oven's fire. But most of all he marvelled at the books.
Oh the books! The scrolls! The parchment and papyrus! The letters and words! The sentences and stories!
The Library at Alexandria. The greatest library in the world.
He strolled the halls, his robe flowing effortlessly behind him as he glided across the marble floors, going from shelf to shelf, delicately unravelling history as he went. He poured through epics and biographies, poems and philosophies, records and mythologies. His eyes were the gaping maw through which his ravenous mind devoured the knowledge of entire civilizations. Nothing could ever disturb him. He was serene in that place of solitude and learning.
He heard screaming in the distance and the shattering sounds of colliding metals echoed through the streets of the city from the harbor.
But he would not be swayed from his quest. He had a thirst for words that could not be conquered and he was on a journey of discovery from which nothing could distract him.
With utter reverence and meticulous care, he tore through the pages, always finding what he was looking for, but never knowing what he needed. His fingers memorized each beautiful imperfection in the rough papyrus. His eyes adored each unintended blotch of ink that accidentally dotted the surfaces. He savored the scents that swirled from the scrolls upon each unrolling and took in the now stronger smell of smoke.
The metallic clanging got louder, the smoky aroma danced closer and the orange glow of the flames began to peak around the and over the silhouettes of neighboring buildings.
Alexandria burned at the hands of Caesar.
He stood and watched as hell approached, an agonizing, meandering juggernaut of sheer hopelessness. He saw as the first sparks leaped into the library. He cried out as the first scrolls turned to ash. Tears rolled down his cheeks in torrents of grief as hundreds of thousands of rolls of papyrus crackled and burned into knowledgeless cinders.
He fell to his knees, holding his face in his hands, trying to cry enough tears to douse the merciless flames surrounding him. In each popping of a spark, he could hear the dying screams of Euripides and Sophocles. In each sizzling ember, the agonized pleas of Homer and Ptolemy.
The library burned, and he burned with it. -
Lurus
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeThis story is set in the world of a novel that I've been working on. It's only peripherally related to the plot and may or may not included in the book itself.
After talking with his mouse-friend Blue one day, Lurus the red panda decided to take a stroll through the thick woods.He admired the grandiose forest, talked with the trees, and visited old friends that he had met in one story or another. He had a lovely walk.
Eventually, he ended up resting on top of a large boulder, dozing in the sun. He was laying there when he heard the crunching and cracking of leaves and branches from behind him. Lurus opened his left eye and tilted his head so as to peer around at the noise-maker.
"Raaaaaagh!" roared the bear that loomed large behind Lurus.
"Hello," said Lurus calmly, closing his eyes again.
"I've come to eat you little beast," growled the bear.
"Unfortunate," sighed Lurus. "I'd been having a marvelous day up until now."
"How can you be so calm? Are you not frightened of me?" puzzled the bear.
"Should I be?" asked Lurus slyly.
"Can you not see my large claws and sharp teeth? You should be very afraid."
"I'm afraid that I'm not afraid, my dear bear," Lurus said.
"Well, frightened or not," grumbled the grouchy grizzly, "I shall eat you all the same."
"You can't eat me if I'm not frightened," Lurus protested cooly.
"And why can't I?" grumped the bear.
"Everyone is watching you. The other bears will hear of how you couldn't frighten little old Lurus, and you'll be a laughing stock."
"No one is around. No one will see."
"The trees will tell of your failure," Lurus said solemnly.
"They can do that?" the bear said, confused.
"Of course!" said Lurus, surprised. "You mean to tell me you've never talked to a tree?"
"No..." the bear shifted from one leg to another, embarrassed.
"You've been missing out, my carnivorous companion. The trees are splendid conversationalists. Avoid the willows, though, they will always get you down."
"I suppose I ought to scare you then," the bear said meekly, fidgeting with his paws.
"May I make a suggestion?" Lurus said, hopping down from the boulder he was perched on. "You like a strapping young bear. If you can lift this boulder above your head and hold it there for one hour, I will be utterly horrified and you may eat me without shame."
"That seems fair," said the bear. He crouched with his hind legs, dug his claws inn under the boulder and heaved it above his head, groaning from the effort. He held it there, shaking from the weight.
"Impressive!" Lurus said, looking up at the grimacing bear. "You stay here, and I shall be back in precisely one hour to see if you've frightened me."
Lurus turned and trotted off casually into the trees. -
It's just a little hobby...
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI'm finally posting! I was out of town all weekend without consistent enough internet access to blog. I'll be getting back to the regular schedule now.
Anyways, saturday night, I had a sudden urge to know how many comic books I have. So, without hesitation, I began cataloguing every single issue on my computer. At about 3am, I emerged victorious, having documented all 1474 comic books in my room. I'm not sure this is really as impressive of a collection as it sounds, but hey, it's a start. I started reading in summer 2004, and so this averages out to right around 20 comic books per month. And so, here, just because I know that no one will care, is my entire comic book collection:
(* denotes multiple copies of the same issue, ? denotes unknown issue number due to missing cover/pages, FCBD denotes a Free Comic Book Day issue)
Action Comics 578+600+890-894Adventure Comics 1-6 Amazing Spider-Man ?+Annual 22+35-37+House of M 3+ Web of 39+ Peter Parker, Spectacular 114*+Arana One-Shot+Friendly Neighborhood 24+Swing Shift 1+The List One-Shot+The Kraven Saga 1+Extra! 1-3+519+529-648 Amazing Spider-Man Collectible Series (Misc. 36)American Vampire 1-8 Annihilation Prologue 1Anita Blake First Death 1-2+Guilty Pleasures 3-12+Laughing corpse 3-5 Apocalypse vs. Dracula 1-4 Astonishing Spider-Man & Wolverine 1 Astonishing X-Men 1*+9+13+25-29+Sketchbook Astounding Wolf-Man 1 The Atom Special 1 The Authority 18+Lost Year Reader Avengers 267*+271*+?+492+499-504+1-4+Finale+Avengers/Thunderbolts 3+Solo 9-11 Avengers: The Children’s Crusade 1-3 Avengers: The Initiative 1-20+Annual 1 Avengers/Invaders 1-4 Batgirl Special 1 Batman 686-688+700-702 Batman: Battle for the Cowl 1-3 Batman/Doc Savage Special 1 Batman & Robin 1-16 Batman: Return of Bruce Wayne 1-6 Batman: Streets of Gotham 1 The Beast 3 Betty & Veronica FCBD 2005 Bionicle 1-27 Bionicle Ignition 1-15 Black Panther 4+7+16 Blackest Night 0-8+Tales of the Corps 1-3 Bongo Comics FCBD 2008 Booster Gold 26 B.P.R.D. The Universal Machine 3Brave New World 1 Brightest Day 0-13 Cable & Deadpool 24+26-46 Captain America 339+18-50+600-611+Siege One-Shot+Who Will Wield The Shield One-Shot+Reborn 1-6+Winter Soldier Winter Kills One-Shot+Fallen Son 1-5 Captain Atom 17 Carnage 1 Civil War 1-7+The Confession+ The Initiative+Iron Man/Captain America+The Retun+War Crimes+Frontline 1-11+ Battle Damage Report+Files+Opening Shot CowboyNinjaViking 6-10 Daisy and Donald 32 Dakota North 2* Daredevil 230***+60+78+86-107+500+Annual 1 Dark Avengers 1+ 7-8 Dark Horse Comics FCBD 2009 Dark Reign: Hawkeye 1 Dark Reign: Lethal Legion 1-3 Dark Reign: Mr. Negative 1-3 Dark Reign: New Nation 1 Dark Tower Gunslinger Guidebook+Gunslinger Born 1+4-7 Daytripper 1-10 Deadpool 1-13+Merc with a Mouth 1+GLI DC Comics Presents 20 Death of Dracula 1 DEMO 1+3-6 Detective Comics 853-863+Annual 11 Doctor Voodoo: Avenger of the Supernatural 1-5 Donald Duck 200 Doom Patrol 1-6 Elfquest 13 The Eternals 1-7 Fantastic Four 489+515+520+529+535-539+570+First Family 1+House of M 1+Death in the Family One-Shot+Secret Invasion 1-3+Marvel Knights 23 The Flash 1-5+Rebirth 1-2+4-5 Frenemy of the State 1 The Friendly Ghost, Casper 140 Ghost Rider 39+1-8+Trail of Tears 1 G.I. Joe Sigma Six 1 GLA 4+GLX-Mas 1 Greek Street 2+4 Green Hornet FCBD 1 Green Lantern 203+26-28+36-58+Rebirth 1+Mosaic 7+Sinestro Corps Secret Files and Origins Green Lantern Corps 21-52+Recharge 5 Green Lantern Emerald Warriors 1-3 Guardians of the Galaxy 19 Hawkeye & Mockingbird 1 Heroes for Hire 1-3 Hellboy Chapel of Moloch 1+Beasts Of Burden One-shot 1+FCBD 2008+Golden Army 1 Hot Stuff, the Little Devil 116 House of M 1-5*-8+Decimation:The Day After Huey, Dewey, and Louie Junior Woodchucks 45+48 Hulk 1-3+5 Ides of Blood 1-2 Image Comics Future Shock 1+Summer Special 1 The Immortal Iron Fist 1-14+Orson Randall and The Green Mist of Death One-Shot+Annual 1+4 Incredible Hulk 85+91-111+600+Giant-Size 1+VS. Fin Fang Foom One-Shot Incredible Hercules 112-128 Invincible Iron Man 425-426+433-434+1-12+1+25-31+Annual 1+House of M 1+FCBD Irredeemable Ant-Man 1+12 iZombie 1-3 Joe the Barbarian 1-7 Justice League of America 1+39+Adventures 2+Unlimited 1-2 Justice League: Cry for Justice 1-7 Kill Shakespeare 1-6 Legion of Super-Heroes in the 31st Century 1 Little Audrey & Melvin 56 Little Dot ? The Lone Ranger 0 Looney Tunes 179 Marvel Age: Fantastic Four 3+6-7+9+11-12+Tales 1+ Tales of The Thing 1-2+ Adventures Fantastic Four 0-6 Marvel Age: Hulk 2 Marvel Age: Spider-Man 1+6+11-20+Adventures Spider-Man 1-2+Spider-Man Team-Up 2+FCBD Marvel Comics Presents 1 Marvel Fanfare 4 Marvel Nemesis: The Imperfects 4 The Marvels Project 1-8 Marvel Super Heroes Secret Wars 1 Mickey Mouse 142 Mighty Avengers 1-29+* MODOK’s 11 1-5 Moon Knight 1-11 Morning Glories 1 Mouse Guard FCBD 1 Ms. Marvel 1 New Avengers 1-64+1-5+Finale+Annual 1-3+The List One-Shot+Free Comic Book Day 1+Most Wanted Files New Avengers: Illuminati 1+5+On-Shot New Avengers/Transformers 1-4 New Excalibur 1 New X-Men 22+44-46+Academy 1+9 The Order 1-4 Outsiders 24 Project Superpowers 0 Punisher MAX: Barracuda 1-5 R.E.B.E.L.S. 10 Richie Rich 52+?+24*+?+9+35+231+?+39 ROM 24 Ronin Hood of the 47 Samurai 1 Sad Sack 3+102 Sea Bear & Grizzly Shark 1 Secret Avengers 1-6 Secret Invasion 1-8+Inhumans 1-4+Dark Reign One-Shot+Who Do You Trust One-Shot Secret Origins 2*+5+29 Secret Warriors 1-21+The List One-Shot Sensational Spider-Man 34-41+Annual 1 Sentinel Squad O.N.E. 1-5 Shadowland 1 S.H.I.E.L.D. 1-4 Shonen Jump FCBD 2008 Siege 1-4+Origins+The Cabal 1+Sentry Fallen Sun Silent War 1 The Sixth Gun 1-5 Sonic the Hedgehog 142-143+FCBD 2007+2010 Star Trek 26 Star Wars FCBD 2004+2006+Episode II 3+Dark Times 1-2 Sub-Mariner 1-6 Superboy 1 Superman 386+399+402+412+415+700+War of Supermen 0+10cent Adventure+Adventures of 442+498+Man of Steel 20 Superman/Batman 1 Sweets 1-2 Teen Titans 50+Go! 1+9 The Thing 1 Thor 1-12+600-617+Thor Giant-Size Finale+Siege Loki One-shot+Annual 1+Secret Invasion 1-3+Stormbreaker 2+Iron Man/Thor FCBD 1 Thunderbolts 103-105+110-118+130-131+Desperate Measures One-Shot+Breaking Point One-Shot Transformers FCBD 2006+2007+2009 Tweety and Sylvester 72+85 Ultimate Civil War: Spider-Ham 1 Ultimate Comics Avengers 1-5 Ultimate Comics Spider-Man 119+1-3 Ultimate Comics Thor 1-2 Ultimate Fantastic Four 26 Ultimate X-Men 1+67 The Umbrella Academy 1-6+ Dallas 1-6 Uncanny X-Men 279+467-487+492-503+513-514+Utopia+Exodus+Annual 1-2 The Unexpected 216* The Unwritten 6-19 Venom 1 Visionaries 1 Warlord 51+130 War Machine 33-35+1-6 Warriors Three 1 Wednesday Comics 1-12 Wendy, the Good Little Witch 78 Werewolf by Night 1 Wildcats 19 Wolverine 50-55+1-3+The List One-Shot Wolverine: Weapon X 1 Wolverine versus Spiderman 1 Wonder Woman 243 World War Hulk 1-5+Prologue+Gamma Corps 1+Aftersmash X-Factor 8-9+25-27 X-Men: The 198 1-5 X-Men: Deadly Genesis 1-6 X-Men Secret Invasion 1-4+Civil War 1-4+World War Hulk 1-3 X-Men 179-187+200-207+Legacy 208-212+1-3+Storm & Gambit One-Shot+FCBD+Runaways+Messiah Complex 1 Yosemite Sam 45 Young Avengers 1-3 +Runaways Secret Invasion 1-3+Civil War 1-4 -
3054: The Briefing
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeThe man closes the door behind him and walks with a self-important stride to the remaining empty chair and sits down. He is well over six-foot, and has a muscular build. His weathered face sports irregular scars and unregulated white whiskers. He has a military-style crew-cut and a mischievous grin.
"Alright boys, here's the deal," the man begins. "No details of this briefing are to leave this room, under any circumstances. This mission is extremely delicate, extremely time-sensitive, and extremely top secret. Understood?"
The men around the table nod or remain silent in acknowledgement.
"Good. I am General Logan Arthur. I served in the Army of the Central Planetary Alliance for twenty-five years. But, I've been retired from it for just as long, so you can just call me by my name. I've been working off-the-books for the CPA since I retired, running covert and black-ops missions across the solar system. This is one of those missions.
"There has been extreme unrest amongst the native Venutian population. There have been numerous guerrilla attacks and violent separatist groups emerging. A rebellion is in the making. The CPA is offering military assistance, but Venus's leaders want to solve the problem peacefully and on their own."
The Central Planetary Alliance--or CPA, as General Arthur calls it-- is the name of the co-operative alliance between Venus, Earth, Mars and Saturn. The alliance was formed long before I was born in response to the Uranian and Neptunian militaries attempting to imperialize Jupiter. Jupiter has always remained relatively neutral in conflicts between the central and outer planets, and so hostile actions towards Jupiter was seen as an act of aggression by the other planets, and so the CPA was formed. Uranus and Neptune pulled out of Jupiter soon afterwards, but both alliances remain intact and at an uneasy peace with each other.
"Unfortunately for Venus, the risk of a powerful anti-CPA stronghold within the central planets is not an option. Venus turning would be just the incentive that Uranus and Neptune would need to ignite all-out war. The CPA is unable to use their own military, because it would further strain relations with Venus. So, we're using you instead. Seven of the most skilled and deadly mercenaries in the solar system. Your mission is to go to Venus and stop the uprising before it turns into war. You will be supplied with transportation, equipment, a crew of technicians and engineers, and a shadow battalion of fifty highly-trained un-documented CPA soldiers. The method that you use, however is your choice.
"So, are you in?" -
3054: The Arrival
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI fly to the north of the planet for about five minutes, and I see Camelot on the horizon. The energy membrane dome above the city casting off an eerie purple glow. I slow down my ship and pass through the membrane and hover down into a hangar in the center of the city. The cockpit hisses open and I climb out and jump to the ground.
"Welcome to Mars, Sir Vell!" says an officially dressed human walking towards me.
"Just Kryp is fine," I reply. "And you are?"
"No one important, I assure you. I'm here to escort you to the meeting. You are the last to arrive."
"I didn't know this was a multi-merc gig," I say to the escort.
"I know as much as you do, sir. I'm simply an extremely well-paid chauffeur. Now, if you'll step inside, we'll be on our way."
He opens the door to a high-end white hover-speeder and I take the backseat. He gets in in front of me and shuts the door. The speeder purrs almost unnoticeably and lifts up above the ground. The driver slams on the throttle and we shoot off into the densely populated Martian city.
The buildings in Camelot are compact and very tall. The spires and towers of the city all appear very well-kept and give the city a regal appearance befitting the capital of a planet. The polished look is especially impressive considering that it has been the capital since humans first started terraforming Mars about 800 years ago. When the solar system was starting to be civilized, Mars was the only planet aside from Mercury and Pluto that was without an intelligent native race, mostly due to its inhospitable terrain. So, the humans decided to colonize it by making it more like Earth. Most of Mars is still in its natural state, but the cities and surrounding areas have been transformed into fertile and self-sustaining ecosystems.
"That's our stop just ahead," says the driver.
The capital building of Camelot is an enormous floating white spherical structure with landing platforms and complex lattices and pathways jutting out from all over it. It's a truly unique and amazing building amongst Camelot's forest of shining towers.
Our speeder flies up to a landing platform near the middle of the capital building and the driver lets me out. I thank him, he bids me good luck, and he flies the speeder off. I walk down the pathway connecting the landing platform to the main building. I reach the door and it slides open automatically.I walk into a room lit only by numerous screens and holograms. There's a large round table with six men sitting around it and two open chairs. I take one of the remaining seats and wait. Seconds later, another door opens and a man steps in, his form lit from behind, concealing his features.
"This is the room for the top secret mercenary job. If you're in the wrong class, please don't hesitate to leave now," says the man dryly. "No one? Good. Let's get started." -
Excuses, excuses...
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeSo, I didn't post a blog last night, but I was working on a story... kind of... I was sketching out futuristic vehicles and space stations and whatnot to inhabit the world of my last post's story. So, not writing, per se, but still working on the story. I'll post the sketches later, and then I'll have a story for all of my loyal fans tonight. -
3054
» On the Subject of Being Awesome3054 A.D.:
"Please strap yourselves and all possessions in their proper positions," says the electronic woman's voice, "we will be entering Mars' atmosphere shortly."
I strap myself in to the cockpit of my XS-17 Spearhead Starfighter. My ship is being carried within a much larger AO-210 ORCA shuttle. ORCAs are enormous interplanetary ships that can carry hundreds of smaller spacecraft such as mine.
As the ORCA's intercom said, our destination is Mars. We'll arrive at a spaceport just inside the atmosphere and from there all of the smaller craft will depart from the ORCA and go to their individual destinations. Mine is C.A.: M.E.L.O.T. That over-complicated acronym stands for Central Astrohighway: Martian Empire Landing and Observation Terminal. In other words, it's the primary stop for Mars on the Central Astrohighway.
The Central Astrohighway is a series of space stations that are locked on the planetary orbit paths. There is one on each planet and then three more spaced out evenly in each orbit, making 27 Central Astrohighway Ports (CAPs) in all. They were constructed cooperatively between all of the planets to make space travel easier. Instead of having to wait for planets to orbit close to each other, the CAPs serve as stopping points in space travel. If you want to go to Mars from Venus, you don't have to wait for Earth to come around for a refueling station, you can just fly to one of the CAPs in its orbit. It's a huge advancement in space travel.
"Prepare for entry into Martian atmosphere."
How rude of me, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Kryp Vell, I'm a freelance human mercenary from Earth. I'm headed to Mars because I've been recruited for a job by the Center Planetary Alliance, of which I know nothing about.
The ship starts to shake for a few minutes and then smooths out soon afterwards.
"Welcome to Central Astrohighway Port Mars."
There is a hydraulic hiss and the head of the ship slides upwards to reveal the inside of the Martian CAP. All of the smaller spacecraft inside the ORCA start up and fly out into the hangar and park, or in my case, fly out of the hangar and descend to the planet's red surface, unsure of what comes next. -
Slacking
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI've been finding it very difficult to come up with ideas the passed few days, so I'm going to take the weekend off from blogging to try and creatively recharge. I'd much rather be able to write about something I'm enthused about and have it be decent, then force myself to pump out half-assed stories. However, I'm going to be working on my novel in the meantime, so I will still be writing. Don't miss me too much loyal reader(s). -
Destiny
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeThis story is set in the world of a novel that I've been working on. It's only peripherally related to the plot and not included in the book itself.
Once upon a time, in a forest where such time happen on a regular basis, there was a city built into and around an enormous oak tree, called Grand Oak. Grand Oak was populated by a variety of talking rodents. One such rodent was a pika (tiny round-eared and short-tailed critters) named Destiny.
Destiny was a young she-pika, and lived in a hut on the eastern side of the tree. She lived with her parents, who were both field workers. They were one of the few families who had escaped the Riverside Massacre many years ago to find refuge in Grand Oak.
Destiny was a restless young pika, and she was never content just working the flower fields with her parents. She always felt that she was needed elsewhere, that she had a greater purpose. However, she had no real talents or skills, and the field work kept food on the table for her family, poor as they were.
Word came to the family one evening that the Grand Guard-- the city's elite league of rabbit knights-- would allow any Critter to volunteer for training. Previously, only the male rabbits of Grand Oak were allowed to attempt the training course and the final test.
Hearing the news, Destiny's face lit up. This is it! she thought, This is what I'm meant to do!
Destiny talked to her parents, and told them her thoughts. They were hesitant to let her leave her work in the flower fields, but finally they agreed to let her volunteer for the Grand Guard. She thanked them and told them that they wouldn't regret it.
The next training course didn't start for a few weeks yet, and so Destiny made the most of her time. When she wasn't in the fields, she spent all of her time exercising and sword fighting with sticks. She honed her mind and body in every way she thought possible in preparation for the training.
She was at the market one morning buying some grain for her mother when a large dark-grey rabbit came up behind her.
"I heard you're planning on trying out for the Grand Guard, Dez," one of them said mockingly.
"Go away Stormcloud," Destiny said, looking away.
"You know that just because they're letting your people and the mice and squirrels try out now, doesn't mean the training will be easier. None of you will ever make it. There's a reason rabbits have always been the warriors."
Destiny ignored the rabbit and turned away into the market. Stormcloud dashed after her and grabbed her by her ears and lifted her off the ground so that she was eye level with him.
"I'm trying to have a conversation with you, pika," he said derisively. "Don't be rude."
Dropping her grain to the ground, Destiny grabbed the rabbit's arm with her paws, pulled herself up and double-kicked Stormcloud right in his nose. He yelled and dropped Destiny, who hit the ground hard. Stormcloud recovered quicker than Destiny, and he picked her up again and threw her into a vendor's produce stand, collapsing the awning. Destiny moaned and rolled to her feet. She picked up a long wooden pole that had been propping up the awning off the ground. She yelled and charged Stormcloud, beating him with the ends of the pole faster than he could react. She swung it repeatedly, catching him off guard, and finally jabbed the end into his chest, knocking the wind from his lungs.
Destiny bent down and began picking up the trampled, dirty grain that she had dropped. A black rabbit in a marvelous blue cloak bent down to help her. Destiny jumped and looked guilty.
"Don't worry, I saw everything. You aren't in trouble," said the Guardsman kindly. "Why don't you just buy more? This stuff is no good now."
"I have no more money."
"How about I buy it for you?"
"You don't need to--"
"I insist," he said warmly.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome," the Guardsman said, helping her to her feet. "You know, with skills like that, I hope you're trying out for the Guard. We could use someone like you." -
Batman: Vengeance, part 2
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeWarehouse:
Arkham escapees are gathered. Cobblepot enters with Deadshot and Firefly and announces that he is going to take the place of the Falcones as the head of Gotham's organized crime, and he'll be known as The Penguin. He says that before he take his throne, though, they have to kill Batman. Unlike the Falcones, however, he's perfectly willing to use costumed villains. He offers all of them employment to take down Batman, and then a place in his new organization. Nigma objects, and informs the Penguin that he intends to bring down organized crime all together. He asserts that the "freak" criminals can exist independently, in a state of unpredictability and anarchy. As the Riddler, he intends to be the "coordinator" of them, making sure no one steps on each other's toes, but not interfering aside from that. Penguin calls him a fool and tells him he will fail because no one will go with his idea. Unfortunately for him, Scarecrow, Zsasz, Two-Face, and most of the unnamed Arkham escapees side with Riddler. They leave, but Riddler turns to Penguin, and tells him that he'll leave Batman to Penguin.
Wayne Manor:
It's the next morning and Bruce is watching a news report of a stolen painting from the Falcone home. There was absolutely zero evidence left at the scene. Bruce tells Alfred that he'll be looking into the connection between Firefly and Cobblepot later.
Cobblepot Penthouse:
Batman arrives on the roof to find an already opened skylight. The penthouse appears deserted, and all the lights are off. He lowers himself carefully and sees movement at the far end of the room. He drops to the floor and sneaks about the shadows. He comes up behind Catwoman and grabs her by her mask. She dashes away and it pulls off. Batman restrains her and she struggles and drops what she was carrying: the sculpture that Cobblepot had bought at charity auction. Unmasked, the woman is seen as Selena Kyle. Batman questions her, and she explains that she steals from the corrupt and the criminal and sells them in the black market, and then uses the money to donate to charities. Batman is about to scold her, but there are cries from the street below. They both get back on the roof and see Scarecrow and his goons fighting Firefly. Batman tells Catwoman to stay there, but she doesn't listen. She goes after Scarecrow, while he goes after Firefly. Displaying an ability he hadn't before, Firefly is using wrist-mounted flamethrowers. Both battles go in favor of the heroes until Catwoman gets all the way to Scarecrow and gets gassed. She screams in terror and collapses to the street. Batman leaves Firefly to help her and both villains escape. Batman delivers an antidote to Catwoman and takes her away in the Bat-mobile before the police arrive.
Batcave:
Alfred takes care of Catwoman and Batman watches the screens, seeing the costumed villains taking on Penguin's men all across Gotham, with the GCPD caught in the middle. It's complete chaos, and the police force is spread too thin. Batman leaves Catwoman in the cave and goes out to help.
Gotham City:
Gordon and his men are standing off with Zsasz and his hostages on one side, and Penguin's goons on the other side of the street. They trade gunfire with Penguin's men, but they can't move in on Zsasz because of the hostages. Batman bursts out of the building behind Zsasz and takes him by surprise and subdues him. Gordon's men are freed up to take down the goons on the other side of the street, and they do so easily. Batman drops Zsasz on Gordon's car. Gordon looks up at him and issues the order to all the police that the order on Batman is revoked and that he is an ally. Batman thanks him and leaves.
Elsewhere in Gotham:
Batman arrives to another scene to help and Catwoman arrives as well. He takes one of Penguin's men and interrogates him to get the location of Cobblepot. He tells him that it's in the same building as where he last battled Joker.
Catwoman and Batman arrive at the building where Gordon and the GCPD are waiting for them. They're greeted by Deadshot, who Batman battles extensively, and eventually defeats. Catwoman is injured yet again and left outside while Batman leads Gordon and the S.W.A.T. team into the building up to the top, where they find Penguin and Firefly bound and gagged. Scarecrow, Two Face, Riddler, and other Arkham escapees emerge from the shadows, surrounding Batman and the GCPD. They battle the villains and many of the men die, but finally, barely, the heroes prevail. But at terrible cost. Gordon is shot and killed by Two Face during the course of the battle.
Blackgate Prison:
Riddler is being led to his cell with some of the other villains, and an inmate yells from his cell, "Hey Nigma! You hear? You killed a double! Joker is still alive!" Nigma blows him off, and he is put into a padded cell. A nurse walks in and we hear Riddler struggle and scream loudly, followed by a familiar laugh. -
Batman: Vengeance, part 1
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI saw a thread on an online comic book forum that I visit asking posters to share their vision of what the sequel to The Dark Knight should be. I'd actually thought of this before, in some detail as how to deal with the issue of Heath Ledger's passing without someone else playing the Joker. So, here it is, my screenplay idea for the third Batman film. If you're curious as to who certain names are referring to, there will be links for the characters after the story.
Arkham Asylum:
A long hall way with inmates names on the doors, and no way to see in except a small barred window in the doors. We see the Joker's cell, and next to it is a cell labeled "Nigma, Edward." We can hear them conversing across their cells, Nigma telling the Joker how he's a huge fan of his work, and how he's going to be even better some day. Joker just laughs loudly and we see a small scrap of paper passed to Nigma's cell. We see a pair of hands unfolding the paper and on it is a stick figure drawing of a man getting hung. We see the devious smile of the man holding the paper and he crumples it up and tosses it to the corner. We hear a familiar voice tell them both to shut up. The camera turns to the opposite side of the hall to see a cell labeled "Dent, Harvey." Joker keeps cackling loudly and the screen fades to black.
Batman: Vengeance
Gotham Harbor:
A huge cargo ship is sitting in the water at night. There are patrols of armed guards on and around the ship. Two small boats approach silently from behind the ship. The occupants on board are dressed in all black, with masks, and are also heavily armed. They board the ship using grappling hooks and take out a few of the armed guards. These men are obviously well trained. They descend unnoticed into the cargo bay and smash open a box. It contains what appears to be cocaine. They put as much as they can carry into their packs and start placing explosives about the inside of the ship. However, one of the patrols enters as they are doing this and begins opening fire. The other guards rush to the noise, and a firefight begins as the explosive timers start counting down. The gunfire rattles off into the night, and we hear sirens approaching in the distance, but they probably aren't close enough to help. The firefight ensues, and a few of the guards begin to disappear. A shadowy figure is tossing them overboard. Batman takes out the armed guards without being seen and tosses them all into the water or onto the dock. The black-clad men believe themselves to have won and they exit the ship, only to find their boats unable to start. One of them glances up and sees Batman's silhouette perched on the edge of the cargo ship, peering down at them. He pulls the explosives out from under his cape and drops them down into their boats. They panic and jump overboard and start swimming away and the two smaller boats explode. The Gotham City PD pulls up and fish the men out of the water.
Fast forward a bit and the men are being put into the cars. Commissioner Gordon takes a break from barking orders and wanders casually away from the scene with a cigarette, into a shadowed corner, out of sight from the other officers. He flicks the butt away lightly and begins talking to Batman, who is barely visible in the shadows. They discuss that the guards were goons working for the Falcone family and that someone else is moving in on the dying crime family's territory. Batman asserts that it's an Oswald Cobblepot, an aristocrat who has recently arrived in Gotham. Gordon tells him there's no proof, and it seems that they've had similar conversations before. Batman says that Cobblepot has been investigated before, but nothing has been proven. They part ways.
Wayne Enterprises Charity function:
It's day time and the scene is populated by the rich and famous. There are various art pieces scattered around the room, as it's a charity auction. Bruce Wayne is fraternizing with various socialites, including Selena Kyle, a rich young woman who is a huge supporter of humane societies and veterinary charities. A grand entrance is mad by Oswald Cobblepot, who Bruce greets warmly and chats lightly with. Cobblepot compliments Wayne Enterprises on its development of experimental technologies, to which he ominously adds "I have a few projects of my own." He buys a sculpture of an eagle and a tiger locked in battle, and the scene ends.
Arkham Asylum:
A quiet night at the asylum, or as quiet as a mental institute can be. All of a sudden a cell down the hall from Joker and Nigma explodes and two men walk through the hole. One is in a full face mask and body armor, with orange lights accentuating his suit, and a large tank strapped to his back. He carries various explosive devices on different belts and pouches on his costume. The other is in red and white spandex, though he obviously has armor underneath it. He's carrying a high caliber rifle and has two pistols in holsters. His face is bandaged except for one eye. The guards rush the two, but they are easily killed by them. The man with the explosives-- Firefly-- blows the doors off of the cells for various inmates while the gunman--Deadshot-- covers him. Victor Zsasz, Jonathan Crane, Dent and Nigma, along with various unnamed goons, are released and begin escaping out the hole in the wall. Nigma stops before leaving.
"Answer to unasked question: Joker is left here due to unpredictability. However, it is a mistake to think his variable is contained by walls." He grabs one of Deadshot's guns and shoots the handle off of Joker's cell. Nigma walks in and we hear multiple shots fire. He walks back out and hands the gun to Deadshot, and they leave.
The Batcave:
Bruce, in the Batman suit, but no mask, is discussing the breakout with Alfred. He's analyzing footage of Deadshot and Firefly and crossing it with one of Cobblepot's bodyguards. The body type of Firefly matches perfectly. Bruce continues to analyze the footage catches a glimpse of Harvey Dent. He is furious, confused at how Gordon could have tricked him about Harvey's death. He storms out of the Batcave in a rage.
Gordon Household:
Jim and Barbara are sleeping when the window flies open. Batman bursts in and grabs Jim. He drags him back out the window and up to the roof. He tosses him down, furious.
"Why didn't you tell me Harvey was alive?"
"To keep him safe. No one knows except the Arkham Staff."
"Why couldn't I know?"
"Because he'd killed people! I didn't know how you'd react. You might try to bring him to justice. He needed mental help, not imprisonment."
Batman argues with Gordon and gets angrier and angrier. "Our cooperation is done," he yells finally and leaves Gordon on the roof.
To be continued...
CHARACTER GUIDE:
Edward Nigma
Harvey Dent
James Gordon
Oswald Cobblepot
Carmine Falcone
Selena Kyle
Firefly
Deadshot
Victor Zsasz
Jonathan Crane -
Happy Halloween!
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeIt's Halloween, and that means you're probably in the mood for fear. With that in mind, I've compiled a list of all of the horror short stories I've written here on the blog for your pleasure. Scream away...
Epidemic: A series of entries from the journal of a high schooler as a mysterious disease sweeps across the country.
The Obsidian Mirror, Parts 1-2-3-4-5-6 : A psychological terror tale of murder and mystery, putting a modern twist on an old classic.
A Blur of Black. A Splash of Red.: Just like the title suggests, this is a short and intense scary story about when a young couple's night out turns deadly.
Frozen Fear, Parts 1-2-3-4-5 : A chilling story of a team of explorers in the Arctic, and their gruesome fate.
I Can Feel It In My Blood, The Hunger: A young woman gets a mysterious late-night visitor, who she makes the mistake of inviting in. -
Epidemic
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeFrom the journal of Grant Elliot:
September 25th:
School was boring today, as usual. Nothing exciting to report. News says there's a pretty serious disease outbreak in Boston, which is near Grandma and Grandpa's house. Hope they're healthy.
September 27th:
Saturday! Finally. I slept in until noon today, and it felt great. Going to go for a run later, after I finish my math homework. Mom hasn't been able to contact Grandma and Grandpa. They're pretty fragile as it is, so I'm worried about them getting sick. The news says the disease is spreading. They haven't said what it is yet. Off to have mexican for lunch with the guys.
September 28th:
Pretty fun night last night. Stayed up late playing Xbox with everyone and eating way more pizza then I probably should've. They've placed a military lockdown on the east coast states above Virginia to try to quarantine the disease. No one in or out. Still no word from the grandparents. Mom is getting really worried.
October 3rd:
The disease-scare has shut down the schools for today. No one seems to know what the disease is still, but apparently it's to Texas now. Mom is having us stock food and blankets in our old bomb shelter under the house, just in case. Marcus doesn't really understand why we're doing it. He thinks we're building a fort in the bomb shelter. I wish I knew what the disease did.
October 12th:
Still no school. supply trucks have stopped bringing supplies into Bend, so everyone is rationing. Everyone wears gas masks and clothing that covers as much skin as possible whenever they go outside. But going outside is pretty rare now. Everyone is scared.
October 20th:
We haven't heard any news reports since the 18th. TV and internet has been gone for about a week, followed by radio. last report was that the disease was in Utah and the southern parts of California and Nevada. The only healthy states left are Montana, Idaho, Oregon, and Washington, along with the northern parts of Nevada and California. It won't be long before it's here. Whatever it is.
October 25th:
It's in Bend. Mom doesn't let any of us out of the bomb shelter for any reason. They sounded an alarm through the whole city early yesterday morning, and we went into the shelter. Mom, Marcus and I haven't seen anyone infected by it, but we know it's out there. How will we know when it's safe to go out?
October 26th:
Not much has changed. We mostly play board games and draw or write to pass the time. It's hard to tell how much time is going by down here since it's sealed off from the sunlight. I don't actually have much to say. I'm just writing to have something to do.
October 29th:
We're running low on water. Apparently Mom didn't think we'd be down here this long. She talked to me about it while Marcus was sleeping last night. She went out with a few empty jugs to get more about an hour ago, and hasn't come back yet. I wonder what's taking her so long?
October 30th:
She's been pounding on the door for eight hours now. Mom is infected. I opened the door for her and she tried to bite my throat. She had pasty skin, her eyes were caving in to her face, and her lips were torn off and blood poured from her mouth. I managed to fight her out and lock the door, but not before Marcus saw. He's not taking it well. He's been crying most of the time since. I tried talking to him, but he won't listen to me. He won't eat anything either. No water and no food is going to kill him quicker than the disease. I can;t let that happen.
October 31st:
There's more of them now. I can hear them out there with Mom, slamming the doors. It's not going to hold much longer. They're going to kill me. I saved Marcus the suffering and used the pistol that Mom brought down here to kill him. If anyone ever finds this, please don't judge me for doing that. I wanted to save my brother from whatever awai -
Obsidian Mirror, pt 6
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeEpilogue, one week after Zee's incarceration:
"Alright, you're cleared to enter, professor," says the guard. The door groans as he unlatches the steel lever and pushes the door in. Professor Hyne enters the cell.
"Hello Zee, you're looking well," says Hyne. Zee is motionless, his head slack and he's drooling down his straight-jacket. "I thought that I owed you an explanation, even though you won't understand what I'm saying.
"Hyne isn't my real name. My body's name is Jekyll. My mind's name is Hyde. I'm both thought to be and supposed to be dead. But, thanks to the wonderful potion that created me, I'm incapable of dying. I'm a monster's mind stuck in a weak, frail man's body for eternity.
"Immortality is a lonely affair, and so I've been trying for some time now to re-create that potion, to create a companion for me and to be able to transform into my true form once again. I've worked years and years, but never had any success. Until you.
"You remember the cup of water that I gave you, the night before this all began? It had a test formula in it. One that I was hoping would turn you into your own Hyde. But, alas, it didn't work as intended. The transformation only occurred when you were asleep, and you didn't need any more doses of the formula, like I did. You were even better than I had hoped."
Hyde grins maliciously up at the vegetative Zee.
"Then you had to go and do something stupid, and turned yourself in," he says, glaring hatefully. "And now they have you pumped full of chemicals that won't let you fall asleep. They may kill you eventually, but the death penalty takes a very, very long time. So you have to stay here, sleepless, motionless, and hopeless for the rest of your life."
Hyde stands up from the chair and heads for the door. Before he opens it, he stops and turns.
"But, I suppose I should thank you," he says, as he pulls a flask out of his pocket. "Thanks to you, I get to be my old self again."
He laughs horribly and opens the door as he drinks the contents of the flask. He slams the door behind him, and the thick walls save Zee from hearing the screams of agony from outside his cell. -
Obsidian Mirror pt. 5
» On the Subject of Being Awesome"So explain to me what's been happening to you, Zelophehad," the psychiatrist says.
I'm back in the prison. I'm in a straight jacket and I'm chained to the wall. There are no windows.
"Every time I see my reflection, it's like there's someone else there with me."
"Can you tell me what this person looks like?"
"Of course, he's... he's..." I pause. "I can't remember..."
"When did this start?" he asks.
"Four nights ago, after I got in my car after work. He was in the rearview."
"Has he done anything? Or does he just sit there?"
"I've... god, I'm going insane!" I scream.
"Calm down please. You were about to say something. You've what?"
"I've... I've talked to him. I've talked to him. I've talked a f**king reflection! What is wrong with me?!" I yell
and thrash around in my restraints.
"Let's move on," he says, ignoring my tantrum. "Tell me about the murders you've committed."
"You know more than I do. I was asleep when they happened."
"So you don't remember actually killing anyone? Not your neighbors? Or the prison guards? Or the inmates? Or those two hippies in Oregon?"
"I don't remember any of it. I go to sleep, I wake up and they're dead."
"How do you that you killed them, then?" he asks calmly.
"Because..." I trail off.
"Yes?"
"Because he told me," I murmur.
"Because who told you?"
"My reflection," I whisper. "I'm insane."
"No you're not insane," replies the psychiatrist. "Though something is definitely wrong."
"I'm seeing things. I'm hearing voices! I'm killing people! What part of that doesn't sound insane to you?!"
"Please try to remain calm. I'm trying to explain something to you."
I silence myself.
"Now, you're correct, the voices and hallucinations are troubling. However, people don't develop schizophrenia or MPD over night. Nor has there been any recorded instance of someone being coordinated enough to commit murder while sleepwalking. This all suggest something completely new. And that's not even taking into consideration the footage from the surveillance cameras the night of your prison breakout."
"What happened?" I blurt out. "Please tell me!"
"Well, what happened makes no scientific sense at all," he says solemnly. "You woke from your sleep and began growing rapidly. You grew to about seven and a half feet tall and had unbelievably large body mass. You were deformed and grotesque. You cackled wildly and took perverse joy in the destruction and slaughter that you caused. You smashed through walls like they were made of paper, and snapped men's bones like toothpicks."
I stare at him, my jaw agape.
"You're serious?"
"Deadly."
"That's not possible."
"Apparently, it is."
I stay motionless and silent for a very long time.
"So what happens to me now?" I ask finally.
He sighs regretfully.
"Fortunately, that's not my job to tell you. But I'd just like to say, I'm sorry I couldn't help you."
He stands up, and walks out of the room. -
Obsidian Mirror, pt. 4
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI walk with the couple re-clothed in extra garments they had with them. They were old hippies that were on a long camping trip out in their cabin. They offered to feed and clothe me for a few nights, or until I can figure out what happened to me lat night.
It's evening and we arrive at the cabin and tie up the horses outside. We enter and I promptly fall onto the couch, exhausted. Sunshine (the wife) goes to the kitchen and begins boiling a pot of something and Northwind (not his real name, I'm sure) takes a seat next to me.
"So then, Zee, was it?" says Northwind, "What is the last thing you remember?"
"Going to sleep in my prison cell last night," I answer quietly.
"Where were you imprisoned?"
"I forget the name of the place. Somewhere right near Seattle."
"Seattle?" he says, shocked. "Are you sure about that?"
"Positive, why?" I ask, puzzled.
"You were about twenty miles off of the central Oregon coast when we found you."
I feel light headed. I slouch down into the couch, wide-eyed and dizzy. How can this be possible? All that distance in one night! And I don't remember any of it!
"How... I... I don't know what to say..."
Sunshine enters the room with a mug of tea for me, which I sip, hoping that it will calm my nerves. It doesn't.
"Can you get any news here? I need to see if there was any sort of incident at the prison last night. Give me some idea of how I escaped in the first place."
"Afraid not," Northwind answers. "No internet, TV or radio. The only outside contact is the phone, which only works for emergency calls."
"Damn..." I put my elbows on my knees and hold my face in my hands. I start sobbing uncontrollably, tears running down my forearms, cheeks and neck. "Why is this happening to me? What's happening to my life?"
"Now, now," Sunshine says gently patting my shoulder. "Why don't you get some sleep? We'll take good care of you, Zee."
She stands me up and leads me to a small bedroom in the back corner of the cabin and shuts the blinds. I sit on the bed and thank her. She simply tells me to rest and leaves me in peace in the room, where I cry myself to sleep.
The next morning:
I sit up slowly from under the covers and look around the room. There's a small dresser to my right, and a square window on that wall. The door is straight ahead. To my left there's a mirror.
"Good morning, sleepy head," says the man in the reflection.
"Shut up."
"Not a morning person? That's alright. I'm sure you'll be cheerier when you see the present I left for you outside," he says darkly.
"You're a voice in my head," I say. "What could you possibly have done?"
"I told you," he replies mockingly, "it's a surprise."
I get out of bed and walk quickly to the bedroom door in my boxers. I turn the knob and pull.
As the door opens, the mutilated bodies of Sunshine and Northwind fall into the room and hit the floor with a sickening, lifeless thud.
I hold back an urge to vomit.
"How did you do this? What are you?" I scream at the mirror. "It was you who killed my neighbors too, wasn't it?"
"I also broke you out of prison," he says, "but apparently you only care about 'bad' stuff."
"How are you doing these things?" I ask, desperately holding on to what elusive wisps of sanity that I still have.
"We both know the answer to that. You're just too afraid to admit it to yourself."
I step over the bodies and walk through the cabin to the telephone on the living room wall. I pick it up and dial nine-one-one.
"Hello?" I say into the receiver. "I think I just killed two people." -
Ponderings
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI'm taking a break from my current story today partially out of laziness and partially out of feeling uninspired. So, instead, I'll just write about life. Which, I suppose, is what blogs were intended for anyways.
I really want to go to Europe. Specifically the U.K. More specifically England. Even more specifically, London. Ideally in summer 2012.
Explanation: Europe is filled with history and culture, that both as a writer and a human being, I feel would be beneficial to experience. Other cities on my hit list are Rome, Athens, Paris, Venice, and Madrid. I find London an intriguing setting, and use it a lot in my writing without realizing it. For the sake of correctness, I figure that I should experience it firsthand. Why 2012, you ask? Well, along with going to London, another of my life goals is to go to a summer Olympics. The Olympics are in London in 2012--making it the first city to host the games three times-- and so I figure I can get two birds with one stone. Also, I want to go to London a lot more than I want to go to Rio de Janero, which is hosting the 2016 games.
The snow was depressing for a few reasons. First, it still seems a bit early. We haven't had much of a fall yet. Second, I really do not want to drive up a snow/ice covered College Way driving a stick shift. Nor do I want to drive down a snow/ice covered College Way driving a stick shift. Nor do I want to drive up/down any part of the already not inconsiderably hazardous COCC parking lots while they are covered in snow/ice and I am driving a God. Forsaken. Stick. Shift. Final reason: I don't get snow days anymore. What was left of my childhood has officially died.
So, I started this term with 19 credits, but cut back to 15 after a couple days. I plan to take 20 during the winter. That may seem illogical, but I do have reasons. Firstly, I dropped the class this term due to a combination of uncertainty and it requiring me to be at COCC from 10am until 8pm for only three classes. With my winter schedule, this won't be the case, one of the classes is even online.
I did the math and figured out that I can have my AAOT (Associates of Arts, Oregon Transfer) degree by next fall if I take 16 credits per term for three more terms. So, by frontloading it to 20credits for winter and spring, if I can pull it off, I'll only need 9 summer credits, and if I can't pull it off, no big deal, I still get the degree.
I'm hoping to transfer to CWU with the degree next fall, as they have a good English program, a good teaching program, a great campus, my best friend, and a good location. I already checked, and the credits transfer cleanly, so I'll have my general ed completely done already. That will be nice because I'll probably be able to graduate from CWU in only two years. Assuming I can be a student teacher and/or actual teacher at Mountain View right out of college, I'd be able to teach my brother while he's in high school. Which would be both cool and weird.
The progress on the comic book pitch is going worryingly slow. The artist had already made prior commitments to a few different theatre productions, though, so we'll see how it goes after those pass and his schedule is more freed up. If we're still moving slow, then I'll start panicking.
Our society is not as civilized as we'd like to think. The only difference between football and gladiator fights is fewer decapitations. Oh, and that football is done through free will. Which almost makes it even more barbaric.
My Humanities 212 professor has made me want to see Kick-Ass. "Probably the best 13 year old boy movie ever made. It's absolutely hilarious." The class is about ancient Mexican civilizations. I don't remember why he was talking about that movie.
I'm even more conflicted about my comic-buying habits than normal. I'm finding myself pretty un-enthused about the new directions for Amazing Spider-Man and New Avengers, but after reading the titles for about 120 and 75 issues respectively, I'm feeling very sentimental. Which is annoying, because I hate people like that. If you don't like the story, don't read it. Don't buy it out of some strange loyalty to a fictional character. But these are two series that I've been buying longer than any others. They've been on my pull list since I started reading comics. It's sad to see them go. Only time will tell if I find the willpower to do it.
I have something like ten library books that are about a month late. I'm gonna have some nice fines waiting for me next time I want to check something out. Fascists.
Ray finally is paying to get our Wii fixed. Thank God. If I wasn't going to be able to play Epic Mickey when it comes out, I probably would've strangled the money out him.
I still have no idea what I'm going to be for Halloween. Or what I'm going to do. Spontaneity shall solve my problems, I'm sure.
I'm hungry. -
Obsidian Mirror, pt. 3
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeThe next morning:
I yawn and stretch out my arms without opening my eyes. I hear birds singing and leaves rustling outsi...
I open my eyes.
I'm laying in damp grass in a dense forest. Concrete walls are now fir trees, iron bars are now dew-kissed bushes.
Where the hell am I?
I stand and realize that my orange jumpsuit is torn to shreds and barely hanging on to me. It is loosely blowing in the wind.
What happened last night? How did I get here?
I began climbing the nearest hill, hoping to get my bearings at the top. I get to the peak at peer out in every direction. Nothing but trees.
I see a small pond at the bottom of the hill and head towards it. Reaching the water, I bend down and splash my face with it, washing the sleep from my eyes.
The ripples settle into the surface, and there he is again, right on cue.
"You aren't real," I say to the reflection. "I'll turn around to look and you won't be there."
The man in the pond is motionless.
"Who are you anyways?"
"I thought you'd never ask, Zee," the man said, his face contorting into a devilish grin.
"Oh god, I'm going insane," I murmur.
"If you just figured that out now, you're a lot worse off than you think."
"Shut up!" I yell at the water, "You aren't real!"
"Zee, I'm hurt," he says mockingly, "and here, I thought you wanted to know who I am."
I stare in silence, the man in the pond glancing mischievously at me.
"Tell me."
"No need to be so stuffy about it, Zee! Where are your manners?" he torments me.
"Please tell me who you are."
"Now was that so hard?" he says slyly. "I'm the one who killed the man, raped his wife, and killed her too.
Not to mention everyone at the prison last night when I broke you out. But you already knew all that."
"You couldn't have done any of that!" I shout. "You're all in my head!"
"Very true, Zee. Now you're figuring it out." He winks mockingly at me.
"Dammit!" I punch the water and turn away.
Am I truly going insane?
On the other side of the pond, a man and a woman ride two horses up to the water. They are wearing colorful clothes and carry large packs on their backs. The man calls across the water to me.
"Hey stranger, you need some help?"
"Yes!" shouts the man in the pond.
"Be right over!"
"How did he hear you?!" I hiss at the reflection.
"Maybe if you were more polite, I'd tell you a few more things."
The colorful man finally makes his way around to me.
"Hey, you look pretty beat up! What are you doing out here all by yourself?" he asks compassionately.
"I don't know," I say honestly, "I don't know how I got here."
"Well that's no good, man. Don't worry, we'll get you taken care of. Hey, are those prison duds?"
"I, um... that is," I stammer an inaudible excuse.
"No worries man," he says clasping my shoulder good-naturedly. "Back during the 'Nam War, me and the lady were in jail more times than I can remember. We got no love for the man, man."
"Thank you," I say, relieved.
"Our pleasure, friend."
To be continued... -
The Obsidian Mirror, pt. 2
» On the Subject of Being Awesome"What's going on...?" I mumble to myself, my knees and hands shaking.
The doorbell rings. I stumble to the door and peer through the peephole nervously. Two police officers stood outside.
Oh god. They're hear for the girl. I don't even know who she is. I don't know how she got here. How do I tell them that? God, I'm going to prison. I'll be locked up for life and no one will ever believe me. How so I get out of this?
The doorbell rings again. I take a deep breath and open the door and poke my head outside.
"Hello, sir," says the first policeman. "Sorry to bother you, but we need to ask you a few questions about a
crime committed last night in this neighborhood."
"A crime? What happened?"
"A woman is missing, kidnapped from her bedroom, and her husband is in critical condition."
"Oh my god, that's horrible."
"Yes it is," says the officer. "Would you mind if we come in?"
"You don't want to do that, the house is a mess," I reply. "Why don't we just do it out here on the porch?"
"Sir, you aren't even wearing a shirt. And I assure you, we've seen worse than whatever mess is in your house."
"May we please come in?" asks the second officer forcefully.
I hesitate and look back at the woman hanging from the ceiling. I sigh and cast my eyes downward.
"Yes," I answer weakly and quietly, "but just know, it wasn't me. I swear to you I don't know how she got there."
I open the door all the way and the officers walk in. Instantly there eyes lock on the body and they both tackle me. I hear them yelling and feel them handcuffing my wrists, but I don't struggle. There's nothing I can do.
24 Hours Later:
"The forensics team's preliminary data is in, Zee," my attorney tells me from the other side of the table.
"And?" I ask hopefully. There is an eerie silence in the locked room. I'm in prison in a room with white walls on three sides, and a one-way window on the fourth so the guard on the other side can watch me. I'm
handcuffed to my chair, and I haven't slept or eaten since I got here.
"You raped her and killed her, Zee."
My jaw drops in shock.
"I... but I didn't! I was asleep on the couch the whole night! That's impossible!" I yell desperately.
"The evidence is pretty conclusive, Zee, there's not much I can do..."
"Look at me!" I scream. "I'm a skinny science nerd! I couldn't beat up a guy bad enough to put him in a coma, and I certainly couldn't carry that woman anywhere!"
My attorney is silent. I groan in frustration and lean my head back, looking at the ceiling. I glance over at the reflective glass.
He's here. I see the man again and jump in fright.
"What's wrong?" my attorney asks, startled.
"He's here," I say, "the man from my car and TV."
I look around the room frantically but there's no one else. I slam my fist on the table in a confused rage and hold back tears. It's hopeless. I'll rot in here.
"I think I'm going to have you tested for drugs," my attorney says. "Maybe I can get you into rehab instead of spending the rest of your life in here."
"I'm not on drugs!"
"You're a hell of an actor then." He stands up and walks to the door which a guard opens and he walks out.
"You have one more visitor," the guard says. He motions to someone outside the room. Professor Hyne walks in and takes the attorney's seat.
"What are you doing here, professor?" I asked surprised.
"Just checking up on you," he says. "Wanted to see how you're feeling."
"Horrified. Hopeless. I could go on," I answer.
"No," he says detachedly, "I meant health-wise. No abnormal symptoms of anything?"
"No, not that I've noticed. Why do you ask?"
"Collecting data.
"For what?" I ask impatiently.
"My ongoing experiment," he says coolly.
"Why did you come here Professor Hyne?" I ask.
"To tell you that I know who did it."
"What? Tell me!"
"Not just yet," he says with a sinister look in his eye, "I have to let the experiment run its course."
"Tell me what's going on!"
"You'll find out soon enough," Hyne answers as he stands and walks to the door. "Have nice day, Zee."
The guard opens the door and Hyne is gone.
I'm left alone.
Just me, handcuffed to my chair, avoiding the gaze from the reflection in the glass. -
The Obsidian Mirror
» On the Subject of Being Awesome"Hey Zee, you thirsty?" Professor Hyne calls from the adjacent room.
"Yeah, just water is good, thanks," I answer. I lift the unlucky test subject by its pink tail and drop it into a bio hazard container. I pick up my pen and scribble a few quick notes on my clipboard. "Memory-inhibitor serum, trial #549, failed. Cause: lethal within one month."
I'm Zee, which is short for Zelophehad, which an obscure Old Testament name that my very religious parents found unique. I'm a chemist, and I work at Transgenics Labs in Seattle, specializing in experimental chemicals that alter the mental and behavioral habits of the human brain. And I don't mean anti-depressants, this stuff is a much higher level. It's being developed for both severely traumatized psychiatric patients and as a military application. Today, we're testing out a chemical concoction that wipes out the previous twenty-four hours of memory. It works too, the only side-effect is the fact that all the animals we've tested it on die within thirty days. Just a minor kink.
"Here you are," says Hyne, returning to the room. I take the glass from him and down the water. "I think that's enough for tonight. We'll leave a few more mice to fight another day. Get home and get some rest. I'll see you Monday, Zee."
"Thanks Professor." I remove my lab coat and gloves and walk out into the rain. It's about 8 p.m. and thunder is providing a beat for the lightning's choreographed light show. I half walk and half wade across the parking lot to my car and get in.
I wipe the water from my face and start the car. I turn on the wipers and the defroster. Reaching up, I adjust the mirror and yell in shock.
There's a man looking back at me from the back seat. I sit frozen with fright. How did he get in? How did I not notice him? Who was he?
"What do you want?" I ask as calmly as I can. He doesn't answer. He doesn't move. He doesn't even blink.
I finally work up the courage and turn around to face him.
Gone.
The backseat is empty. I glance around frantically, looking for some sign of the man I was sure had been there. There was nothing. The seat was completely dry, too. I turn and look back at the mirror and it too is empty, showing only what should be there.
Taking a deep breath and blaming my hallucinations on exhaustion, I put the car in reverse and pull out of the parking lot onto the road. I drive back home without further incident and pull into my garage. I walk into my house and set my keys and jacket on the kitchen counter. Going to the living room, I pull a blanket from out of the storage closet, pull off all of my clothes save my boxers, and lay down on the couch. I switch on the television to the most mundane news station I can find and fall asleep.
I wake up to sunlight barely peaking through the window. I squeeze my eyes shut, not ready to wake. As I lay there, dreading daylight, I realize that I can't hear the television. No one else lives in my house so there is no way it could have been turned off or muted. I open one sleep-hazed eye to see why it was silent.
The television was destroyed, the screen shattered with wires sticking out through the gaping hole. I sit up quickly, eyes wide open. I look around the living room to see it completely thrashed. There are chunks of drywall gone from both the walls and ceiling, the coffee table is split in two, and various debris covers the floor, including multiple bottles of hard liquor.
I stand up in shock and stare at my broken television. In the broken glass, I see him again.
The man from the back seat.
I spin around, facing behind the couch where he should be. He's not there. But something much worse is.
A woman, naked and bleeding is hanging limp by her hands from the ceiling, ankles and wrists bound. Her body swings gently like a macabre pendulum dangling from the ceiling.
"Oh god..."
To be continued... -
A Blur of Black. A Splash of Red.
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI got home pretty late last night and tried to get this done last night, but kept falling asleep after a few paragraphs. Sorry for the tardy update...
The clouds parted, and the ghostly white eye of the night sky blazed ominously across the rain-soaked pavement. Sounds of dogs barking and howling could be heard.
A young couple walked along the sidewalk, alone in the perceived safety of the late night suburb. They chatted quietly and flirted carelessly as they splashed through puddles and hopped over concrete streams.
As they walked alongside a row of tall bushes, they heard a noise. A low, rumbling growl undulated from the other side of the shrubbery. Chalking up the noise to a large dog, they kept walking, but the noise moved with them. They reached the end of the bushes and the noise snorted. The couple jumped, now a bit shaken, and quickened their pace away from the bushes.
They finally made their way down the street to the woman's home. They skipped up the steps, now having forgotten about the noise completely. The woman unlocked the door, turned around and kissed the man. They bid each other a goodnight, and the woman entered and shut and locked the door behind her. The man began to walk casually back the way he had come, whistling to himself in the brisk midnight air. He was about two blocks away when he heard a terrifying scream from the direction of the woman's house.
He turned around and sprinted back to the house. He pounded on the door urgently and called for her, but she did not answer. He tried to open the door, but it was locked. He yelled once more but she did not respond. He heard a violent crash of breaking glass from behind the house. He sprinted around too the back and saw the glass back door shattered. He carefully stepped through the translucent maw and into the house and began searching frantically about the house for her. Finally, on the floor of the living room next to the couch, he found what he was looking for.
The body was bent an angle that suggested broken back. Most of the throat and neck was gone, the head barely holding on to the body with a string of mangled flesh. Entrails and blood were steaming out of the opening where two legs used to be attached.
The man teared up and held back vomit.
He ran back out the back door and looked around for the culprit. He could feel bloodthirsty eyes watching him from the shadows as he stood on the back porch, scanning the surrounding houses. It began to rain again, slowly. The man stood and felt the drops fall on his matted hair.
drip
drip
drip
drip
Using the back of his hand, he wiped some of the rain from his forehead. He looked at his hand and froze. It was red.
He slowly looked up and saw the silhouette of something hairy and monstrous on the rooftop, its crimson eyes shining hungrily down at him, its gleaming white teeth clamped around a freshly decapitated human leg.
A low, rumbling growl undulated from the rooftop.
A cry of agony.
A roar of hunger.
A blur of black.
A splash of red. -
Dream Jobs
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeCan't think of a story to write tonight. So I decided to list off my dream projects. If and when I become a successful writer, these are the things I hope to do.
Comics:
If I were to work for Marvel, my dream project would be a series of miniseries that creates an alternate reality in which different Marvel characters appear at different times in history: Captain America in the Revolutionary War, Iron Man in WWII, Fantastic Four victims of the Salem Witch Hunts, Amazing Spider-Man as a pirate, etc. They'd all be stand-alone series, but cross-pollinate each other so to tell a bigger story.
Ongoing writer for Thor would be a blast as well, as I'm a huge mythology nerd. I'd really like to bring in other pantheons into Thor's world and see how they all can coexist and fit into one universe, explore the origins of gods and get really philosophical with it.
If I were a DC writer, I'd like to do an arc on Batman. There's a story that I've already half-written that involves villains based on characters from The Wizard of Oz.
I really don't like Superman as a character. I was thinking about that the other day and was thinking that, if I were to write him, how I would make him interesting. Answer I came up with: I wouldn't. The story I'd like to tell follows an author who is out to write a book that tells the stories of the people who've experienced Superman firsthand. It would follow him across the globe as he discovered people's stories of how Superman saved them--or didn't-- and what he means to different people as a hero and a symbol.
Independent comics I'd like to write are an epic pirate-trilogy that I have outlined somewhere, a fairly standard superhero story that I've been messing with since I was twelve, and some other things that I know I'm forgetting. Not to mention Mere Mortals, which is actually in production.
Books:
Currently there are only a few books I really want to write, currently. The first is one I've actually started writing which casts anthropomorphic rodents in the place of classic fairytale archetypes, and told as a series of interconnected tales told by the mice or rabbits that were there.
The other is a sort of an X-Men meets Men In Black meets Percy Jackson and the Olympians mash up. It involves a covert organization run by the gods of various pantheons who use their bastard children's superpowered descendants as agents against the various less benevolent figures of myth.
I'd also really like to turn The Strange Casefiles of Horatio Morgan into a full-length book as well. I think the idea is pretty fun and has good potential for expansion.
Movies:
As for screenplays, nothing specific yet. I'd really like to do something to revitalize the classic movie monsters, and make them truly horrifying again, without losing what made them great. Dracula, Frankenstein, Wolfman, etc. We need more good monster movies. An expanded version of my recent Frozen Fear story might work as a screenplay.
That's all I can think of for now. I know, not a particularly exciting entry. Oh well. -
I Hate This Gun...
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeSomewhere in the vast deserts of the old west, there was a dusty, ragged and rugged old mining town. And in that old mining town-- just like so many others like it-- there was a saloon. The saloon was poorly lit, dirty, and smelled of alcohol with an aftertaste of blood and semen. Every creaking wooden nook was densely populated with shady characters, all of whom were a minimum of tipsy, and none of whom had bathed recently. There was yelling and fighting, gambling and vomiting, and of course the occasional gunshot. Everyone was having a perfectly perverse time.
The doors swayed lazily open as a man in a long coat and dark brown hat--tilted so that all of his face save his mouth was in shadow-- strode in. Any of the men who were sober enough to notice him fell silent as he walked passed and many left promptly after. He walked up to the bar and took a stool next a man who was dressed in a black vest and pants. The man had slick black hair and a thick black beard. He was lazily taking swigs of a tall glass of foamy beer.
"I know what it's like," the man with the brown hat said.
"What what is like?" the man in black asked irritably.
"Killing a man. I've had to put a few down in my time. I know the toll it takes. That why you're drinking?"
"Do I know you, stranger?" black said forcefully as he slammed down his empty glass.
The man in the hat pulled his overcoat back a bit, revealing a shiny gold star.
"Ah. A law-man. How can I help you sheriff?"
"You can start by confessing to the murders of Jonathan Henry and Kenneth Smith."
"Excuse me?" the man in black said, shocked. "Why would I be confessing something I haven't done?"
"Because I know you've done it before," the sheriff answered. "We've received telegrams from three other nearby towns of a stranger in black riding into town and staying for two nights. Every time, he's left two bodies in his wake. You fit that description perfectly."
"This is ridiculous--"
"Can we continue this outside, please?" the sheriff interrupted.
They both stood and the sheriff walked closely behind the man in black as they left the saloon. The street was deserted and the sun was setting. The town was silent save for the drunken complaints of the saloon.
"We found three .38 caliber bullets in Smith this morning and another three in Henry about an hour later. We know enough about you from the other towns' sheriffs that I can put you away for a long time."
"You aren't listening," said the man in black, "I didn't kill them!"
"Your best course of action is just to cooperate here, son. I don't want to shoot you, but I will. Now turn around and--"
The man in black swung his fist and struck the sheriff in the side of the head. The sheriff fell to the ground and the man in black sprinted down the road. The sheriff regained his composure, drew his gun, took aim and fired.
A bullet shattered through the man's skull and out through his face.
The body collapsed to the ground, motionless.
The sheriff stood up and walked over to the body. He searched the pockets for any sort of evidence and found nothing aside from his gun: a Colt .45. The sheriff heard the clattering of horse hooves approaching. He turned and looked at the approaching rider.
The horse was black in both fur and mane, and its rider wore a black hat and cloak and was covered in shadow. He rode up to the sheriff and looked down at him.
"Howdy!" he said cheerfully. "Just passing through. Seems like a good town to kill some time." -
Origin Stories
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeIt was the beginning (though no one had realized it yet), and he was hungry. He sat there naked below the tree, thinking of ways to get at its fruit. It was a perfectly ordinary tree, and it grew perfectly ordinary fruit, it was not forbidden and it contained no knowledge. It simply existed-- or so he thought-- to fill the hole in his stomach.
He went and found the longest stick he could and came back to the tree. He reached up high with the stick, but couldn't hit the fruit. It was just out of his reach. So he threw the stick at the fruit, but he missed, and the stick remained in the branches, and did not fall.
He grew hungrier and hungrier by the second, but he still had no fruit. So he tried climbing the tree. He wrapped his arms and legs around the trunk, reaching out as far as he could. But he couldn't climb, the trunk of the tree was much too wide. And so he fell back to the ground.
He laid there on the ground and stared up at gleaming juicy fruit. He could think of no way to get the fruit down, and so he just stared. He stared and stared. He stared and he hoped.
A howler monkey popped its head out from within the leaves and looked down at him.
"You look hungry," said the howler monkey. It swung from the branch with one arm and gracefully plucked the fruit with the other. "Would you like some fruit?"
He nodded furiously and the monkey tossed the sustenance down to him.
"Thank you," he said.
"You're very welcome."
"I want to get the fruit on my own someday," he said through a mouthful of fruit.
"You will certainly be able to accomplish much greater feats than that," said the howler monkey.
He finished the fruit and sat back against the tree contentedly. As he sat, full and fulfilled, he began to think.
He thought, and he kept thinking. His mind was moving faster than it ever had. His questions needed answering and his ideas needed doing. He looked up at the monkey.
"How did I get here?" he asked.
"What do you mean? Your mother birthed you, of course," the howler monkey answered.
"But what birthed the first mother?" he asked. "What came first?"
At that moment, a lion and a lioness walked up to him from out of the surrounding vegetation.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"I am God," said the lion, "and this is Beginning."
"I am Hope," said the monkey.
"I am," said the man.
"Indeed you are," said the lion. "Come, we have answers for you, should you wish them."
The four of them walked off into the world. -
Mister Miracle
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI didn't have time to blog tonight because I was focused on drawing/inking/painting this picture:
One of my better pieces so far, I think. For those of you who are unfamiliar with comics, this is Jack Kirby's Mr. Miracle, one of the New Gods. -
The Masquerade
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeThey danced and glided effortlessly about the room,
Anonymous specters of prophesied doom.
Their faceless faces,
Their nameless races,
Concealed from each other,
Concealed from themselves.
Their secrets and lies,
Their fake joyous cries,
Echoed by a black ceiling,
Back to those hearts so unfeeling.
Their disguises become identity,
They forget what they're hiding.
Their ball is so truthless
With their facade so ruthless,
Their eyes filled with hate
For a once normal state.
Their masks try to cover their normalcy,
But they slaughter all uniqueness. -
Philosophy
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI'm not sure what this is exactly. It isn't a story. More of a series of guidelines for living. Not trying to be preachy, and there isn't much point to this. I'm just trying to synthesize how I think. Read away...
The world doesn't have positive change on a big scale. So, if you want to change it, start small. Enough micro-events create a macro-event. If one million smiles stop a single bullet, you've changed the world.
People are people no matter what. No one is better or worse than anyone else.
Everyone thinks that they are the good guy. Always try to believe that they're right.
There are only three types of opinions that are invalid: those that are based on facts that are incorrect, those that are hateful, and those that think you should give up.
Everyone has something that they are meant to be. If they're not doing it, they're not living. Money is secondary to happiness under all circumstances. Always do what you love, regardless of the paycheck.
Use whatever makes you happy to make others happy. A gift that isn't shared is wasted.
A closed mind is a dead mind. Never believe you are done learning. Never be unwilling to admit you're wrong. Never turn down an opportunity to listen.
The presence of change is the only constant. Always be open to life. Nothing is permanent, so enjoy every moment, no matter how small.
The secret to immortality is staying a child in your mind. Have fun. Laugh. Keep your imagination alive at all costs. Creativity is the key to staying new.
Fear is conquered by being acknowledged. The greatest act of bravery is to admit your fear and keep going.
Be a human before a patriot.
Be spiritual but never religious.
Be proud of your accomplishments, not of yourself.
Keep trying.
Love people and love life. -
The Brave Knight
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeThe brave knight sat, confined in a strange contraption in the dungeon of the dark castle. He was surrounded by others in a similar predicament: princesses, peasants and knights from countless other kingdoms. They were subjected to cruel punishments for hours each day by the evil sorcerer Mr. Stevens.
I must escape this place, thought the brave knight, But how?!
"Now if you'll please open your books to page..."
What new circle of hell is this? he pondered. I need a distraction...
The noble warrior bent down to a bag sitting on the rat-infested stone floor. He reached inside and found a sharpened stick, a piece of parchment and a strange white tube. He thought to himself on how best to use his arsenal. The knight glanced to his left and saw one of his fellow prisoners sleeping.
The perfect bait, thought the cunning knight. He took the parchment and balled up a piece and put it in his mouth. Then he placed it in the tube and blew forcefully through it, firing the projectile. It splattered on the back of the sorcerer's head.
"Who did that?" he roared. He adjusted and classes and picked up his magical Staff of Yards. "No one wants to admit to it? Very well."
The evil one walked amongst the aisles of prisoners examining each one. Finally, he found the culprit.
"Thought you could escape by faking sleep, eh, Johnny?" the dark magician sneered. "You should hide the straw better next time."
A still-groggy Johnny was dragged by his ear out of the dungeon, no doubt to some other dark pit of the castle. The sorcerer disappeared around the corner with the prisoner.
It worked! the knight thought excitedly. He stood up and ran to the doorway. He stood and faced the other prisoners and lifted his sword.
"Follow me!" he declared. "To freedom! To Camelot!"
The brave knight turned and sprinted down the hall and out the castle gates.
The other prisoners sat complacently in the dark dungeon, staring dumbfounded at the doorway.
"That kid is so weird..." -
Frozen Fear, Part 5
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeFar North of the Arctic Circle:
"Are you feeling better now sir?" the security officer asked Hal.
Hal stood up slowly from his doubled over position. A pile of vomit steamed on the ground in front of him and splattered on his boots. He coughed and spit a few times and cleared his throat. Finally reaching the full upright position he took a deep breath and turned to face the security officer.
"Yes, thank you," Hal answered in an attempted suave manner, "must've been something in my oatmeal."
"It's okay to admit it was the gore, sir. You aren't the only one who did that."
"Nonsense. What's a little blood?" Hal said, holding his forehead. He turned to the direction of his own barracks when he heard it.
A piercing, terror-filled scream shot across the camp, stopping Hal dead in his tracks. The agonized voice was cut short by a dull crack, and it was silent once more.
"Diana," Hal whispered. "Let's go!"
The security guard cocked his gun and sprinted towards the noise with Hal. They quickly arrived at the command building, where they found the lifeless body of Diana. Her limbs laid at unnatural angles and he head was facing her back. Blood trickled from her nose and mouth. Hal knelt next to the body and drew his own gun.
"Check inside," he ordered the security officer. Hal stood and scanned the area around the building, his gun at the ready. It was silent but for the ever-present howls of the pained wind. He could see no movement any
CRUNCH!
Hal spun around.
Nothing.
"Who's there? Clark?"
CRUNCH!
Hal whipped his gun to the right and fired a bullet into the empty white. Hal's breathing became panicked and his hands shook.
CRUNCH!
BANG!
Hal fired another shot, this time back toward the command building.
The last remaining security officer fell to the snow, and gaping red tunnel burned through his skull.
"Oh god," Hal stammered, dropping his gun. Hal fell to his knees and began to cry. "I'm so sorry."
CRUNCH!
"As am I," a voice said from behind Hal. "You should never have come here."
"Why?!" Hal yelled without turning around, "Why did you do this?"
"Because I cannot be killed. But that will never stop you from trying. I must remain a myth."
"We would never have known you were here!" Hal exclaimed.
"I am the reason you are here. Who led this expedition?"
"Clark," Hal answered.
"What is his full name?"
"Clark Van Helsing," Hal whispered.
"Some family traditions are a bit more lasting than others. I'll make this quick."
Hal closed his eyes. Exhaled. Clenched his teeth. And took a deep
CRUNCH! -
Frozen Fear, Part 4
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeFar North of the Arctic Circle:
"You just left him there alone?" Diana asked the security officer irritably.
"Yeah, why wouldn't we?" he replied.
"He's the one who killed Barry! He went and had breakfast with Hal and I before going to see you! If he was really that concerned, he would've gone straight to you!" Diana yelled.
"Oh god," the officer gasped, "Let's go!"
Diana and the security officers took off sprinting across the snow towards the command building. They arrived and Diana pulled at the door.
"Damn it!" she yelled. "He locked himself in there!"
"Move aside." The head security officer input a code on the keypad next to the door. Diana heard a hydraulic hiss and the door groaned and opened like a hungry steel mouth. The security officers drew their guns and moved quietly inside.
"Stay here," the head officer told Diana. She nodded and he dashed into the building.
Diana stood motionless, leaning against the outside wall. She could hear nothing for longer than she could bear. Finally, there was noise from inside.
A sickening crack.
A blood-curdling scream.
A metallic thud.
The shattering of bones and tearing of flesh danced with cries of agony in a horrifying symphony of violence. The orchestra of death played its macabre melodies in torturous time. Diana trembled and cried as the blunt bass bashed and the painful percussion played. Eventually the sinister song climaxed in a brutal twisting of metal, screams and splattering.
It was silent.
Diana curled in a terrified ball on the ground next to the building, and sobbed into her arms.
CRUNCH!
Diana looked up from her tears. She didn't know what she saw. But she knew that Clark was not the killer.
"You look like you've suffered enough. I shall make it quick." -
Frozen Fear: Part 3
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeFar North of the Arctic Circle:
Hal was bent over, vomiting violently into the snow. Diana turned away from the gruesome scene, crying. She inhaled deeply. Finally she faced one of the security officers.
"Where is Clark?" she asked. "He went to the command building just before you guys came here, where is he now?"
"He was the one who told us to come look at this," the officer said. "He stayed back at command. I guess he didn't want to see this again."
Command Building, the same time:
Clark sat in the chair gazing out a wide window across the tundra. Tears silently rolled down his cheeks and he was trembling slightly. He mumbled incoherent sentences to himself, all involving the word "Barry."
He heard the large metal door open from the outside and a frozen breeze rushed around the corner and chilled him to the bone. Clark shivered and listened as the door was shut and latched.
"Who's there?" he asked without averting his gaze from the window. "That you Diana?"
Heavy footsteps fell upon the floor, coming closer and closer to Clark. A large form cast its shadow, enveloping Clark from behind.
"I'm sorry that you had to see your friend like that. I get a bit carried away sometimes."
The night before:
"What do you mean?" Barry asked the voice.
"I am the perfect balance of life and death. I feel no remorse in destruction, but find beauty in creation nonetheless. I am the impossible. I am the unknown."
"Please, I don't know what you're saying. Just come down and show me who you are." Barry fumbled with a pistol that had been hidden under his bed.
"Very well."
Something enormous landed on the floor of the barracks. It was well over eight feet tall and Barry could see that it was bulging with muscle, even in the darkness of the room. Barry fired all six bullets into the creature. It did not flinch.
"I can't be destroyed. I'd let you if I could. I have tried everything, but I will not die. Perhaps I already am. I wish to be left in peace, nothing more."
"We will leave you in peace, I assure you!" Barry pleaded.
"Your very presence disturbs me."
"We'll leave then, study elsewhere," he desperately told the thing.
"You'll tell others of me. I must kill you."
"I don't even know what you are!" Barry begged hysterically.
"But you know that I am."
It reached a huge hand out of the shadows and lifted Barry by his neck. Barry squirmed and flailed and gasped, but it was useless.
"Please," Barry whispered, "at least tell me who is killing me."
"I have no true name. But your people call me by the name of my creator."
"Who is your creator?" Barry breathed.
"Frankenstein." -
Frozen Fear, Part 2
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeFar North of the Arctic Circle, the next morning:
Clark shut the door to Barry's barracks and locked it behind him. He covered his mouth with his hand and his face was extremely pale. He coughed as the snowy winds blew through his hair. He walked to the mess hall where some of the tech guys and security detail were conversing loudly. Hal and Diana sat at a table eating steaming bowls of oatmeal. Clark went to the kitchen and got some for himself and sat next to Hal and began eating.
"Where's Barry?" Hal asked Clark after a few minutes.
"He..." Clark paused. "He won't be joining us today. He isn't feeling too well, so I'm letting him rest for the day."
"Well I think I'll take him some breakfast then," Diana said.
"I don't think that's a good idea," Clark blurted, standing up from his chair to stop her. "We don't want to wake him up. I have to make some calls. I'll be back in a bit."
Clark returned his dishes to the kitchen and left the mess hall, heading for the command building.
"What's got into him?" Hal asked.
"Who knows. But something's definitely not right."
They sat there eating in silence. A few minutes later, one of the security officers came into the mess hall and told all of the others to report immediately to the command building.
"What's going on?" Diana asked worriedly.
"Nothing serious," the officer replied. "Just some drills."
"You all seem to be in quite a hurry for drills," Hal retorted.
"I assure you," he said sternly, "Just. Drills."
They left the mess hall and hurried across the snow to command, leaving Diana and Hal alone with the techies. They stood up and walked out the door, leaving their bowls on the table. They pulled their parkas's hoods over their heads as soon as the cold air stabbed their skin. They could see all ten security officers jogging hurriedly from the command building toward Barry's barracks. They could just make out the sound of a fist banging on Barry's metal door.
"Something's very wrong here," Diana said as she began to run towards the security officers. Hal ran after her.
The security officers were standing huddled around the open doorway. Most of them were avoiding looking inside, and one was doubled over, gagging. Diana and Hal pushed their way through to the doorway.
They froze stiffer than any Arctic wind could ever freeze them.
The inside of Barry's barracks was covered in blood and entrails. Every inch of the walls and furniture was covered in scarlet gore and shredded flesh. What looked to be intestines swayed monotonously from the ceiling.
The night before:
"You shouldn't be here."
Barry jumped in fright and sat up.
"Who's there?" he asked, shaken.
"A monster. An abomination. A creature."
"What do you want?" Barry asked.
"For you to leave. You have disturbed me. I've lived in this white hell motionless and content for a time so long as to render time meaningless."
"We're here for research," Barry told the voice, "we won't harm you."
"I'm not so foolish as to think that true. Man always lashes out at the unknown, because he fears it. He proves his fears correct as the unknown rarely is unprepared."
"Are you not a man yourself?" Barry asked nervously.
"No. I am the unknown." -
Frozen Fear
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeFar North of the Arctic Circle:
The explorers trekked slowly and silently across the vast, empty expanse of the tundra. They were returning to base camp, the four of them bundled in countless layers, trudging through the sub-zero winds and rock-hard ice. Their mission was to collect data on the shrinking ice cap, and they had spent all day collecting samples of the ice cores, which they pulled along in a cooler placed on a sled. It was impossible to tell what time of day it was. There was no sound except the wind howling by their ears. No footsteps could be heard, as the snow underfoot was too frozen to crunch.
They were about half an hour from camp when
CRUNCH!
The man walking in the back stopped.
"Did you guys hear that?" he said to the other three.
"I didn't hear anything." They all nodded in agreement and kept walking. The man in the rear just shrugged his shoulders and trudged
CRUNCH!
He spun around. His eyes darted across the blank canvas landscape. Scanning the wasteland, he saw nothing. He turned around and caught back up to the group.
"You guys sure you haven't heard anything?"
"You're getting paranoid, Clark. Make sure you get a good sleep in when we get back."
Clark sighed loudly and fell back in line. He looked from side to side, searching for whatever had
CRUNCH!
"I heard it that time," said the third man in line. "Clark's right. I heard a big crunching noise."
"Great work Clark, now you've got Hal going," said the first in line. "Seriously, guys. There's nothing
CRUNCH!
"S**t," said the first in line. "Whatever it is, it's big."
"Barry, I've been looking the whole time, I haven't seen a thing."
"That means it's either really fast or camouflaged," Barry responded. "Let's just hurry up and get back. No more stopping."
CRUNCH!
CRUNCH!
CRUNCH!
Finally, shaken and frozen, the team stumbled into the camp. They each had their own barracks, and they retired to them. Each had two bunk beds a couch, and a table. Barry shut his door behind him and pulled off his boots. He hit them together, dislodging the snow, and placed them by the heating vent. He then shed layer upon layer of clothing and tossed them on the bottom bunk of one of the sets of beds. He then climbed into bed on the other bottom bunk and pulled the sheets tightly around him. Barry began to drift out of consciousness when he heard a voice from above him.
"You shouldn't be here." -
The Strange Casefiles of Horatio Morgan, Part 6
» On the Subject of Being Awesome"Well, this is quite the odd-ball little group we've assembled here, eh Thaddeus?" Horatio said as the four of them took a seat around the table in his workshop. "A werewolf, a robot, a hulking metal-worker, and a dashing detective. I'm feeling quite confident in this team's murder-solving abilities."
"This is absurd," Thaddeus said. "We should work alone, as we always do."
"Thanks for the confidence vote," Ferris growled.
"Now, now Thaddeus," Horatio cut in. "Ferris feels a responsibility to keep an eye on us for the sake of his people. Buford feels he needs to make up for making the bullet that killed Roderick. Both fairly admirable reasons to join us, I should think."
Thaddeus just groaned and leaned back in his chair.
"Here's what we know: For each of the passed three days, a member of the supernatural community has been murdered. A zombie, a vampire and a werewolf. What does this tell us?"
"Someone doesn't want us around," Ferris said bluntly.
"Specifically, they don't want the supernatural around. Because of the inconsistency in targeted species, we can assume that the community as a whole is the villain's prey. We also know that at least one of the victims were killed by a silver bullet. These bullets were made by Buford for a group of customers about a month ago. What else does this tell us?"
No one answered.
"That the murders were planned well ahead of time," Thaddeus stated.
"Precisely!" Horatio said excitedly. "We know that these were made for a specific type of target, and that the people firing the bullets intended to use them more than a month ago. Buford said there was a rotating of four different men keeping watch on him. From this we can deduce that there are a minimum of five suspects."
"Why five if there were four men?" Buford asked.
"Because we know that they were meeting regularly at this Temple of Time. From your description of their dress, they probably are involved in religious or cult activities at this place. And they must have a leader. So one leader plus four followers makes a bare minimum of five. Though I'd go forth assuming even more. Especially considering the number of bullets.
"Now, the final piece of information we have: the so-called Temple of Time. I have never heard of such a place in London, and neither have the records I've searched through. Therefore, I'm assuming this is a codeword for a meeting place."
"Then why earlier did you assume a cult?" Thaddeus interrupted. "If the word 'temple' isn't meant literally, the cult connection is hardly definitive, which would bring the suspect count down to a likely four."
"The way they dressed is still a good indicator, and that combined with the use of the word 'temple' seems more than a coincidence. And though it might not be a proper name for the place, it might very well still be a religious place for them. The fact that they are targeting an entire group of people also seems to suggest a Crusade-like quality to their actions."
"So," said Ferris, "cult of at least five is behind the murders. Base of operations at this 'temple.' Planned out a while ago to attack the supernatural community. This is all good, but how does this help us find the killers?"
"Well we are going to find this out in two ways," Horatio answered. "Ferris, you and I are going to go undercover and try to infiltrate this cult and find out what they're up to. Buford, I need you to use your connections to ask around and find out who sold them guns. If they have bullets, they needed guns. They must've got them somewhere. Thaddeus will accompany you."
"Joy," Thaddeus mumbled.
To be continued... (yes this was late. Oh well.) -
Sorry.
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeNo post tonight. The power is going to go out any second now, and therefore, so will internet. -
The Strange Casefiles of Horatio Morgan, Chapter 5
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeAbout a mile south of Horatio's house was the Thames River. Accompanied by Thaddeus and Ferris, he walked to the river and then turned west. Walking along its banks, he passed under the London Bridge and quickly came to a part of town that was worn down, but still bustling with activity. The streets were lined with ragged looking merchants selling all manner of items, and various craftsmen occupied the street-facing workshops. There were makers of horseshoes, tables, guns, wagon wheels, and of course, bullets.
"Hello there, good sir," shouted Horatio at a bulletsmith who was working away in his shop. The sign swaying gently above the door indicated that "Buford's Firearm Oddities" was the name of the little shop. "I've been told by a few reputable sources that you're the man to see if I need an unordinary bullet. That is of course, if you are indeed Mr. Buford Simeon?"
The burly man turned to face Horatio. He was short and balding, but extremely bulky. He walked over and extended his hand pleasantly.
"You've found who you're looking for, sir," Buford chuckled, shaking Horatio's hand. "And who might you be?"
"Horatio Morgan. Detective. These are my associates Thaddeus and Ferris. We're investigating a murder."
"Oh my. I haven't heard of anyone getting killed. Was it in this neighborhood?" Buford asked.
"This case is of a sensitive nature, and it's best the press doesn't hear of it," Horatio told him. "But no, it wasn't in this neighborhood. We came to you because the victim was killed with a unique variety of bullet."
Horatio revealed the silver projectile and placed it in Buford's hand. Buford held it up and examined it carefully.
"Oh, this was definitely one of mine," he answered finally. "I made a whole bunch of these for some guys about a month ago. They wanted a hundred of these, and a hundred bullets made with oak tips. I haven't the foggiest idea why they wanted those materials, but if I'd known they were gonna kill someone, I'd never have done it."
"What," Thaddeus interrupted in a condescending voice, "else would they be doing with bullets, exactly?"
"Ahem! Anyways, Mr. Simeon," Horatio interrupted, "I would very much like to know who these customers were."
"I wish I could tell you. They never gave me a name. There were four of them, and one would be here at all times, watching me work. They dressed in black cloaks and always wore red masks, like ones you'd wear at a masquerade. Creepy folk. But money is money, and times have been tough."
"Did they ever give you any information on their lives? Anything at all not business related?"
"Not that I recall. Though, when they were switching off, I heard them mention 'The Temple of Time' every once in a while. I thought it must be their church or something."
"That's all you recall hearing?" Horatio asked.
"That's all. They kept pretty quiet," Buford replied.
"Well then, thank you for your assistance Mr. Simeon. It's greatly appreciated." Horatio lifted his hat to the bulletsmith and turned into the street.
"Wait!" Buford yelled. Horatio and his companions stopped. "Let me help you. I made the bullet, and I can't help but feel a bit responsible. I'd like to try and assist you."
"Well..." sighed Horatio.
"No," Thaddeus said coldly.
"Who am I to keep a man from easing his guilty conscience? Come with us back to my house and we'll get you up to speed."
To be continued... -
Comics That You'll Feel Smarter For Reading
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI feel like making a list. The following are 10 comic book/graphic novels that are extremely intelligent and all around awesome. They are listed in order of personal preference on the basis of how intelligent they are and how much philosophical or otherwise useful knowledge can be gained from them. Each of the ten are required reading for anyone interested in being considered even a little bit awesome. Enjoy.
10. Kill Shakespeare by Connor McCreery and Anthony Del Col with art by Andy Belanger
This series isn't even halfway done yet, but it's pretty impressive thus far. McCreery and Del Col take all of the timeless plays of Shakespeare and mold them into one cohesive universe where all the characters coexist. You want Lady MacBeth seducing King Richard? You got it. Iago teaming up with Hamlet? Of course. Falstaff wearing a dress? Yeah, me neither. Hamlet is caught in the center of a brewing rebellion led by Juliet and a grim prophecy told to him by Richard, all while searching for the one who can answer his questions: William Shakespeare. Shakespeare makes you smart anyways, but this intriguing medieval conspiracy adds layers to the Bard's work that will make you downright intelligent.
9. Y: The Last Man by Brian K. Vaughan and Pia Guerra with art by Pia Guerra and various
I'm sure that I'm not the only nerd who has had the phrase "not if you were the last man on Earth" used on him by an uppity female. Well this series explores that very idea. Yorick (named after a Shakespeare character, coincidentally enough) Brown is the last man on Earth. But fortunately (or not) for him, all the women are still going strong. What will Yorick's role be in this new world? How will humanity continue? What happened to all the men? And does any of it matter? An emotional and hard-hitting series told in an epic road trip style, "Y" is not to be left behind.
8. Loki by Robert Rodi with art by Esad Ribic
Fans of fantasy and mythology will rave over this graphic novel, which begins with Loki-- the Norse god of mischief-- having successfully taken over the gods' home of Asgard. The day that follows has Loki visit each of the major gods and reflect on his personal experience with them. The book is a darkly bitter and psychological look at one of literature's great villains, and features an ending for the record books.
7. Chew by John Layman with art Rob Guillory
Set in the near future, Chew follows FDA agent Tony Chu in his work investigating various food-related crimes. And he does it by eating the evidence. A bizarrely twisted vision of government over-regulation, Chew features a world where the FDA are bigger than the FBI, chicken is outlawed, and monocled Brits carry sais and shuriken. Funny, political, and action packed, Chew is a tastefully brilliant series.
6. Daytripper by Fabio Moon and Gabriel Ba
If you're afraid of crying, don't read this series. Each of the ten issues goes through a single important day in the main character's-- Bras-- life. And at the end of each one, he dies. The series deals with huge concepts of mortality, and doesn't back down from anything. Bras is a perfectly average guy, but that doesn't make him less special than any other character. The philosophy addressed in this series is something everyone can relate to, and you'll be better off for it.
5. DMZ by Brian Wood with art by Riccardo Burchielli and various
America's second civil war has erupted between the red states and the blue states, and Manhattan Island is the de-militarized zone caught in the middle. If that isn't enough to catch your attention, you shouldn't be reading smart people books anyways. DMZ follows amateur reporter Matty Roth as he explores life in a war zone. The series doesn't pull any punches and shows war as it really is: filthy, ugly, horrifying and hopeless. DMZ is a politically thought-provoking book that doesn't give any opinions save one: war is hell.
4. Watchmen by Alan Moore with art by Dave Gibbons
Watchmen is arguably the most influential and successful graphic novel ever made, and for good reason. Set in a world where the Cold War didn't end, and nuclear holocaust is imminent. Add to that a sweeping conspiracy to kill off the world's remaining superheroes, and the one man who can stop it all abandoning Earth, and you have a doomsday story of epic scope. No one is a good guy in this story, and the ending leaves no clear answer. Watchmen is a complex lesson in the nuances of moral ambiguity.
3. Seven Soldiers of Victory by Grant Morrison with art by various
Admittedly, I'm only halfway done with this series, so it may move up or down the list a few spots. But, the second volume of this series is what prompted the creating of this list, so it definitely earned its spot. Grant Morrison revives seven of DC's most under-used superheroes in this story and breathes new life into them. Originally published as seven separate four-issue series with a prologue issue and an epilogue issue as end caps, Morrison brilliantly weaves a single mega-story throughout the entire thing, all while keeping each character completely isolated from one another. Blending sci-fi, fantasy, horror, magic, and even a bit of noir, this is a series that proves why Grant Morrison is a comic legend.
2. S.H.I.E.L.D. by Jonathan Hickman with art by Dustin Weaver
The secret history of the world is revealed in this millenia and globe spanning series by Jonathan Hickman. A secret brotherhood of history's most incredible renaissance men has existed since the ancient Egyptian, and this is their story. The story is set in the Marvel Universe and features a cast of characters that includes Van Gogh, Galileo, Newton and Confucius alongside the fathers of Mr. Fantastic and Iron Man, and fighting threats like Apocalypse and Galactus. This series explores the morality of trying to control the course of humanity, and does it spectacularly. This is the most innovative series being produced by either of the Big 2 comic companies, and encouraged me to take a deeper look at Jonathan Hickman's career, which helped me discover the final graphic novel on the list...
1. Pax Romana by Jonathan Hickman
Set 50 years in the future, the world is a much different place. Paganism is now the dominant religion, and the Catholic church is dying. Having secretly funded scientific research for years, they develop a time machine and use it to send an army back to the time of Constantine to try and alter the course of history. A fascinating look at the development of Rome, the evolution and downfalls of civilizations, and the effects of religion, among other things, Pax Romana is a flawlessly executed work of political and theological art. -
I Kill Giants.
» On the Subject of Being Awesome"Time travel?" asked 19 skeptically. "Are you serious?"
"What part of this seems like a joke to you?" 21 retorted. "This is real."
"You've lost it," 19 said, standing up. "I'm done."
19 walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
"Anyone else want to leave, do it now."
Eight more of the men rose from their seats and left. Twelve rebels remained.
"I'm sure you have questions," 21 said to the group. "Let's hear 'em."
"How are you not in jail already just for knowing these exist?" 4 asked. "These must've been developed by the government. Shouldn't they be looking for them?"
"Good question. My guys that stole these thought of it as well. After stealing them, they used them and went back in time to just before the first test and hi-jacked them to make it look like they never worked."
"So the government achieved time-travel," 4 asked, "and doesn't even know it?"
"Yes."
"Assuming this works," 16 said, "we're going into some morally shady ground here. How do we know we're doing the right thing? Maybe we make things worse?"
"We can't ever really know that for sure. But we have to try. This country, and by extension the world's well being is at stake. Billions of people's lives are being destroyed. We longer have the luxury of thinking in grays. There is black and there is white. We're going to set things right."
"You said that we're going to kill the Trinity and stop the NationCore from initiating," 2 inquired, "but what about the bombing in Boston? Why don't we save those people?"
"Because we want this country to be reborn," answered 21. "If we let the legislature live, when the Trinity dies, new tyrants will replace them. This country needs a rebirth, and the only way to do that is to let it burn to the ground."
"It wasn't just the legislature that died," said 2. "Thousands of civilians did too. We have the means to stop it. Like you said, black and white. This is the right thing to do. If we must, then we kill the legislature ourselves."
21 pondered silently.
"Fine. Three objectives," 21 said. "Prevent the bombs from going off, kill the legislature and the Trinity, prevent activation of NationCore. Now here's how we'll do it..."
To be continued... -
Think of a green. Six-sided. Sun.
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeThe Future:
"Alright, here's what we know." 21 pulled out a map and unrolled it across the table. The top of it was labelled "New York City" in bold print. "One month ago, the Trinity were moved into a safe house near the Towers of America. This was an hour after the 'terrorist' attack on the Law & Order Building in Boston."
This was the New States. After the president and vice president were killed by a supposed homegrown American terrorist cell ten years ago, the government underwent radical reconstruction. There were now three heads of state with absolute power, called the Trinity, who presided over a legislature that was there only to keep the citizens under the illusion that they had a democracy. Governmental operations were moved to Boston.
The attack that 21 mentioned wiped out every member of the legislature and thousands of civilians in the surrounding area. The attack occurred 24-hours before the NationCore went online. It was supposedly carried out by same cell that assassinated the president and vice president.
The NationCore was the most advanced computer in the world, capable of keeping physical and digital tabs on every person in the country through nanites that had been pumping into the water systems of the country for the past six months. The general public-- and the late members of legislature--do not know how it exists.
Shortly after the attack, the Trinity initiated a nationwide state of emergency, and the military took over for local law enforcement across the entire country. After setting up the occupation, the military was ordered to search out and destroy all suspicious printed material. This systematically removed of ninety percent of all books in the New States.
The meeting that was taking place was of a group of rebels who did not know each other by name. Each was simply assigned a number, and that's how they were addressed. 21 was their leader.
"We also have reason to believe that this safe house is where the NationCore is located. An armored convoy was reported to have moved something from the Department of Identification to the same location at the same time that the Trinity arrived. This was probably a hard drive containing information on every person in the country. There are two things that must happen. That hard drive must not reach its destination, and the Trinity must die before they can order the police state."
"Sir," said 19, "these things have already happened. What do you mean?"
21 reached under the table and pulled out a large metal case. He set it on the table and opened it, revealing what appeared to be ten extremely hi-tech flak-jackets.
"What do these do, exactly?" asked 19.
"Time travel," said 21. "We're going to rewrite history."
To be continued... probably... -
Writer's Block, COCC, Comics, and Girlfriends
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI can't think of a story to tell tonight. I'd rather not force it, as it ends up like when you try to poop when you don't have to: not much happens, and what does happen stinks. So instead, I'm just going to type random thoughts from my life lately.
COCC is miserable. It was already not where I wanted to be, and the experience I'm having isn't helping. Three out of four people in my classes are some combination of overweight, unemployed, old and chain smoking. I realize that the economy is bad, but college isn't supposed to feel like a homeless shelter.
Logistically, however, it's for the best. I only need to take about 16 credits per term through next summer and I'll have my transfer degree completed and I can get out of this hell hole. Basically, I'll have what takes most people two years to do done in one, and it will be more or less free, as I got enough scholarships to pay for it. So that's good.
While the people might suck, the classes are pretty good. Unlike high school, I haven't had very many "how did you morons not know this in middle school" moments. I feel like I'm legitimately learning things, which is refreshing.
Sarah hurt her knee earlier this week and was really stressing about it, as it could ruin her season. I was laying on the couch with her when she got her MRI results, which were relatively minor, and could literally feel her stress melt away. She was beaming for hours. It was pretty fun.
A few random concepts I want to make stories out of but haven't formed anything solid yet: Atlantis, Revolutionary War, a bug's life, super spy/heist/conspiracy, time travel, Aztec society.
I'm stressing out about getting our comic pitch to Image. It's going way slower than I anticipated, and I'm bad at getting on people about stuff, so I'm kind of worried/in a constant state of minor panic. Hopefully we make some progress soon or I might vent my frustration on my little brother.
My brother faked being sick to leave school today. What a turd. I never did that. Maybe it's because I was a nerd. But still...
I feel like my page layouts for our pitch need to be more unique. I used fairly standard stuff, and I think it needs more than that. After reading some of Jonathan Hickman's Image work, and starting the first volume of 7 Soldiers of Victory, which has some pretty mold-shattering layouts by JH Williams III and Simone Bianchi, I feel like a great way to make us stand out from the pack is to bring in a more unique graphic sense to the book. Quin's design background fits this perfectly, and I think we should revisit this a bit more.
I think part of the reason I've been having so much writer's block lately is because I don't want to waste good ideas on blog posts, and end up just putting scenes up. Not to say that this writing is poorer, just not a way of storytelling that's easy to keep doing. If I was telling a chapter of the same story everyday, it would be much easier for me, I think.
I've never written in this quantity, this constantly before, and I'm noticing similar patterns that I had when I was drawing a lot. I'd have inspiration come in waves, and I'd be on fire for a period of time, and then I'd start drawing like crap for a while. I feel like I do that here too, though not so much in quality as in difficulty to get something out.
Maybe I need to start thinking about what to write earlier in the day.
Duncan gave me some useful insights into the publishing world today. It will be a while before I need to think about those things, as it's more applicable to books, but it's still good to keep gathering information. Having little tidbits stored up helps me feel like I'll have a bit of a better idea of what I'm doing when the time comes.
I need about 8 or 9 more full-sized poster to finish covering my ceiling, and therefore have covered all available wall space in my room. They're almost all comic book and movie posters. Feel free to donate to the cause if you have any you want to give me.
I realized today that I really don't hangout with anyone other than Sarah. Which is totally fine, but I could still use some man-friends. Maybe I'll meet some cool people at COCC.
Oh wait... -
To My Masterpiece
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeA long time ago, in a place that was certainly filled with wonder, there lived an artist. He was renowned throughout the land, and was talented in every medium imaginable. Everyone admired him, and he was happy.
He lived in a house with his wife and his cat. His work has made him rich beyond his wildest dreams, but he settled for a perfectly average dwelling. It was a small but cozy house with the ground floor consisting of the kitchen, bedroom and living room, and the second floor devoted entirely to the artist's studio. His wife was sweet and supportive of him, even during his more obsessive projects, and they loved each other. The artist thought her the most beautiful creature in all the universe.
One day, after he'd finished his latest project, the artist realized something. He'd dedicated pieces to kings, he'd dedicated pieces to queens, he'd dedicated pieces to famed explorers, knights, heroes and politicians. His work was dedicated to more people than he could remember and was seen in cities across the world, but there was one person that his work had never been dedicated to: his wife.
The artist climbed the stairs to his studio and locked the door behind him.
"I'll design her a palace grander than any I've made for any royalty!" he declared. He pulled out a sheet of butcher paper, swept his desk clean of it's accumulated oddities and set to work.
He sat there, hunched over his desk, his hand scratching intensely across the paper. He did not stop. He worked through the night with a feverish haste, working by candlelight. He worked without sleeping until, as the sun shone through his open window, he finished.
He spread out the paper on the floor and looked at the blueprints. Examining it, he believed it to be the most impressive building he'd ever designed.
"It's not good enough!" he yelled in a fit of rage, and tore the paper to shreds. "I must try something else."
He walked in circles around his studio, pulling at his hair in frustration. He went to a box in the corner and pulled out a huge lump of clay that he'd made the day before.
"I'll sculpt her, in all of her beauty!" he said. "It will be a statue greater than the Colossus of Rhodes!"
He pulled all of his tools out of a drawer and set to work. Using his hands, he pushed and pulled and shaped the clay into the rough form of a woman. With his tools, he carved and cut and shaved away at the shape. He worked through the day, late into the afternoon, pulling his beautiful wife out from the formless clay.
Finally, as the sun sank behind the hills, he finished. He stepped back and examined the sculpture, and thought it every bit as gorgeous as the real thing.
"It's still not good enough for her!" he roared. "She deserves perfection, and this is not it."
A hammer was sitting on a shelf nearby, and the artist took it and pulverized the statue. The bits of clay fell crashing to the floor and joined the shredded paper. The artist walked over and gazed out the window. As he watched, the sun lit up the twilight sky in radiant swaths of purple, orange and pink.
"Perfect," whispered the artist.
He spun around and fetched a blank canvas and an easel. He lit a lantern and set it nearby, illuminating the white surface. He took his best paints and brushes, and for hours and hours, he danced the bristles across the canvas, recreating the sunset that he'd witnessed. Across the white surface, he swirled the fiery hues, creating a sunset perhaps more mesmerizing than the original. He worked well into the night, until the painting was finished. Looking over his handiwork, he thought it his best painting.
"It must be better!"
The artist took the lantern and smashed it across the painting, and the sunset burst into flames. The canvas burned, and the ashes fluttered to the floor to join it's clay and paper ancestors.
The artist fell to the ground in defeat. He sat against the locked door and leaned his head back against it as torrents of tears ran down his face. As he sat there for unknown hours, wallowing in hopelessness, his cat walked in through the open window.
The cat walked over casually to him, and rubbed against his leg, purring. The cat climbed up onto his lap and curled up in a tight ball and fell asleep. The artist looked down at his pet and smiled.
The artist reached for a pen and paper on a nearby shelf. He began to draw. After a few minutes, he set the paper down and fell asleep to the sound of the cat's purr.
The artist woke late in the morning exhausted and starving. His cat was no longer present. He picked up the paper, stood, and unlocked the door. He walked down the stairs to the kitchen, where his wife was cooking cheerfully. She turned and looked at him. Setting down what she was doing, she hugged him tightly and kissed him gently on the lips.
"You must have been doing something pretty important," she said, "you haven't left that room in two days!"
"The most important thing I've ever done," said the artist. He handed her the paper. "I tried to design a palace, a testimony to your amazing mind, but it was not vast enough. I tried to sculpt you, a testimony to your beauty, but it was not beautiful enough. I tried to paint you a sunset, a testimony to your perfection, but it was not perfect enough. So I drew you this."
His wife looked down at the sheet and smiled. On it was two simple hearts, over-lapping one another, and three words written below them:
"To My Masterpiece." -
The Great Escape
» On the Subject of Being Awesome"Don't look back!" Saddam yelled to his companions as they sprinted across the fiery field. The alarm was blaring behind them in the distance, and the sounds of pounding hooves and flapping leathery wings could be heard not far behind.
"Stop acting like you're in charge, you sad little man," Hitler snapped. The three of them jumped into a ditch and stayed motionless as three hulking crimson demons dashed by.
"You both need to stop bickering," Vlad said once the demons had passed their hiding place. "It's beginning to get on my nerves."
"I still think we should've left him," Hitler whispered to Vlad. "He's not of the master race, and his moustache is hideous."
"I can hear you," Saddam said.
Hitler turned and faced him.
"No hard feelings, but if we weren't dead, I'd kill you," he said.
"Both of you shut up!" Vlad the Impaler growled.
He motioned to both of them and they all climbed out of the ditch. They were currently in the Plains of Damnation, one of the more calm regions of Hell, all things considered. They had escaped from the innermost circles, crossed the Lake of Fire, and were making a break for the Stairway to Earth. Despite what you'd think, attempted prison breaks happen relatively often in Hell, but the three begrudging companions had gotten considerably farther than most. Of course, they'd sacrificed Stalin and Billy Mays when they used them as canoes to cross the lake of fire, but progress is progress.
They got up and dashed across the orange plain, the whole thing covered in burning grass. Their next destination was the Woods of Suffering, and once through, they'd need to cross the River Styx, and then climb the stairs, and they'd be free.
They reached the edge of the Woods of Suffering. The trees were black and dead, all burning with hellfire.
"Say what you will about Satan," Saddam said, "but he certainly knows how to stick to a theme."
"He is lacking in non-fire-related decorations," agreed Vlad. "I have seen a single impaled corpse the entire
time of been down here."
"And if he's going to use fire, at least be effective about it. Where are the ovens?" Hitler said.
They wandered through the forest, generally avoiding the hellfire when they could, but still becoming thoroughly singed. They were three-fourths of the way through when they heard a loud rumble approaching them from the rear. They turned to see an enormous demon wielding a suitably enormous axe. It was twenty feet tall and it had black spiraling horns that burned with fire at the tips, razor sharp teeth in a mouth that breathed fire, black hooves that shot sparks when they touched the ground, and had skin so red that it seemed to be on fire.
"Dedicated to the look," said Saddam.
"I'd need an entire tree to impale that!" declared Vlad.
"I bet it's a Jew," mumbled Hitler. "Only Jews use axes."
The demon swung its axe at them, destroying several trees in the process, and they leaped out of the way. They got up and ran as the creature prepared to swing again. It chased them through the forest for what seemed like an eternity.
Finally, the three escapees came to a black granite cliff, and at the bottom was the River Styx. On the other side of the canyon the stairway was visible.
"Where's the fire?" asked Saddam.
"No one said anything about a cliff. How do we get across?" Vlad asked.
The demon was growing worryingly close now, and would be within decapitating distance momentarily.
"Let's see. To cross Styx, you need a golden drachma, but we don't have any coins..." Vlad pondered.
"You must be a Jew. Only a Jew would know that."
Vlad's eyes fell upon the golden medals that adorned Saddam's military uniform. He grabbed him and promptly tossed him into the canyon. There was a splash and a sizzle, and out of thin air, a bridge appeared.
"Let's go!" Vlad started to cross, but Hitler hesitated. The demon's footsteps were close now. "What are you
waiting for?"
"The bridge appeared out of nowhere! That's Indiana Jones s**t! That guy killed Nazis!!!"
"Suit yourself." Vlad crossed the bridge in time to turn around and see Hitler get chopped vertically in half by the enormous axe.
He turned towards the stairs and walked up to the bottom step, where six men, all dressed in fine suits, sat.
"Out of my way," Vlad commanded.
"Afraid we can't do that. It would violate the contract," said one of them.
"Contract?" Vlad asked impatiently. He could hear the sound of a flock of bat-winged creatures approaching.
"Yes, the one we have with Satan. We're lawyers, we're the real owners of Hell, we conned Lucifer out of this place years ago."
"You people are sick." Vlad turned around to see a half dozen winged demons land behind him.
"Dammit," he said as they tied him up, "so close..." -
Political Detour: The Two-Party System And You
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeThat's right, kids, it's that time again. It's that special type of blog post where Matt looks at the country he's living in, and pukes in his mouth a little bit. You guessed it, it's another Political Detour...
So, everyone's all excited that the Republicans won every single one of the November elections. By "everyone", of course, I mean "not the Democrats". And by "won", of course, I mean "all the Republicans are acting like it's a done deal already even though a single vote has yet to be cast."
This is all smoke and mirrors. The Republican Party will get pretty much the same thing done as the Democrats did, which is to say, absolutely nothing aside from spending amounts of money we'll have to make up new numbers for. The GOP has no agenda as far as I can tell. They're more concerned with regaining power than they are with making the country a better place. Their main running points consist of pretending to be the victims of Democratic propaganda. They aren't proposing solutions, they're just making themselves out to be the innocent punching bag of the governmental bullies. Which simply isn't true. Like virtually every modern political campaign, it's all pathos, no logos.
This is what's wrong with the Two-Party system.
Politicians currently have more loyalty to their party than they do to the people they represent. This is because of money. The candidate wants to get elected, they need money, the easiest way to do that is to align with a party. Party equals money equals better campaign equals recognition equals votes. With only a few extremely rare exceptions, there is simply no other way to win elections. Because of this, the path to winning starts with the parties, not with the voters, and that's where the politicians's loyalties fall. This causes a bunch of empty amoral shells in Congress that simply vote for the party agenda.
This prevents any sort of independent or moral thinking in government, and keeps it pretty much constantly divided against itself. This is why nothing ever seems to get done in government, because politicians are unwilling to think for themselves, or their funding is cut and they lose their seat in the next election.
Now, let's say for a second that one of the parties had a legitimately positive and effective agenda. Of course this will never happen, but for the sake of argument, just go with it.
This agenda will never get through because of a combination of term lengths and party loyalty. The first year-and-a-half to two years after a new Senate is in place, nothing of substance happens because they are busy cleaning up the last Senate's mess, re-structuring committees and figuring out where to buy the best hookers. There's a third of the term gone. Then, there's another year that is spent debating hot issues and proposing bills. The next year is spent voting itself to a standstill and getting nothing out the door. By the time year five rolls around, they're all thinking about the next election, and nothing gets done for the next two years. This is a tremendous waste of time, and something in the system needs to be seriously re-structured to prevent it.
Of, course, six years is a long time. So, why does this happen?
It comes back to the party system. The politician's main concern is keeping their seat at all costs. Not helping people, not improving the country, not creating jobs. Keeping power is and always has been the number one priority. This is not going to change. What can change is how they go about keeping it.
The funding from political parties is what keeps politicians in power. So what would happen if there weren't parties? They would have to start voting how the people that elected them want. There would be no party agenda to enforce to ensure political backing, only the will of the voters. With parties in place, the politician has little choice but hit the campaign trails for a third of his term.
Want to know what the biggest roadblock for progress in this country is? It's not Obama. It's not Muslims. It's not redneck Tea Partiers. It's not the national debt. It's not unemployment.
It's Democrats.
It's Republicans.
It's political parties and the Two-Party System. It's broken, archaic, detrimental to us as a society, and needs to be thrown out.
The worst thing that could happen in November is for anyone to win. -
A Poem Re-Done
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeThis is a re-working of a free-verse poem I wrote down two-ish years ago, and thought the concept was interesting. So, I decided to improve on the execution.
The Fine Print
"Life"
reads the label.
It will bring you
happiness,
Fulfillment,
love and
purpose.
It can all be
yours
if you try it
today.
"Warning:"
read the label.
Side-effects of
"Life"
May include
crying
chronic pain
heart-break
hopelessness
depression
insomnia
desperation
fear
longing
mild to severe bleeding
and
Death.
Use "Life"
with extreme caution,
and only after consulting your doctor.
"Life"
is not
for everyone,
but has been known to
help
in some cases. -
And Just Like That, It Ends.
» On the Subject of Being Awesome1525 AD, Japan:
The field's yellowed grass was aflame with the orange glow of the sunset. The lone samurai's jet black hair flew in the gentle breeze, and his sword blazed with a dazzling light. He looked at the three warriors, all astride majestic brown horses, that surrounded him. Two of them had their arrows drawn on their wooden bows, the third sat regally, looking down at him, with his hand on the hilt of his sword.
"Takeda," said the man with the sword, "don't make this unnecessarily difficult."
"I didn't do anything wrong," said the lone samurai on the ground. "I've been falsely accused."
"Then let me take you and we'll sort it out."
"We both know that's not how it works, Sadayo. If they wanted a trial, the bounty would've been for me alive."
"I gave you a chance," Sadayo said.
He nodded his head slightly and the other two let go of their bowstrings. Takeda dropped to the ground as the arrows whizzed narrowly over his back. He spun and cut both horses's legs out, sending the archers crashing to the ground. Takeda dove at the first. He swiftly and painlessly sliced the man's neck, and with his free hand picked up one of his dropped arrows. He whirled and around and let go of the projectile, which landed with a sickening "thuck" in the second archer's throat. Takeda turned and faced Sadayo.
"Must this be so difficult?" Sadayo sighed.
He slid weightlessly off of the horse's back onto the soft grass. His sword seemed to just appear in his hand, his draw was so fast. It gleamed in the sun as it were on fire.
Sadayo dashed at Takeda, who side-stepped and cracked Sadayo in the back of the head with his hilt. Sadayo stumbled but recovered to parry Takeda's wide sing. Sadayo jabbed but Takeda dodged it again, and this time sliced a deep blow across Sadayo's abdomen, and drawing heavy first blood.
Hunched over in pain, Sadayo grasped his wound with one hand. He looked up with rage filled eyes and staggered at his opponent, swinging recklessly. Each blow glanced effortlessly off of Takeda's blade. The sound clanging and clashing blades rang out across the plains. Finally, Takeda landed a second, and final blow across Sadayo's neck, decapitating him.
He bent over calmly and took the belt and sheath off of the body. He removed Sadayo's sword from his lifeless hands, and but it in the sheath. He walked calmly over to the horse-- who was fidgeting nervously-- and slung the belt over the saddle, sword and all. Then, taking the flat of his own blade, Takeda smacked the hindquarters of the horse, startling it. The horse galloped off across the fields, and Takeda stood amongst the bodies, watching it fade out of sight.
After it was gone he turned and looked at the head on the ground, its eyes empty.
"I didn't kill anyone," Takeda whispered.
He walked into the middle of the ring of bodies, the two horses, the two archers, and Sadayo, and fell to his knees, tears cascading down his cheeks. He wiped his blade clean, and then, grasping the handle with both hands, he stretched out his arms, so the tip of the blade hovered centimeters from his chest.
"But I have now." -
In This Bosom Of Our Lord, We Slowly Smother
» On the Subject of Being Awesome2580 BC, Giza Necropolis, Egypt
The stones were stacking up higher and higher all the time. Three men sat under the cover of a cloth hut, watching hundreds of slaves dragging massive blocks of limestone across the desert and up the shoddy wooden scaffolding.
"Isn't it glorious?" Pharaoh Khufu said to the two men he was seated with. "It's not nearly completed, but my pyramid is already a wonder to behold. A monument to my life, and a temple of my death."
Khufu was dark skinned, with narrow, dark eyes, and thin eyebrows. He wore an ornamental headdress of gold and jade that had the hawk-headed sun god, Ra, sculpted into the top.
"Indeed it is, pharaoh," said Iteru, sitting to Khufu's right. "It's stature is something to be admired and revered."
Iteru lounged in a chair lower and much less elaborate than Khufu's mobile throne. He wore an embroidered loincloth, and was completely bald, much the same as the other man sitting on the opposite side of Khufu.
"Well said, Iteru," Khufu said, pleased. "What have you to say about my creation, Serekh?"
"It's not really your creation, now is it?"
"What are you saying?" Khufu said, startled. "Of course it's mine."
"Have you laid a single stone?" asked Serekh.
"Watch your words," growled the pharaoh.
"I'm not critiquing, sire, so much as advising. And that is my job as advisor, is it not?"
Khufu glared at him silently then turned his gaze back to the growing pyramid.
"Very well. Continue."
"Well, this isn't really a very good story. You won't be remembered positively for this. The building itself may be admired, but the means by which it was made will not. And neither will you. History will be unkind to you, Pharaoh Khufu."
"How do you know this?" Khufu asked worriedly.
"He doesn't!" Iteru interjected, standing up. "This is the biggest creation that has ever been built. The universe is infinite! It doesn't notice the little things. The normal things. It only takes notice to things that colossal in scale."
"This is nothing, if not colossal," mumbled Khufu to himself.
"Exactly!" Iteru continued. "And it is created because you wished it to be! This is what the universe notices. This is what matters."
"If I may interrupt Iteru for a moment?" Serekh jumped in. "History won't remember you for bringing a wonder to the world. It will remember you for that."
Serekh pointed to a distant limestone block. It appeared to have slid off of a block below it, and was leaning on the ground at an angle. There was something moving at the base. Squinting, the pharaoh could make out a young slave, writhing in pain beneath the stone, both legs crushed and pinned under the block.
Khufu looked away.
"It's but one accident," he said quietly.
"And that." Serekh pointed up at the scaffolding.
One of the supervisors was whipping a slave fiercely. The slave cried out in agony, but he just continued to be beaten. The slave driver kicked the slave off the platform, and he fell to his death. Another slave immediately took his place.
Khufu was silent.
"Sacrifices must be made, pharaoh," Iteru said passionately. "You can't expect the grandest monument in the world to be easy?"
"And that," said Serekh, pointing again.
"Silence!" roared Khufu. "Guards! Take this man away and put him to work."
Three armed warriors ceased Serekh by the arms and yanked him from his chair.
"This is an exciting twist," said Story enthusiastically. He was dragged in front of Khufu, who smacked him, and then by Infinity, who simply watched. "Now I get to be the hero." -
Ode to a Flying Horse
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI was at work today, and I realized something: I'm part of something pretty special.
Let's rewind.
So, I was standing there at the counter, and a guy walks in and leans his skateboard on a bookshelf out of the way and begins browsing the shop. He was pretty average looking, in his early twenties. I started a conversation with him, and found out he had lived in Bend when he was a little kid, but moved to Portland and then California, and now is back in Bend. He told me that he could remember coming in here all that time ago and reading comics, and that he even remembered talking to the first owner, Mike Richardson, when he'd stop in. He had even lived down the street from Dark Horse Publishing (which Mike founded), when he lived in Portland. He had quite a few memories from this store and the people in it. He said that he hadn't even thought about coming in, but he was downtown and decided to check if we were still there.
I thought that was pretty cool, but I didn't think much of it.
That is, until another guy, perhaps a bit older than the first, came in with a very similar story. He was only visiting, but he too had moved away, and still had memories of the store. And thinking back, there have been a decent amount of others over the months that had shared similar experiences.
That's when I kind of realized a new appreciation for that place. What does that say about the impression the store leaves? Even though they'd only been in as young children, they still had extremely vivid and positive memories of the store. It's really pretty amazing. I doubt most people have that sort of emotional attachment to a place that's not their home. Does anyone remember their first McDonald's? Their first Toys-R-Us? I certainly don't. But these people could remember Pegasus Books. I think that's incredible, and really a beautiful thing.
Very few places can change and impact people that positively. Our homes, a playground from our childhood, possibly a church or a school.
And, even though there are far fewer children that come into the store now, it's still happening. Sure, we get the "Wow, I remember so-and-so" from all sorts of older people, but I can honestly say that most of the time a kid comes in for the first time, we usually get a good old fashioned jaw-drop. They're astounded and mesmerized. The store really is unlike anything else. It feeds their imaginations like little else can.
It got me thinking about the other ways a store can be successful, aside from financially. A store is always out to make money, and it's impressive enough to make it work in that way. But it takes a special type of place to have a truly positive and lasting effect on the people that come in. It may not have a direct benefit to anyone working there, or to the amount of money made, but in a completely non-quantitative way, it's a huge success.
I know for me personally, I would not be the same person without this store. I can remember buying a Yanma Pokemon card for $3 out of the glass case when I was in either 4th or 5th grade. A few years later, I can distinctly remember looking down at the bottom shelf of the comic racks a year or two later, and picking up my first two comics: Avengers #499 and Iron Man #89. I remember about a year after that, creating my pill list with Duncan. I had Avengers, Iron Man, and House of M on there. I remember countless trips to the comic store and watching my stacks of comics grow. I remember taking a risk a couple years ago and actually trying to read DC comics with Green Lantern. Then, I remember starting reading Vertigo. Then I remember starting my first job behind that counter. Despite working at McDonald's first, this will be the one I tell people about. I would never have started writing or drawing without the inspiration that I found in the store. Heck, this blog was started on the store computer.
I know I'll never forget it.
If that's just my story, imagine the stories 30 years of kids must have? I can only imagine the stories little kids will tell Duncan in 10 more years. I hope I'm doing a good job giving them something to remember. -
You Betrayed them, When You Were Born Into The Light.
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeIt was a new beginning. The only thing in existence was the Old Mother. The old universe had died, and she was alone. To satiate her loneliness, she gave birth to two sons: Light and Dark. However, they were ungrateful and jealous. They quarreled constantly, and ignored their mother. They fought and they fought, despite the Old Mother insisting they stop.
Light and Dark were brothers of unimaginable power, and their battles shook all of existence. This went on for millenia until finally the Old Mother had had enough. She took Dark and stretched him across infinity and created the black night sky. Then she took light and shattered him into trillions of pieces and spread him like she were splattering paint across a canvas. This created the stars.
The Old Mother was furious with her sons, and in her rage, Fire was born. She then became saddened, as she was alone once more, and in her tears was born Water. Finally, she calmed herself, and from the marrow of her bones she molded Earth.
The Old Mother looked at these new children of hers, Fire, Water and Earth. She took Fire, and balled part of him up. She then stretched some of Earth over Fire. She then splashed water all over Earth, and the world was born. A fiery core, surrounded by rocky earth, covered by vast oceans, it was a beautiful thing.
Fire, Water, and Earth got along much better than their older brothers. Yet still, they were not content. They wished for someone to worship them, and so they had a competition, to see who could create the best life.
Water went first, and created life in all of the oceans. He created the fishes and the sharks, the octopus and the sea stars, the whales and the barnacles. The oceans were more majestic than they'd ever been.
"These creatures are indeed grand," said Fire to Water, "But they won't worship us. They can't adapt to the world so that they may live a long time with us. Let me try."
And so, Fire created birds, who flew up near the great fiery sun. He created the vultures and the doves, the eagles and the turkeys, the ostriches and the penguins. The skies were more grand than they'd ever been.
"These creatures are indeed beautiful, and they can adapt to the world so that they may live a long time with us," said Earth to Fire, "But they won't worship us. They aren't smart enough to know we even exist. Let me try."
And so, Earth created the animals of land. He created the bisons and the boars, the lions and the coyotes, the rats and the bears. The land was more beautiful than it had ever been.
"These creatures are indeed majestic, they can adapt to the world so that they may live a long time with us, and they are smart," said Water to Earth, "But they won't worship us. They have no souls with which to love us."
The three brothers thought a long time about their dilemma. They had created all manner of life, but none that suited their needs. Finally, after much thought, they came to an agreement to try to try once more, together this time.
Earth took rock and formed a skeleton from it, and then formed a sack of dirt around it. Then, Water filled the sack with liquid. Forging it from only the purest of flames, Fire then created a soul, and placed in the body. It jumped to life instantly, and a beautiful woman stood naked before them. They rejoiced, and named this first woman Dawn, as she was the beginning of something great.
The three brothers got to work at once creating another human, to be Dawn's mate. They created the first man in the same way, and named him Dusk.
The two were happy together, and they lived peacefully with nature, and they knew know pain. They worshipped Fire, Water and Earth, shunned the ways of Light and Dark, and gave thanks to the Old Mother.
Eventually, Dawn became pregnant and gave birth to triplets. She named them Ignis, Unda, and Terra. They grew up and became strong young men. One day, however, when they had finished praying, they began to argue.
Ignis believed that Fire was the most powerful of the gods and should be worshipped above all others.
Unda believed that Water was the most holy of the gods and he should be revered above all others.
Terra believed that Earth was the most sacred of the gods and he should be feared above all others.
They began to yell and became violent. They disowned each other and went their separate ways to live alone. Dawn and Dusk could not believe it, and they died from grief.
To this day, the three brothers have not made amends, and their descendants still quarrel, no longer knowing what they argue about.
We talked about what a creation story tells about a society in one of my classes on Wednesday, and it got me thinking that it my be fun to try to write one of my own. Don't worry, I'm not trying to start a religion. -
My God Has A Hammer
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeWinter, 871 A.D., The North Sea:
Einar's beard was solid from the frozen ocean air. The whole world was gray and white around him and his ship, the snowing blinding, deafening and numbing. The longship lurched slowly forward, as if it was powered by the sheer will of the vikings at the oars.
Einar stood at the head of the ship, squinting into the cold. His massive red beard covered in white, as was his thick mane that emerged from under his horned helmet. His heavy brow cast a shadow over his eyes, which were scrunched up in a futile attempt to see. The wind howled and his cheeks and nose were red from the cold. He wore a brown fur coat that rose up to the top of his head, and had tight leather and fur pants. From his belt hung a frighteningly large war-hammer, and in his hand was a massive wooden staff with a eagle's head carved meticulously into the top.
The war-hammer on Einar's belt was stained with blood. Throughout the ship lay piles of foodstuffs, clothing, and valuables. All that remained of the village from which they came.
The longship moved slowly. The wind, the chunks of floating ice, the choppy waves and the sheer cold and exhaustion of the warriors all contributed to the hindering of their progress. But still, they pressed forward. Einar barked orders and encouragement at them regularly, and every time, the speed would momentarily pick up, only to grind slowly back to the speed it had previously been.
Einar wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his coat, for the wind forced tears from his eyes. He scanned the blurred and distant horizon for any sign of relief. Land, a bigger ship, or a rival raiding party would all have been a welcomed relief from the monotonous torture. They had been rowing for days, and enough of them that no one had been able to keep a count. Einar had made the same journey many times before, but never had the conditions turned this harsh, not at this time of year. He knew they were approaching their destination, and he would not be deterred now.
Einar saw a flicker of color in the distance, barely visible through the gray-white reality surrounding the longship. He raised a powerful gloved hand to his brow, shielding his eyes from the piercing onslaught of snow. He strained his vision, and he saw it. There was no mistaking it. Faint and distant though it was, Einar could see fire.
He roared in rejoice and commanded his men to row toward the flame, and they did so, their vigor renewed once more. The distant orange grew bigger as they approached, and now Einar could see that it was more than a single fire: it was many! It was the fire-lit windows and streets of a village. They'd made it.
Within minutes, the longship pulled up onto the shore, and the warriors piled out behind Einar. They praised Thor for safe journey, Odin for their lives, and Tyr for their spoils. Einar pulled the largest of the boars that they had taken from the Saxxon village and slung it over his shoulders. The other men carried the rest of the raid's prizes: barrels of ale and wine, chickens and a turkey, bundles of grain and piles of warm clothing. Einar started up towards the village, and his men followed.
Einar trekked through the snow up to the center of the village, where a huge fire already raged. A little boy, skinny and frail ran up to him and hugged Einar's thunderous leg. Einar looked down at him and smiled. He dropped the boar on the ground next to the boy, who lit up instantly.
"You'll not go hungry tonight, my son." -
These Things Always Seem A Lot Bigger Up Close
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeHawaii, Summer 1993:
Lance and Evan walked down from the town onto the beach and sat in the grass on the edge of the sand. They watched the waves undulate and crash as the people played in the sun.
"Look at those two," Lance said, pointing to a young couple laying on the beach together.
"Yes, tragic isn't it?" Evan said distractedly.
"Tragic? How's it tragic?"
"People have a horrible habit of getting attached to one another, when none of it ever lasts," Evan replied in a daze. "People move away from each other, fight, die. Relationships are never permanent, romantic or otherwise."
"I suppose you'd know," Lance said solemnly. "But they love each other. Can you think of a better use of their time?"
"I don't believe in time," murmured Evan.
"Of course you don't. Well I do. There's no other way to measure the worth of one's days, except with love. Loving the world, loving friends, loving lovers. It's the only way to live."
"Love can't be real. By definition, love must be perfect. Therefore, it would last forever, and that's impossible," Evan said, closing his eyes as he spoke. "Ignoring whether there's an afterlife, humans change. There's no way that a human can love permanently or stay permanent enough to be loved."
They sat in silence, the salty breeze rushing through their hair.
"You're wrong. Without love, we are both nothing," Lance said finally.
"You'll see," Eternity said to Love. "I already do." -
Sherwood In Flames
» On the Subject of Being Awesome1190 AD, Sherwood Forest, Nottinghamshire, England:
It was all burning. Gilbert Whitehand sprinted with the other Merry Men away from the inferno that had become their home. He skidded behind an oak with Little John and they both looked back.
"We have to go back for him!" Gilbert told John. "He's going to die!"
"There's no saving him now, Gil," Little John replied solemnly. "There's no surviving that. And he was sleeping right in the middle of it."
The massive trees that they had built their home around and within, were collapsing under the weight of the immense flames. Great branches crashed to the ground, splintering into char-black blades and millions of orange sparks. Where once oceans of green and brown existed, now was a whirlpool of orange and red, swirling violently about blackened trunks. The fire was contained to the grove of trees the Merry Men had lived in, but the rest of the forest seemed a bit darker nonetheless.
A man, dressed in ornate red and gold, and riding a tall brown horse, trotted up near the flaming trees, followed by thirty soldiers, all armed with swords and bows. They circled around the grove, searching for survivors, but the Merry Men stayed hidden amongst the woods. The Sheriff of Nottingham trotted his horse a bit closer to the blaze.
What happened next, horrified everyone who witnessed it.
From the flames of the tree, a black silhouette of a man leaped, every inch of his clothing burning. He held a bow at full draw, with three flaming arrows on the string. Time seemed to slow as-- in mid-air--the flaming specter launched the arrows into the chest of the sheriff. They all struck his torso, and he too began too burn. The flaming man tackled him off his horse, screaming in agony. The flaming corpse of Robin Hood then drew his sword one final time, and impaled it in the heart of his most hated enemy. He roared in pain as he dropped to his knees. His body has black and cracked, smoke poured from every orifice. His eyes were completely red, and blood flowed from them in place of tears.
The Merry Men burst from their hiding spots at the sight of their leader, roaring in anger. They drew their swords, swung their staffs and drew their bows. One by one, the Sheriff's men fell. Chunks of burning wood fell and exploded on the ground all around them, but they did not hesitate.
Gilbert Whitehand stood with his back to Little John's and fired arrows through the foreheads of two charging soldiers, as John swung his mighty staff into the ribs of another man and shattered them. They spun and ran towards Robin, who was still screaming in pain.
Gilbert fell to Robin's side, as John held off the soldiers. Gilbert lowered Robin to the ground gently, and could hear his flesh cracking and crunching. He looked into Robin's eye's, which were now completely covered in coagulated blood.
"Oos 'ere?" he wheezed weakly.
"Gilbert Whitehand," he replied quietly, withholding tears. "Don't try and talk. We're going to fix you up, Master Robin."
"Ha'nt ye 'een lisnin', Gil?" Robin struggled with every sound. "I 'ot yer 'aster. No 'un is. Thas whu' we 'een trying to tell 'eople."
"Please, Robin, stop trying to talk." Gilbert choked with tears, and they ran down his face and down his right arm to his hand, which was holding Robin's.
Now, most of the soldiers had been defeated, and the Merry Men were gathering with John to defend their fallen comrade. Then, Gilbert heard what he believed was the most painful sounding sentence that anyone had ever heard:
"Don't cry, Gil. There's no need for tears. I've done good in my life. We all have."
With that, the final gasp of smoky air escaped from Robin Hood's lungs, and all was silent in the forest.
This post marks one month of blogging at least once a day. Celebrate, get drunk, go nuts. -
The Origins of the Flying Fish
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeThere once was an ocean. In it was a school of fish. In this school was a fish named Jump. He was named that because whenever the school swam near the surface, he would repeatedly leap out of the water, as high into the air as he could go. The other fish all ridiculed him for his habit. They told him he was foolish, that he needed to grow up, and that he belonged in the water, not in the air.
Jump always swam in the back of the school, as he wasn't a very speedy swimmer, and felt out of place in the depths. He didn't get along well with the other fish, as they all thought him strange, and his father stayed his distance because he was embarrassed of Jump.
One day, when the school was swimming near the surface, Jump did what he always did and lept out of the water and into the clear blue sky, his scales shimmering in the sunlight. However, this time, the jump was different. This time, Jump saw something that he'd never seen before. A flock of squawking seagulls were flying above Jump, swooping and soaring and gliding a diving, and going higher than Jump thought possible. Jump kept leaping out of the water, again and again, mesmerized by the feathered spectacle. Jump kept leaping until his father grabbed him and held him under. His father reprimanded him and sent him to swim in the back of the school.
And so he did. He waved his tail fin slowly and morosely from side to side, and trailed behind the other fish as they descended into the cold dark depths. His eyes were downcast and sad, and he trailed farther and farther behind. Eventually, before he knew it, he was so far behind that he could no longer see the rest of the school. He stopped and looked around worriedly. He called out, but no one appeared to be around. He sat there, swimming in place, not knowing what to do.
As he thought, a single bubble floated towards him from the darkness below. He stared at it as it got closer. It was unlike any bubble Jump had ever seen. It swirled and shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow, and was dazzlingly bright. It floated upwards until it was right in front of Jump, and then--strangely and suddenly-- it stopped.
It sat there, right in front of the startled fish. He swam in circles around it excitedly, examining it from every angle. He looked at it, puzzled, thinking this extremely peculiar behavior, unbecoming of a bubble such as this. He swam in place, staring and thinking, thinking and staring.
He sat there a long while, not knowing what to do. Finally, he had an urge to say something.
"I wish I could jump as high as those birds," he said to the bubble.
As soon as the words left Jump's mouth, the bubble burst into a blinding flash of light that swirled all around him.
He opened his eyes a few moments late and blinked furiously, coming out of the daze. Even with his blurry vision, Jump could see that the bubble was gone. He blinked his eyes until he could see again, but still something felt off. He swooshed his tail and his fins, and everything felt normal. He opened and closed his mouth, and took a deep breath through his gills, and still couldn't figure out what was bothering him. He blinked his eyes once more and fluttered his wings.
Jump stopped.
He slowly turned to his left and looked up at his back. There, attached to him, was a translucent wing. His eyes grew wide, and he turned quickly to the right. The same thing was true of his right side. Another wing. He looked back and forth at them both rapidly several times over, then fluttered them excitedly. He pointed his nose upward and swam as fast as he could to the surface.
He exploded out of the water into the air, flapping his wings and he soared over the waves.
No longer was he made fun of by his school or his father. No longer did he feel out of place.
He was flying. He was free. -
A Formidable Stack of Stories...
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeNo story today. Just a rant. Not entirely sure what it's going to end up being about. Something about books though.
I went to Barnes & Noble with Sarah today. We hadn't originally intended to go there, but it's right next to Blockbuster. I jokingly suggested we should go and Sarah said we should, but I informed her that I already have a nice backlog of books that need reading anyways, and that I'll inevitably just add to it. Needless to say, we went in after I easily caved.
I'm a real sucker for an attractively or uniquely put together volume. This is true with both graphic novels and regular books, and I don't necessarily mean what picture is on the cover. I like the design of the title and the back, and how the dustjacket or hardcover adds to the appearance. When buying books, a selling point for me can be how good it will look on my shelf, regardless of if I'm entirely sold on the story.
This is both a good and a bad habit, as I buy random things for weird reasons (I bought the Cowboy Ninja Viking and Stuff of Legend graphic novels because of their unique print size) and end up loving them, but I also buy things that I simply have an impulse to buy due my collector/completionist mindset. While I think 85-90% of the stuff I buy is good quality stuff that's worth re-reading, I also have a few pretty looking stinkers, and some simply mediocre stuff that I could do without.
Back to Barnes & Noble:
I ended up buying The Complete Sherlock Holmes vol. 1&2 and 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. While, for the most part, I love what classics I read (they are called that for a reason) I hardly ever make them a priority, and so I now have those, along with Grimm's Fairy Tales, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Aesop's Fables, most of Arabian Nights, and The Wizard of Oz (which is strangely the only of the original Oz books I haven't read) to get through, and I'm sure I'll add to the pile.
I absolutely adore Dracula, Frankenstein, The Jungle Books, and others that I own, but for some reason, I never have motivation to read them. I suppose it's just the feeling of having them there so that I can read them when I feel like it is just something I enjoy. There's also a small sense of obligation, that as an aspiring writer, I should know and own these, almost as reference materials. Required reading for the profession. Especially with the collections of fables and fairy tales, those simple stories are what all others grow out of, and I feel like I should know them, or at the very least have access to them.
It's a weird mindset, and not one I can explain very well. But it doesn't bother me too much. My wallet complains, but I'm fine.
I guess I just like good stories... -
A Short Poem
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI'd write of a bubble, if not for the pop.
It's the splash that I fear, and so also the drop.
My wings stay grounded, for with flight comes landing.
I hate falling over, and so I'm not standing.
The lovely beginning seems not worth the end,
But the journey is worth it, if you have a friend. -
Who's With Me For Life's Last Stand?
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeJanuary 1349, Rome:
Beth walked into the room and looked at the form of the malnourished child covered by the sheet.
"He's been like that for days," said the boy's mother who was standing behind her. "I don't know what to do. I've tried everything."
Beth walked over to the bed and pulled the sheet back. she rolled the boy over on to his back. Beth held a cloth over her mouth as she inspected him. His chest was covered in darkly colored boils that were oozing puss, and he was also bleeding from a few of them. His ribs were protruding unnaturally from a lack of food, and blood stained his lips and chin. Beth propped him up and bandaged the open wounds as best she could to prevent further infection, and gave the boy some water.
"Keep giving him water and feed him only bread until he can keep it down," she told his mother. "There's not much else that I can do for him."
Beth walked out of the tiny dwelling and into the filthy streets. Everywhere they walked, the peasants covered their faces with rags and averted their eyes from one another. A man pushed a cart piled high with rotting bodies down the street, heading towards the Coliseum which had been turned into a mass grave. A fitting use for a building that had once been used to so trivially play with death.
It had been two years since the Black Plague had first arrived in Europe. No one thought much of it at first. They simply blamed it on the abnormally cold weather. By the time that they realized it was something much more fearsome, it was far too late to do anything about it. The already filthy cities were ripe with the stench of death, and the pestilence was unavoidable.
Across the street, a man with a long white beard sat in the mud, holding a sign made from an old piece of wood. Beth walked a bit closer to see that it read, "End is here." She walked across the street and stood looking down at the man.
"Why must you scare them, Edward?" she asked him, "Don't they suffer enough?"
"The fear is their own doing," he mumbled. "As for the suffering, it will be painless. Getting there is another matter entirely."
"So this isn't it then?" she asked.
"Course not," he said, "I'd've told you."
"No you wouldn't have. You like surprises too much."
"No, I won't tell you. Now stop asking."
"Let's take a walk, Edward," she said, and helped him to his feet.
"Why are you helping them?" he asked as they weaved amongst the gloomy peasants trodding on the muddy stone roads. "Why must you interfere?"
"More than anyone, you know that everything has its time. I simply wish to keep things in order."
They turned the corner and could see the towering spires of a cathedral in the distance. They were dark against the lifeless gray sky. The hope they once inspired a thing of distant memory.
"They locked up the Vatican you know. Have to tell on him to Him. Pope fears he'll catch a bug. I told you, the fear is of their own making."
"Of course they're afraid. Everyone around them is dying horribly. How do you expect them to act?" Beth asked.
"Not fearing it. They should live. They'll be there when they get there. No need worrying about something that's going to happen. Or it mightn't."
"I suppose you're right," she replied.
They walked in silence as they followed on of the death carts up a hill. The Coliseum was now in sight. They wandered outside the powerful arches. Edward stopped and looked up at the sky above the arena. Hundreds of crows and vultures circled and swooped down into the pit. He kept staring at them, watching as the spiralled in their morbid black dance. Beth stood and watched his eyes. They could hear a woman wailing nearby, no doubt from the loss of another to the plague. Another man was groaning as he walked by, trying to hide the burden of his affliction.
"I don't want it to hurt for them," End finally said to Beginning. "They deserve better. After all, they are the heroes of this story." -
Destroy the Past to Save the Future
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeDecember 25, 1899, London:
The twin boys rushed down the stairs, stumbling over each other as they raced to the sparkling tree. They squealed with joy when their eyes fell upon the presents under the Christmas tree. Their eyes then fell upon the couch, where their parents sat with another man and woman.
"Uncle Greg!" said one of the boys excitedly.
"Aunt Holly!" said the other.
"Hello boys," said Greg, hugging them both. "Looks like you got some great goodies there."
"Yeah we did!" yelled one of them. "Can we open yours first?"
"I forgot mine at home. Sorry boys."
"Why don't you open the ones from Santa Claus first?" Holly interjected.
"Haha! Now, now Holly," said Greg, "let's not fill their heads with lies."
"Lies? Where do you think the toys came from?" she retorted.
"I don't think they should care. There are piles of things with their name on them, what should they care where they came from?"
"Of course they should care!" Holly blurted. "The giving is what it's all about! It's all about hope."
"Let's not ruin the morning by arguing," Greg said with a sneer. "Let them have their fun."
"Can we open them now?" asked the boys.
"Of course you can," Holly said with a gentle smile. "After you answer a question."
"Aw! Do we have to?" they whined.
"Yes, you do. Now here's the question: who gave you this?" Holly held up a wooden soldier. There was a tag hanging from its leg that read, "From Saint Nick."
The boys looked at each other, puzzled. They shrugged their shoulders and looked back at Holly.
"Santa."
"Of course," they said.
"That is correct," she smiled. "You may open them now. But your uncle and I must be going. We're quite busy. Have a very merry Christmas, boys."
They hugged their aunt, and said goodbye to their uncle, then dove into their toys. Holly and Greg picked their coats off the hook by the door, and Greg put on his hat and picked up his black cane. They stepped out the door into the gentle snowfall into the cobblestone street.
"It may be about you for now," Greed said to Hope coldly, "but soon enough... soon enough they'll learn that it's all about me."
They both turned and walked in opposite directions away from the house. -
Fing Fang Foom Has Absolutely No Genitals Whatsoever!
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeNew Earth, 2 weeks after the creation of the dragon:
"Another building in the warehouse district destroyed tonight, as the hunt for the so called "Iron Dragon" continues," buzzed the radio. "Wranglers have been searching for the elusive beast since it killed what many presume to be its creator, a 46 year old technogician, and destroyed his workshop. It has continued to wreak havoc in the area, but with no real pattern or motive apparent. The Wranglers have advised all citizens to stay clear of the warehouse district as much as possible. Another fire on the northsi--kzzt!"
"Stupid piece of junk." The girl smacked the radio, but with no success. She was about fourteen and had black skin and dirty black hair down to her shoulders. She was curled up in a parka that was too big for her and leaning in a corner where a warehouse and a wooden fence met. She had a steel barrel with a fire going. The smoke curled up into the already smoke-infested night sky. The orange cast an eerie glow on the dark red brick of the building. A cardboard sheet was her bed, a potato sack her sheet and an old shoe her pillow.
She sat there, curled up against the wall, mesmerized by the flames. She was what some people called homeless. She didn't understand the term though. Having lived on the streets your whole life, the whole world is your home. She had always been an outcast, but she never knew anything else, and so she enjoyed her life for what it was. As she sat watching the sparks flutter upwards, a rat scampered out from behind a bag of garbage on the other side of the barrel. The girl reached out her hand, and it began glowing blue. Soon after, the rat rose into the air and flew into the girl's hand. With her other hand, she quickly and painlessly snapped the creature's neck.
"Thank you," she whispered to the rat. She extended her right index finger and a glowing green blade formed around it, which she used to quickly skin the animal. Finding a stick, she roasted the meat over the barrel-fire, and devoured it hungrily.
She was sitting there, happily eating when she heard a sound from the far end of the alleyway. A grinding of metal upon metal, crunching of steel joints and the hiss of steam. Something heavy slowly lumbered across the gravel roadway. She stared down the wall, waiting for something to emerge. Finally, the horrible steel dragon turned the corner, it's razor-sharp teeth and deep red eyes flashing in the light of the fire. It turned the corner and slowly walked on all fours towards the girl, steam pouring from its nostrils and mouth.
The girl sat motionless, paralyzed with fear. Her eyes locked unblinkingly with the terrible creature's as it creaked, groaned, hissed and grinded closer and closer. It was close enough now that the girl could feel the moisture of the steam on her face. The dragon lowered its head and stared at the girl for what she thought felt like an eternity. It moaned and breathed a huge cloud of steam onto her as it swung its enormous neck away from her. It turned calmly and walked through the fence like it was a pile of leaves, crushing it under its footsteps. It wandered away, back into the darkness of the abandoned warehouses, leaving the girl alone once more. -
The Strange Casefiles of Horatio Morgan, Chapter 4
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI started writing this 45 minutes ago. It still counts.
"I won't tell you anything," growled the werewolf through his clenched teeth. "And you'll gain nothing from killing me. Stop bluffing."
"I'm pretty sure a werewolf specimen will prove quite valuable to the scientific community," Thaddeus replied coldly. "Now start talking. Did you kill Zylphia's husband?"
"What? No, of course not, you imbecile. Why would we start killing off our own people?"
"Well then why did you attack us?" Thaddeus asked.
"Zylphia was fool to let normals investigate it. She shouldn't have allowed you to take anything from his body. You'll only reveal us."
"If we wanted to that, why wouldn't we take the whole body?" Thaddeus replied. "We want to catch the killer, just like you. At this point, it's a better use of both our time to just work together. What's done is done."
The werewolf was silent. He sighed, and the fur all over his body retracted, and his snout and claw cracked and crunched back into his human form. He stretched his neck from side to side and groaned.
"Ferris," he said, extending his hand.
"Thaddeus." He holstered his gun and shook Ferris's hand.
"What are you, exactly?" Ferris asked.
"Ha!" Thaddeus thundered with laughter. "You'll forgive me for appreciating the irony. But I believe our first order of business should be preventing your friend from murdering my partner."
At that moment, Horatio came sprinting back up the stairs, breathing heavily and sweating.
"Dammit Thaddeus! Why are you still here?! An where are the werewolves?" Horatio blurted.
Thaddeus motioned to Ferris.
"Who's he?" wheezed Horatio.
"One of the werewolves, sir. The second is still unconscious at the bottom of the stairs. As for the third, I believe that's the reason you're nearly fainting from exhaustion."
"I don't know why I gave you voice pipes, Thaddeus. So, this is one of the werewolves? Why isn't he horrifying?"
"My name is Ferris. Your machine explained the situation to me, and I believe it would be best if we worked together."
"Too bad we didn't think of talking it out the first time, hmm?" Horatio mumbled. "No, it's so much simpler to kill your problems..."
"I am capable of changing my mind," Ferris retorted.
"Well then," Horatio said. "What say we go catch a wolf killer?" -
The Strange Casefiles of Horatio Morgan, Chapter 3
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeHoratio drew his gun and pointed it at the nearest werewolf.
"Unless that thing is loaded with silver, you're wasting your time," growled the werewolf. "Hand over everything you took from the crime scene and we'll let you live."
Horatio backed up to a locked wardrobe in the corner of the room near the window.
"Very well," he said, calmly unlocking it.
"A wise decision," said the werewolf.
"You were right, you know," said Horatio, fiddling with something hidden in the wardrobe. "This isn't loaded with silver. But I'd imagine it will hurt anyways."
Horatio spun and fired two shots into each of the werewolves. They howled in pain as Horatio pulled a harpoon gun out of the wardrobe and leaped out the window.
"I hope this works," he muttered as he fired it into the top of the roof of the tavern across the street. The harpoon stuck firmly, and, using the rope attached to it, Horatio swung across the street and through the tavern window.
Back in the study, the wolves were still writhing in pain. One looked out the window and informed the leader that Horatio was gone.
"You bastard," mumbled Thaddeus. "I suppose I'll deal with the werewolves alone then."
Thaddeus rolled to his feet and grabbed one of the werewolves by its shoulder. Catching the monster by surprise, he threw him back threw the annihilated doorway and tumbling down the stairs. The other two spun and faced Thaddeus.
"Go catch the man, he has the bullet!" barked the leader, and the other werewolf flew out the window.
Thaddeus pulled his gun out of its holster and opened the chamber.
"See this?" said Thaddeus, holding up the silver bullet that Horatio had removed from the body, "it killed one of you already."
Thaddeus slid the bullet into the gun and cocked it. He raised the barrel to the wolf's forehead.
"How did you get that?" said the stunned werewolf.
"Horatio tossed it to me while you were busy being shot. Now tell me what's going on."
---------
Horatio stood up and brushed the broken glass off of his shirt. The tavern was completely silent, its few patrons snapped out of the drunken haze, staring at the newcomer. He looked around, then picked up his hat and put it on.
"Dreadfully sorry about the mess. I'll pay for the damages," he said to the bartender. Horatio then stumbled out through the backdoor and into the narrow alleyway. It was overrun with garbage and dirt. He turned right and began walking towards the street. He was about fifty feet from the end of the alley when a werewolf turned the corner. Horatio spun around and sprinted back the other way, and the werewolf pursued him, bolting down the alley on all fours. It quickly caught Horatio and tackled him to the ground. They both rolled through the dirt and stopped with Horatio on his back and the werewolf on top of him, baring his enormous teeth.
"Give me the bullet," it growled. Horatio could feel its thick breath on his face, and its eyes shown red through its dark grey fur.
"I'd love to help you, but I don't actually have any more. I think you might have some of mine lodged in your chest, though," Horatio retorted.
"The silver bullet. Now."
"I don't have that either," said Horatio. He grabbed a wooden plank with his right hand and swung it as hard his he could, shattering it across the predator's face. The werewolf howled and fell over, leaving Horatio an opening. He got up and sprinted towards the other end of the alley. -
"Nice shooting Tex!" "It's Sam, sir." "No, you're Tex now."
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeThere once was a magical kingdom known as Chesdek. It was a land torn by war. Chesdek was divided right down the middle into two regions: Whiteboard and Blackboard. On the far side of Whiteboard, was Castle Whiterook, from which the King and Queen of Diamonds and the King and Queen of Hearts ruled. On the opposite side of Chesdek was Castle Blackrook, where the kings and queens of Spades and Clubs reigned. From their castles, they ordered their armies all over Chesdek, sending knights and jacks, bishops and aces, all across the wartorn kingdom.
But, caught in the middle of it all were the poor villagers of Chesdek. While the royalty used violence as a twisted game, the villagers tried in vain to survive. Most of the stronger Chesdekians survived, but the 4's, 3's, 2's, and lowliest f all, the pawns, all suffered. They were the ones that ultimately payed the price for the savagery of their leaders.
One such villager was a pawn named Arthur. He lived in a village right in the center of Chesdek, and so his village was not a peaceful one.
One day, a White Knight rode into Arthur's village and murdered a pawn that happened to be crossing the street. Arthur felt something inside snap. He had enough. He grabbed his tiny sword and charged the knight. Before the knight knew what was happening, he was slain.
Arthur sheathed his sword and began walking north to Castle Whiterook. The journey was long and he met with much resistance along the way, but he could not be deterred.
Finally, after many weeks, he reached Castle Whiterook. As he stepped inside the gates, something incredible happened. He was now clad in shining gold armor, and his tiny dagger of a sword was now one to rival Excalibur. He grew taller, and he now appeared a warrior of the most fearsome kind. All of the guards stepped out of the way as he climbed the steps to the thrones. Then, with one fell swipe of his mighty blade, he beheaded the kings. He turned to the warriors that stood below, watching him. He then uttered the words, that, as per tradition, made him the rightful King of all of Chesdek: "Checkmate."
He took his throne.
Within days, the Royals of Blackboard surrendered, and Arthur's rule restored long-sought peace to the land. -
I'm Not Mad, I'm A Different Kind Of Sane!
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeOne day, an angel was flying over the earth. He soaring above an average suburban neighborhood when he saw a woman walking on the sidewalk carrying bags of groceries. He thought that she was absolutely beautiful, and so he landed beside her.
"May I help you with those bags?" he asked.
"Oh!" she said, startled, "I didn't even see you there! I'd appreciate that, thank you."
He took the bags from her and walked beside her. He gazed at her longingly, believing her to be even more beautiful up close.
"Sorry for startling you. My name is Isaiah. I'm an angel."
"An angel?" she laughed, "Well if that's true, I've been waiting for you my whole life."
"It is true! Look at my wings!"
"Oh my..." she murmured. "Those are wings. Well I guess you are an angel!"
"May I ask your name?"
"You may ask. But I might not answer, " she teased.
"I think you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," Isaiah said as they reached her front porch. They went inside and set the bags down in the kitchen.
"And I think you're the most beautiful man I've ever seen. You're perfect."
"I'm not a man, really. Just an angel."
"Maybe that's why you're so beautiful."
"I must be going now, but may I see you again?" Isaiah asked.
"I'd love that," she answered.
Isaiah said goodbye to her and walked out the front door and took off into the sky.
Every single day from then on, at the same time each day, Isaiah would take a break from his flight around the world and walk with her on the sidewalk. She'd tell him how perfect he was and he'd tell her how beautiful she was. Then they'd get to her house, and Isaiah would take off again, only to return the next day. And so it went for an entire year. On that day, after he left her house, Isaiah decided that he wanted to marry her, and so he flew up to heaven to ask for God's permission. He walked in threw the pearly gates and kneeled before Him.
"Lord, there is a woman on Earth that I have fallen in love with and wish to marry. I have come seeking your blessing," he said.
"This is happy news!" said God. "What is her name?"
Isaiah paused.
"I don't know. She hasn't told me."
"Well I suppose a name is irrelevant when loving someone. What does she do?"
Isaiah paused again.
"We haven't talked about it."
"Well," asked God, "is there anything that you do know about this woman?"
"I know she is beautiful, that I love her, and that she loves me."
"That is all?" asked God.
"Yes. That is all," said Isaiah.
God sighed. He remained silent for a long while.
"What you think you have, Isaiah," said God, finally, "it is not love. You do not have my blessing."
"Then I must give you back my wings," said Isaiah.
"This is a mistake, my son."
"I have to." Isaiah removed his wings, which he placed at God's feet. He then fell out of heaven and back down to Earth, where he found her walking.
"Hello," he said.
"Do I know you?" she said.
"Of course," he replied, "I'm Isaiah. You've walked this road with me for a year and a day!"
"You're not Isaiah," she said bluntly. She climbed the steps of her porch and unlocked the door.
"I am! You love me, and I love you!"
"No," she said as she closed the door in his face, "The man I fell in love with was perfect. Come back when you have wings." -
Haul of Heroes: Comic Reviews for 9/9/10
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeIt's been a long week. Labor Day bumping new releases back to thursday made it feel like I had to wait an eternity to get my four-color fix. But good lord. ELEVEN comics in one week? That's absurd. I got three last week. Spread it out a bit, hmm? Anyways, these are going to be shorter, since there are, y'know... eleven of them...
The Sixth Gun #4, W: Cullen Bunn A: Brian Hurtt
So, if someone taught JRR Tolkein the concept of "less is more," forced him to write a western, and put it in comic book form, this series would be the result. All the best elements of fantasies and western are tossed into a blender and pureed into a smooth and delicious milkshake of beautiful awesomeness in this series from Oni Press. The plot moves quickly and effectively while never skimping on action, and the art fits the setting of the old west perfectly. One of my favorite series that I bought on impulse.
American Vampire #6, W: Scott Snyder A: Rafael Alburquerque
This is currently my favorite ongoing Vertigo series. Each issue is packed with frightening fun and drawn in effortlessly gorgeous artwork. This issue completely changed both setting and cast, but still managed to maintain the tone that it has been working for the first five issues. Scott Snyder continues to prove himself as a new writer, when he creates a perfect last-page "he's back!" moment for a character who we had only been missing for 21 pages. Fantastic issue, as always.
Daytripper #10, by Fabio Moon and Gabriel Ba
I've never cried during a movie, but this comic nearly did it. Over ten issues, brothers Fabio and Gabriel have taken the reader on a tour of all of the most important moments of Bras's life, and then killed him, and our hearts at the end of every single issue. It would be wrong for me to ruin anything from this masterpiece ending, but just know that it makes all of the heartbreak worth it. One of the best comics I've ever read.
Batman and Robin #14, W: Grant Morrison A: Frazer Irving
Everything has been building to this. The Joker, Batman, and Dr. Hurt all clash in this cataclysmic issue, and the stakes are tangible. Everything is falling apart, and you have no idea what's going on, but it's impossible to look away. The secrets at the eye of this epic storm have yet to be revealed, but this issue made fighting through the hurricane a brilliant adventure. Some of the best Joker dialogue I've ever seen was featured in this issue, and I can't wait for more.
Green Lantern #57, W: Geoff Johns A: Doug Mahnke
This issue felt pretty rushed. While solid all around, it felt like there was way too much going on and that no scenes were given enough room to breath. An average issue of a usually above average series.
X-Men #3, W: Victor Gischler A: Paco Medina
Vampires vs. Mutants. I'm tired and give up. -
The Strange Casefiles of Horatio Morgan, Chapter 2
» On the Subject of Being Awesome"A... what?" Horatio said. "I don't believe I heard you correctly."
"My name is Zylphia," replied the woman, "and my husband and I, we are werewolves."
"You are in shock," Thaddeus stated bluntly.
"Tactful, Thaddeus. Ma'am," Horatio said gently, "I believe you may be in shock. You just told me you are a werewolf."
"Your partner is made of metal. Is it so hard to believe I might be different as well?"
"Fine," Horatio said after a pause. "We'll come back to that. What were these other killings you mentioned?"
"You may have noticed, but this neighborhood is a bit... different. Most of your neighbors are zombies, werewolves, vampires, a few ghosts, a witch, and others. Within the last month, a zombie and a vampire have been destroyed."
"You are in shock," repeated Thaddeus.
"Thaddeus, do shut up. So, Zylphia, was it? How did these murders stay covered up?"
"Our people don't want to be discovered. We are all very peaceful, but that would be a hard thing to maintain if our true natures were to be brought to light. We had no choice but to hide the bodies and tell no one."
"Interesting," murmured Horatio.
"You are in shock," Thaddeus said once more.
"Dammit, Thaddeus!" Horatio smacked the robot's chest to fix his voice pipes. "Better?"
"I wasn't malfunctioning, sir," Thaddeus said, unfazed. "But if you insist on taking on this case, I suggest taking a blood sample from the victim to verify her outlandish story."
"Good thinking. Would you object, ma'am?" asked Horatio.
"No, not at all, whatever helps."
Horatio took a needle and drew a vial of blood from the body. He the placed the sample back in his bag. He instructed Zylphia to hide the body and told her that they would be in touch. He and Thaddeus then returned to the house and climbed the stairs to Horatio's study. Horatio removed the blood sample from his bag and put a few drops onto a glass slide. He placed the slide under his microscope and examined it for a long while.
"There's certainly something wrong with it, Thaddeus," Horatio said without looking up from the lens. "However, it isn't necessarily a werewolf."
"How do we confirm her story then?" asked Thaddeus, who was carrying armfuls of books back and forth across the room in an attempt to organize them.
"We can't unless we catch a live one. And, assuming they're real, we'd have to wait for the next full-moon. No, we just have to go on the assumption that she was telling the truth, and focus on trying to find the killer. Either way, we know a man was murdered, and that's all that matters."
"So I suppose then that our next order of business is to find the maker of that silver bullet?" asked Thaddeus.
"I will take care of that. I need you to go back to the crime scene and go over it more carefully for evidence. And pay a visit to the mourning wife to see if you can examine the body for further information. Holmes won't be getting this one, Thaddeus."
"Very well s--" Thaddeus was interrupted by a crash from the ground floor, followed by rapid foot steps pounding up the stairs.
"Bolt the door!" barked Horatio. Thaddeus rushed to wooden door, but was knocked backwards as it flew off of its hinges. Three creatures walked into the room. They were all well over seven feet tall, and covered in brown or gray fur. Their faces were long canine-esque snouts with prominent and razor-sharp teeth. They had long claws, tails, and wore tattered human clothing.
Werewolves. They growled and stepped over Thaddeus, and moved quickly towards Horatio.
"S**t."
To be continued... -
The Strange Casefiles of Horatio Morgan, Chapter 1
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeVictorian Era, London, England, Dawn, Autumn:
"Those bastards!" exclaimed Horatio Morgan, slamming the day's edition of "The Times" down on the scratched wooden table, spilling his coffee. "Thaddeus, listen to this headline: 'Holmes and Watson Foil Robbery in Progress.' They happened to be in a bank at the right time and they get all of the attention. I swear, if those two phonies keep hogging every crime in London as they have been, I'll be out on the streets!"
"Too true, sir, too true," replied Thaddeus in his metallic, hollow voice, as he wiped up the spilled drink.
Horatio Morgan was London's premiere detective. That is, until Sherlock Holmes came on the scene. Now Horatio is old news and can't find work anywhere.
"For God's sake, Thaddeus! I invented a robot, and no one even knows. Those two could get a cat out of a tree and make the front page!"
"Too true, sir," replied Thaddeus, who was scrubbing Horatio's dishes in a sink already piled high with them.
"Thaddeus, I believe your voice pipes are malfunctioning again."
"Too true, sir."
Horatio walked over to the sink, nearly tripping over piles of books, and smacked Thaddeus in his cast-iron back.
Thaddeus is a robot.
"Much obliged, sir," Thaddeus said.
"My pleasure. Now what can we do about this lack of business?"
Horatio paced back and forth behind Thaddeus. He was wearing black trousers held up by overalls and a white button-up shirt. He had shaggy black hair that jutted out in different directions and a short but full black beard and moustache. Thaddeus was made entirely of iron and ran on steam heated by coal. His body was a huge cylinder with a hatch on the front for putting more coal in. His head was a dome on top of the cylinder with two round eyes indented into it and a grate through which exhausted steam poured out constantly. He had two bulky cylindrical arms and two legs of the same description.
Thaddeus was responsible for the general upkeep of Horatio's extremely narrow five-story house. The house was one of the strangest pieces of architecture in London, and therefore Horatio could live in no other dwelling. There was a spiral staircase that went straight up through the middle of the circular house, which consisted of a kitchen and dining room on the first floor, a bathroom on the second floor, a library on the third, Horatio's bedroom on the fourth, and his study on the fifth. Due to the stairs going through the center of the house, it was impossible to get anywhere above the first floor without walking through the middle of the bathroom, which would have been an extremely uncomfortable situation if Horatio wasn't the only human being in the house. Horatio was an avid reader, and every iota of free space in the house was taken up by books, paper and pens.
Horatio was still pacing back an forth in the kitchen when a gun shot rang out. Both Thaddeus and Horatio grabbed their belts with with their holstered guns and ran out the door. Horatio snagged his black bowler's hat and bag off of the hook next to the door as he shut it behind him.
Running in the direction of the sound, they both came upon a narrow alley where they found a man's body with three bullet wounds in it and a pool of blood forming around him. The sun was just starting to spread its fiery light over the distant horizon, bathing the scene in orange.
"Thaddeus, search for the shooter, quickly!" Horatio ordered. Thaddeus darted off around the block. Horatio knelt to inspect the body. He lifted the left arm and felt for a pulse.
"Already dead," he murmured. He took a pair of tweezers out of his bag and set to work removing the bullets.
"No sign of anyone," said Thaddeus, returning to the alley.
"Well maybe these will help," said Horatio, holding up a blood-drenched projectile. "Any idea where one can acquire silver bullets, Thaddeus?"
At that moment, a woman in her nightgown dashed into the alley.
"Oh God," she whispered. "No. Roderick, no!"
She fell to her knees as tears began to fall in tragic torrents from her eyes. Her gown was a deep purple and her hair a jet black. She sobbed into her hands.
"Ma'am," Horatio said gently, "who was he to you?
"My husband," she choked.
"I'm sorry for your loss. Do you have any idea who might have done this? I'm a detective, and it's imperative that we act as swiftly as possible to catch the murderer."
"I don't know who. Must be the same as the other killings," she mumbled.
"What other killings?" Horatio asked, alarmed.
"Someone has targeted our people. We thought it was a coincidence with the first two, but this confirms it."
"Your people? Who do you mean?"
"He never hurt anyone. He was always in control. Why did this happen?" she said, now getting louder.
"Ma'am, you're in shock. Please tell me, who are your people?" Horatio asked urgently.
"My husband," said the woman, "he was a werewolf."
To be continued... -
I Can Feel It In My Blood, The Hunger.
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeThe lifeless green light from the clock on her bedside table read 11:59. Even through the closed shutters, specters made of moonlight swam across the walls. She rolled over restlessly, unable to fall asleep. A feeling in the pit of her stomach told her mind to stay awake. She didn't know what it was for, but it made her uneasy.
The clock's light morphed into midnight, and her doorbell rang. She jumped in surprise at the noise, and then swore to herself under her breath as she walked towards the door in her sweat pants and tank top. She peeped through the hole in the door and saw him outside.
It was the man from last night. She was at a night club and had met him. He was tall, handsome, and had a glimmer of mischief and mystery in his eye. She had asked him to have lunch with her but he had refused. She had no idea what he was doing at her doorstep at midnight.
She opened the door.
He apologized for waking her and complimented her appearance. She thanked him asked what it was he was doing.
He explained that he had had some friends over to his apartment, and they started a huge party that he had no interest in, and after a failed attempt to get them to leave, he had walked out. He needed a place to stay for the night and she was the first person that came to his mind.
She invited him inside and he thanked her and assured her that he'd be no trouble.
They entered and she told him to sit on the couch while she fetched some blankets and a pillow. She returned with them and set them on the table, then sat on the couch next to her visitor. She crossed her legs and chatted with him for a long while. He told her that he shared his apartment with his brother and asked if they might be able to join him if they needed a place as well. She told him that they're more than welcome to stay. He thanked her for her graciousness and asked if he might be able to open a window. She stood and opened the nearest one.
No sooner had it been cracked then two bats barrelled inside. She screamed and swatted at them and they flew up the stairs and out of sight. He rushed to her side and asked if she was alright. She told him she was startled but fine. He comforted her by saying that they were probably even more afraid of her.
They returned to the couch and sat down. He smiled at her and she back at him. He leaned in closer and brushed a strand of hair from her eyes and was about to kiss her when she pulled away.
"Wait a second. How did you know where I live?"
The lights went out instantly.
She screamed and curled up into a ball on the couch. She glanced around in a panic, but could see nothing in the darkness. She heard the stairs creak under the weight of footsteps. Her breathing was rapid and she was shaking. She looked to where she had last seen him. She could see two glowing red, lifeless eyes, piercing through the darkness.She felt something cold touch her leg and a soulless voice whispering.
"Just relax."
She calmed at the sound of the voice, even though she knew she shouldn't. It was a voice that intrigued her and excited her. She looked up and saw two more pairs of alluring red eyes in the darkness. She felt a strong, cold embrace and then six little pricks in her neck.
Then it went black. -
A Mystery. Broken Into A Jigsaw Puzzle. Wrapped In A Conundrum. Hidden In A Chinese Box.
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeHer purse is gone. Mugging? he thought. Too simple. Why kill her?
The rain beat heavy and fast on the back of the leather coat worn by Detective Colt. He was hunched over a bleeding body in a tight dark alley somewhere in the tight dark bleeding city that he called home. He rolled the woman over and inspected her closer. His fingers hovered over the freshly made orifice in her abdomen. There were no other marks on her body. No abrasions, scrapes, or cuts.
No signs of a struggle.
His fingers and eyes moved up the corpse to its face. There was a bruise on her forehead.
Not much to go on. Probably hit it in the fall. She was dead before she hit the ground. Why does she look familiar?
He moved back to the bullet wound. It was larger than normal, indicating something other than small arms fire.
This wasn't a gun you could carry around stealthily.
He rolled her back over and examined the entrance wound. It was in between the shoulder blades.
Why is it so much higher? The angles is extreme...
His hand brushed something in her pocket. He reached in and removed her wallet. He opened it up and read the driver's license.
Martha Farleone. The crime boss's daughter. This is bad.
He slipped the license back in the wallet and the wallet back into the pocket. He dropped the body back into the pool of grime, blood and rainwater that he found it in and stood up.
She was my contact. They know I'm the mole.
He pulled out his cell phone and turned to face the street. He leaned against the building, hiding in the shadows. The phone rang in his ear as his eyes darted around nervously.
"Johnny?" answered the voice on the other end. "I thought I told you to call me on secure lines only.""
"Mr. Farleone, I think that I've been--"
The detective caught a glimpse of gun barrel's flash from the window of a building across the street, and immeasurable moments later, a bullet pierced flesh, skull, gray matter, skull, and then flesh again. The body fell lifelessly to the ground next to the woman.
"You've been what?" said the phone. "Johnny, what was that noise? Johnny? Johnny...?" -
A Poem
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI'm writing a poem
Because she demands it.
She likes math.
I can't understand it.
But here's an equation
That I'll try solve.
It's numbers and words,
And around her it revolves.
Take a perfect one
Add it to a zero.
He longed for her dearly,
And he was her hero.
Take perfect added to infinity
and multiply by two.
The answer, plus me,
Equals "I love you." -
Rating: Awesome
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeIt is currently 11:35pm, and on the reasonably likely chance that I don't finish writing this by midnight, this still counts as September 3rd's post. I will not be missing a day.
Funny how two words can inspire you. In the case of this story, the words "steampunk dragon" worked on me. A visual formed and evolved pretty quickly for me, and the story just sort of came naturally as I started writing. I have a few more ideas for this, so if you'd like to read more, leave me a comment and let me know, and I'll add more in future installments of the blog. Enjoy:
The world had ended a long time ago. An unavoidable wall of war and death had enveloped the globe centuries ago, but just enough people remained unfazed to keep the human race going. Some mistakes, man learned from. Others, he repeated tenfold. Such is the way of the world. The place is the new Earth, the time is during the beginning of the Industrial Revolution. A time when both magic and technology ran rampant across the world, unchecked, unhindered, and uncontrollable.
It's magnificent, thought the Technogician, looking up at his finally completed creation. It's jaws loomed above his head, its laser-sharpened steel teeth clamped shut with thousands of pounds of hydraulic power. The tips of its huge titanium wings gleamed in the dimly lit warehouse. Upon the backs of the wings sat two jet turbines, and another protruded from its back. Pistons and hoses emerged from every joint, and gear sat interlocked within its grotesque steel exoskeleton.
"Truly magnificent," he said, this time aloud. "My beautiful dragon."
He removed his leather trench coat and tossed on a chair that sat in front of a desk covered in conflicting blueprints. He pulled his tinted round goggles down from his messy brown hair and over his eyes, then rolled up the sleeves of the grease-stained white button-up shirt that he wore and extended his arms toward the machine. He muttered a phrase that he and only he knew the meaning of, and his hands began to glow with an eery purple energy. He walked up to his creation, the energy now seeming to be bubbling from him, and plunged his hands into the heart of the dragon.
The dragons eyes lit up with a red anger of the kind kind that could not be sated. Steam hissed and whistled from the pipes on its back and nostrils, and it began to flex its arms. It stretched its neck and legs, revealing its own fearful height. The jet turbines began to spin, and the sound of their whirring combined with hissing steam and screeching gears to form a terrible shriek of rage.
"It worked," the Technogician murmured, stepping away from his monster.
Hearing him, the dragon turned his head and gazed for the first time at another lifeform. The dragon hated him. It did not know why, but it knew that this tiny, insignificant little thing was the reason for its pain and for its rage. It leaned down and inhaled a great breath of the Technogician's scent through the pipes in its nostrils. It paused, looking at the man who thought himself its master. Then the ferocious hinge of the dragon's jaw released and a powerful cloud of super-heated steam poured from its mouth.
The mist embraced the Technogician, searing the flesh from his muscle and the muscle from his bone. The skeleton of what was once a man collapsed to the floor of an empty warehouse as a new horror barrelled through the ceiling and was unleashed upon the world... -
So, Who's Riding The Mexican Train?
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeIt was late in the morning one perfectly average summer's day, and Rusty the cat was laying in a patch of sunlight that was streaming in through the glass door. His eyes were shut and his tail twitched lazily to a rhythm that only he knew the beat to. As he lay there absorbing the rays, Tank the dog walked up next to him.
"Heya Rusty," said Tank, "you awake?"
Rusty remained silent.
"You awake?"
More silence.
"You awake?"
Rusty sighed irritably.
"What do you want, Tank?" he asked without opening his eyes.
"Whatcha doin'?"
"Trying to enjoy life," groaned Rusty.
"Butchoo aren't doing nothin'," Tank said confused.
"If you knew that, why did you ask what I was doing?"
"When I want to enjoy life," Tank continued, ignoring the cat, "I play fetch."
"Tank, you still haven't realized that you're supposed to bring the ball back."
"I don't think you get the game, Rusty. But it's okay 'cause yer a cat."
"Do you have a point, Tank?" asked Rusty.
"Heya Rusty?"
"Yes, Tank?"
"Wanna play?"
"No Tank," replied Rusty, still never having opened his eyes. "I'm sleeping."
"Oh okay," said Tank, and he left the cat to his sunbathing. -
Haul of Heroes: Reviews for 9/1/10
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeWow, I had to check what day it was when writing the title. Yikes. Anyways, here are my thoughts on what I read this week:
Brightest Day #9, W: Geoff Johns w/ Peter Tomasi A: Various
This bi-weekly DC event book has been hovering at the "mediocre enough to not read" level for a while now. The last two or three issues have finally answered a few questions, and the plot is actually moving along, with Martian Manhunter and Deadman both getting significant development this issue. The main problem this series has is its lack of balance. With such a large cast, many characters--notably Aquaman and Firestorm--are getting slighted. There just isn't enough room in the book to keep all of the stories moving, and so a few of them have done absolutely nothing of importance for nine issues. The overall plot is really the driving force behind the series, rather than the individual arcs, and luckily, that is intriguing enough to keep me reading.
Avengers: The Children's Crusade #2, W: Alan Heinberg A: Jim Cheung
Twins Billy and Tommy of the Young Avengers team want to find their mother, the Scarlet Witch. There's just one problem: so does everyone else. The Avengers, Magneto, the X-Men and Quicksilver all have their own plans for the woman responsible for the deaths of Vision, Hawkeye, Jack of Hearts and Ant-Man, not to mention causing the mutant genocide. All of these super-powered interests clash in this series, and it makes for what is probably the best of the new Avenger series's. Accompanied by gorgeous art from Jim Cheung, writer Alan Heinberg expertly maneuvers the large cast of this book through the plot, progressing the stories of each group, while still keeping every individual character relatable and interesting. A brilliantly executed book in terms of both art and writing, the only flaw to this series is that it only comes out bi-monthly.
Cowboy Ninja Viking #9, W: AJ Lieberman A: Riley Rossmo
As you can probably figure out by its title, Cowboy Ninja Viking is one of the most fun things you will ever read. This series stars Duncan, who has a very special case of multiple personality disorder: his personality's are--you guessed it-- a cowboy, a ninja, and a viking. He was specially engineered by the US government to retain these personalities and become a lethal soldier known as a "triplet." This series is an action book of the absolute highest quality, with weapons you've never heard of, characters you love to cheer for, and more on-liners than every Clint Eastwood film ever made. All of the triplets have violent, interesting, and usually hilarious interactions with each other, but despite the superficial appeal, this series does not skimp out on story. There are huge conspiracies in every issue of CNV, and more questions asked with every answer given. An all-around brilliant series, if not the best one on the market today. Read it.
DMZ Volume 3, W: Brian Wood A: Riccardo Burchielli
This is one of the most challenging series I've ever read. When I say challenging, I don't mean hard to understand ("Manhattan is a war zone in America's second civil war" is pretty straightforward). I mean that this series challenges the way you think about how our country works and should work, or if it even works at all. From the perspective of the New Yorkers caught in the middle, both sides are the wrong side, and that's what really makes this series unique. DMZ asks you "Look at those conservative rednecks! Aren't they a bunch of a**holes?" and you have no choice but to say, "Yeah, they are! I hope they lose!" Then writer Brian Wood turns you around and points to the other side. "And by the way, have you seen these liberal f***s? What a bunch of ignorant pricks." And you go right along with him again. "No kidding, they suck! I hope they lose!" And it's not until you pause after a chapter or volume that you realize what Wood did. "Wait. Both sides are wrong. Neither side could ever be right. How is that possible?" DMZ is the most compelling war story you'll ever have the pleasure of reading. Do yourself a favor and challenge your thinking with a healthy serving of DMZ. -
Just Like It Said In The Thunder...
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeFor anyone who reads this that doesn't follow my Facebook updates, I'm starting the process of submitting a comic book pitch to a publisher in hopes of breaking into the comic industry. It's been a great experience so far, and I've learned a lot.
I'm finding the comic writing process to be a lot more involved than I had initially anticipated. Since I'm co-creating the series that we're pitching with my artist, Quin, there's a lot more bartering going on than what I expected. This isn't a bad thing, mind you. It really helps me evaluate why I'm making story decisions, and not just going with what sounds good in my head. I end up making some executive decisions about some plot points and characters, because at the end of the day, I'm the writer and Quin's the artist, and that's just how it plays out. But, on the flip side of that, I have to be careful, as I'm risking running over Quin, who is just as integral to the series succeeding as I am. It's a delicate balance.
I'm also finding that there was a lot of the process that I took for granted when we fist undertook this project. For example, in my head, my thoughts were basically, "throw a few of my ideas at Quin, whichever one he liked best, I'd script, he'd draw." Well, it ended up that we completely unintentionally collaborated on something completely new and unrelated to what I intended, and that played a lot more to both of our strengths. It was a great feeling to randomly create something completely new.
Second thing I took for granted: making it look good. Like I said, my mindset was, "me write, he draw." Well that sticks Quin with the jobs of penciler, inker, colorist, and letterer, a set of tasks normally done by four different people in the comic business. And they're professionals. Quin doubted he could effectively colr issues on a regular basis, and neither one of us knew the first thing about lettering. So, I told him we'd just go for black and white and wing it one the lettering.He agreed, and so that was the plan for a few minutes. Then I thought, "well, why can't someone else color it?" I asked Quin if he knew anyone, and it turned out that his friend Shelby is a decent colorist, and is capable of some basic lettering. Our team was assembled.
Third thing I took for granted: working off of a script. I think pretty visually in terms of stories, and so when I told Quin I'd start outlining the story last week, I just started drawing thumbnails of pages. Well, this is hardly a timely process and it doesn't give Quin a ton of freedom artistically. Not to mention it isn't a very professional process. However, he's never drawn from a script and I've never written in that format, so it's difficult for both of us. Solution is, for the time being, I will be both writing scripts and doing thumbnail pages and I'll try to ween both of us off of them over time, until we're practiced enough that we can both work off of only the script.
This is an exciting experience for the three of us, and we're all learning as we go. But I have a good feeling about this series, and can't wait to get our submission in the mail. -
I'm The Goddamn Batman. I'm Gonna Be the Best Friend You Could Ever Hope For...
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeBats are completely blind, and yet, they know their surroundings perfectly. They know by listening. They are not concerned with what things look like. They just want to know where and what they are.
We can all learn from bats.
Close your eyes and listen. You might learn something new. -
Take A Deep Breath, Open Your Eyes, And Close The Book.
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeA monkey was hanging by its tail upside from a tree. I held a banana in its hands, and ate it happily and lazily. He hummed a tune to himself as he ate. As he hung there, a wolf walked on the path below.
"Hulloo there Wolf," the monkey said with his mouth full. "What are you up to this fine afternoon?"
"Ah, hello Monkey," said Wolf elegantly. "I'm just hunting."
Monkey's eyes widened and he tensed up nervously.
"Not for monkey, I hope...?" he stammered with a nervous smile.
"Haha no, not for monkey. And certainly not for one as odd as you."
"Odd?" said Monkey, offended, "How so?"
"Well," started Wolf, "for one thing, you hang around wrong-side up like that all day."
"Who's to say that I'm the one who's wrong? I have no problems at all living this way. It's no more strange than you living down there and that boring old ground."
"Why, of course it is!" exclaimed Wolf. "Why else do things fall naturally towards the ground, then, if that's not where they are meant to be?"
"Maybe," said Monkey in an uppity voice, "I'm just not as lazy as you are. All good things are worth working for, are they not?"
"Ha!" laughed Wolf. "You are even stranger than I thought, Monkey."
"Think what you want, predator. But I see now downside to being upside down. You're on the wrong side of right side up."
Chuckling haughtily to himself, Wolf began to walk away, but slipped on a banana peel, and landed on his face. The monkey howled with laughter.
"Maybe you were right, Wolf," giggled Monkey, "because the ground is exactly where that was supposed to be." -
Just Me... Me And The Deep Woods...
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeOnce upon a time, a fox laid lazily upon a log, munching on a freshly caught mouse. As it lay there eating its prey, a bear came and sat on the log next to the fox.
"Good morning to you, sly one," said the bear.
"And the same to you, large one," replied the fox.
"What do you have there?" asked the bear.
"Just one of the mice that I killed this morning."
"One of?" the bear inquired. "What happened to the others?"
"Oh I just left them. I was only hungry enough for one."
"Then why kill them all? When I am hungry, I eat berries, or go fishing."
"And that's where you go wrong, oh titan of the woods!" exclaimed the fox. "You are the largest, most deadly beast in the forest. You could use your powerful arms and fearsome claws to hunt the largest of elk, and yet you starve yourself with berries and fish!"
"I don't starve," retorted the bear, "I simply eat what I need and nothing more."
"Well," sighed the fox, "if I had your size, I'd rule these woods. I'd eat whatever I want, when I want, and all beasts would fear me. You are not as clever as I, my grizzly friend."
"Hmm," pondered the bear, "perhaps there is some truth to your words. I shall try to use my size to my advantage more often. Thank you for your advice, clever fox."
The bear then stood up from the log, yawned, and stretched his massive arms into the sky. He then turned around, gave the log a mighty swing, and sent the fox soaring into the sky.
A large splash was heard from the direction of the creek, as the bear lumbered quietly of into the woods. -
Hope Is Brightest... When It Dawns From Fear.
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeOne morning, the sun woke up early and decided to go visit the moon.
"Good morning," said the moon. "What has you up at such an hour?"
"I felt I needed to talk to you, Ms. Moon," replied the sun.
"Well you best make it quick. You know Mother Earth doesn't like me talking to you. And you know how jealous Mars can get."
"Mars is always trying to pick fights with everyone," the sun said.
"What is it that you wanted to talk to me about?"
"I was wondering if you'd consider running away with me and travelling the universe together."
"That's quite a proposition!" exclaimed the moon. "What caused you to think of such a thing?"
"I had a dream," said the sun, "and in it, the sky wasn't so black. It was filled with thousands of little suns, sparkling happily. I believe that you were their mother."
The moon was silent for a moment.
"I love you, Lady Moon," said the sun.
At that moment, Mother Earth awoke and saw the two talking.
"And just what do you think you are doing young lady?!" she yelled at the moon. "I've told you to never talk to him. He's not fit for you."
"Ma'am," started the sun, before he was cut off.
"I'll hear none of it!" Mother Earth blurted. "Get out here!"
The sun turned away from the moon and solemnly walked back across the sky. But, just as the sun was about to cross the horizon, he heard the moon's voice:
"I love you too!"
They both smiled at each other from opposite ends of the sky, and the sun walked back to his home.
Mother Earth has kept them apart as best they could, but, once in a while, the sky will darken in mid-day, as the sun and moon meet in the sky. And each time, a few more stars add some more hope to the night sky. -
Political Detour: The Ground Zero Mosque
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeEvery once in a while, a political issue will get me fired up enough that I absolutely have to write about it. It won't happen often, but it will happen. Tough it out and we'll get back to stories, but first, we're making a Political Detour...
Rant time.
So, if you're anything like my politically obsessed dad, you know that there's a mosque being built right next to Ground Zero in New York. There's all sorts of RIGHTeous fury being thrown at it, due to it being "inappropriate" and "disrespectful," despite the leader of the Muslim group saying that they intend to use it to build bridges with non-Muslim Americans. They have every right imaginable to put their place of worship there, so there's no way there can be any legal repercussions. Why are people so furious about this? Because some people associate all Muslims with the brainwashed psychopaths that murdered thousands of people? Well guess what? It wasn't the people building this mosque. It was a fringe extremist group that in all reality has very little grounds to associate themselves with the actual religion of Islam. But people don't think that way. They're convinced that all Muslims are terrorists, and that there's no reasoning with them. Despite it being one of the main principles that we fought for in our struggle for independence as a country, we want to deny them the right to build a building. Well in that case, I guess we shouldn't be building any more churches anywhere that the KKK lynched anyone, because they used Christianity to justify it. Catholics better pack up and leave the entire middle east as well, unless someone's decided the Crusades didn't happen. And Germans? You damn well better not be building any Wienershnitzel restaraunts in any Jewish neighborhoods.
This shouldn't even be an issue. Have a problem with a religion? Don't believe in it. -
And A New Myth Of My Own.
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeStories are alive. They display all of the characteristics. They are born as a sinlge thought, a spark of inspiration, a word on a page, a glance from a stranger. A moment that makes the storyteller think, "what if...?"
Then it grows. It gains complexity and new characteristics. It becomes a dynamic thing, ever-changing and re-defining itself. It's forming itself into the mature thing that it was always meant to be.
It grows, molds, changes, stretches, refines, bends, twists, flows, compresses, morphs, and becomes.
Like a human from a tiny embryo, the story no longer looks anything like it once did. It has been raised and nurtured into something entirely new, yet completely the same. It's ready to be set free into the world, fully matured, and ready to change other people's lives.
And so, it is let out onto the page, the stage, the screen, the instrument. It's no longer something that belongs to the storyteller. This living thing now belongs to the world, for beauty belongs only to the eye of the beholder, and all of the world is the witness.
The story lives and breaths, even as it has matured and been set free, it is still changing. Everyone that the story meets perceives it in a new and wholly unique and exciting way.
And the story never dies. While it may be forgotten, it is not dead, for at anytime, it may meet someone new who re-invigorates the story with new purpose.
One's life is finite, but one's story is immortal. -
Haul of Heroes: Reviews for 8/25/2010 Part 2
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeLet's get right to it! In no particular order, here are your comic reviews for this week!
Avengers #4, W: Brian Bendis A: John Romita, Jr.
I have no idea what's going on. For the first three issues of this Avengers relaunch, I've been hoping in vain that it was going to suddenly become good. It was a train wreck I couldn't look away from. But writer Brian Michael Bendis really out-does himself this issue. This time-travel-in-reverse story is an absolute mess and I no longer have any idea what's happening. To continue the train metaphor, it has gone completely off of the rails and the engineer doesn't even seem to care or notice. I'm done with this series. Yikes.
Thor #613, W: Kieron Gillen A: Richard Elson
I met Kieron Gillen in Seattle this passed April, and he was an extremely friendly and fun guy with an awesome British accent. Partially for this reason, I'm sad to see his run on Thor being overlooked. Following up from an almost universally acclaimed run by J. M. Straczynski was going to be difficult for anyone, but Gillen carried the title admirably, and this issue is no exception. The penultimate chapter of the Thor in Hell story, this issue features very solid writing, and addresses much of the fallout from Loki's lingering schemes. The art also improves this issue, as newcomer Richard Elson takes over for previous artist Mitch Breitweiser. While Breitweiser is a fantastic penciler, his style was a poor fit for the setting of this arc, with the flames of hell blurring the images, and making the art seem muddied. Elson provides much crisper art this issue, and it really pays off. I'm looking forward to Gillen's final issue next month.
Captain Amerca #609, W: Ed Brubaker A: Butch Guice
This title is a rarity among superhero series. It's consistently a high quality title in both writing and art. Captain America is always a character driven book, with great action to go along with the characterization. The current arc is a deconstruction of the current Captain America and former Winter Soldier, Bucky Barnes. Baron Zemo is on a vengeful path to annihilate him and he's succeeding. This is an intriguing character study in a consistently entertaining series.
Ides of Blood #1, W: Stuart Paul A: Christian Duce
This issue actually came out last week, but I grabbed it off the shelf today. Set in 44 B.C. in Caesar's Rome, Ides of Blood establishes a society only slightly different from history. In a creative twist on the vampire concept, the vampires have become enslaved by the Romans and are the oppressed people in the story, rather than the predatorial role that they usually play. The vampires are faithful to the mythology of Bram Stoker, though the timelines are obviously messed with to make certain things fit. A vampire even transforms into a wolf in this issue, an ability that has been all but forgotten in modern interpretations. This great concept and storyline is accompanied by great breath-taking artwork. Rome is dirty, dark, and burning. Characters are expressive and they are perpetually in shadow beneath the always blood-red sky. In a market already over-saturated by vampires, Ides of Blood was a refreshing twist. Highly recommended.
Secret Warriors #19, W: Jonathan Hickman A: Alessandro Vitti
This issue proves once again that Jonathan Hickman is one of, if not the absolute best writer in comics today. Filled with the espionage, conspiracy and intrigue that has packed every issue of this series, the latest issue of Hickman's super-spy epic adds something even more. Using the same framing device that he has for the past two issues, Hickman finishes three different plot pieces all at once in a whirlwind of emotion and gunfire. The reveals of who makes it home or not is heart-wrenching, but fittingly heroic for the characters. Secret Warriors is one of the best series that Marvel is publishing today.
Batman #702, W: Grant Morrison A: Tony Daniel
In the second issue of his two-part Batman story, Grant Morrison fills in even more gaps from the R.I.P. and Final Crisis storylines. While I will admit that I didn't quite understand parts of this issue, like lots of Morrison's writing, it was entertaining enough that I didn't really care. Tony Daniel's art dragged quite a bit this issue, and probably effected parts of the story in a way that didn't help my understanding. I've been meaning to re-read Final Crisis and R.I.P. for a while now, however, and this gives me a good reason to do it. Things are ramping up nicely for the return of Bruce Wayne, and I felt that this issue was decent for the filler that it really was.
Curse of the Mutants: Storm & Gambit One-Shot, W: Chuck Kim A: Chris Bachalo
This issue takes care of some pretty important plot points from the main X-Men series, and does so in a pretty straightfoward way. The plan is more or less the same one you'd use to blow up a Death Star: send a small team in to secure the important stuff (in this case Dracula's body) and shut off the force field. Once they accomplish that, send in the army to blow **** up. However, the fairly lackluster and tensionless plot is made up for by spectacular artwork by one of my top three favorite artists of all time, Chris Bachalo. Fresh off of his recent "Shed" arc on Amazing Spider-Man, Bachalo is in top form here, bringing his trademark style back to the X-characters that he left a few years ago. He brings his always innovative panel layouts to a few pages, but for the most part, it's fairly basic design, which his detractors will be happy to hear. So, this issue was neutral, with okay writing and incredible artwork.
That's all for now, but be sure to check back next wednesday when we return once more to the Haul of Heroes! -
Haul of Heroes: Reviews for 8/25/2010, Part 1
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeIt's that day once again. The day we all sit around in anticipation for, the one that makes the rest of the work week worth it.
That's right, it's wednesday.
No, we're not celebrating you being halfway between weekend hangovers, we're celebrating the majesty that is new comic book day.
This is the Haul of Heroes segment. Every wednesday, I will be posting two Haul of Heroes segments, the first outlining what I books I've picked up since last wednesday from the library/at work/Barnes and Noble/etc. and giving reviews of what I've read. The second part will be later in the evening after I've completed my pilgrimage to the comic book store and picked up my books. I will have quick reviews of each title.
I have quite a large stack already, and I haven't even gone to Pegasus yet. I had a library splurge earlier in the week, along with picking up a few things while working.
The first title from the library in pile is The Darkness Compendium Volume 1. I've always been a sucker for Marc Silvestri's art, and this is his most well-known work, so I decided to grab it. It's also written by Garth Ennis, who's writing I enjoy as well. Can't wait to dig into this enormous volume.
Because I have no self control, and it's sometimes healthy to read substance-less drivel that's nothing more than super-people beating each other up, I also grabbed Hulk: Red & Green and Marvel Comics Versus DC Comics. I might not even get around to those, as they are at the bottom of my reading priorities.
Next up is Lucifer: Devil in the Gateway. Mike Carey has never written anything that I haven't loved, whether it's his X-Men or his current Vertigo title, The Unwritten. It's just an added bonus that this series builds off ideas from Neil Gaiman. If I like this volume, I'll probably end up buying the run.
Speaking of my favorite writer, I also picked up the prose novels of Neil Gaiman's Stardust and Odd and the Frost Giants. These will actually be the first regular novels that I've read in quite some time, and I absolutely can not wait. Gaiman is a writing god.
Speaking of gods, writer Peter Milligan brings the Greek myths into a crime-filled modern-day London in Greek Street:Blood Calls for Blood. This series was met with mixed reviews, but I 've a couple of the single issues and enjoyed them. Plus, I'm a sucker for mythology.
You know what else I'm a sucker for? Vikings. Which is why I picked up book three of Brian Wood's masterpiece Northlanders series. A fantastic and brutal series, Northlanders has been described as "The Sopranos with vikings." Wrong. It's better.
Taking a suggestion from a comic shop regular, I also have Tales Designed To Thrizzle Volume One. No idea what this is about, but the cover and title are both brilliant.
There is cliched, gross, superficial horror, and then there's what I like to call "classy" horror. Locke & Key: Welcome to Lovecraft appears to be the latter, with not only a creative setting and monster, but the deeper level of psychological horror that most of this genre lack.
Christos Gage makes his Vertigo debut with Chris Samnee on an original crime graphic novel, Area 10. I've read both of these creators' work at Marvel, and they were decent, plus the story following the search for serial killer "Henry the Eighth" sounds intriguing.
Finishing off the library stack is Isaac the Pirate by Christophe Blain. I try to pick up things that I've never heard of before whenever possible, and the stylized, scratchy, Charles Schulz-esque art caught my eye.
Being finished with the Y: the Last Man series, I finally went back and bought the next volume of DMZ. I've read the first two volumes of this series from writer Brian Wood and I'm intrigued. Taking place in the near future, DMZ follows reporter Matty Roth as he examines life in the de-militarized zone of Manhattan Island in the midst of the America's second Civil War. Thought-provoking without being political, DMZ is more reason that Brian Wood is climbing the ranks of my favorite writers.
Out of shere boredom and a love for Marko Djurjevic and Adi Granov covers, I bought The Death of Dracula one shot, and the first two issues of the new X-Men series by Victor Gischler with stunning artwork by Paco Medina. This purchase went against almost unanimously bad online reception, and a long hiatus from any X-Men related comics. I must say, I was pleasantly surprised. The artwork is great, the writing is fun and witty, and the "mutants vs. vampires" concept, while initially appearing superficial, is quite exciting. I'm glad I went against the crowd on this one, as I'll be picking up future issues of this series.
That's all for now, but check back later for full reviews on all of the new comics that I pick up today. -
Until Finally, In the Sudden Sick Silence, It Ends
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI stand across the street from him and watch him stand back up. He dusts himself off and heads west toward the office building that he works in. I sigh and walk after him, my head hung and my hands in my pockets. He strolls at a brisk pace as he straightens his suit with the hand that isn't holding a briefcase. I catch up to him in no time.
"Carl?" I say loudly and cheerfully. "Is that you?"
"Yes," he answers. "Do I know you?"
"We met a long time ago, when you were a little boy. Your grandmother's funeral."
"Oh, well then you'll forgive me if I don't recognize you."
"It's alright," I say. "Most people don't. Even when I'm staring right at them. So where are you headed Carl?"
"Oh, just off to the office for another day of accounting!" he says in what he thinks sounds like a cheery voice.
"Sounds like fulfilling work," I reply.
"It pays the bills," he says solemnly.
"That's all that matters, right? Just take it a day at a time. Keep doing your job. What is else is there to life?"
"Something," Carl says, "Something's not right."
He stops on the sidewalk and looks at me.
"Who did you say you were again?" he asks.
"I didn't."
An ambulance and three police cars go flying past us, heading in the other direction, sirens blaring.
"I hope no one's hurt," Carl mumbles.
"Why don't you go find out? You can be late to the office one last time."
Carl drops his briefcase and starts jogging back to where we met. Then he speeds up more and more until he's sprinting frantically down the sidewalk.
I catch up to him and he's kneeling in the intersection, staring at the body, mouth agape.
"I swear officer, he came out of nowhere!" the truckdriver explains loudly. "I hit the breaks, but it was too late for the poor fella."
I stand behind Carl and I place my hand on his shoulder. A tear runs slowly down my face.
I take him away from that place of pain.
It's my job after all. -
What You Did Was Miraculous, Just Leave It At That...
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI wonder if people who are addicted to gambling go through lots of relationships. Because really, no matter what type of love you're talking about-- whether it be romantic, friendship, spiritual, etc.--that's all that love is: a gamble.
Some gambles are smaller than others. You introduce yourself to an attractive person, and at most you're risking some minor embarrassment. But, like in a casino, the longer you keep your chips in, the more you're liable to lose. If you ask someone to marry you, you are gambling with years of work that you've put into a relationship. There is a delicate and intimidating balance that scares many people away from love upon losing a hand. But unlike poker, this is a game that no one can fold out of. No matter how much we might try and shield ourselves from other people, humans can not survive without relationships any more than they can without water or air.
Our relationships with other people are what give us our meaning, and this is where the gambling metaphor breaks down. Where a poker player may try to win as many hands as possible, the lover, the friend, the human finds victory in that one hand that they have no right winning with, but do anyways. The one that, while it may not have won the biggest pot initially, will multiply over time, and will do things that no one ever expected. The purpose is found in the journey, in the way the game is played, not in the end result.
Everyone gets a lucky hand eventually.
This post was for a good friend of mine. She knows who she is. I hope this helps. -
Midnight, November 2nd
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeA man walks into a bar and takes a seat next to an old blind black man. He tilts his hat down and it casts an ominous shadow over his eyes. The old man takes a drink of red wine and lets out a regretful sigh.
"Your father would take you back in a heartbeat, you know."
"Oh really?" says the man in the hat. "And why is that exactly?"
"All fathers love their sons," says the old man. "Regardless of what they've done."
"You can say that all you want, because you know that I'd never go back to my father."
"He forgives you."
"Of course he does. That's because he's a naive old man who thinks that everything can be solved by love."
"Everything has been solved by love," says the blind man.
"The end has been taken care of, but the stuff that really matters? Peoples lives? They're still as miserable as ever."
"You're wrong."
"I've heard that before."
"Damn you."
"It's not as bad as you think."
They both sit drinking in silence. -
Stories Are the Only Thing Worth Dying For!
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeA man, already visibly drunk, stumbles through the door of a bar. He trips over to the bar and plants himself assertively onto a stool. He yells his drink of choice at the bartender.
"Please don't rush him," says a old blind black man sitting a few feet down the bar, "He's new."
"Dongivadam," the man mumbles. "Juss need mur drinks..."
"That's not at all the reason that you were given a liver you know," says the old man.
"Shuddup."
"What occasion merits such indulgence?" the old man asks.
"I gotta per...permo... permushun."
"Ah. Congratulations. But why ruin that by getting this drunk? Why not celebrate with your children?"
"My money not theirs..."
"Is money all that matters to you then?" asks the blind man. "Is that what makes you happy."
"Do I not look happy to you?"
"I am a very very old man. I can tell you that people are the only things in this world that will ever bring you happiness."
"Dontalktome..." The man gets up and starts tripping towards the door.
"Please come back!" the old man says urgently.
"I don't need to listen to you," he says as he goes out the door.
Seconds later, a car horn screams, brakes cry out, and a sickening crunch is heard.
The old black blind man sits crying at the bar. -
Don't Even Try to Pretend That I'm the Freak at This Table
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeA man walks into a dimly lit bar, like countless men before him. He walks up to the counter, takes a seat, and asks for his favorite beer. As he sits there drinking, another man enters and sits down next to him.
They both drink in silence.
"You seem familiar," the second man says with a smirk.
"I don't believe we've met."
"I very much doubt that."
"Please," the first man says, "I just want to be left in peace."
"Peace? No such thing. What's got you down, friend?"
"My wife left me."
"We weren't cheating were we?" the second man says with a dark look in his eye.
"No," says the first. "She was. She cheated and then she left me. How is that fair?"
"I know how you feel, friend. My father disowned me many years ago simply for asking questions. Questions such as this: If you could change one thing about your life--about this world that you live in--what would it be?"
The first man sits in silence for a long time.
"I'd have my wife back."
The second man reaches into his coat, pulls out a pistol, and puts six bullets through the torso of the bartender, who falls to the floor, motionless and crimson.
"Still the same answer?" the second man asks.
The first man stands up calmly and walks out of the bar.
"Be seeing you," says the second. -
Did he jump? No... He escaped.
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI finished the final volume of Brian K. Vaughan's graphic novel series, "Y: The Last Man" mere moments ago. It was a fantastic read. I can honestly say that I shed a tear at the death of a monkey. It's a sign of a great writer when a character that hasn't uttered a single word for the entire series can evoke an emotional response at least equal to any of the human characters.
"Y" is a series that follows Yorick Brown and his pet monkey Ampersand, the last two surviving male mammals on the planet. There is a very real sense of hope throughout the series whether it be in the characters finding the cause of the plague that killed the men, a way to repopulate the earth, or reuniting Yorick with his fiancee. The hopefulness in the face of apocalypse is a driving force behind the series, until the tenth and final volume of the series, where the cast completes every one of their goals, but it all comes crashing down anyways. They find the cause, the cure, the means to repopulate, and everyone is reunited, but it doesn't matter. In the end, people die, and that ends up mattering more to the reader than them succeeding does. It's the humanity and the relationships that are what ends up being more important than survival.
It's the ace in the sleeve that Vaughan plays at the last moment, and it changes the focus of the entire series. For nine and a half volumes, he leads the reader to believe that the series is about survival, when really, it's just about love. Love is both what saves and destroys us. It's all that really matters.
"They said it wouldn't hurt, Amp... I didn't want you to hurt anymore." -
This is not how the world ends...
» On the Subject of Being AwesomeI stand here, within the walls of a shrine dedicated to stories, and feel completely at home. Images of timeless heroes and villains, gods and monsters, symbols and icons adorn the walls. Millions of ideas flow from the shelves in the form of words.
I'm at work. I work at Pegasus Books of Bend, a comic and bookstore in downtown Bend. No one is in the store, nor has there been for a few minutes. And yet I'm not bored. I always find something new in here to be fascinated by. I wish more people would realize that this store and others like it aren't just havens for nerds. This store contains entire worlds and universes within its pages. The imaginations and minds of countless people are captured in here. You could learn a lot about how the way people think in here, and the way that has changed over time. This is stuff you don't get in history books. Fiction teaches you the important stuff. Think about it. In school, when you learn about the Victorian era or the post-modern era in school, what class do you learn about it in? English. While you might get big political events in "history," you get what was happening with the real people in the stories they tell.
Want to understand your world?
Read a book.
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