Every day I pass the jewellry shop when I walk to work. I recently moved to London from Cincinatti in response to job the Times put out for a foreign columnist. I'm not exactly how a writer from Ohio like me could get the job, but I did. I got a column on the third page as their only American on staff. I just found the cheap apartment, or flat as they call it, just a mile away from the Times building. Every time I passed the jewellry shop, I saw a middle-aged hobo staring into the shop.
I'd pass by and ask if he wanted something to eat. "You can never trust a hobo with money," my mother always said. I offered food some days, but he always declined. He had an upturned fedora with a few coins in it. It was obvious he wanted something inside that shop.
There was one day that I happened to be early for work and I stopped to ask him his name. He had the year-old beard thing going on with the dirty sunglasses and trench coat for the winters. He didn't roll around with shopping carts like the rest of the homeless people I've seen back in Cincinnati.
"Charlie," he croaked, as if using his voice for the first time in years. It sounded dry and weak. I didn't know what to say after that so I dropped my last nickel from Ohio into his fedora.
I started dropping coins every chance I could get. Charlie was always there, every day, my Old Faithful fogging up the glass. I walked in one day out of curiosity to see if the shopkeeper had anything to say about him. He was old, already completely bald. He mumbled with his British accent, as if deciphering the accent wasn't hard enough.
"Ah...yes, yes," was all I understood when he spoke. "He's been out there for as long as I can remember."
"He's always been this poor?"
"Yes, I'm afraid. He's been wanting to buy that string of pearls by the front glass for about thirty years."
"Thirty years? Why so long?"
"He wanted to work for that necklace, but he said his mum wouldn't let him. Now, the pound has inflated over the years just like the dollar- yes, I may have lost most of my hearing, but I can tell a Yank by the sound of him. Poor chap, the set got more and more expensive over the years making it harder and harder for him to catch up in his... less than satisfactory financial status."
"I see. Who are they for?"
"His mum, I reckon."
"Thanks," I said in finality. I was too used to interviews as a journalist.
I kept dropping coins.
Saturday, December 29, 2012
Thursday, December 27, 2012
Cry
On the corner of Peachtree Boulevard and Main Street was the old diner. It had kept its classic '50s style through the decades; including employee uniforms, vinyl records covering every inch of wall, and a working jukebox. Many teenagers still pranced in at night, before or after movies. Older folk trickled in throughout the day for their coffee fix. The menu had not changed since opening day.
Into the diner Clay Gibson went. The opening of the door pulled a string that rang some bells to announce his arrival. When the waitress approached, he asked for a booth. When she asked for the number of cutomers, he simply stated: "two".
He seated himself with a view to the parking lot. He wanted to make sure he was ready when he saw her dark blue Nissan Maxima roll in and park. He fixed his clothes, straightened his collar, and waited. He wanted to look presentable. It was early tuesday afternoon; they wanted to beat the afterschoolers.
The Maxima rolled in and Clay cleared his throat. He saw her slam the door and walk in. The bells rang as she entered. She looked to the left, then to her right. Clay waved her over when she spotted him.
-Hello, Sherry.
-Good afternoon, Clay. I'm sorry I'm late.
-Oh, thirteen minutes is nothing. You needn't worry.
He gave a warm smile to reassure her. She looked remarkable and elegant as she ever did. Even now, after so many years.
-So how are you, Clay?
-Things with me are okay these days. Got a good job. Great office. Got a new wife too. Practically a new life, you know, and the family's fine.
-We lost touch so long ago. You lost weight. I didn't know you could look so nice after so much time.
-Me? Have you looked in the mirror?
Sherry Duke smiled. The waitress arrived and they both ordered an espresso. She left. Clay asked her:
-Say, do you remember those days hanging out at the village green?
-Engineer boots, leather jackets and tight blue jeans.
She laughed and continued for him:
-We'd come here, drop a dime in the box afterschool and almost certainly get a song about New Orleans. Remember those teenage nights? Cold beer, hot lights, and romance.
-You remember Brenda and Eddie?
-How could I forget? They were the popular steadies. King and Queen of the prom.
-The lucky bastard had a convertible and they'd ride with the top down and the radio down.
-Yeah, but nobody looked any finer. They used to come here on their dates, to this same diner, remember?
-That's what we all wanted. What more can you get out of life?
She laughed and agreed with him. Clay had certainly aged well. They spoke as if no time had passed since their last meeting. The waitress returned with their coffees and asked what they'd like to eat. Sherry ordered an apple pie and Clay ordered his traditional Double Cheeseburger. Sherry continued the reminiscing gossip.
-They were still going steady in the summer of '75. They were married at the end of July, I think.
-Everyone said they were crazy.
-You're right. I told Brenda that she's much too lazy and Eddie could never afford to live that kind of life.
-And yet there we were waving Brenda and Eddie goodbye.
Clay though back and realized that must have been that last time he had seen Sherry. It was Brenda and Eddie's wedding. They were picking at their food as they spoke. His ears perked when he heard a Buddy Holly song come on. "Crying, Waiting and Hoping" it sounded like.
-They lived very nice for a while, or so I heard. But you know how it is. Always the same in the end.
-Oh? What happened?
-They were divorced of course. At least they parted the closest of friends. They went back to the green, but you know you can never go back there again.
-Can't go back to the greasers, that's for sure. The best thing they could do was pick up their pieces. They found a way to get by, I'm sure.
-Well, that's all I heard about Brenda and Eddie. Can't tell you more 'cause I told you already.
Clay hadn't even realized how much time had gone by. A quick glance at his wristwatch told him it was time to take his leave. They had been so caught up in old times, he was sorry for having to go.
-Well, unfortunately, I have to go, Sherry. I have to do a job at somebody's house. It was really nice seeing you, Sherry.
-Likewise Clay. We can meet here any time you want.
-I'll take you up on that.
He got up, paid the bill, and left.
Into the diner Clay Gibson went. The opening of the door pulled a string that rang some bells to announce his arrival. When the waitress approached, he asked for a booth. When she asked for the number of cutomers, he simply stated: "two".
He seated himself with a view to the parking lot. He wanted to make sure he was ready when he saw her dark blue Nissan Maxima roll in and park. He fixed his clothes, straightened his collar, and waited. He wanted to look presentable. It was early tuesday afternoon; they wanted to beat the afterschoolers.
The Maxima rolled in and Clay cleared his throat. He saw her slam the door and walk in. The bells rang as she entered. She looked to the left, then to her right. Clay waved her over when she spotted him.
-Hello, Sherry.
-Good afternoon, Clay. I'm sorry I'm late.
-Oh, thirteen minutes is nothing. You needn't worry.
He gave a warm smile to reassure her. She looked remarkable and elegant as she ever did. Even now, after so many years.
-So how are you, Clay?
-Things with me are okay these days. Got a good job. Great office. Got a new wife too. Practically a new life, you know, and the family's fine.
-We lost touch so long ago. You lost weight. I didn't know you could look so nice after so much time.
-Me? Have you looked in the mirror?
Sherry Duke smiled. The waitress arrived and they both ordered an espresso. She left. Clay asked her:
-Say, do you remember those days hanging out at the village green?
-Engineer boots, leather jackets and tight blue jeans.
She laughed and continued for him:
-We'd come here, drop a dime in the box afterschool and almost certainly get a song about New Orleans. Remember those teenage nights? Cold beer, hot lights, and romance.
-You remember Brenda and Eddie?
-How could I forget? They were the popular steadies. King and Queen of the prom.
-The lucky bastard had a convertible and they'd ride with the top down and the radio down.
-Yeah, but nobody looked any finer. They used to come here on their dates, to this same diner, remember?
-That's what we all wanted. What more can you get out of life?
She laughed and agreed with him. Clay had certainly aged well. They spoke as if no time had passed since their last meeting. The waitress returned with their coffees and asked what they'd like to eat. Sherry ordered an apple pie and Clay ordered his traditional Double Cheeseburger. Sherry continued the reminiscing gossip.
-They were still going steady in the summer of '75. They were married at the end of July, I think.
-Everyone said they were crazy.
-You're right. I told Brenda that she's much too lazy and Eddie could never afford to live that kind of life.
-And yet there we were waving Brenda and Eddie goodbye.
Clay though back and realized that must have been that last time he had seen Sherry. It was Brenda and Eddie's wedding. They were picking at their food as they spoke. His ears perked when he heard a Buddy Holly song come on. "Crying, Waiting and Hoping" it sounded like.
-They lived very nice for a while, or so I heard. But you know how it is. Always the same in the end.
-Oh? What happened?
-They were divorced of course. At least they parted the closest of friends. They went back to the green, but you know you can never go back there again.
-Can't go back to the greasers, that's for sure. The best thing they could do was pick up their pieces. They found a way to get by, I'm sure.
-Well, that's all I heard about Brenda and Eddie. Can't tell you more 'cause I told you already.
Clay hadn't even realized how much time had gone by. A quick glance at his wristwatch told him it was time to take his leave. They had been so caught up in old times, he was sorry for having to go.
-Well, unfortunately, I have to go, Sherry. I have to do a job at somebody's house. It was really nice seeing you, Sherry.
-Likewise Clay. We can meet here any time you want.
-I'll take you up on that.
He got up, paid the bill, and left.
Tuesday, December 25, 2012
Knife
Her scent was reminiscent of cool green apples. A smile flashed upon her face quickly and discreetly. Her lips stretched slighty; a hint only that disappeared as a soft breath escaped her lips. Naturally, they were a bright pink hue, but at the moment possessed a fierce bloodred wine color. They were open slightly, not a gleaming white tooth visible. Her cheekbones were prominently displayed and cast small shadows below them. At the end of each cheekbone were the tips of her jawbone on either side.
That is where he was; his lips just millimeters under her cheekbone, right beside her left ear. She could feel his warm, humid breath on that spot. A soft moan jumped through her vocal chords and out her parted lips. This gave him incentive to bring his lips onto her skin, gently sweeping them down her jawbone. From there he kissed down to her neck, which she exposed naturally.
It was the first time they shared this closeness, this intimacy. Never was a word spoken but both saw each other one day and understood. She waited for this moment to come, with a burning, exhilarating desperation she had never felt before, until finally the day came that they were in each other's presence once more. One look had sealed their fate.
The soft moan was the first sound of her voice he had heard from her. They had never conversed; they had never needed to.
It was a furious, ugly thing that bound them together, but accepted without question. Their wordless consent and action proved their indifference to their emotional catastrophe. It was everything they did -and did not- want.
He reached the left side of her collarbone that was modestly exposed by her black evening dress. It was modest by present standards; not revealing much of her lustful soft skin. But it did not matter what she wore- every part of her was still accentuated by anything she happened to wear. She relished the moment of physical weakness and submission she felt towards him, just as he knew and relished that she did. It was a mutual weakness coming into contact with one another in such a way.
His lips returned to her but did not touch them. Both were parted just a fraction, as if they were waiting for something to be said. They gazed into each other's eyes and saw fear mixed with an intensity of no proportion.
In a desperate move, she threw her arms around him, reducing the distance between their lips to nothing. It was a wildfire breeding, spreading, reproducing, and she could not find the power to control herself. She was tipped back onto her bed and she was aware of nothing but the pull of his lips keeping them intertwined as she fell back.
Her head hit the mattress and she opened her eyes. She saw her lover's face serene and pleased. He was hunched over her now. The black tips of his long hair almost grazed her forehead as they swayed side to side. She did not hear the door open.
She did not see her husband's face looking in; a face so reviled and twisted with horror, as if he were stabbed in his abdomen with a jagged, adulterated blade.
That is where he was; his lips just millimeters under her cheekbone, right beside her left ear. She could feel his warm, humid breath on that spot. A soft moan jumped through her vocal chords and out her parted lips. This gave him incentive to bring his lips onto her skin, gently sweeping them down her jawbone. From there he kissed down to her neck, which she exposed naturally.
It was the first time they shared this closeness, this intimacy. Never was a word spoken but both saw each other one day and understood. She waited for this moment to come, with a burning, exhilarating desperation she had never felt before, until finally the day came that they were in each other's presence once more. One look had sealed their fate.
The soft moan was the first sound of her voice he had heard from her. They had never conversed; they had never needed to.
It was a furious, ugly thing that bound them together, but accepted without question. Their wordless consent and action proved their indifference to their emotional catastrophe. It was everything they did -and did not- want.
He reached the left side of her collarbone that was modestly exposed by her black evening dress. It was modest by present standards; not revealing much of her lustful soft skin. But it did not matter what she wore- every part of her was still accentuated by anything she happened to wear. She relished the moment of physical weakness and submission she felt towards him, just as he knew and relished that she did. It was a mutual weakness coming into contact with one another in such a way.
His lips returned to her but did not touch them. Both were parted just a fraction, as if they were waiting for something to be said. They gazed into each other's eyes and saw fear mixed with an intensity of no proportion.
In a desperate move, she threw her arms around him, reducing the distance between their lips to nothing. It was a wildfire breeding, spreading, reproducing, and she could not find the power to control herself. She was tipped back onto her bed and she was aware of nothing but the pull of his lips keeping them intertwined as she fell back.
Her head hit the mattress and she opened her eyes. She saw her lover's face serene and pleased. He was hunched over her now. The black tips of his long hair almost grazed her forehead as they swayed side to side. She did not hear the door open.
She did not see her husband's face looking in; a face so reviled and twisted with horror, as if he were stabbed in his abdomen with a jagged, adulterated blade.
Monday, December 24, 2012
Ink/Beauty
What was that?
There it was again. Wonder when it'll flash again. It looked strangely familiar. Out window. Back to pad. Dab paintbrush, smear colors inside inky perimeter.
Dab, drip, smear.
Blue, purple, green.
Cool colors for drawing/painting. Woman with cool-colored dress. Three colors, all mixed. Purple is more pronounced in chest area; green by belly and blue at bottom. No heels, just bare feet.
Curly red hair, apricot face.
Dab, drip, smear.
Snack. Continue.
Dab, drip.
No, no more cool colors. Background. What to do for background? Her arms down sides; head and chin up, looking direct. Right foot forward, like pharoah. What background?
Ballroom. She's striding toward man to dance. There are others dancing around but are unimportant.
There it was again.
A speck. A light. What was it?
Continue brainstorming ballroom.
Gold, gold, gold. Marble floors. Stone columns. Frescoed arched ceilings. Chandeliers. Renaissance inspired? Yes.
Dab, drip, smear.
Gold, gold, gold.
Speck. Light. Two specks. Light. Three. Twinkling. Vision must be impaired but no alcohol. No sense.
Dab, drip, smear.
Dancers appear but blurry. Woman is center of attention. Show man about to take hand? No. No detraction from center.
Dab, drip, smear.
Marble floor appears. White, tan, brown mixed and swirled. Stone columns appear. Connect with arches. Ceiling like gridded dome frescoes. Details of frescoes blurry. No detraction from center.
Dab, drip, smear.
Finished. Done. Complete.
Woman looking direct in blue-green-purple dress. Brought out by inky pen origin that separates from rest of paint. Beautiful.
Sign name with black paint small-ly in bottom right corner.
Bathroom now. Open door. Enter. Use. Open door. Still drying hands with towel while walking out.
Room different. No easel, no pad, no paint.
Drop towel.
White-tan-brown swirly floor. Stone columns. Grid dome ceiling with arches. Blurry frescoes.
Step, step.
Blurry dancers dancing.
Rub eyes. Step, step.
Then see apricot feet. No heels. Blue dress that turns green then purple at top. Lovely breasts. Beautiful skin. Curly red hair.
She holds out hand.
Gulp. Rub eyes. Step, step. She pulls hand.
Suddenly twisting, turning and twirling woman following 3-4 music like waltz. Waltz not renaissance. Why waltz? Dance anyway. Twist, turn, twirl. Step, step, step.
Only focused person is woman because of inky perimeter. Everything else: unfocused and slighty blurry. No details. No details matter.
No detraction from center.
Stop dancing. She places hands on eyes. Black.
When see again, no paint on pad.
Only black ink on white pad.
Only woman.
Only beauty.
There it was again. Wonder when it'll flash again. It looked strangely familiar. Out window. Back to pad. Dab paintbrush, smear colors inside inky perimeter.
Dab, drip, smear.
Blue, purple, green.
Cool colors for drawing/painting. Woman with cool-colored dress. Three colors, all mixed. Purple is more pronounced in chest area; green by belly and blue at bottom. No heels, just bare feet.
Curly red hair, apricot face.
Dab, drip, smear.
Snack. Continue.
Dab, drip.
No, no more cool colors. Background. What to do for background? Her arms down sides; head and chin up, looking direct. Right foot forward, like pharoah. What background?
Ballroom. She's striding toward man to dance. There are others dancing around but are unimportant.
There it was again.
A speck. A light. What was it?
Continue brainstorming ballroom.
Gold, gold, gold. Marble floors. Stone columns. Frescoed arched ceilings. Chandeliers. Renaissance inspired? Yes.
Dab, drip, smear.
Gold, gold, gold.
Speck. Light. Two specks. Light. Three. Twinkling. Vision must be impaired but no alcohol. No sense.
Dab, drip, smear.
Dancers appear but blurry. Woman is center of attention. Show man about to take hand? No. No detraction from center.
Dab, drip, smear.
Marble floor appears. White, tan, brown mixed and swirled. Stone columns appear. Connect with arches. Ceiling like gridded dome frescoes. Details of frescoes blurry. No detraction from center.
Dab, drip, smear.
Finished. Done. Complete.
Woman looking direct in blue-green-purple dress. Brought out by inky pen origin that separates from rest of paint. Beautiful.
Sign name with black paint small-ly in bottom right corner.
Bathroom now. Open door. Enter. Use. Open door. Still drying hands with towel while walking out.
Room different. No easel, no pad, no paint.
Drop towel.
White-tan-brown swirly floor. Stone columns. Grid dome ceiling with arches. Blurry frescoes.
Step, step.
Blurry dancers dancing.
Rub eyes. Step, step.
Then see apricot feet. No heels. Blue dress that turns green then purple at top. Lovely breasts. Beautiful skin. Curly red hair.
She holds out hand.
Gulp. Rub eyes. Step, step. She pulls hand.
Suddenly twisting, turning and twirling woman following 3-4 music like waltz. Waltz not renaissance. Why waltz? Dance anyway. Twist, turn, twirl. Step, step, step.
Only focused person is woman because of inky perimeter. Everything else: unfocused and slighty blurry. No details. No details matter.
No detraction from center.
Stop dancing. She places hands on eyes. Black.
When see again, no paint on pad.
Only black ink on white pad.
Only woman.
Only beauty.
Friday, December 21, 2012
Envy
Mr Kessler opened the dark faded green attendance book. He took a sip from the mug of coffee beside the book. The mug left a brown ring on one of the student's answer sheets. When he saw it, he winced. He had to do the attendance, however, so he decided to deal with the issue later.
-Assad?
-Here.
-Brooks?
-Present.
-Cairn?
Spencer looked up and the teacher acknowledged his presence. He went back to listening to his friend's story. Leonard Harvey was about to continue when Mr Kessler called out for Chandler.
Spencer and another kid, Jack Weaver, both looked at Emily simultaneously. She said "here" and noticed Jack first. He smiled, and so did she in return. Before her eyes strayed in his direction, Spencer looked away.
-McAllister?
-Here.
Mr Kessler kept going through the routine of name calling. He ended by calling out "Weaver" to which Jack replied, smirking, "Here."
Spencer had long ago given up on trying to pay attention to Leonard's elaborate story from the weekend. He nodded his head and laughed at the appropriate times, but his mind was elsewhere. Leonard was talking, but all he heard as he stared at Leonard's face was noise.
-Alright everybody, pull out your Othello books. We're gonna start where we left off.
The class groaned.
-Oh, shut up. It's Shakespeare and you'll all end up loving him in the end, anyway, so quit whining.
Spencer pulled out his copy from his backpack but couldn't resist the urge to sneak a peek at Emily. Jack had moved a seat closer and was now right beside her. He saw a small paper handed to her from Jack. Spencer instantly scowled.
Molly McAllister read Iago's part, saying, "O! Beware my lord, of jealousy; it is the green ey'd monster which doth mock the meet it feeds on."
Spencer was so attuned to their passing notes that he didn't notice Liam Brooks seeing all that was happening. With a mischievous grin he blurted out, "I spy a green-eyed monster!"
Not having paid attention to the passage, Spencer was caught scowling at the pair across the room. When he finally noticed everyone looking at him, he removed the scowl for an emotion he did not know of. Emily looked over and laughed. The rest of the kids joined in and it took several threats from the impatient Mr Kessler.
After a moment, the room regained silence.
-Continue, please, Molly.
She continued. Spencer heard a sound to his right.
-Psst.
It was Leonard.
-You have to step up your game.
Spencer checked Kessler before whispering back, "I'm done."
-What? No! You've worked too hard!
-I said, 'I'm done.'
-I can't believe you're giving up. He's got nothing on you and you know it.
-You saw what just happened. It's over.
-Whatever, then.
Spencer stole one last glance at Emily. She happened to be looking at him gloomily. He could not tell whether she realized what happened or was just sorry that she shared in embarassing him. Spencer stayed resilient and looked away.
It took every ounce of willpower not to look back.
-Assad?
-Here.
-Brooks?
-Present.
-Cairn?
Spencer looked up and the teacher acknowledged his presence. He went back to listening to his friend's story. Leonard Harvey was about to continue when Mr Kessler called out for Chandler.
Spencer and another kid, Jack Weaver, both looked at Emily simultaneously. She said "here" and noticed Jack first. He smiled, and so did she in return. Before her eyes strayed in his direction, Spencer looked away.
-McAllister?
-Here.
Mr Kessler kept going through the routine of name calling. He ended by calling out "Weaver" to which Jack replied, smirking, "Here."
Spencer had long ago given up on trying to pay attention to Leonard's elaborate story from the weekend. He nodded his head and laughed at the appropriate times, but his mind was elsewhere. Leonard was talking, but all he heard as he stared at Leonard's face was noise.
-Alright everybody, pull out your Othello books. We're gonna start where we left off.
The class groaned.
-Oh, shut up. It's Shakespeare and you'll all end up loving him in the end, anyway, so quit whining.
Spencer pulled out his copy from his backpack but couldn't resist the urge to sneak a peek at Emily. Jack had moved a seat closer and was now right beside her. He saw a small paper handed to her from Jack. Spencer instantly scowled.
Molly McAllister read Iago's part, saying, "O! Beware my lord, of jealousy; it is the green ey'd monster which doth mock the meet it feeds on."
Spencer was so attuned to their passing notes that he didn't notice Liam Brooks seeing all that was happening. With a mischievous grin he blurted out, "I spy a green-eyed monster!"
Not having paid attention to the passage, Spencer was caught scowling at the pair across the room. When he finally noticed everyone looking at him, he removed the scowl for an emotion he did not know of. Emily looked over and laughed. The rest of the kids joined in and it took several threats from the impatient Mr Kessler.
After a moment, the room regained silence.
-Continue, please, Molly.
She continued. Spencer heard a sound to his right.
-Psst.
It was Leonard.
-You have to step up your game.
Spencer checked Kessler before whispering back, "I'm done."
-What? No! You've worked too hard!
-I said, 'I'm done.'
-I can't believe you're giving up. He's got nothing on you and you know it.
-You saw what just happened. It's over.
-Whatever, then.
Spencer stole one last glance at Emily. She happened to be looking at him gloomily. He could not tell whether she realized what happened or was just sorry that she shared in embarassing him. Spencer stayed resilient and looked away.
It took every ounce of willpower not to look back.
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Toy
Abel Conway was in prison for raping and murdering a three year old girl. He himself was about forty, but no one really knew. The girl was his daughter. His wife, who was responsible for calling the police upon her monstrous husband, was a fine lady of the Lord. His son, who was considerably older than his female sibling, had already moved out.
Phillip Hayes shared the cell with him. He was a serial killer who went after blonde prostitutes. He never pleaded insane, so he ended up there. In the Louisian State Penitentiary. It's the largest maximum security prison in the United States and nicknamed "The Farm" for its large amount of land and rural location.
Abel was tall, white and American. Phillip was a medium-sized African American. The two never spoke to each other until a month after having shared the cell. It was Phillip who spoke first.
"What you did?" he asked.
Abel stared at him for a long while. He wasn't expecting any confrontation or contact any time soon. The black man looked dumb. Spoke the part too.
"What's it to you?"
"Just aksing..."
Abel hated the way he spoke; the way everything was pronounced by those...degenerates. He was a confederate to the tee and farming was his business, as it had been in his ancestry for centuries. Back then, they had niggers do all the work. It was just as well, too, Abel thought.
"What'd you do, negro?" he countered.
"Oh, I done kill fo' white girls. They was purty too."
"And you don't care? You just say what you did... like it don't matter?"
"I leave da judgin' to God. I told him I's sorry. If I burn in hell, I deserve it; but if I don't, ye God!"
"You stupid imbecile. This, here, is Hell. Being here, all cooped up with monkeys and niggers that ain't no better or smarter!"
"You don't mean dat."
"I do! I meant every word. As for what I did- that doesn't concern you."
It was silent for a few minutes.
"You don't believe in da Lord?"
"To hell with that nonsense."
"Why don't you?"
"I promise, if you see the world as it is- not just what you see around you- but everything, everyone... You see that religion ain't shit except for the root of all problems. Everyone believes in someone different. Or multiple somebodies. So what makes yours the right one? I believe in me- that's what I believe."
Phillip mulled it over. They did not exchange any more words for a few months. Abel grew accustomed to sleeping, eating, and reading throughout the silent, boring days. Phillip never mentioned his execution was coming up soon. One day, he spoke up again, hoping that it wasn't his last day.
"I'm sorry you know too much," he said.
"What?" Abel asked, perplexed.
"You see da world different'n I do. I just see my momma happy when I bring da girls over to visit. I see my wife happy. I see me happy wif my family. We ain't got much money, but it's enough. I never went to school. That's why you know too much. You went to school."
"Yeah, I did. Education can be a blessing or a curse. Most often, it's both. You're a real simple-minded fella. Perfect to play with. Mold."
"I s'pose so, mistuh."
"If there is a God," Abel continued, knowing that it was where Phillip was heading, "then we're just his toys. He let's some of us be smart; others dumb. In the end, we're all in the same shithole."
"I believe he's good."
"You can believe what you want."
"Not everything's bad, dough. You see the bad in everything. You know too much."
"I guess it's true. Knowledge bred my pessimism."
"Do you wanna say a prayer wif me?"
"No, that's alright. Go on ahead- quietly."
Phillip prayed all night. He prayed for himself, his family, his friends. He prayed for the good people and the bad people in the world. He thanked God he didn't know too much so he could love Him. He prayed for Him to forgive his cellmate's sins.
The next day, Phillip Hayes was escorted from the cell.
Abel never saw him again.
Phillip Hayes shared the cell with him. He was a serial killer who went after blonde prostitutes. He never pleaded insane, so he ended up there. In the Louisian State Penitentiary. It's the largest maximum security prison in the United States and nicknamed "The Farm" for its large amount of land and rural location.
Abel was tall, white and American. Phillip was a medium-sized African American. The two never spoke to each other until a month after having shared the cell. It was Phillip who spoke first.
"What you did?" he asked.
Abel stared at him for a long while. He wasn't expecting any confrontation or contact any time soon. The black man looked dumb. Spoke the part too.
"What's it to you?"
"Just aksing..."
Abel hated the way he spoke; the way everything was pronounced by those...degenerates. He was a confederate to the tee and farming was his business, as it had been in his ancestry for centuries. Back then, they had niggers do all the work. It was just as well, too, Abel thought.
"What'd you do, negro?" he countered.
"Oh, I done kill fo' white girls. They was purty too."
"And you don't care? You just say what you did... like it don't matter?"
"I leave da judgin' to God. I told him I's sorry. If I burn in hell, I deserve it; but if I don't, ye God!"
"You stupid imbecile. This, here, is Hell. Being here, all cooped up with monkeys and niggers that ain't no better or smarter!"
"You don't mean dat."
"I do! I meant every word. As for what I did- that doesn't concern you."
It was silent for a few minutes.
"You don't believe in da Lord?"
"To hell with that nonsense."
"Why don't you?"
"I promise, if you see the world as it is- not just what you see around you- but everything, everyone... You see that religion ain't shit except for the root of all problems. Everyone believes in someone different. Or multiple somebodies. So what makes yours the right one? I believe in me- that's what I believe."
Phillip mulled it over. They did not exchange any more words for a few months. Abel grew accustomed to sleeping, eating, and reading throughout the silent, boring days. Phillip never mentioned his execution was coming up soon. One day, he spoke up again, hoping that it wasn't his last day.
"I'm sorry you know too much," he said.
"What?" Abel asked, perplexed.
"You see da world different'n I do. I just see my momma happy when I bring da girls over to visit. I see my wife happy. I see me happy wif my family. We ain't got much money, but it's enough. I never went to school. That's why you know too much. You went to school."
"Yeah, I did. Education can be a blessing or a curse. Most often, it's both. You're a real simple-minded fella. Perfect to play with. Mold."
"I s'pose so, mistuh."
"If there is a God," Abel continued, knowing that it was where Phillip was heading, "then we're just his toys. He let's some of us be smart; others dumb. In the end, we're all in the same shithole."
"I believe he's good."
"You can believe what you want."
"Not everything's bad, dough. You see the bad in everything. You know too much."
"I guess it's true. Knowledge bred my pessimism."
"Do you wanna say a prayer wif me?"
"No, that's alright. Go on ahead- quietly."
Phillip prayed all night. He prayed for himself, his family, his friends. He prayed for the good people and the bad people in the world. He thanked God he didn't know too much so he could love Him. He prayed for Him to forgive his cellmate's sins.
The next day, Phillip Hayes was escorted from the cell.
Abel never saw him again.
Thursday, November 8, 2012
Halo 4
As of November 6th 2012, The Forerunner Saga is officially here. Starting with Halo 4, Master Chief and Cortana are both back to face an ancient evil that has awoken in the universe.
Starting a little more than 4 years after Master Chief went into cryo sleep, he is awakened on the Forward Unto Dawn by Cortana. As his loyal advisor and AI, she informs him that they are being sucked into a giant planet. She also informs him that she is beginning to suffer from what is called Rampancy- literally thinking herself to "death". Master Chief fights off some straggling enemies on the ship as they start to get sucked into the gravity of well of this unknown planet. Master Chief tries his all to release the Forward Unto Dawn from the planet's gravity but the planet proves too strong however, and the Chief and Cortana plunge into what they later learn is Requiem, a Forerunner planet.
(The Forerunners were a species that were wiped out hundreds of thousands of years ago by the Flood, who Master Chief successfully eliminated once and for all in Halo 3.)
The battle is brought back to Master Chief and Cortana, however, as they begin to fight the Prometheans, (a cybernetic race they find on Requiem) and also the Storm Covenant on Requiem (a splinter faction similar to the Covenant we all know from the first trilogy, but we currently don't know why they're on the planet). Master Chief eventually reunites with now Executive Officer Thomas Lasky who we know from the Forward Unto Dawn web series.
In store for all of you gamers is Halo game true to its story line, with a new turn added: a dark, emotional cocktail to add to the usual ass kicking of aliens.
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Wednesday, October 24, 2012
The Forgotten Legion
For my third post, I am taking the liberty to discuss one of my new favorite book trilogies. It is: The Forgotten Legion by Ben Kane. I started reading the first book, The Forgotten Legion, a couple months ago and once I started, I couldn't put it down.
The story tracks four main characters along with a series of other minor characters. The interesting part of this trilogy is that it is a well blended historical fiction, mixing true ancient Rome with fictional characters. The four main characters are all fictional but come in close contact with many big historical figures such as General Crassus, Cassius Longinus, Marcus Brutus, and most importantly, Julius Caesar.
Romulus and Fabiola are twins who are both sold into slavery; Romulus to a gladiator school (which actually existed), and Fabiola to one of the major brothels in Rome (which also existed). Brennus, a Gaulish warrior is the last of his tribe and is sent to the Ludus Magnus where he meets Romulus. Tarquinius, an Etruscan haruspex and the last of his kind, is also in Rome and joins Brennus and Romulus later on when they join General Crassus' army.
Following these events are real battles and events during Crassus' campaign told in the viewpoint by the three friends. Meanwhile in Rome, Fabiola learns the ways of seduction in order to exact revenge on not only the man who raped her mother and separated her family, but more importantly, the man who first raped her mother and created Romulus and herself.
This is their story, as they all fight for survival at almost every turn. Covering Rome to Asia minor to North Africa, the series takes the readers everywhere as they follow Romulus, Brennus, Tarquinius and Fabiola.
The story tracks four main characters along with a series of other minor characters. The interesting part of this trilogy is that it is a well blended historical fiction, mixing true ancient Rome with fictional characters. The four main characters are all fictional but come in close contact with many big historical figures such as General Crassus, Cassius Longinus, Marcus Brutus, and most importantly, Julius Caesar.
Romulus and Fabiola are twins who are both sold into slavery; Romulus to a gladiator school (which actually existed), and Fabiola to one of the major brothels in Rome (which also existed). Brennus, a Gaulish warrior is the last of his tribe and is sent to the Ludus Magnus where he meets Romulus. Tarquinius, an Etruscan haruspex and the last of his kind, is also in Rome and joins Brennus and Romulus later on when they join General Crassus' army.
Following these events are real battles and events during Crassus' campaign told in the viewpoint by the three friends. Meanwhile in Rome, Fabiola learns the ways of seduction in order to exact revenge on not only the man who raped her mother and separated her family, but more importantly, the man who first raped her mother and created Romulus and herself.
Saturday, October 6, 2012
Deftones- White Pony
I have to admit that one of my latest obsessions has been the White Pony album by Deftones. Featuring Scott Weiland from Stone Temple Pilots and Velvet Revolver, and Maynard James Keenan from Tool and A Perfect Circle, the album truly generates a dark mysterious feel that I just can't get enough of. My favorite songs are Digital Bath, Rx Queen, and Passenger. In the song "Elite" you hear the true metal nature of Deftones and then it is opposed by the softer, more melodic "Teenager". Chino Moreno's lead vocals in Knife Party particularly are quite haunting and chilling that it gives me goosebumps when I hear it. Stephen Carpenter's guitar playing in both rhythm and lead are simple but very, very effective. The first time I heard the drums by Abe Cunningham in Rx Queen, I couldn't even understand how to do the beat, which doesn't happen often for a musician. Now that I've heard the song enough, I understand what he's doing and I love every second of it. Chi Cheng's bass is also very haunting and simple but overall a great complement to the guitar. All of it was brought together by Frank Delgado who did much of the electronics in the songs as well. The album was also said to be Deftones' "Most daring and impassioned work to date." Understandably, the album went Gold in the UK, Australia and Canada, and Platinum in the United States.
The track list is as follows:
- Feticeira
- Digital Bath
- Elite
- Rx Queen (Feat. Scott Weiland)
- Street Carp
- Teenager
- Knife Party (Feat. Rodleen Getsic)
- Korea
- Passenger (Feat. Maynard James Keenan)
- Change (In the House of Flies)
- Pink Maggit
I have definitely enjoyed this album thoroughly and will continue to do so. If you haven't had the chance, I recommend that you listen to this album.
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
To start off my blogging career, I would like to talk about a movie most dear to me that has very important thematic elements. Emphasizing Family, Trust, and Loyalty I would like to review the Oscar winning "The Godfather".
Set in New York City during the 1940s , this is a movie adaptation that came out in 1972 based on Mario Puzo's novel of the same name. Francis Ford Coppola directed the movie using his Italian lighting technique called "Chiaroscuro". This literally means "light-dark" and is usually a technique used in paintings to emphasize contrasts in themes and colors to better express emotions. Fitting the story-line, the darkness envelops the background of almost every scene, while the light is used just enough to be able to recognize the characters. A perfect example would be when the Godfather is shot and sent to the hospital somewhere in the first half of the movie. Although it is almost unnoticeable, the shadow is cast upon him and the light from a nearby lamp illuminates Michael Corleone (his son) signifying the shift of power. [To be fair, I will not spoil anything else from the movie for all of you haven't already seen it.]
Another big element in the movie is the juxtaposition of the crime members' personalities. Although the characters are criminals, they are set in a good light, as helpful neighbors and friends who would do anything for friends and family. With this comes the issue of trust and loyalty. A soldier (lower-ranked mafia member) would kill anybody the Don (head of the crime family) wants him to, but is also sworn as the head of his own family and must meet the needs of them or else he wouldn't be considered a man. If a soldier betrays the Don, he betrays the family; and there would be no remorse in his punishment. Morality is also a key factor that influences most of the Don's decisions throughout the course of his life, and Michael's during the movie. This is a contrasting juxtaposition that actually separates average criminals from the mafia and other such organizations. All of these elements resound within each one of us which is why this dark crime drama hits us hard every time emotionally.
The story-line thus follows the rise of Michael Corleone's rise to power and the family's dealings with the others who want to bring the Corleone family down.
If you haven't seen this movie, I strongly recommend it.
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