The Better Person

Hate me.

Hate me so that you can tell yourself that every time I said or did something bad to you, it was because I was a bad person.

Hate me so that those words I said were simply just words.  They weren’t true.  I wasn’t confirming or denying any of your faults or strengths.  They were said because in my mind, they were both the right and the wrong things to say.  They weren’t premeditated to pick at you, rather blurted out because they simply did the job.

Hate me so that the pains you suffered at my hands were simply your body rejecting my malice.

Hate me so that you can find comfort in the fact that you never reciprocated or hit back. Those feelings are your reward for you being the better person.

Hate me, because any energy spent trying to justify any other emotion would be wasted on me.  Follow what you already know, because it is the path of least resistance.

Hate me so you never have to think about the fact that I hate myself.

The Indirect Effects of War

There you are, everything seeming to have turned out in your favor.  Even though you hadn’t passed your courses through officer training, you made out well enough to be stationed behind the safe walls of the military base, miles away from the front lines.  Man, having parents with lots of money really changes everything, you think to yourself.  You’ll probably never see any real action during your whole tour.  You’re pretty much untouchable.

The only real thing you have to worry about is the General, who also lives there on the base.  You’ve heard that if he catches you acting even the least bit funny, you’ll get to clean the latrines for weeks.  Luckily, you don’t see him around much.  He hides away in his own private barracks, probably spending most of his time pondering strategy, planning out his attacks and counter attacks.  Some say he’s brilliant, but you haven’t the faintest idea of what happens out there on the battlefield, so it doesn’t make a lick of difference.

You do happen to see the General’s daughter every once in a while outside their residence. She has long straight hair, hanging down to her waist in a single shimmer wave of blonde.  The reminds you of a barbie doll, and probably lives like one too.  Somewhere you hear about her losing her mother several years ago, which is why she lives on the base.  The General probably gets her everything she could ever want, so I doubt she minds it in the slightest.

One night, you find yourself on the night patrol inside of the General’s private barracks. Who knows why they require a guard at all times, but the protocol calls for it nonetheless. It’s not like there is anybody within miles who could attack this location, let alone get within the walls of the compound.  You wander the dark halls, hoping for something bad to happen, just enough to break up the monotony.

You jump at the sight of a shadow around the corner.  The one other guard on patrol isn’t even on this floor.  You relax as you see her come into view… the general’s daughter, dressed in a flowery nightgown, on her way back to her room from using the bathroom. The girl nods to you sleepily as you pass each other, and she enters her room down the hall.

You put your patrol on hold while you tiptoe back to her door to find it closed tight. Pressing your ear close to the wood, you can hear nothing but the sound of your breathing, slowly becoming heavier.  You wait a few minutes before reaching for the handle.  It twists easily, and you crack the door open with a barely audible squeak.  You can see the girl laying in bed asleep, draped in the orange glow of the security lights outside.

Moving in closer, you get a good glimpse of her and her room.  It’s very Mattel as you had guessed.  You catch yourself staring at her.  Before you can muster up the strength to pull yourself away, her eyes flick open and they meet yours.  They go wide, and her mouth opens up, ready to scream.  You quickly jump on her, covering her mouth with your hand. She starts to flail, muffled yells coming from behind your hand.  You tell her to stop, but she doesn’t.  After a bit, she does.  The girl is laying there motionless, and you return to your patrol, shutting the girl’s door after you.

The next day, the lieutenant gives an announcement that the General will be taking some time off for personal leave.  You are continuously looking over your shoulder for someone to come interrogate you, but they never do.

A week later, the General hasn’t been heard from.  The lieutenant is giving orders to the front line now.  Another week and you hear the news of a defeat, and the line being pushed for the first time in months.  The next week a similar story is reported.  People begin to talk of having to abandon the base if the enemy gets any closer.

The General doesn’t return, and the newspapers print pictures of towns being evacuated, scared away by the enemy forces on the horizon.  On the next page, the General’s daughter in a tiny coffin, being lowered into the ground.

The Old Grindstone

You know what’s funny when you really get into editing a story?  Realizing that you have a bad habit while writing, and having to go back and fix all of the mistakes caused by it.  My friend noticed mine while helping me review my manuscript for Mother of Mars; I use a lot of semicolons, most of them being superfluous or just plain wrong.  There was one in that sentence just before that.  That one was on purpose, partially to annoy him if he happens to read this.

Nevertheless I am making progress.  I even have a cover to use for the book, which was made by a cool person on Fiverr.

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I also have a fun video of my friend and I making food while trying to edit a few chapters, but I left my camera over at his house.  Until then, here’s the video I made of my recent computer upgrade.

Tsunami

Outland: Chapter 2

Bright light shone in the window, eventually moving into my eyes, stirring me awake. Sitting up, I looked out the porthole into the glaring light.

“Gulliver? What time is it?” I asked, shielding my face.

The fish carcass sat on the plate beside me, giving off a faint odor of sourness and the faint smell of the sea. The untouched head stared at me, agape, eyes cloudy.

“Good morning Andrew. It is just past noon.”

Rubbing my eyes, I pushed now foul plate away. The map on the desk before me lay mostly finished, the pen thrown down haphazardly.

“Dang.” I sighed. “I guess I fell asleep working last night; that big meal got to me. I didn’t set up the solar panels, did I?”

“The solar panels are down, and the batteries are currently at 44%. I cut power to your desk lamp this morning to save energy.”

“Thank you, Gulliver.” I said, standing up to stretch his back and arms, my joints popping in quick succession. “Looks like today we’re staying here.”

Sliding along the cold metal floor, I moved to mount the ladder, heading up to the cockpit. The window shades were up, sun shining bright, with the water still in plain view. Moving to the control panel, I flipped some switches, and the motors running the actuators whirred to life, moving the solar panels upwards.

“I guess I’ll do some maintenance while we’re here. What are your recommendations, Gulliver?” I said, tweaking some of the controls above the windshields.

“Left leg’s efficiency is dropping slightly below that of right leg. I recommend you check the lines and tighten the connections in the foot to improve rigidity in the joints.”

“Sounds good, I’ll get on that.” I made a mental note, nodding my head before jumping on the ladder and sliding down, passing all the way through to the bottom compartment.

A puddle had formed on the floor from the wetsuit dripping on the rack. Tiptoeing around in it, I grabbed my work coveralls. They were worn, patched thoroughly by myself. I would probably have to buy more fabric when I found someone who had extra.

Eyeing the toolbelt, I double checked that it was still stocked with what I would need; heading up and down the ladder with it on multiple times was a pain.
“Gulliver, open the bottom hatch for me, would you?”

“Right away.”

The mechanical port in the middle of the room roared to life, opening the set of doors. I pulled the toolbelt off the wall and buckled it around my waste, adding a few good pounds. Carefully climbing down the slick rungs of the ladder on the side of the tube I found myself on the lower platform, staring down at the ground. I grabbed the rope ladder from the pile it sat in, throwing it down limply. It tumbled down, untangling itself under its own weight, thrashing back and forth. Waiting for the swaying to stop, I carefully turned myself around and inched myself down the first few rungs.

Finally, on the ground, I readjusted the belt and looked up at Gulliver, standing proudly like a silhouette in front of the water. Moving to the left leg, I reached the sealed hatch and quickly undid the big set of wingnuts holding it on. Inside was the big tool chest, still held neatly in place by the snap straps. It contained the heavy breaker bar and wrenches needed for whatever repairs one might need.

Feeling the heat of the midday sun, I unstrapped the box and dragged it through the stubby weeds and grass to the small shadow created by the solar panels raised up above me. They were propped up at the perfect angle to catch the sun’s rays, coincidentally casting a lot of shade.

Catching my breath, I sat down to look out at the water. Far off in the distance, the sun light reflected off the surface; probably close to the reef where I had caught the fish the other day.

Several years ago, this whole area was still probably inland quite a bit. That was before the shelf shifted, the Pacific plate buckling on itself in a catastrophic fashion. It’s hard to tell how much damage was done then; the body count and extent of destruction it caused was unfathomable.

The seas rose all around the world that day. Waves reaching in for miles inland all around the pacific rim. Whole communities now underwater permanently. Those who survived moved inland, as far as they could. Most people, I guess.Continue reading “Tsunami”

Screw the Plan

The day had finally come.  I was ready to get in there and delete the original footage.  The original copy of Star Wars Episode One: The Phantom Menace.  That way, they could never make another proper copy.  It was something everyone deserved.

I was dressed the part; if you could call it that.  As inconspicuous as I could possibly be.  I probably appeared as the most unremarkable, boring man to ever walk the earth.  Polo shirt, khaki pants, and loafers.  Oh man, loafers are pretty much the most comfortable shoe in existence.  They feel like walking on clouds.  I could step on a bed of nails and never feel them.  That’s how good the padding in these shoes are.  I digress.

Riding the escalators through the complex, I finally caught sight of the building.  I came at lunch time, right when many people were out an about for lunch; making it even easier to blend in.

Getting through the front doors was the easy part.  They basically held the door open for me.  I mean, random people probably came in all the time to the lobby for whatever reason.  I was just another face.  I gave a quick nod to the receptionist, making sure it seemed at all times that I was meant to be there from the beginning.  That’s how you can get anywhere.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a security guard.  He seemed bored to say the least; but I didn’t take any chances so I took the first turn away from him.  I was in some sort of office space, probably not the best option.  Luckily, the only two people out in the hall were distracted, the boss man yelling at his underling for whatever reason.

That’s when I spotted it; my chance.  An elevator, just waiting open for me.  The sole person inside even held the door for me.  After a few floors, I popped out to, hoping to throw off anybody who might be following my movements.  Finding myself among more desks, I just kept walking; ignoring the people up and about; probably wasting time on their lunch breaks.

I could have been anybody; a boyfriend bringing someone’s lunch from home, a delivery guy, some technician; nobody even gave me a second look.  Moving into the core of the building, a slipped though a pair of doors, arriving in some sort of storage room.  Jackpot.  I looked around for any sort of sign.  Documentaries.  Dang, I would probably have to go up another level or so.

As I made my way out through doors on the opposite side of the room, I heard a shout.  Hey you!  I didn’t want to stick around to find out what they wanted.  Running through the maze of desks, I seemed to lose the man, but apparently he had called for backup, as more guys showed up at seemingly every corner.

In one last ditch effort, I ran back to the elevator.  Once again, as if by sheer luck, the doors were waiting open once again.  I quickly ducked in, closing the door after me, and foiling the plans of any guards.

A few more levels up, I switched back to my ‘blend in’ mode, slinking through the halls as if I had been working there for years.  I kept my head on a swivel, looking out for another possible storage room.  As I arrived at a promising looking door, it opened before I could even react; revealing an upset looking guard behind it.  I quickly tried to retreat, but he stared me down something ferocious, not letting me out of his sight.

At each turn, another guard appeared.  I was cornered; on a balcony overlooking the lobby below.  A glass railing, followed by a several story fall.  Luckily, I still had my loafers on.

As I landed with a soft bounce, I could hear the guards shouting from way up above.  Without hesitation, I turned tail and booked it out of there.  I’ll foil you one day, George Lucas.

I’ve been listening to this song for several days now, and I wanted to narrate the video.  It’s a lot of fun.