It Takes Two to Collide

Mike adjusted the rear-view mirror that insisted in shining the glaring sun into his eyes. There was nobody on the road anyways, in either direction.  Nothing behind him but the setting sun.  He had left it all behind.

Peering down at the face of his cell phone, the last bar flickered on and off, before finally deciding to rest at a “no signal icon.”  He threw it to the passenger seat, bouncing off the cushion with a dull thud.  He looked up just in time to see another car, parked, still half on the road.  He broke hard, and the wheel went stiff.  He had slowed down, but not enough.  The long hood of his car clipped the back right bumper of the big SUV, pushing it to the side, and sending his into a spin, finally stopping cockeyed, looking back at the sun that was starting to greet the horizon.

Someone came running from the distance.  Sitting in the seat, shaken up, but otherwise unharmed, Mike realigned himself with reality.  The front corner of the old Continental was smashed up.  Stepping out revealed that the wheel in the same position was turned completely inward.  The man finally caught up.

“Hey, buddy fack you, watch where the fack you’re going.”  He screamed in a heavy New-Yorker accent, breathing heavily.  He was wearing a tight button up shirt with blue and white stripes, and black slacks that were too big.  His pits had dark sweat stains.

“I’m sorry… I wasn’t paying attention,” Mike replied.  he wiped his face with his hand, and looked up and down the road.  A few scraps of fiberglass and plastic from both headlamps was strewn across the ground.  Waves of heat still danced upwards from the asphalt.

“You’re lucky I wasn’t in there, you ayse.  But now we’re both in the shit.  I just ran out’a gas here, so I went for a walk, maybe to get some more, and now you come wrecking your scash against mine.  Who do you think you is?”Continue reading “It Takes Two to Collide”

Where’s Waldo ft. Host Family

I did a lot this weekend (or felt like I did a lot).  So much so that there’s still one more clips to add for my next vlog.

Let’s explain my host family.

Simon is a Java programmer, and on the weekends he runs a seminar that does Mindstorm and teaches kids basic Java programming.  Helen is a special needs teacher.  They both speak English fairly well.  You can hear her speak a bit in a clip from the market, expressing to me that I sleep to late for tasty buttery pastries.

Their kids are Remi, Colline, and Theo, at 9, 12, and 14(15?) years old.  Their levels of English vary, but here in France they start learning in late elementary.  We speak English at the dinner table for everyone to practice.

I’ll eventually get them on camera and give them proper introductions.

Exodus from Dust

Hell to Pay: Chapter 8

Shattered glass adorned the floor and reflected the dying light from outside.  Teivel carefully stepped around the shards and gathered his things.

Around one brick in the fireplace was a tiny crack where the mortar had been ground down ever so slightly.  It allowed the brick to be slid out to reveal a small hollow space.  Teivel reached his hand inside and grabbed at the papers inside.  He extracted everything he had written down during his studies, every mention of demons or dark forces.  He knelt down on the ground, searching among the papers that had been crinkled and folded countless times.

Thumbing through to a sheet with a blank side, he quickly pulled out a chunk of charcoal from the fireplace.  He squinted in the dim light, trying to copy down the markings that still remained on the floor.  Something sounded outside, a bird flapping away into the air, getting ready to roost for the night.  He exhaled out a heavy breath.  Nobody had come searching for him yet, but if they did, he couldn’t be found here, and they should never be aware of the power held in the inscription.  He ran his hand against the rough stone of the floor, smearing the markings into obscurity.

His teeth chattered together, ever so slightly.  He pursed his lips together and pushed hot air out of his nose.  The papers were stacked together haphazardly, and he proceeded to roll them up in a loose bundle and tie them up with twine.  The over-sized robe that hung off his shoulders would be too clumsy, and was still stained with the white soot. Pushing it off, the robe drifted to the floor in a pile.  He went back to the cupboard and slid open the stubborn drawer that held his clothes.  Layers, and something to hold food and his roll of papers.  He didn’t know how far he would need to go, but he knew that coming back was not going to be an option.Continue reading “Exodus from Dust”

That Time I Had Zero Evidence

Normally if someone says “I’m in Paris,” you would probably assume the’re somewhere within sight of the Eiffle Tower. I mean, it’s very tall and this region is very flat. It’s how I managed to navigate the city very easily the last time I was here. I’ve been her a week, and ignoring the fact that it’s been foggy, I still haven’t gotten a peek of it. Oh well, it’s not going anywhere.

This vlog was the first appearance of “Voilà, Sandwich,” where I track each sandwich I eat.

I can now make proper videos that aren’t just the inside of this room.  Stay tuned.

Picture of a Girl

He dabbed at the individual colors on his pallet, adding a bit of the titanium white to the pink.  There were faint graphite lines drawn on the canvas, partially erased.  He looked on.

“The fireplace feels nice.  My parents had one long ago.”  She rubbed her neck, wavy  hair flowing down onto the cushions of the lounge chair.

“Stay still, honey.”  He started passing the brush horizontally, with the lightest of touch.

“My front side is cold, though.” She complained.  He sighed out his nose heavily.  Setting aside the pallet, he pulled up his side table.  He stood up and disappeared to the other room.  A few moments later, he reappeared with tall glass and a bottle of red, the plain beige label coming up at the corners just slightly.  With his stained fingers and stubby nails, he picked at the foil on top.

“You had a bottle at dinner, already.”  She sat up to grab the shawl that was draped over the foot of the lounge.  The soft wool had a slight shimmer of gold fibers weaved into it.  Her feet danced back and forth as she pulled it up over her dainty legs.

“It’s good for the creative mind.”  He winded the foil down in a spiral fashion until the last little bit relinquished its hold on the neck of the bottle.  The opener was right at his hand, by the pallet.  He made eye-contact with her as he inserted the corkscrew and twisted it down.  “When you’re my age, you will understand why us adults thrive on this stuff.”  Her shoulder strap fell down ever so slightly as she rolled her head in boredom.  Continue reading “Picture of a Girl”