Hard Nonsense

When the walls fell

Wed, 29 Jun 2005 17:30:58 GMT

In the still of night
I think of the day
When the walls fell
And the sickness inside me
Washed hope away
As the walls fell
There is nothing left for me
But splintering pain
Fore the walls fell
Now, what am I to do
With all that remains
Since the walls fell

There was a day
When I was young
I did not fear what has become
An open wound, still bleed from
This leision in my soul
It's terrible
I'm terrible
It's never letting go

I was a pilgrim once
Just looking for the truth
Until the walls fell
I was a no one
Happily wondering through my youth
When the walls fell
There was hope for me
A chance for innocence
But the walls fell
I was broken, shattered
By my arrogance
The day the walls fell

The truth is friends
We all have walls
We'll all come before the father
When he calls
It's then we'll find if it's enough
To know the truth
Till then, we reck ourselves
Searching for the truth
Great is he who waits
At time sweet end
And great are those
Who are left standing until then
After the walls fell

What a week I've had:

Fri, 27 May 2005 15:52:41 GMT

Okay, so here is the deal. Things have gone very bad this week, but they've also gone very good this week. I was handed an assignment that seemed almost impossible to me at work. I haven't taken a lunch all week. I've work tons of overtime that I won't be paid for because I'm salary, but I got the assignment done. I was stressing about the state worker coming in to inspect my residence, but that turned out okay. I had another large project that I thought was done, that decided to delete itself, but I got it fixed. It just feels like I've taken two steps forward, and one back. Yeah, I'm making progress, but it's still frustrating. I'm glad we have a three day weekend coming up. I'm looking forward to seeing a good friend of mine, and hopefully picking up a car. I just hope it all works out. If not its cool, I'll just keep on taking my two steps.

Random thoughts

Mon, 02 May 2005 16:16:00 GMT

You know the more I think about it the more I'm sure that God is good. Just wanted to put it in writing, cause lord knows I don't say it often enough. I've completed my adoption training class over the weekend. To say the least, it was an emotional ordeal for me, but thinking back I have to say its been a healthy experience. Its not good to let old wounds get too well healed. Every once in a while you have to rip the scar open and let the sucker bleed a little bit. I say that because the wounds that so often we tell ourselves are healed are really just in hiding. They can be affecting us in a million differnt ways we're not even aware of. The only way to live a life not dominated by our past is to look backwards every once in a while and examine the things that still haunt us. In the end the temporary suffering that this provokes fades away and we are left with a greater understanding of ourselves, so that even those tears we shed show themselves eventually to be a blessing.

I'll not pretend any wisdom to you. I've no profound answers I've kulled from my past, but I think I understand myself more now than I have at any point in my life. I'm not angry with God anymore. Maybe thats a start towards making my peace, I don't know. What I do know is I can pray now and be okay with the person I'm praying to. That at least is a blessing. But like I said, God is good.

hello

Mon, 25 Apr 2005 18:04:52 GMT

Had a minor triumph just now. I got the 90t in testing to run without my boss there to help. Been caught up in it over the last few days. The adoption thing is going way faster than my wife and I thought. Been wishing for a few days to breath, but that doesn't look like its in the works. Tonight we are going to look at a house. I don't know if we are going to move but we might. I'll let you all know when and if we decide to take the plunge. Anyway, take it easy.

Troubled....

Wed, 13 Apr 2005 16:34:31 GMT

It's been a frustrating week so far. I am once again trying to quick smoking, I'm working through an assignment from my wife and I's adoption class that's causing me to have to deal with some pretty emotional issues, nothing seems to be getting done at work or if it is its taking about twice as long as it should, and to top it all off I have the sinus headache from hell. That's right, sucks to be me!

I have a question. How do I write my autobiography, the story of my life, in under 5 pages? If that was all there was, wouldn't that be just a little sad? I mean there's more than that in one day, most of the time. Or maybe there's not, and I'm just wishing there was. Who knows?

Well, I'm gonna let you go. Just wanted to sort of say what was on my mind. I'm thinking about posting my autobiography when I'm done. Don't know if I will though. There are some things about me I don't know if I want the world to know. Might be good therapy though, I'll have to think on it. Anyway, I'll see you when I see you. Best wishes.

Your Faithful Venter,

Hard Nonsense

Greetings

Wed, 06 Apr 2005 17:36:58 GMT

Interesting happening about. Not for me, but I'm sure somebody. I've gotten nearly settled in to things at work. I wish I'd be able to get a little more reading in but heck, don't we all. I've missed posting on this thing. You guys know, how little I do post. I'm working to get chapter 6 done. I am adding a few new scenes to the original draft. Hopefully you'll enjoy them. At any rate, just wanted to let you know I was thinking of you. I miss you all.

Okay, here it is.

Sun, 27 Mar 2005 20:43:33 GMT

Alright, here is the fifth chapter of my novel, and if you thought this took a long time wait until you see chapter 6. I hope you enjoy, and please, please, please, give me some comments on this I can use. Even I realize this is ackward in places, I just can't seem to fix it. HELP !!!!!

Chapter 5, "The Coming War"

Sun, 27 Mar 2005 20:22:07 GMT

Act II
Chapter 5:
Theria M'Rath

Moonlight shone
Straight as the bone
That breaks beneath her skin
Sun-firelight
Beltane night
We will meet again

She whispers
As Forgottenland descends
She is calling
To the children,
“Please come”
The sad maiden
Will be one of them
Singing out gently
A song for home

The sky was wrong, though not obviously so. You wouldn’t have noticed it if you hadn’t taken the time to stare, but Susan had. It was greener than it should have been, and there were stars in the sky you could see, even with the sun shining slightly indigo at its zenith. The child spent the next twenty minutes gazing up at those stars, wishing whatever world she inhabited would stop spinning. It was a peculiar sort of interlude. As the ground beneath her swam, her senses expanded registering a thousand new sounds and colors every second.

Aside from the sky two things stood out. The grass felt weirdly soft against her skin and the trees appeared almost normal. That first impression soon proved deceptive though as she realized that the forest around her was inhabited by innumerable strange beasts. She could hear them, or at least she thought she could, as they produced the weird living noises that were the byproduct of their existence. The combinations of those sounds blended together in a way that had no earthly equivalent. This was her first impression of Theria M’Rath. It was a new and terrifying place, yet even in her fear Susan found it intoxicating.

She draped a hand through the green undergrowth on which she sat, coming up with a palm full of tiny thistles. They looked like the spires of dandelions she used to enjoy blowing into the wind. Susan inhaled deeply; the air smelled of a unknown but wonderfully fragrant plant, a cross between cinnamon and something more earthy. She blew hard on her hand, and the thistles exploded into the air, then she made a wish.

"Rise and shine, children!" Gregory bellowed, sucking in great draughts of air, and expelling them back out with shocking volume. From her position on the ground the man looked utterly transformed. His eyes seemed lighter; his hair more brown than grey. His strides were quicker, more precise, his shoulders no longer stooped by the passage of time. His stance, his demeanor, even the way he held his hands alertly to both sides, screamed that he was back in his element, and was pleased to be so. Susan decided to obey.

She got to her knees, trying not to gawk at the changeling in front of her. Eventually, her curiosity overload her prudence.

"He's home," Tony said coming up behind her. Susan turned to regard her friend. "and happy."

Susan wondered if that was all there was. In the back of her mind she couldn’t help but wonder how much Gregory's life was tied to the land in which they now dwelled.

Their provisions were scattered over a small clearing, surrounded by tall, thick-leaved trees that looked to Susan to be similar to an oak. She wondered if it was the trees that scented the air, or some other variety of indigenous plant life. The question would have to wait though. Gregory had decided that the task of reassembling their supplies took precedence. As they searched, the wind picked up a little. Susan looked for, found, and drew on the thick woolen cloak that Gregory had “found” for her. It was a dark oily-green, the same exact color as the underbrush now surrounding her.

Bending over to pick up Tony's book bag, stuffed near to overflowing with food, Susan thought she caught some movement out of the corner of her eye. At first she ignored it, but when the movement persisted she got up slowly, hoping not to alert whatever it was that it had been detected. She pulled the bag to her, grasping it against her chest with both hands and turning slowly towards were Gregory was standing. She caught his eye, and glances frightened over her shoulder. Gregory's eye's suddenly grew keen. He surveyed their surroundings without physically shifting any part of his body. Susan was impressed by his self control. It was everything she could do not to fidget.

Just then a realization struck her. Anthony was out there! Without a thought about whether she was going to give herself or Gregory away, she began looking about frantically for her companion. The old man’s face had just enough time to turn a lovely shade of violet, when Tony came shooting out of the woods and tripped over a pile of the supplies they’d been gathering. The boy fell with an audible groan, recovered, and sprang to his feet gaping and pointing into the woods.

"We know," Susan croaked, violently aware that whatever was out there, now understood it had been detected.

Gregory expression had calmed. He looked down neutrally at his right palm and began whispering something under his breath. This lasted only a few seconds before the big man grew silent. Then louder he said clearly, “Bow.”

One of the bundles Tony had been carrying sprang out of his hands, causing the remainder to scatter at the ground by at the boy’s feet. It stopped three inches from Greg's palm, twisted 180 degrees, and extricated itself from the cloth covering that had surrounded it. When it had finished this, the string of an elegant wooden long bow was gently brushing Gregory's fingers, and the man had undergone yet another strange transformation.

We’re in trouble, Susan thought, fighting back the urge to go running blindly into the woods. She also realized that she had Gregory's bundle of arrow's in her hand. The girl tried fumblingly to produce the quiver but the old man stopped her.

"Not yet," he said. "I think seeing the bow will be enough."

Enough for what? She thought, but did not say.

"Just in case he's wrong though," Tony said. "Why don't you try and keep those handy okay.”

A burst of chirping language erupted from behind a tree nearly 30 feet away from them. Susan, and Tony jumped at the noise. Gregory for some reason looked relieved.

"Kort!” he cried to the forest in general, “You out there you old bastard! I taught you to speak properly years ago, stop tweeting at me like a goddamn Moorlingul."

As he spoke a diminutive figure emerged from behind a tree near to, but not quite in the direction from which the original voice had come. The figure stayed just inside the shadows.

"It would be worth speaking in your language of disorganized grunts," the shape said, in almost perfect English, "to prevent you from butchering my own tongue."

The figure approached then. As it did, Susan was shocked to realize that it was smaller than she’d first guessed. The creature with whom Gregory spoke, would only just come up to her waist. It wore a long sleeve-less cloak, the same color as her own, but it's seemed to be made out of some kind of animal skin. The face was angular, with long pointed ears swept back close to the skull and a straight sharp nose, both of which were covered with a fine brown fur that grew thicker and more coarse as it spread from the face, forming thick knots on the creatures arms and legs. As it finally came fully into the light the creature regarded her with a cool sort of indifference. It’s eyes were emerald green with a pale white line down the center. Though they resembled none she had ever seen before, Susan thought she recognized the expression they held.

It’s tired, she thought. He’s tired….

"Your getting fat." Gregory said. He smiled while he spoke, which seemed an odd choice considering the growing number of diminutive figures that were emerging from out of the woods and moving to surround them.

"Your late," the creature replied, "But that does seem to be the custom of your kind."

“How would you know, you’ve only ever met one of us?”

“I surmised.”

Susan couldn’t make up her mind whether Gregory was being clever, sarcastic, or just suicidaly rude. She did hope she’d find out before the things in front of her decided to end her life.

"How long has it been Kort?" Gregory continued.

There was a pause then, "About a year and a half."

"Shit!"

At the profanity Susan thought she caught just the faintest hint of a sparkle in the creatures eyes.

"The queen warned that this was possible."

Gregory rolled his eyes and shrugged. “I know,” he replied, “I just didn't think there was any chance she’d be right."

"Which only goes to prove how unwise we all are to trust you.” Kort said. “However, I must admit it will not be completely unpleasant to have you back."

"Kind of you to say."

"And probably more than you warrant after costing me twenty pieces."

"And how prey tell did I do that?"

The creature performed a strange contortion of it’s facial feature that might have been a smile.

"You returned,” he said. “with others of you kind. I bet that fool Heromon, there weren't any more like you."

# # # #

The next few days were some of the most frustrating, and also the best of Susan’s life. The Ehrouqi, as Gregory explained they were called, were a eccentric, and at times infuriating folk. They seemed to regard Susan, Tony, and even Gregory as outsiders, not to be trusted. Yet at the same time, they didn't really seem to trust each other. Greg tried to explain that these were a more solitary folk, than humans. They preferred to dwell in small family clans, spread out over huge portions of country, rather than to concentrate their populations into cities. Yet they were connected in a way the people she had known were not. They would gather when they were threatened, to worship, or to collaborate when some project larger than a house needed built.

At first Susan thought they reminded her of the Vulcan's from Star Trek, only to realize very early on that this description didn't fit them at all. As a race they were not unaffected, merely private, and operating on a completely different set of emotional queues than human beings. It was fascinating. Susan couldn't imagine anything she’d rather do with her time than to be allowed to study the Ehrouqi, and hopefully to one day come to an understanding these strangers. She decided to ask Gregory for his observations on the race, as he was getting her settled into a smallish house which seemed to be the only structure she'd seen which was build to human scale.

The outside of the building was constructed of precisely cut stone, which locked in fine seams on four sides, eliminating the need for mortar. Inside the place reeked of a years inoccupation. The beads were dusty, as were the hangings on the walls. It looked as though the structure had been flooded at least once, judging from the combination of mud and vines deposited the floors. She approached him after he’d sent Anthony to get some firewood. She hesitated to ask, though she was unsure why. Gregory for his part did little to ease her fears.

"They're their own kind of folk." He grunted, grimacing down at his soiled floors. "Most of them won't learn your language, which I suppose is only right since we’re intruding on them. "

"They don't seem very friendly though." She replied.

"They are in there own way." A thought seemed to pass invisibly through Greg's mind. "Anyway, this'll be your room. Feel free to clean it or not to as you like. It's the best bed I have, though that’s not saying much.”

"This used to be your room didn't it?"

"Yep and it will be again, if you break anything." Gregory threw her few bags on the mattress which seemed to be constructed whole of some kind of antler. "Now if you don't mind, I’d like to get to work on the fires. It gets cold here at night."

Susan shivered recalling the previous night that had been spent traveling towards Gregory’s home in a wind storm.

"I'll start on the floors." She said.

"You don't have to."

"That's okay I'd rather be doing something."

"Suit yourself. I'll get the lad to help you."

"How's his room?"

"Not this nice."

Wow, Susan thought, for once I’m glad I’m not him.

# # # #

The next day consisted almost entirely of the completion of the moving in process. It was a miracle, Susan thought, that the fireplaces still worked. It did indeed get very cold at night in Theria M’Rath. Especially in Greg’s little stone-floored dwelling, where all the heat from the fireplace seemed to get sucked directly into the ground. When at last the master of the home proclaimed their work done, nearly 23 hours had passed since their arrival.

That night Susan stared out the narrow slit window in her room at stars she could not name, wondering what was to become of her and her friend. As she closed her eyes, a sound resembling that of a questionably tuned guitar came drifting down the hall from where Gregory spent his nights. It was an odd tune the makeshift harp sang, there was no recognizable melody, but it was a comforting song all the same. As it grew steadily in volume, the sound of a thousand flutes of varying pitch and timbre began to sing a soft impossibly beautiful accompaniment, somehow calling to Susan’s mind the image of fireflies dancing on a spring lawn in a simpler time. Susan wept as it grew to a shattering crescendo, then faded shuddering into silence. There was a moment of respite, then a new more lively tune began. How long it went on, Susan would never know. She fell asleep somewhere during that second act.

# # # #

"Look's like one of those recorder things they used to make us play back in grade school."

Tony held the strange flute out to Susan, as if he were asking for her support.

Only one way to find out.

“What is it Gregory?"

Their benefactor grinned down at them with pride. He picked the instrument out of Susan’s hands delicately, as if it were the most fragile thing in the world.

"It's the closest I've been able to come to a flute."

"What's it for?" She wondered aloud. Susan caught the sarcastic roll of Tony’s eyes and chose for the moment to ignore the slight.

"The Ehrouqi use their noses to make the sounds they need to speak to each other.” Gregory answered. “I've never been able to duplicate it myself so I started using this to speak to them."

Anthony was shifting nervously off to the side. Susan could feel him about to speak a moment before the words left his mouth.

"Why didn't you just teach them all English?" Susan cringed and even Tony seemed a little embarrassed by the question.

"They weren't that interested in learning." Greg replied. “I don’t know if you’ve picked up on it, but we’re not exactly the returning hero’s around here.”

"Kort knew English."

"Kort learned it as a sign of respect to me a long time ago." Gregory said with finality. Susan was wishing she could work up the nerve to ask him about his past. But somehow knew she wouldn’t. Tony moved to fetch a drink from the water basin. He seemed to have recovered from the poor reception of his last question. As before Susan knew he was going to ask something before he spoke.

"What for?"

Interesting, she thought. It was pleasing to her that he would be wondering the same thing as she was.

"As I recall," a melodious voice said from just outside the cottages front door. "He nearly got me killed."

"Nearly," Greg said waving Kort in, "being the operative word."

"I'm confident you'll try harder next time."

Kort turned from Gregory towards the two youths. "From this moment forward, your instructor and I will only be using the language of my people to communicate. The first stage of your training will have ended when you can understand what we are saying to each other and make yourself understood to us."

"Why do we have to learn another language?" Tony whined. Susan wondered when he was going to stop asking questions.

"I do hope your a bit brighter than that question indicates," Kort said.

Gregory interjecting before Kort could add more, "some of the people who are going to teach you don't know English. Why would they?"

Tony’s face turned a brilliant shade of red which only deepened when Susan gave his hand a supportive squeeze. "Oh, sorry."

“Don’t be,” Kort said. “Just be smarter.”

Tony looked like he was going to say something else but Susan gave his had a second harder squeeze, this time to keep her friend from saying anything that might insult their host. Kort continued apparently oblivious.

"Also this will be a great deal easier if you don't use English at all for the next few weeks." he said.

"I can't!" Susan blurted. Her heart was suddenly wedged painfully in her throat. This had all suddenly begun to remind her forcibly of her mothers game of silence. Both Gregory and Anthony seemed taken aback by her reaction.

The little alien, Kort regarded her with unabashed revulsion. Somehow at that moment his disapproval was more important to her than that of her companions.

"The giant tells me you are stronger than you appear," he said. There was an aspect in those jade eyes that might have been kindness. "I do not believe this to be true, but I have been wrong about your kind in the past. I would prefer to be in your case, as my friend informs me, much depends upon your successful training."

Susan thought she was going to cry, right there in front of the stranger. She wondered when she had gotten so weak. She drew herself up to her full height, a ridiculous act considering with whom she spoke, and leveled a detached gaze at Kort. She was just about to speak when Anthony cut in, causing her to realized she’d no idea what she was about to say.

"Give us an hour a day…" he said reasonably, "to compare notes."

"Done." Both Kort and Greg replied in unison.

Just then Kort gave a burst of warbling speech, that somehow affected disinterest and Greg replied with a series of notes on his flute that were equally unintelligible but more upbeat. So Susan's third day in Theria M’Rath was comprised of her first futile attempts to learn the Ehrouqi speech. As the day wore on, she discovered that the silence was not as suffocating as she had expected.

What was interesting, to Susan, was the varying approaches she and her friend took to learning the new language. Tony, whom she recalled was quite a savant on the recorder, fell upon the flute at once and began practicing scales. Every once in a while he would point at an object and either Greg or Kort would send out a blast of song which presumably was the things name. Tony would then practice the whistling until he thought he had it right. It was an aggressive approach, maybe even the best one but not for her. Susan chose to listen quietly off to the side as Gregory, Kort and Tony went about their day to day tasks. It was a slow method and Anthony accused her more than once of not trying hard enough, but Susan just kept quietly off to the side and waited for it all to start making sense. This was especially true at night, when the songs of the Ehrouqi would fill her dreams.

So the days drew on as Susan became immersed in the language she was attempting to learn. It wasn’t a week before she caught herself understanding a few scattered words. With each passing day the new world around Susan began to open itself up to her. She only wished Gregory’s words would stop interrupting her thoughts. Someone else would be helping train her.

And who, pretrel would that be.

# # # #

"Your missing the consonants."

"What consonants, they're squeaking at each other."

"It's there. Listen to Kort when he says his name, you can hear the K."

Tony groaned in the silence of their hour long reprieve. Susan could tell he really wasn’t in the right mood to handle criticism. Still, there didn’t seem anything else to talk about. The pair sat separated by mere feet in the corner of Susan’s room, but for all the closeness the proximity lent them it could have been miles.

"How can I make a K sound, and blow on a damn flute at the same time?"

He handed the thing up to her frustrated but controlling his temper.

"I think Greg uses the back of his throat."

Kort and Greg were down the hall, but Susan ignored them. They had yet to partake in the bartered hour of free speech. They sat smoking the long pipe that Kort had taken to bringing on his daily visits. The smoke hung low in the building making gray-green shadows dance along the floor and scenting the whole house with a musky odor.

"Which reminds me," Tony said, taking the contraption back from her. "When are you going start practicing with yours."

"Don't know, maybe when I figure out what I want to say I'll try and learn how to say it."

"Women," Tony called over his shoulder towards Greg, but neither their instructor nor his associate seemed to have heard.

# # # #

That night Gregory played his makeshift guitar again, this time with a much more practiced hand, and again he was accompanied by more Ehrouqi than Susan could count. She stayed up most of the night listening to the infinite delicate combinations of sound her benefactors were able to produce, each moment wondering what it all meant. After about an hour she was able to pinpoint Kort's voice amongst the others. His song was a desperate, broken kind of thing. It seemed to speak of loss, and loneliness, and a terrible frantic kind of hope. Without thinking Susan began to whistle a soft counter-harmony to Kort's more aggressive, almost manic vocalization. As she drifted off to sleep at last, she continued whistling as if trying to sooth the desperation she heard in Kort, with her own more simple song.

As she sat teetering on the edge of night she heard Gregory put down his instrument. Kort, sitting beside him, was drinking a soft tea that was his families specialty.

“Does your wife know you play like that?”

“It never came up.”

“It should, the next time you speak with her. No woman could stay angry if you played like that for her.”

“I’d have to remember that, if I played for her.”

“You wouldn’t, even if you did. To much pride banging around in that empty head of yours.”

“What do you think of our little songbird back there.”

"The girl has a good ear, and she works hard...”

"Actually I thought the same thing about the boy."

“You know it’s hard for me to think of them as a children when their both twice my size.”

“Sorry but that’s what they are. Surely you don’t think Susan the harder of the two workers.”

“You only like his approach because you learned the same way." Kort chuckled softly. Gregory didn’t seem insulted. "The boy may get the vocabulary first, but your Susan has a chance to be eloquent."

"Here's hoping your right."

There was a silence then, "What do I tell Keirin?"

"Tell her the truth, the girl is a kind enough soul, but she’s damaged goods. She hasn’t the vaguest conception of how powerful she is, and when it comes to that, she's powerful enough to level most of this countryside if the queen isn’t careful."

"She may tell us to leave."

“Us?”

“No more journeys alone my brother, he wouldn’t have wanted it.”

“If she tells us to go we'll go, but she won't."

"You think you know the women, but the years have changed her."

"I knew someone who trusted her once, same one who trusted me."

Kort shuffled in his chair, then raised his tea. "Departed friend's." He said. After that for a while Susan slept. At no point during the conversation did she realize they were speaking in Ehrouqi.

# # # #

After another four day's Susan came to two conclusions. The first was that she needed to hear more than just Kort and Greg talking to each other. The second was that Tony needed an alternative to the flute Greg had given him. The problem was not so much a lack of ability with the thing, as it was that Tony simply could not duplicate the consonants sounds he needed to while simultaneously hitting the right notes. He'd developed a bit of a block with the thing, his progress stalling after the first few days. Their hours of conversation seemed to consist mainly of long moaning sessions, which had quickly grown EXTREMELY boring.

That morning, Susan decided to disassemble her own flute with one of the knifes that Greg used for skinning food. To get a better idea of how it worked she decided to split it down the middle, taking care to cut only the skin and not the reed that was inside. When blown on, the reed would vibrate at a pitch determined by the rate of air flowing around it. It had ten holes in the top as well as four in the bottom, which gave it more than enough range to communicate in the Ehrouqi language.

The problem with Greg’s design, she decided was the fact that you had to used your tongue to cause the reed to vibrate. It was also to narrow at the tip, forcing you to hold it in place with your teeth. If she could just do close to the same thing with a whistle it would free up the users tongue to make consonants.
The answer didn't come to her untill later that day, as she was walking by a blacksmith, who's name she thought was Loorieth.

At her feet there were several pieces of scrap metal the smith had pounded flat and discarded. The idea came to her in a great burst of inspiration. She rushed up to the smith who was working on a project trying to ignore her.

"Can I have this?" she asked him, without realizing she'd spoken his language. The smith although stunned lent his approval. Susan thanked that man, and ran off without thinking of what she'd done. She had to find another, much narrower reed. Kort will know, she thought and headed back to Greg's home. She found him first.

It was as she blurted her idea for the new better flute to Greg that Susan realized she wasn't speaking English. She faltered, but after a moments hesitation continued the half whistle half speech she'd been studing every night.

"Need a reed," she repeated, indicating the pieces of the dismantled flute in her hand. "Smaller one."

"You don't seem to need one." Greg said, beaming as he sounded his flute.

"Not me," she said. "Tony."

"How big around do you need it?" Greg asked.

Susan couldn't think of the right combination of sounds so she held out her index finger. "This big," she said.

"How long."

Susan didn't even know if the Ehrouqi had a measurement system. She indicated a length of about three inches with her finger.

"This much," she said.

"I'll get it Susan."

Her name sounded odd in the new language, but it was unmistakably her own. In the hour it took for Greg to return with the promised reed, Susan had shocked Kort by greeting him joyously as he arrived, and then scared Tony by bursting into his room running around it naming anything she could find. When Greg returned, all her attention became concentrated on finishing the simpler whistle she was envisioning in her head. It took her about two hours to file and groove the scrap metal. She then hollowed the reed, fixed a stopper of cork-like material in one end, and inserted the metal filament in the other end. At that point she was at a loss for how to bind the whole thing together and to vary the rate of airflow, aside from varying how hard you blew.

This impasse lasted just long enough for her to grow genuinely afraid she wasn't going to be able to pull the whole thing off after all. That's when Kort who'd been watching her progress avidly approached her with a ceramic jar of what looked like maple syrup. The Ehrouqi took the long metal hook she'd used to hollow the reed and dabbed it in the contents of the jar, then he began to smear a thin coating over the joints in Susan's creation, taking care to provide a generous amount at the mouthpiece. About an hour later Tony tried the new device. Using his lips to vary the diameter of the hole he was blowing into. It took about fifteen minute for him to gain the range of sound that he had with the Greg’s device. It took a little longer for him to master controlling the pitch and tone with just his lungs and lips. Within two hours though he had already started adding some of the consonant sounds that had been vexing him.

"It good," he said to her in his first clear Ehrouqi. Susan had never been so proud of anything in her life.

# # # #

The next two weeks were spent truly mastering the Ehrouqi language. Even after Susan realized that she could do without Greg's flute, it was still sometime before she could follow a conversation between Kort and Greg and completely understand everything that was said. She and Tony were also learning the customs as well. Some of this was done through the kind of observation that Susan had wanted to do since her arrival, some through interaction with those Ehrouqi who happened to live near by. It didn't seem to be an accident that most of these tended to be craftsman, and that most of those craftsman specialized in the making of weapons.

Tony's training also began to entail more physical conditioning and fewer lessons in the spoken word, as time progressed. Kort began awakening them both every morning. They would eat, and Kort would drag Tony outside, not to be seen till dinner that evening. Susan's spent her time studying the written Ehrouqi under Gregory's less than gentle tutelage. It didn't help that there were six very different dialects, which were all symbolic interpretations of the same spoken language. Still Susan progressed steadily, which could not be said for Tony. They kept their customary hour of English after sundown though neither of them needed it any longer. During this time he would often complain about his treatment. Susan would smile as sympathetically as she could but most days she couldn’t hide the fact that she was happy. Tony to his credit never seemed to hold it against her.

"I'm telling yeah, that little bastard is trying to kill me."

“I’m sure he’s only shooting for a partial mauling.”

It was just under sunset on the 33rd day since their arrival. Susan was sitting on the bed that Gregory had given her. Tony, who’d finished his transition to professional grouch, sat on the floor of her room by the fire place.

"What did he have you do today."

"I was carrying rocks till around noon. Not stacking them, not carrying them somewhere, just carrying them around."

“Maybe, he’s trying to bulk you up.”

What Susan didn’t say was that the results of Kort’s training were already starting to show. Tony had gained a considerable amount of weight since their arrival. His shoulders were broader and his chest and arms seemed to be adding muscle. She slapped him lightly on the arm. She didn’t have a reason to. It had been just an impulse, one which she immediately regretted following.

"How did you know it was noon? I thought you broke your watch."

"Oh, noon's when he tells me I suck at everything."

"I thought he told you that all the time."

"Nope, normally he just screams that he hates me, and he hopes I die soon."

"I didn't know he said that. He shouldn’t."

"I can take it, but I sure wish he didn’t say it with so much feeling."

"What happened after the rocks?"

"He had me hit a tree with a stick for about two hours….”

“What?”

Tony rolled forward from where he’d been sitting, the briefest of smiles slipping across his face.

“It was actually my favorite part of the day. He put a couple targets on a tree, stood in my way, and told me to hit them. It was kinda fun, at least at first.

“When did it stop being fun.”

“About the time he started hitting me with his stick. After that I stretched and we came home."

“Stretched?"

"I don't know, Mr. Miagi in there says that stretching is important."

“For what?”

“Beats the hell out of me.”

“That’s Kort’s job.”

“Bite me.”

“Also, not my job.”

Tony spent the rest of that evening in what could only be described as a bona fide pout. Gregory and Kort didn't seem to mind leaving him that way, while Susan secretly wondered if there was something else bothering the boy. Her suspicion was confirmed, when later that evening she laid a hand on Tony’s shoulder. For the first time she could recall, he turned away.

"What is it?" Susan asked quietly, so that only he could hear. She was more concerned than hurt by his reaction.

"Jesus Susan I'm....."

Gregory coughed from the rooms door. Neither Susan nor Tony had any idea how long he'd been there.

"We're splitting you up tomorrow." Gregory said without preamble.

The look on Tony's face was enough to tell Susan he'd known. She turned to him.

“How long?"

Neither man answered at first.

"When were you going to tell me?" It was obvious Gregory had not expected this reaction.

"Look sweetheart, I already taught you the language did you expect to stay here the whole time."

"I expected to learn magic." She said. "Not how to whistle, really, really well."

"You will, but I won't be the one teaching you."

"Why not?"

Susan was crying. She hadn't understood how comfortable she’d gotten with the way things were, living with Gregory and Tony, learning to read the new languages, and listening to the songs at night. She would miss those most she thought. Susan got up from the bed. There was a sort of pressure building up inside her that she didn't know how to vent. Part of the problem was that she knew she was a quicker study than Greg had expected with the language. There had been a time once, she vaguely recalled, when her teachers used to tell her she was bright. It has been wonderful to be again. What if she wasn't as good at the other things as she was with this, she thought. And how did she know "splitting up" meant she was going away?

"Kort will be taking you to see a woman named Keirin L’Eriden tomorrow." Gregory said. "She will be in charge of your training from now on."

There was a finality to the statement that Susan found insulting.

"What about me?" Tony asked from the floor.

"As of tomorrow I'm taking over for Kort with you."

"But why aren’t we being trained together?" His eyes looked dead as he spoke.

Gregory switched gears suddenly, his tone going from conciliatory to darkly brooding in an instant. "The two of you have different roles to play in what is to come," he managed, seething between clinched teeth. "I can not help her become what she must be, but I can for you."

"Hey, why don't we all just settle down now tiger." Tony chimed in, getting up from the floor. “Come here, gimme a hug.”

Susan wasn’t backing down from Gregory’s anger. “I can’t believe you told Tony and not me, way to trust.”

“He was ready for the information, and judging from your reaction your still not.”

“Am too..” Susan blurted, feeling her face turn red even as Tony cut her off.

“Nice retort there Suz,” he said. “Positively Shakespearean. Now can we all stop talking about me like I’m not here and get back to that hug. ”

"Your not here," Gregory said, his mood again shifting dizzyingly. "But you will be."

The older man slapped Tony hard on the back and continued speaking. “Sooner or later son, You will be"

Without thinking Susan added, "You forgot to add 'Or die trying'"

Tony didn't seem to find that funny at all.

# # # #

Thoughts on Anger.

Mon, 31 Jan 2005 17:53:02 GMT

Just a few thoughts on a Monday. It's interesting how sometimes we see our own short comings with perfect clarity and yet we tell ourselves there is nothing we can do about them because regardless of our knowledge we can not change the things we are feeling. I try very had not to think that way, but here recently I think I've fallen into same old trap. Without going into a huge amount of detail lets just say that recently I have been having some anger issues. I know I need to work on taking the time to take a step back but sometimes I just don't. I rationalize of course. I tell myself how justified my anger is. I read myself the laudry list of little slights that people have inflicted upon me and I feel justified. Christ wasn't like that though, and regardless of your particular faith I think you'd have to agree the guy was a pretty good example of anger management. In the end I think I have to rememmber to treat others with respect even when I feel they don't deserve it. If not for that persons sake, then for myown.

Above the ground.

Mon, 31 Jan 2005 17:35:30 GMT

Above the Ground:

Quite moment, fragile peace
Inside of words we all beleive

Steady silence, waiting through
Trusting me to see the truth

Peace of hope, this faith, this love
Children of the living God

We all will shudder falling down
Pray, "Lift me up Lord, above ground."

Quite truth, long unbeleived
Where is the God I know I need

Where is the love to fill me up
I've fallen down, I'm waking up

General thoughts on my grownup job.

Wed, 26 Jan 2005 17:55:19 GMT

Hello again out there. I was wondering when I would get a chance to get back to this page. I've been burried with work over the last few days. Please don't interpret this as a complaint. It's not. I've found that I'm enjoying work for the first time in my life. The can bury me in work if they want, I'll do it, because incredibly enough I'm feeling mad warm and fuzzies for my chosen profession right now. I am progressing pretty good right with learning how to build air conditioners. I won't say I've got the problem wipped, that would just be stupid as well as untrue, but I am progressing and really right now progress is all I can realistically expect from myself. We'll get'r done eventually. I am getting a new cellphone. I'll let you guys know when I have it up and running so you can contact me. And no I won't be putting the number online. I'm dumb but not that dumb. :-)
Just as a side note, Julie was in an accident the other day. SHE IS FINE, but the cars all fucked up so if I'm not around in the next few days you'll know I'm dealling with that. Hope all is right in your little corners of this pretty blue rock. Best wishes.

Mon, 24 Jan 2005 17:52:47 GMT

I beleive in the future
We shall suffer no more
Maybe not in my lifetime
But in yours I feel sure
Raindogs barking at the break of dawn
Gently brushing the edges of a thunderstorm
And these streets quiet as a sleeping as sleeping army
Send their battered dreams to heaven

To heaven
For the mothers restless song
Who is a witness to
Who is a warrior
Who denies his urge to break and run
He says, "Hard times."
"I'm used to them."
"The speeding planet burns."
"And I'm used to it."
"My life's so common it dissappears."
"And somtimes, even music."
"Can not substitute for tears."

A few lines from, "Cool, Cool River" A song by Paul Simon.

In my opinion that is one of the most powerful lines ever penned in a pop song. Sometimes we are left no resort but to feel the full weight of the troubles that weigh on us. These are the days were we must face our own limitations, maybe even our humanity. I don't know why I was thinking about this song. I'm actually in a pretty good mode. I guess I have always found the song comforting in a way. I've felt this so many times. It's just nice to hear someone else putting it into words. Anyway, have great day. Hope I haven't bummed you out to much.

Greetings from the land of real life.

Thu, 20 Jan 2005 17:43:22 GMT

Well for those of you who don't know I have returned from the land of sunshine and fine cigars. I have to say that I didn't miss the weather at all. What the hell is up with this snow anyway. I heard it was seventy degrees the whole time I was gone and now I can't by a forcast above freezing. But that's okay. I am sitting in my office right now on my lunch break, doing real engineering work for the first time in a long time and to be honest, I can't bring myself to sweat the weather. I hope everybody is doing alright and that the holiday season has been kind to you. I'll be trying to post a little more regularly in the coming weeks. Anyway, I just wanted to let you guys know that I'm back and that I'll be thinking about you. God Bless.

Chapter 4 of "The Coming War."

Mon, 13 Dec 2004 01:52:32 GMT

Here at long last is the second draft of chapter 4 of my novel, "The Coming War." If you've read this and enjoyed it please take the time to leave a breif comment. I need all the encouragement I can get.

Chapter 4:
Sacrifice

What was lost was found again
Inside the fragile splintered ends
Of people half remembered
Half forgotten, half forlorn
And some say, tis a helluva thing
To live through being unborn

The next morning the sun appeared almost reluctant to rise. It crept over the eastern mountains in one long liquid motion, gifting the world with neither warmth nor all that much light, though the hint of both lingered on the horizon. Susan watched the sky awaken, from the comfort of her perch in Rachel’s living room. She lay there drifting between sleep and consciousness, hoping she wouldn’t come fully awake for at least another hour, and yet oddly curious as to why the sun was taking so long to arrive. When at last it had Susan couldn’t help but feel disappointed. She could hardly detect it’s rays through the frost that had accumulated on Rachel’s windows. It trickled in opaquely through the panes, lending the whole house a soft sort of lightness that seemed to make time move even more slowly as it beckoned her tired body back to bed. Susan made the difficult decision to start her day. There really didn’t seem much point in waiting.
The problem with that plan was not so much that she’d gotten up too early, as it was she’d gone to bed too late the previous night. Either way though the effect was the same. Susan found herself stumbling blurry eyed into Rachel’s kitchen, hoping to find something in the refrigerator that had caffeine in it.
Five minutes down, she thought. Only about a zillion more to go.
The hardest part, she realized was going to be waiting for Tony’s call. She needed someone to help her decipher the events of the previous night. Her friend, by benefit of being the only member of their little ensemble she’d known for more than a week, qualified defacto.
Both Edna and Gregory were present. They’d stayed when Rachel left for work earlier that morning. The two adults spent their time staring intensely at one another, seemly at a complete loss for what to say next. Clearly they had only gone a very small way towards bridging the gap that fate had thrust between them, but there was little Susan could tell beyond that. Understanding other people had never been her strong suit. It was one of the skills she’d always relied on Tony for, and yet another reason she yearned for his return. He, unlike Susan, might have been able to derive some meaning from the frequent glances and mixed expressions that passed between the couple-some hidden context that to him would be insightful but to her might as well be static. In his absence, Susan was being forced to rely on her own judgment. Which can be a problem when you don’t trust yourself. Susan learned nothing that morning, and eventually the mini-cold war ended a bit after noon when Gregory disappeared suddenly, giving only a terse explanation as to where he was going. Susan couldn’t help but feel an opportunity had passed, though for what she didn’t know.
Edna tried to fill the intervening time with small talk about television shows, boys, and other equally meaningless topics. At first the girl tried to humor her companion. Eventually though, watching a full grown adult person staring suspiciously into corners grew tiresome. Susan left her perch on the couch, and headed back into the kitchen to grab lunch. She was so busy wishing Edna had somewhere else to be, she hardly noticed that she was overfilling her plate.
The phone rang, just before she had the chance to wonder why she’d done so.
"’Bout damn time!" Susan shouted. She winced when she realized she’d practically screamed into the receiver.
"Oh, I'm sorry. I’ve got classes, you know those things normal people got to. You learn stuff there."
Just then Edna poked her head into the kitchen. Something had moved outside, and she seemed to think it was her ex-husband. Susan moaned loudly and leaned back in her chair.
“It’s going that well huh.”
" You could say that.”
“What would you say?”
“I’d say things got a little weird last night and stayed that way."
"As opposed to before I left."
"Oh yeah."
"Can't wait to hear about it.”
“Can’t wait to tell you. When are you coming over?”
Now it was Tony’s turn to groan on the other end of the line.
“That may be a problem,” he said. “Dad was just a little pissed off I got home after he did last night. I don't think I'm gonna be going anywhere for the time being.”
Susan felt her stomach drop. She hadn’t realized just how much she needed to see him, until she was overwhelmed by the intensity of her own responses. Her hands tightened on the cold edge of Rachel’s counters as she grasped for some reason she could give to make him change his mind. Then just as suddenly she began to wonder why it was all so important.
"I think they were planning some kind of training thing today." She said finally.
"Well then one of THEM can come down here and explain to my old man how the world’s coming to an end, cause he damn sure aint gonna believe it from me."
"Your such a little drama queen Tony."
"Yes I know I’m fabulous but…wait a minute, what did you call me?"
He sounded happy, so it seemed that Edna had been right when she’d said he preferred the abbreviated version of his name.
"Tony. It's your name isn't it?"
"For that I'll try and make it happen. Don't bet on it though."
“See you tonight then.”
“Yeah but no pressure. I get it.”
A moment later Gregory materialized from thin air, looking extremely harried. He shot past Susan at a run, through Rachel’s living room, and then to the tiny office that sat wedged between the buiding’s bathroom and the steps which lead to it’s second story.
"Got to go, Captain Angry just showed up."
"And here I was, skipping class for you."
"Just tell them you were providing me much needed psychological counseling."
"Sounds like the truth, if you ask me."
Gregory returned from the office with a folded sheet of paper in his hand. It looked like he'd managed to calm down slightly.
“Where have you been?” Susan asked
“Eavesdropping,” the man replied, “ and gathering supplies.”
“He means stealing dear.” Edna entered the room like she hadn’t spent most of the day looking for the man. Susan’s opinion of the woman edged slightly lower, though she’d no idea why.
"How's your boyfriend, dear?"
Susan recoiled inwardly. She wanted to snap something cruel back at the woman, but found her mind was blank. She didn't care to think about what Tony was to her. He was a boy obviously, and the only good friend she'd ever had. The question of whether or not their friendship translated to anything else was not one she wanted to even think about.
The girl shuddered a little as she quietly retreating back through Rachel’s kitchen. A moment before she stepped out through the door that lead to Rachel’s backyard, she heard Gregory mutter something sharply to Edna. Something about another problem. Susan didn’t hear the rest though. She absolutely refused to here the rest.

# # # #

“Hey red, wait up!”
What now?
Gregory approached from behind as Susan was just flopping down on an oversized leather couch that had been shoved haphazardly onto the furthest corner of Rachel’s back porch. It was a well aged piece of interior furniture that looked like she felt, ill suited for it’s current role. The big man slid awkwardly in beside her. He had a sort of fatherly expression on his face. Problem was, Susan hated her father, so though she knew he was concerned, she had difficulty finding anything other than condescension in the his expression. Her reaction was swift and quite a bit different from what he had likely expected.
“Must be my day for nicknames,” she stammered inching away from him.
“You don’t like it?”
“I don’t need it. Susan work’s fine”
“Does it?”
She stood up and walked to the other end of the porch, seething.
“This is such bullshit,” she blurted. She was starting to feel short of breath.
Gregory didn’t seemed phased at all by the outburst.
“What is?” he asked.
“You talking to me like you know me, or care too.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“You just wouldn’t!”
“Why?”
It was a loaded question, Susan knew it, and more to the point she knew he was bating her. So she decided not to answer only to be shocked by the sudden realization that she couldn’t make herself stop.
“I shouldn’t have let it happen,” she stammered at him. It was like listening to someone else talking with her voice. She almost said more, she would have, but he cut her off.
“Now who’s full of it! You know as well as I do your not responsible for what she did to you. You weren’t given a choice.”
But he didn’t know what choices she’d been given, and Susan wasn’t about to tell him. The knowledge that he was aware she was hiding something was terrifying enough. They sat staring at each other for a long moment, then the stranger’s barn door shoulders heaved a great sigh. Susan decided she had to end the conversation.
“Susan,” he mumbled, leaning back in his seat. “I can forgive a lot.”
It was the perfect opening Susan went on the aggressive.
“Not everything though,” she said impulsively. She was trying not to loss the thin thread that was keeping her from falling apart completely. “You won’t forgive Edna, and you wouldn’t me!”
“Are you in need of confessional?”
It wasn’t the reaction she’d expected. He looked more worried than angry, but Susan decided to press her advantage, on the off chance she had one.
“You don’t look like much of a priest to me,” she shot back, then switching tracks. “Listen, I don’t know you people. I don’t believe you, and even if I did I wouldn’t care.”
For just a moment, Susan thought she’d finally managed to make the man angry. He even looked for a second like he was going to blow up, but then he just gave an indifferent sort of shrug and propped his feet up on a nearby railing.
“You will,” he said, yet again smiling down his nose at her. “Probably best if you don’t go shouting that at the others though. I’d rather not lose you as a candidate before I’ve found one to replace you.”
“We’re not friends.” Susan said.
“Never said I was.”
“Stop trying to make me like you.”
“Wouldn’t think of it,” he said, staring into the sky, as if he were studying the clouds. “But I do think you’re the one for this job, and you’re gonna have on hell of a time changing my mind.”
Gregory just kept looking down at her. Apparently thinking he’d just said something profound. All Susan wanted was to wipe the stupid grin off his face. She stormed back into Rachel’s kitchen, through the living room, and up the stairs towards the second floor.
It’s not my problem, she thought. How is any of this my problem?

# # # #
“It’s getting worse,” A voice said from beneath her. Susan hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep until the words intruded on her dreams.
“There’s a couple more cities involved now, and they’re beginning to televise it.”
“What about the girl?”
“There’s something she’s not telling us but she’ll do. Though right now, I think he’s the surest bet we have.”
“Why do you say that?”
Susan recognized Rachel’s voice as the one that had just spoken. It was Gregory who answered.
"Well for starters, the kid's nuts about her. Don't know why though, strong wind would knock her over.”
Susan listened from the top of the stairway. She’d been about to come back down to face him when the counselor had returned home. After that, she’d frozen.
“Never did much care for skinny girls myself,” he continued.
Susan edged silently closer to the stairwell. She stood frozen at the top of the stairway, not really knowing why she couldn’t descend.
"Stay on topic please. Do you think that’s why he...." Rachel paused.
"What, didn't abandon her like ever other worthless piece in her life. "
“Well, yes.”
"Nah, I think the little guys got a John Wayne complex."
"Do tell?"
"A John Wayne complex is when you know the difference between right and wrong, and you think that makes you invincible."
Susan chuckled quietly to herself.
“Where is she now?” Rachel asked.
“She’s upstairs!” Edna waded into the conversation with enthusiasm and more than a little volume. “And ask him how long she’s been up there. Child was perfectly fine till he got back. We’d been having a wonderful little chat. She’d just gone outside to stretch her legs when this one decides it might be a good idea to reduce her to hysterics.”
Susan felt a great swell of gratitude towards the woman who only a few hours earlier she’d regarded as a nuisance. The thought did occur to her that things had not quite happened the way Edna described, but she ignored it entirely.
At least someone was defending her.
“I had my reasons” Gregory told them. He didn’t sound as defensive as Susan would have liked, just tired.
“Would you mind explaining them to me?” Rachel asked demurely, in soft, even tones that somehow seemed to rise above the anger of those around her. It was the sound of her voice more than any thing else that convince Susan it would be okay to come back down.
“Like I said, I think something else is bothering the kid. I thought I might be able to get her to talk about it,” Gregory said.
“That ‘kid’ has suffered a great deal more than most adults. It would be best if you treated her as one.”
“That’s what I’ve been doing.” Gregory backpedaled. “You tell me when I…”
Everyone stopped speaking when she reached the bottom stair. Susan’s eyes met Gregory’s first. She had wanted to show him she was still angry with him, but looking at the man Susan just couldn’t bring herself to hate him.
“I’d rather not talk about that,” she said, speaking only to Gregory. The way she looked at him, and he back at her, it was more a request than a statement.
“Agreed,” the man said, though it was clear he wasn’t happy. Then changing the subject, "So when's your boy gonna get here?"
Susan was so relieved that he wasn’t going to press her about her earlier behavior that she gave little thought to what she said next. "He said if you wanted him, you were gonna have to go and explain to his parents that the world is ending."
Susan didn't realized what she'd said, until it was too late. She'd just repeated what Tony had told her, without properly conveying the fact that he was joking. Gregory apparently wasn’t much for detecting sarcasm.
"Back in a little bit," he said, vanishing again. Susan wanted to call out for him to come back but she’d no idea whether or not he was still in the room.
Rachel spoke for them all. "I say, sometimes that man can be a bit dim.”
“He’s not really gonna do it, is he?” Susan looked imploringly from Rachel to Edna, then back again.
“Oh yeah,” Edna said. “I think you can pretty much count on it.”
# # # #

It was a full three hours after Rachel’s initial return that Gregory finally came stamping through the front door with Tony. For his part, Susan's appointed guardian seemed in remarkably good spirits. The same could not be said for Gregory Neiland.
"Unbelievable!" He shouted as he entered to no one in particular. "They didn't want me to take him.”
“He is their son.” Rachel reminded the man.
“You don’t understand. I sat down with them for an hour and watched the riots in DC, and they’re telling me they don't think it's as bad as I think! The whole damn country’s falling apart."
"Maybe they couldn’t bring themselves to let me go. " Tony tried. Greg didn't feel like stopping.
"I can’t imagine why," he snapped. “you’ve been more trouble to us then your worth.”
“I missed you too asshole.”
“What did you just say to me?”
“Gentlemen,” Rachel interrupted. “I’ll have none of that in my home.”
She turned a critical eye on Gregory, who withered before her gaze.
“What happened?” She asked. The big man groaned.
“I think I threw too much at them at once," he said, scratching his head. Tony nodded vigorously.
"But we don't have any more time. The doorway I came through closes completely in two days. I'm gonna have a hard enough time getting us through it as it is."
"Then how are we going to come back?" Susan asked.
"You don't," the man responded "At least not any time soon.”
Susan did want to believe she’d heard him right. “How long?” She asked.
“Two maybe even three years."
Edna exploded. She advanced into the room from the kitchen, shaking with indignation.
"We never agreed to tell them that."
The witches ex-husband seemed to grow at least a foot taller.
"Meaning you don't want to give them a choice," he shouted. "I guess some habits really do die hard don’t they?"
Susan was only half heard what followed. One thought overrode all others in her mind. Tony would never agree to leave his family for that long, which meant that very soon she would be alone. She looked up imploringly at Rachel. The counselor seemed to be thinking along similar lines. She was carefully studying Tony’s face. Susan could only imagine what she was looking for, but she assumed that it was some sign of what the boy would decide. Gregory and Edna continued their conversation uninterrupted.
"We can't afford for this child to refuse his destiny." Edna said, pointing at Tony as her voice was grew steadily louder. Susan was beginning to wonder what it must have been like to be married to a person who would send you to a world she wasn’t entirely sure existed, without bothering to ask you. Rachel turned away from Anthony, appearing to have just noticed the chaos that had broken out in her living room.
"I won't," Tony said softly. There was a moment when everyone stopped talking. It was the kind of thing that everyone’s experienced, sitting in a crowded room when suddenly everybody grows silent. Most of the time people just laugh it off. Didn’t happen in this case though. They all sat staring at each like fools, apparently unable to penetrate the silence that had descended on them like on of Rachel’s thick woolen blankets. It made sense really-their reaction. This wasn’t any other time.
Predictably, Edna was the first to recover.
"Why the hell not." She asked. She took a step towards Tony, at which the boy recoiled. “What sane person would agree to do that.”
The other were still too shocked to speak, and Tony seemed to struggle mightily with his answer. When the silence was broken again, it was Rachel and not Tony who spoke.
“What have you seen?” She asked, to which the room responded with another rousing bout of shocked silence.
“Nothing good,” Tony answered at last.
“Okay what am I missing?” Edna asked. Gregory coughed but kept his silence.
“Her guardian will be a prophet,” Rachel said. “It was a part of the prophecy I wasn’t sure I believed, until now.”
“And you didn’t feel the need to tell me?”
“No I did not.”
“Super,” Tony said, slapping his hands together. “Now that we’re all clear on that, let’s talk about how Greg here blew up my house.”
“Oh, we’re not quite done with this young man,” Edna blustered.
“Look, sometimes I see things," he said, turning to Susan. "That's how I knew you were stealing food. That's how I knew Rachel would help you. I just see things in my head. Sometimes I can make them happen. Sometimes I can’t."
"You can see the future?" Susan asked. She would have expected herself to be angrier with him for keeping such a secret from him, but it wasn’t like she’d been completely honest with him either.
"No," Tony continued. "Most of the time it's like possibilities."
"You said most of the time," Gregory inquired forcefully. It seemed to Susan like her throat had gone dry. "What have you seen son."
Tony grew a full shade paler as he stared determinedly at the ground. "Like I said, nothing good,"
The older man came forward and laid his large hand the young man's shoulder. His grip tightened as he spoke, "We will make it right,"
Tony's face was suddenly contorted in an exhausted sort of a grin. "You forgot to add 'or die trying.'" At this the older man gave a great burst of laughter and slapped him, this time hard, on the back.
"But what about the boys parents?" Edna persisted.
"I've put a spell on them," Gregory said. "They won't notice he's gone until after he returns."
"You can do that!!!?" Edna and Susan both said at once.
"And what about the school board?" Rachel asked. "Unfortunately Gregory I don’t think we can make two whole human beings disappear."
"Actually, I think I can but I’m going to need your help."
“Interesting,” was all the counselor could say.
The human scarecrow that was Gregory Neiland, produced a small black stone from inside his robes. He placed it in the center of one of Rachel’s coffee.
"This is called len'luithane,” he said. “It means forgotten one." He turned to both Susan and Tony. "I carry it with me because I can use it to make my enemy forget who I am. I can use this to make everyone you’ve ever known forget who you are."
“Is it permanent,” Rachel asked.
“Only as long as they wish to stay forgotten.”
"And why do you need us?" The counselor seemed apprehensive.
"I need an amplifier," he said. "The radius of affect is gonna have to be huge for this thing to work."
“And you need us to provide the additional range.”
"Well then,” Tony broke in, "Lets get crackin before I think about this too much."
The remark, Susan was sure, was intended as a joke. The problem with that was he sounded so brokenhearted. At that moment there was absolutely no one in the world she wanted to be less than Anthony Mauro.
“I need some time to prepare.” Gregory said.
“Great,” Tony shouted, storming into the kitchen. “I’ll just go bang my head against the refrigerator!”
# # # #
It struck Susan as strange how angry people always seemed to gravitate to the couch on Rachel’s back porch. Her friend sat staring intensely into the distance, as if her were trying to avoid noticing the person who was approaching him.
"He blew up our coffee table,” the boy said, without averting his eyes from the darkness that had fallen around them. “That's what finally convinced them. The whole building starts talking to them, and they don't even blink, but the coffee table goes up in smoke and suddenly I’m on a holy quest!"
"It must have been horrible for them."
“Maybe, but I tell you for a bunch of religious folks, it sure took them a while to figure out what was going down."
"They probably didn't want to believe it.”
“Or maybe they just don’t believe at all.”
“Give them a little credit. I mean, in walks a man they've never seen before, demanding they let him borrow their son. How are they supposed to react to that? It's their job to protect you."
"Yup, I’m loved. That's got to be it. Gosh I'm getting so many warm and fuzzies, I don't know how I'm gonna be able to never go home again!"
"Don't!” Susan cut him off. She couldn’t stand to listen to him when he was like that. “Don't make fun of them for loving you. I'd give anything to have what you have."
Tony looked stricken.
"God, Suz I didn't think." Tony leaned forward off the bench, his eyes never leaving Susan's. It was as though he were attempting the assess the damage his comments had just done.
“Looks like this really is my day for nicknames.” She said. Tony relaxed slightly, but Susan could tell there was something else troubling him.
“How’s that one fit?”
“Better than most,” she said. “You have a lot Tony don’t forget it."
"More like, had a lot," he said, "remember what they want us to do."
"I'm sorry," Susan couldn't think of anything else to say.
"Don't be. It's just that this would be easier if I knew they were all waiting on me to come home."
"I’m sorry this is happening" she said, feeling once again that this was all somehow her fault.
“It’s alright,” he said. “Just don't you forget about me, okay?"
Susan smiled warmly back at him. It was the exact moment she began to care.

# # # #

It was a quiet sort of ceremony, not at all what Susan had expected. Greg explained that in the “field,” of the stone, all one had to do was to wish to be forgotten. However, for the affect to be enduring, and for it to cover absolutely everyone she and Tony knew, Gregory would indeed need both Rachel and Edna’s help.
A pale blue light began to emanate from the stone as the three sorcerers took each others hands. Tony and Susan stood within the triad formed by their arms. Then, in unison, the outliers began to chant an incantation. The words were unfamiliar to Susan, and they were muttered flute-like tone that grated on her nerves
"Memorak torani losh!" They intoned. Susan wandered what it meant.
With each complete recitation of the spell, a burst of illumination was emitted by the stone. The light would cascade outward washing slowly over them both, but stopping before it breached the barrier created by the joined hands of the three speakers. As time passed, light filled the intervening space. Susan began to notice tiny glistening threads that stretched out from both she and Tony. Most of the bonds that came from her were slight, and seemed to shudder in the light of the stone. By contrast Tony's bonds were thicker, stronger looking, and there were much more of them. The strongest of the bonds she could see were between her friend and herself. Susan never had time to wonder why that was. Without thinking she grabbed hold of Tony’s hand. As the spell was repeated the seventh time, the stone gave a massive blast of illumination, and most of the bonds that connected them to the world were shattered. As the trio broke rank, the light slowly faded around her. Susan could see for a second the connections between herself the three adults who'd cast the spell, and Tony. When she was sure it was safe, she released her friend’s hand.
"Done." Gregory said.
"I'm sorry, but who are you people?"
"Shut up Tony!!!" All three adults screamed simultaneously. Susan could tell they weren't completely sure Tony was being untruthful.
"Geez people, learn to take a joke." Tony said, giving Susan a wink to let her know that he’d been kidding. Looking at them all, Susan was suddenly awash with conflicting emotions. There was relief that they could recall who she was, but there was also disgust that Tony could joke about what they’d just done. Then there was the question of why the bond between the two of them had been so strong?
Susan asked another instead. She’d just noticed her bags had appeared pact by the front door.
"When are we leaving?" The man called Gregory stood up seeming to grow taller again.
"No time like the present," he told her.
“Wait.” It was Rachel who’d spoken. She’d placed a hand lightly on Gregory’s shoulder, but apparently the force of her grip sufficient to get his attention. She bent down in front of the two children and for a moment she was neither serious nor stern. She just looked sad, and scared, and very much alone. Susan made to lay a hand on the woman’s shoulder and was shocked when she was pulled into a bear hug.
“Goodbye.” She said. Susan was confused. Tony apparently was not.
“How long?” He asked her.
“Not to much longer.”
“Good luck.”
“And you as well, my strange guardian.”
The moment lasted just a little while longer, then she released them and Gregory spread his arms widely. Then there appeared two great concentrations of bedazzling green light in each of his palms.
"Coriath lon' Therium Morganlathlorum'Rathain." He called out, only once before slamming both hands together. From the two fists there came a beam, brighter and more beautiful than Susan had ever seen. It seemed to strike out, away from where they stood, beyond Rachel’s home, and into the night sky. There was only a moment she could admire it, before the floor shifted out from underneath her, and she was falling in the direction of the light. As she flew along with the beam, her final destination came into focus. It resembled nothing so much as a diamond in jade firelight, and it glowed with a purity of energy that she’d never seen before. Susan tried to touch the thing, but as she reached out it grew, and suddenly she was accelerating through a brilliantly lit passageway. Then she was falling her speed increasing and her vision blurring. A cold wind rushed in her ears, a moment before it became very dark. Susan didn’t know, but she'd passed out.

A Song and a Poem

Sat, 04 Dec 2004 22:08:21 GMT

Come Tomorrow
by Bruce Goff

John is shaking
As he walks across the floor
His heart is breaking
As each step betrays him more
Pulls his wallet out
There's a picture there
Of his daughter MaryAnne
Then his shoulders drop
And the tears come
As he runs back out again

He say's come tomorrow
I won't need this goddamn drug
I'll be the one you see
When you look at me
And just on will be enough
Come tomorrow
She will look at me and smile
There'll be no fear in her brown eyes
And I'll hold her for a while, Come Tomorrow

Kathy's crying
But there's no one left to her
She is a fragment of
Her fathers daughter
Broken by his years
Her right eyes swelling
And the tears mingle with blood
Packs a suitcase
Then she quits him
But her soul's intact enough

She say, come tomorrow
I'll be highway heaven bound
There'll be no way he can find me
And if he does, I'll put him in the ground
Come tomorrow
There'll be no one left to fear
No shadow in my closed eyes
No backhands or bloody tears, Come tomorrow

I am a sinner
I am a soul emptied by pain
Looking for something
To fill me up again
I've been so damn proud
For so damn long
And God knows that that's the truth
I just figured out I got nothing
Christ can I please hold on to you

Come tomorrow
I won't feel like I'm alone
I'll be holding on to Jesus
As the father takes me home
Come tomorrow
I won't break beneath this load
There'll be no shame left to kill me
And I'll sing a song of hope

This is the teaser poem for Chapter 4.

Unborn
by Bruce Goff

What was lost was found again
Inside the fragile slintered ends
Of people half remembered
Half forgotten
Half forlorn
And some say, tis a helleva thing
To live through being upborn.

Finishing Strong

Sun, 21 Nov 2004 22:34:22 GMT

Well another weekend now has ended and I sit at my computer at a loss for something to write. A friend of mine has agreed to help with the FE. I'll be attempting to get his review text when we meet over Thanksgiving. I've been thinking--a dangerous prospect--about a sermon that I went to this morning. The subject was on finishing our walks with christ well. The topic sort of hit home for me, because I remember a time when I was much closer to God than I am now. It's so easy just to dismiss this reality with the idea that I've grown up, and that it's harder to place faith in God once you've seen some of the world. It's one of those simple, easy to buy, mostly B.S. explanations we often sell to ourselves to excuse our shortcomings, when we bother to think of them at all.

But the truth is, I've just gotten distracted, and more than a little bit lazy. Just this morning I tried to talk my wife out of going to church on the grounds that I was too tired and didn't want to waist my day off. What an absurd idea, that worshiping the being I believe created me would be a poor use of my time. Writing this, I'm ashamed that the words ever came out of my mouth. But the words did come from me; I spoke them, and the truth is I meant them. Sort of puts a dent in the old positive self-image.

There was a time once--a pretty hard night shift--when I walked the bays where I work screaming, "We will finish strong!" At the time it was meant, to be a half-serious attempt to inspire the troops. We were all a little down, and I thought if I could make them laugh, the rest of the shift might go easier. It's a good idea though--it even worked, but I think I'm gonna have to start buying a little more of what I sell. Life is hard, and there is pain sometimes, but for the most part God is good. Anyway, I gotta go. The night is growing old, and my wife is coming to pick me up from work (I know it was my day off but what can you do). There's only a few sweet hours left in the day. I think I'm gonna try to finish strong.

Happy

Mon, 15 Nov 2004 18:56:45 GMT

I want to say how thankful I am that you guys have been providing me feedback. More than anything else your encouragement keeps me working on this novel through the long hours of editing, when it seems like I've lost my way. I just want to say I will endeavor not to disappoint.

I've been wondering how everybody is doing. I've been fine. I've decided to take the FE exam. It's this really hard test that engineers have to take, supposedly if we pass we are credentialed. I will be updating you all from time to time on my progress. But don't worry, I'm not going to stop writing.

"The Coming War" Chapter 3.

Thu, 11 Nov 2004 04:45:20 GMT

Twilight threw long twisting shadows along the living room walls of Rachel’s home. They slid sideways across the wallpapered surface giving the room the appearance it was breathing. Susan closed her eyes and tried to sleep. She lay where she had for the better part of the day, on Rachel’s couch huddled neck deep in her counselors thick woolen blankets. She clung to the fabric with a desperation that was unjustified by the temperature of the room.

Chapter 3:
Fear

Gregory, he danced with me
Upon the Rock of ages
And in my book of sorrows
He did weep upon his pages
And in the night I suckled
On his dreams as they were torn
And Gregory, he said to me
I’ll be gone in the morn

Twilight threw long twisting shadows along the living room walls of Rachel’s home. They slid sideways across the wallpapered surface giving the room the appearance it was breathing. Susan closed her eyes and tried to sleep. She lay where she had for the better part of the day, on Rachel’s couch huddled neck deep in her counselors thick woolen blankets. She clung to the fabric with a desperation that was unjustified by the temperature of the room.
She thought of Tony, who’d left for home five hours earlier. When he'd gone most of the serious conversation had ceased. The rest of the night consisted of painfully strained pleasantries, uttered amidst a few fragments of what might be considered useful information. Mostly though the time passed in a quite blur of subcontexts, that Susan lacked the ability to translate. Thinking about it made her head hurt, so she curled deeper into the quilts that were her protection from the outside world. She was waiting on a dream—hoping that she might find her way back to the field with the stone bench and the man by the oak tree. The vision wouldn't come though, and the loss of it was nearly more than she could stand. The clock on the wall sounded jarringly the passing of each second’s time. As it beat it’s steady drum into eternity, the room and it’s inhabitant exhaled a stifled sigh.
She heard a shuffling of feet from the direction of the kitchen. A moment later, the darkened form of a woman appeared in the archway linking the two chambers. It watched her for several minutes without moving. I know you, it seemed to say. Deceiver!
Susan felt her first rush of real fear in over half a week. The adrenaline jolt was almost comfortingly familiar. Then her eyes began to adjust to the shadows, and she recognized the figure standing before her. Rachel entered, switching on the kitchen’s poor light fixture. She wore a pale blue bath robe and her hair hung loosely to her shoulders in messy brownish-gray curls. Her disheveled appearance was both humorous, and striking. It was the first time Susan had seen her former guidance counselor in such a state. The woman looked ten years younger.
"Want a bite?" Rachel asked.
"Thought maybe you’d ask." Susan said.
"Great!” Rachel replied. “Wheat bread or rye?”
"I never said….."
"Child, I'm not deaf.” Rachel pulled her robes around her wearily and for the first time Susan wondered how much the ordeal was costing her.
“I just thought you might be hungry," the woman continued bitterly. “though after the weight we’ve placed on you Suzy I don’t know how you could eat.”
"No one calls me that."
“Not true I just did.”
Susan smiled at Rachel’s jest, though she still didn’t like the nickname.
"I've decided it suits you. Now would you like wheat bread or rye?"
"I don't know."
"Rye it is then."
Her counselor gave her a timid grin that somehow still managed to seem serious. Then she darted back into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with the promised sandwiches and a cup of citrusy smelling tea.
"No caffeine," Rachel said, raising her right hand. "Scouts honor."
Taking the sandwich Susan suddenly realized that she was indeed quite hungry. Silently, the girl wondered if her guidance counselor was enchanting her. Regardless, the pair ate in silence. The tea tasted of honeycomb, and a splash of lemon. It warmed her, and somehow made the sandwich go down easier. When they had finished the two sat looking at each other, clueless of what to say next. The moment was intimate but also strangely formal. Eventually one question in the thousands that were bothering her slinked it’s way to the forefront of Susan’s mind. In spite of the feeling that knowing might bring unpleasant consequences, she ask it.
"Gregory and Edna know each other?"
"Oh yes."
"He doesn't like her though?"
"I believe that is true."
"You don't seem to like her either?"
Rachel's expression grew cloudy for just a moment, then the emotion vanished.
"Sometimes I don’t?" Rachel replied. Susan was a little shocked. She hadn’t been expecting an upfront answer. Rachel continued, “best you form your own opinion.”
Susan thought hard for a moment, then began speaking more to herself than to Rachel. "She helped me,” Susan said.
"Yes but she also hurt you."
"No, I was hurting before. She just helped me feel it."
“I wish I could bring myself to believe that.” Rachel said. “How easy things would be.”
The woman flopped herself down in the brown striped recliner that sat beside her sofa. It was an out of place looking piece of furniture, just as Rachel looked out of place in her warmly furnished home. The chair lent the room a certain humanity, as did it’s owner. Susan thought the two went together.
“I was not so different from you once,” the counselor said. She ran a hand through Susan’s hair. “It was my father though who was the cruel one. I ran away when I was fourteen years old. To this day I don’t know how I survived.”
“She found you didn’t she,” Susan asked certain of what the reply would be.
“You’ll come to understand,” Rachel continued, “that woman finds just about anything she’s looking for. Sometimes I wish though she didn’t find me.”
“Why?”
Pain danced a slow waltz behind Rachel’s eyes as she continued.
“Because she showed me the true nature of the world we live in, and sometimes there is a part of me that longs for that lost innocence. Because, though I lived in fear on the streets I’ve never been so caged as she made me. And because, she taught me how to feel pain again.” After this, Rachel just stared down at her knees. “I never understood why it had to hurt to so much. I used to think it was just the woman’s nature."
"But it hurts her too?"
"I know that now.” Rachel said, “If it didn't I wouldn't work with her."
"I don’t think I blame her," Susan said.
"And in that your humanity exceeds my own. Truth is, I should have forgiven her years ago."
"Is it the same for Gregory?"
"Oh no Suzy that's a little more complicated."
"No it's not," a voice said from behind them. Edna stepped through from the kitchen. She carried a cup of tea, and wore a jet-black robe, that clashed violently with Rachel’s. Susan didn’t even try to interpret the look that passed between them.
"What's done is done," Rachel said. "We have work to do."
"Thank you," was all Edna replied, though it seemed to be enough. She sat down on the floor by Rachel’s feet, and laid her head in the counselor's lap. It was like watching someone coming home. Susan understood that what transpired between the two women was deeply personal. She did her best not to disturb them as Rachel ran a hand over Edna's brow. Finally the older woman raised her head.
"What happened between Gregory and I is about a name," Edna said to Susan, "my last name to be exact, which used to be Neiland."
"Oh," Susan said dumbly. "Is that all?"
A ghost seemed to pass in front of Edna's eyes. She leaned back against Rachel, drew a shuddering breath, and began to speak in a strangely modulated cadence. As she did, her words formed images in the back of Susan's mind. The shapes solidified, until it seemed to Susan that she was watching some sort of bizarre movie. Spellfire danced across her skin, changing and expanding her perception of the world. She fought for a moment but eventually grew accustomed to the feeling of electricity taking up residence in the hairs of her arms. A story unfolded before her, and Susan allowed it to take her into the past.

# # # #

“My husband wasn’t a bad man, I don’t know what’s happened to him in the years we’ve been apart. But he was kind once, if naïve. I remember thinking when we met, that here was a person with no real place in the world, and no one to love more than himself. I thought he needed that—or maybe I did—maybe we were just too much alike. I fell in love with him the moment I first looked into his eyes. They were like silent screams, echoing my own need back at me. I knew then we weren’t destined for happiness, but I was beyond caring. So I let myself feel what I knew I should not, knowing even then any joy would be temporary.”
“I pursued him for a year before our first date. I know that sounds strange now, but I was afraid to approach him. I was a young witch just coming into my strength, and he was a college student who seemed unable to find a major and unhappy with the world in general. Why I didn’t just say hello sooner I’ll never know. Maybe I was just afraid to break the spell I found myself in. Maybe I was afraid he’d tell me to get lost. Eventually I wound up bumping into him in a library. I hadn’t planned it, so I took the coincidence to mean it was time. We had dinner the following day. I never told him what I was. I convinced him over the course of the next months that I was the woman he was meant to spend the rest of his life with. It was easy—I half believed it myself. He asked me to marry him on the 21st day of August in 1978. It was a pretty day, not to hot or cool. It was almost perfect. Almost.”
“Time passed. Gregory graduated, with a degree in Civil Engineering. He picked the field because he knew he could get a job working with his father. I must admit I was happy for him and myself. We had money for the first time in our lives, enough to keep us comfortable. I quit school and decided to enjoy what time we would have together. The problem was he wasn’t around to enjoy. From the beginning he worked to much. Whole weeks would go by when I would only see him late at night. In retrospect, I think he was trying to prove to me that he could succeed at something. The hardest part of it was realizing that the end had come.”
“But there were distractions; there were always distractions. I began delving into the darker aspects of the craft—the blood arts—trying to loose myself in the false sense of power they provided. At first I was hoping to find some happy ending for my husband and I. In the end though, it was the power, and not the hope it provided that drove me. I lost myself, and Gregory, to my own hunger.”
“Then one night I realized what I had become. I called a vision, thinking I could find some way out of it all. I was wrong. That night I saw two possible futures. In one Gregory left me when he discovered what I was. In that future I would come to regret having ever met him, and he I. He would loose his ambition, along with any hope of success in life. I would quit the faith renouncing what wisdom I had acquired in a misguided need for penance. I thought when this vision ended that surely it was the worst of all possible realities. I called out to the mother for another path I might tread. What I received was a warning.”
“I stood in the middle of a great barren plain. Above me there were three houses, floating in the sky like moons. One was of earth, another was of stone, the last iron. They were arranged in a great rotating triad, slowly orbiting a beautifully glowing light I thought was the sun. Each was connected to the others by delicate tinsel’s of illumination. These moved through a pale green sky that was cloudless, and somehow menacing. I remember closing my eyes, and hoping it would go away. It did not.”
“In the house of stone a great storm raged. The winds and water cut into the structure, breaking it apart. Then the strings connecting the other houses began to glow with a blue-green light. Two pulses, one from each began to travel toward the house of stone. The first to arrive was from the house of iron. It formed itself into the figure of my husband. When the second pulse arrived it formed many shapes, none of which I could recognizable. Then a small creature appeared. It's face was covered with a thick oily fur, and I thought at first it was an ape, but it’s posture was not that of an animal. It stood erect with brownish gold eyes, and large delicate ears. The two solid forms reach out for the third and the storm quieted.”
“The vision faded, leaving me more frighten than I’d ever been in my life. I got out my old instruments and began a spell, fool that I was, thinking that I understood what needed to be done.”
# # # #
"What did you do next," Susan asked. She never felt more like a child than when she had to ask questions everyone else seemed to know.
A movement registered from the corner of her eye, along with a subtle dimming of the illumination flooding in from the kitchen. Rachel and Edna who’d been facing away, didn't seem to notice. Susan then saw a frayed pieces of gray linoleum flooring suddenly press itself upon the ground. Someone was standing on it, someone invisible. She hesitated a moment and then looked directly into the space she calculated Gregory to be standing. She thought about revealing him but decided to give the man his privacy.
"I sent him there, that very minute, before I lost my courage," Edna continued. "After that I quit the craft for a very long time."
"But how did you know it was a place,” Susan asked, “the stone house I mean."
"I didn't know anything. I was just a scared young woman, who'd had her first real vision. I should have taken more time to consider what I’d seen." Edna closed her eyes, and leaned forward. She looked broken. "I should have given him a choice."
"Did it work though, did you save the other place?"
It seemed the logical question to ask, apparently though it was off limits, because Rachel and Edna summarily ignored it. The two just kept staring at the floor as if their eyes were somehow attached to it. The moment drew on in an awkward silence. Then the kitchen doorway was being obstructed by the frame of a very large, very old looking man, who’s face showed more emotions than Susan could name. Part of her was pleased that she’d detected him first, mostly though she just felt sorry for the man.
"It worked," Gregory spoke to Edna alone, "in a way.”
He turned to Rachel and Susan.
“I awoke in the woods, alone. I didn’t know what had happened. A second earlier I’d been leaving my office. Then I’m standing in the middle of nowhere, and the goddamn sky’s a different color. At first I just went nowhere. Then I got hungry, so I started looking around for a settlement, or anything that qualified as a sign of civilization. A few days latter I was found by a party of strange looking creatures. Genius that I was, I assumed they were hostile.”
Susan thought she detected the faintest hint of a smile.
“Their leader was a man named Eriden L’Oryn. I don’t know why, at the time I couldn’t communicate with him, but he let me live. Later I discovered I was in the middle of a war. The creature’s that found me were members of a raced that called themselves the Ehrouqi. Eventually when I learned some of the language, I discovered that they were being wiped out by a second race. Eriden asked me if I would help his people. I would have told him to go to hell—I should have told him—but he was my only source of food at the time, and by that point I’d seen enough of the enemy to figure I couldn’t make it on my own. So I enlisted, and I’ve spent the last three decades of my life fighting that war.”
He turned back to Edna. “The one you chose for me. I've learned a few things over the years, eventually I found a way to come back. Imagine my surprised when I discovered it was my beloved who sent me on my little trip in the first place.”
The man paused for a moment, all kindness draining with the blood from his face. “I never thought it would be you,” he said to her, “It’s one thing when you think your unlucky…"
"Quite another to know you were betrayed" Edna said numbly. “When did you know?”
Gregory shrugged. “A few years back I was able to reopen the passageway you created between the two worlds. When I returned I went looking for the power that created it.”
“And found me.”
“Pretty much”
“Why have you returned now?”
"Most folks would come if you called lady."
“Be serious.”
“I am.”
Rachel interrupted the two looking desperate. "But your beating it?” She said, “You’re here so you must know how."
"Theria M'rath does not face the lord of chaos, at least not anymore. Years before I arrived, he tried to do to them what he’s doing here now. He almost succeeded but eventually they recognized what he was and drove him away. When he saw that he’d lost, he sent the others. The two races have been fighting ever sense. Still the creatures operate in much the same way as the one that created them. They’ll like to work from behind the scenes, stirring discord until you’re to weakened to withstand them. Then they’ll crush you. "
Susan spoke up. “But you’ve seen him,” she said. “I know you have.”
“A friend showed me once, a long time ago.”
“How?”
“The same way Edna just showed you our past.”
Somehow Susan was still disquieted. There really only seemed to be one question left.
"What do I have to do?" She said, doubting she’d get a straight answer. Gregory looked as if he were afraid she would vanish if he stared at her to long. Then his face contorted into a sad sort of smile.
"Stay alive," he said. "preferably through tomorrow. And then when you've finished that, do it again. The rest of the plan we'll have to make up as we go, which by the way we’ll be doing tomorrow."
"Where are you taking them," Rachel said. Gregory's maniacal smile grew larger.
"Home," he said.
Bile rose in Susan’s throat.

# # # #

Posting just because

Tue, 09 Nov 2004 18:43:42 GMT

Why America, why? This is all I will say about the presidential election last week. Apparantly over half the people in this country are complete fucking idiots. Enough said.

Well another chapter is edited and ready for posting. I will try and find the time to do this tonight. I have been struggling just a little with the tone of the writing. I think what you'll see in this chapter is a minor departure from the tone of the first two sections. I have made several minor changes to make the story read more conversationally. Let me know if I succeeded. I have also gone ahead and adjusted the first two chapters--meaning I've done a third draft--to make sure the story is consistant. I've changed nothing in the story however so the only way I'll post the new version is if you guys want me to. For those of you who have expressed an interest in the story, you have my thanks. I've found you feedback encouraging.

Just to tease you, here is the introductory poem for chapter 3.

Gregory he danced with me,
Upon the rock of ages
And in my book of sorrows
He did weep upon the pages
And on the wind I suckled
On his dreams as they were torn
Then Gregory he said to me
I'll be gone in the morn

William Gibson

Tue, 02 Nov 2004 19:34:44 GMT

I was reading a book last night, partially because I was ill and sometimes reading can make the world stop spinning, mostly though I was reading to learn how to write well. Last night I chose a gentleman named William Gibson, who's work I have to say should be required reading for anyone considering the craft. If you have never read "Neuromancer," or his short story "Fragments of a Hologram Rose," I encourage you to do so. The later is a mere seven pages long, and is one of the most fulfilling short reads I have ever run accross. What I learn when I read Gibson, is that a writer can create a fully realized world without wasting his readers time with page upon page of stunted desciption. He also has an unbeleivable knack for putting the reader right into his character's head. This is a skill which I feel all writers should strive to possess. One which I always find myself lacking in. I feel it's important though, because this is how we penetrate our readers defenses. This is how we can change them.

Anyway, I wanted to encourage all of you to check him out. I think you'll find that though his stories are dark (a bit of an understatement), there is also beauty in the future's Gibson imagines, and the beauty is that much more profound for the darkness.

Wavefront

Tue, 26 Oct 2004 12:40:00 GMT

What a thing
To drift in the ebb tide of memory
It is coming back now
Fading to dull glimmerings
Before bursting again into stark clarity
This life appears to me like a jammed radio transmission
I live and die in the shadowy static mesh between wave fronts
Praying for that moment when every thing is revealed
And I behold the world as it appears at the apogee

I see beautiful things
Before the wave takes me down

Thoughts

Mon, 25 Oct 2004 18:04:26 GMT

Well I am told that I don't post enough. A valid complaint I guess but I just don't have much to say most times. I get so caught up in the works of fiction I try and produce sometimes I don't feel like I have enough time to get my randome thoughts down. Anyway, some thoughts I think I think.

First, writing a novel is by far the hardest thing I have ever tried to do. I find myself completely dissatisfied with the quality of my own work. This is part of the reason that it takes so long for me to post anything. Sorry.

Second, anyone who would vote for our current president must have selective amnesia or just a real adversion to voting democrat. As someone who has been accussed of having both I just can't beleive that around 50 percent of americans still support this idiot.

Third, I take football way to seriously. I decided during my college teams loss to Virginia Tech that I was no longer going to allow myself to live and die with the fortunes of a team no matter how much I like them.

Fourth, how the hell did I miss the Sox coming back to beat the Yankees. Man thats got to be the coolest thing to happen in sports in as long as I can remember. Guess I haven't been taking baseball seriously enough. On second thought I'll admit it, I gave up on them. Good thing they didn't huh.

"The Coming War." Chap. 2

Sat, 23 Oct 2004 04:49:16 GMT

When the police arrived Susan's mother was only to willing to confess what she’d done and why. Rachel, who became known as the heroic councilor who’d brought the whole ugly matter to light, sought for and was granted temporary custody of Susan. The next three days consisted of telling her story over and over to anyone who cared to ask. Then there were psychological evaluations, visits from social workers, then the physical evaluations. These were given by stern looking individuals, who seemed almost apologetic but also quite convinced that she must be out of her mind. Which posed the question of whether or not they were right.

Act II
Chapter 2:
The Ungod

Red night
Blood light
Burning in your skin
Say your not a hero
But you’ll be on in the end
Red Knight
Your knife
Twisted in her back
Revenge is never sweeter
Than the lie that faces facts

When the police arrived Susan's mother was only to willing to confess what she’d done and why. Rachel, who became known as the heroic councilor who’d brought the whole ugly matter to light, sought for and was granted temporary custody of Susan. The next three days consisted of telling her story over and over to anyone who cared to ask. Then there were psychological evaluations, visits from social workers, then the physical evaluations. These were given by stern looking individuals, who seemed almost apologetic but also quite convinced that she must be out of her mind. Which posed the question of whether or not they were right.

Why not? It made sense. Anyone who’d been through what she’d just gone through had a right to be insane. But Susan didn't feel crazy. True she didn’t like being around people she didn’t know, but who did? They kept staring down at her like they were waiting for something. Susan wished she knew what it was. She reclined on Rachel's patent leather couch wrapped in a gray-green quilt. The councilor lived in a small brown house, with a large yard dominated by two ancient oak trees. She’d left for work approximately an hour earlier, having dropped off several of Susan's old school books that mourning. She normally left a note of the days visitors. That morning there was one name on it—Edna Thomas. Susan had never met the woman.

The phone rang several times that day, mostly bill collector, apparently divine providence didn't exempt you from bad credit. Anthony did call though. It was around 2 pm, and Susan knew it was him before she picked up the phone.

"How's it going?" It was a stupid question for him to ask but it was also the only one that mattered.

"There's no TV."

"I heard. So what’s it like living in the stone age."

“Sucks.”

“So what now?”

"Beats me. There’s some kind of shrink coming over later."

"Who?” He asked. “Never mind, have you eaten today?" Susan realized that she hadn't but she couldn't bring herself to tell him.

"Eat something. I'll be over after school."

That calmed her, and suddenly the question of her sanity didn't seemed to loom so large.

"When?" she asked.

"Around five. What's the shrinks name?"

"Edna something or other."

"She with the state."

"I think she's a friend of Rachel."

"Cool, look I have to go to French class."

"Sorry."

“Not nearly as much as I am. Winslow’s such a bitch."

"No she's not, she's just French."

"Same difference." The line went dead after that. Susan missed him as soon as he was gone.

Edna Thomas arrived at 2:35pm, precisely on schedule. She wore an old leather bomber jacket that seemed to warm even for winter. Her hair jutted out from underneath a faded “Life is Good” hat in long frantically twisting curls. She was a thin woman with strawberry blond hair, brownish green eyes, and a perpetually harried expression on her face. Susan disliked her the moment they met.

There are some people you don't know, even after spent time together. Some people you can't get close to not matter how kind you've found them to be. These are the sad sort of folks. The kind that don't know how to let you in. Edna Thomas was that kind of person. She was a hippie and seemed damn proud of the fact. She was also not working for the state. She worked for whoever employed Rachel in the councilor’s occupation as guardian angel, but Susan soon found that she could be cruel.

"You are not crazy," she said, by way of introduction.

“Good to hear it,” Susan replied.

“Don’t be flippant child. You are broken in ways that are beyond even my own considerable powers to repair."

"Who are you again?"

The woman, called Edna, ignored her.

"How do you feel?" She asked. Susan really didn't know how to respond.

"You have in the last three days been rescued from a very abusive relationship, been poked and prodded by every jackass from here to the state line, and now you are being told that you must save the world from something you only half understand. So, how do you feel about all that Susan."

Susan wanted to respond, she truly did. She felt as though she must feel something, but the words eluded her and as the time drew on she felt more and more as though she’d revealed something loathsome and evil about herself.

"I..."

"Sweetie you don't know because you don't feel anything. You've turned that part of yourself off, and I have to turn that back again if you are to have any chance of doing what must be done."

"Why," was all Susan could think to ask.

"Because right now you are exactly the type of human being he wants to turn us all into. You are incapable of believing anything, because you've lost the part of yourself that knows without seeing, the part with the capacity for faith."

"Thats not true."

It wasn't.

"What do you believe in sweetheart."

"Anthony."

"Tony hun, he hates it when you call him that." Susan was stunned by the news. "But that's okay. It's a start."

A start to what?

"Why do you believe in Tony?"

"Because he is good." That was the answer, but there was more to it than that.

"Having never met the child I'll take your word for it." Edna said sarcasticly.

"Then how do you know he hates..."

"Your getting off the topic. How do you know that Tony is good." As she spoke Edna changed. It wasn't her appearance, or even her expression. It was just that suddenly she seemed to be at the very bottom of the room. Everything centered around her, moved towards her, as if the objects on the walls felt the same strange compulsion to answer this woman’s questions. "Listen to me child, for you will never in your life be asked to make a more important decision. You don't have to do this. We'll find somebody else. We'll make her choose someone else. But if you want to help us, then you have to remember, why is Tony good."

Susan couldn't think of a reason why she should care, but there was a voice in the back of her head telling her that this mattered. It was a quiet thing, like a dream you couldn't quite remember. Susan tried—tried for everything she was worth. She had to remember. Then a pair of desperate eyes flashed through mind and she did recall. Almost as quickly she wished she could forget.

In that moment she again relived every abuse her mother had ever inflicted upon her, but this time she’d lost her detachment. Her rage at her mother’s injustice, her jealousy of her siblings who’d somehow avoided the same fate, her desperate need to survive somehow in spite of her world, all these emotions long buried came rushing violently to the surface. It was too goddamn much—all of it. She needed to put it back, lock it away, make it so that it wasn't real anymore, but she couldn't. It was real. It had happened to her, and the strange aberration with which she was sitting remained in front of her, demanding that answer.

Then the answer came. It occurred to her suddenly, and at first she lost it in the maelstrom of her tangled emotions.

"I believe, because I chose to believe," Susan said, then she collapsed back onto the couch where she lay. After that the tears came again. They wracked her in great wrenching sobs, that caused the muscles of her shoulders and back to scream in agony. Above the sound of her weeping there came a voice. It whispered to her, words of comfort and peace. Edna lifted her without even seeming to strain. Then the woman set her back again. A cool hand appeared on Susan's forehead.

"It hurts," the women said. “That means your alive.”

For a while after that there was merciful oblivion.

# # # #

It was a strange thing to dream, stranger still because Susan had not done so in as long as she could remember. Yet she knew she was dreaming, for nowhere but in a dream could you perceive yourself with such clarity. A young man, but also a very old one, sat in front of her weeping. He lay upon a stone bench, that stood beside a very old, very mangled oak tree.

"Who are you?" Susan asked him.

"I am the whole," he answered. It took a moment for her to realize that this was his reply.

"Why do you cry?"

"Because I am responsible."

What he said made little sense, but Susan could see the words, pushing down on him like the whole world's burdens.

"What do I do now?"

"You wake up,” he replied. “Rachel and the others are waiting for you."

"But I don't want to wake up." She didn't. All Susan wanted, all she would ever want after that, was to stay in that place of quiet peace for as long as she could manage, but it was not to be.

"You must, I’m counting on you."

"Will you cry when I'm gone?"

"Yes." The man gave a great shuddering sigh and the weight on his shoulders seem to shift a little, if not relent. "I am responsible."

For a moment, Susan pitied the man. Then she was fading, or was it rising? A sense of vertigo engulfed her, then her eyes opened and met Tony's. She smiled at him, and his expression grew pained.

"She's awake," he said, and with that Susan rose. It was like the start of new day.

# # # #

"Personally, I don't think she’s got the first damn clue what she’s getting herself into." Edna said. She spoke as though the speaking of the words made them so. She, Edna, Tony, and Susan were sitting around her kitchen table. There was little fellowship in the gathering. The older women, didn't seem to like each other.

"He knows what he's doing." The fight between Edna and Rachel had been going on for some time now. Edna was getting upset, Rachel seemed to be treating it all as an entertaining intellectual exercise. Susan wasn't sure what it was about, but they were starting to make her head hurt.

"You know for a Wicken you don’t have much faith in divine providence, I’m surprised your not off cooking up a spell or something."

"What we're facing here isn't a demon, or even the Lucifer himself, magic won't vanquish it.” Edna responded.

Rachel didn't seem to like this reply, "Well then what are you good for."

"What are we facing?" Tony apparently thought this was a good time to butt into the conversation. Edna seemed taken back by his entry into the conversation.

"I told you. We are dealing with a force equal in magnitude but diametrically opposed to the might of the creator."

"What," Tony's face was screwed up and he appeared to be trying to grasp what Rachel was saying.

"It’s alright." Edna chimed in, cheerily. “Men never get these things.”

"No!” Rachel snapped. “That’s exactly the kind of thinking we’re up against."

Susan was sure whether to laugh or be genuinely offended on her friends behalf. Edna seemed to notice her confused expression, but apparently it couldn't put a dent in her perpetually euphoric demeanor.

"It really doesn't matter which you us sweet." She said, smiling. "All the god's are really just one force, that creates order out from chaos. We've named it to suit our own and preferences but it's really just the one entity."

"No ones right," Tony said, he seemed dissatisfied.

Rachel grimaced. "We’re all right,” She said. “mostly."

"Any other day you’d be after me for an answer like that," Edna said, smiling for the first time at Rachel. "Part of the problem is your God keeps fragmenting herself...."

"To be what we expect him to be." Susan said. She hadn't realized she had anything to contribute to the conversation until she'd spoken. Edna looked as though she'd just been given a gift.

"Right, and the sum of his split apart self isn't quite as strong as the whole."
An memory drifted in the back of Susan’s mind.

Tony got up, moved to the kitchen and came back a moment later with a cup of coffee. Susan always thought it odd that he drank the stuff in the middle of the day. She let it rest.

"Listen," he said. "I don't want to sound like the town idiot or anything, but people still believe in God, or the god's, or whatever. What's the problem?"

He'd nailed the question that had been lingering in the back of Susan’s mind for the last hour. She flashed him a smile but still wouldn’t meet his gaze. The two adults seemed to take their time in considering a response. In Susan's experience this was the sort of pause a person only used when they were deciding just how they were going to lie you. Rachel, seemed to make a decision, and surprised her.

"Have you been watching the news?" She addressed Tony directly.

"The bombings you mean."

"Obviously, what do you know about them."

"Only that it's a bunch of nut-cases bombing churches."

"No." Rachel said. She seemed to age in front of them. "That's the information the media's been asked to release. In reality there is a large group of fundamentalist Christian assholes bombing mosques and synagogues—only striking when the buildings are full."

"Shit!" Tony summed it up for both of them.

"It may not be as bad as all that." Edna said, but even she was buying it.

"Bullshit, this country's a powder keg." Rachel stood up and began pacing the kitchen floor. “The economy's been going down hill for years. What were the last numbers, 15 percent unemployment. We are engaged in a war, with several Muslim countries. This war shows no signs of ending, nor does anyone have an idea would need to happen for the it to end."

"What does this have to do with New York?" Tony asked.

"It has to do with the riots that are occurring as we speak.,” Rachel said. “The ones the our newly socialized media isn't reporting."

Neither Susan not Tony had any idea what to say. Rachel continued.

"This country wants someone to blame for it current travails. They've already started blaming each other, and whether they report it or not, the problem is going to spread."

Susan felt as though things were getting out of hand. She didn't understand how she was going to stop what sounded like a police matter, nor what this had to do with God. Then a voice sounded behind her. It wasn’t God.

# # # #
Susan turned to see a extravagantly tall, but haggard looking man standing behind her. He wore a strange garment, made of some kind of skin that resembled a cross between a raincoat and a robe. His eyes were dark—darker than any she’d seen before—and he stood where seconds earlier there had been only a chair. He approached her slowly almost timidly. But he was not afraid. Susan could imagine nothing this man would fear.

"The war will quickly spread beyond this countries borders," he said, seeming to stare off. "Within three years every country in Europe, Asia, and North America will have taken a side. Within three after that most of those governments will no longer be functioning. Those that do will go isolationist. They will try and fail to close their borders. In a little over a decade, the human race will have roughly one third the population than it does today."

"About time you showed up." Rachel seemed both in awe and deeply irritated by the man in front of her.

"I was not needed until now.” He betrayed no hint of feeling towards either of the women. “Your ranting’s were losing the girl."

Tony, who looked like he was going to be sick again, raised his hand. Susan wasn't sure whether it was the man's sudden appearance, the story he told, or the absolute certainty with which he told it that had shaken him.

“Pardon me," the boy whimpered, more than he spoke. "but what happens next."

The man in front of them seemed taken aback. He considered Tony for a moment that stretched painfully on in silence with a gaze so intense it seemed to suck up all the light out of the room, then he gave a grunting laugh and tilted his head towards the rafters.

"Weird choice for a guardian if you ask me."

Susan half expected the ceiling to quip something in retort. It was the kind of things that ceilings sometimes did, she was learning. Presently the man looked down again, and suddenly there was a chair in front of him. He turned the thing backwards and straddled it.

"What happens next guardian, is a voice from the chaos. There will be a small group, probably very isolated, that will begin to gather the survivors to them. They will offer protection to the remnant, but they will require those that join them to lay down their old religions. They'll say it's to prevent such catastrophic wars from happening again. A second war will ensue during which this new state will grow strong, while systematically eliminating those that refuse to stop worshiping. In the end he will make himself know to them, but it will be to late. He will consume what life is left in their souls, and then he’ll corrupt and destroy every living thing on this planet before moving on to the next world."

He's seen it before, Susan thought. She knew it with a certainty she could not explain.

"You're looking well Gregory." Edna said, quietly.

"Don't witch," he spat, one muscular arm shooting out at her. "Don't ever speak to me.”

Susan expected Edna to let the outburst slide. She was mistaken. The woman shot up quicker than Susan would have thought her capable. Her face had lost all traces of it’s previous unflappability. She pointed one skeletally thin finger at the man she called Gregory, and spoke in a voice amplified by her power.

"What have you lost Gregory Neiland, that ever I took from you."

The strangers reply was spoken not shouted, but somehow his words carried the same emotional weight as a scream.

"Friends," he said, looking older than any human being should have to. "We are stained with their blood you and I. At least I’ve the good taste to feel ashamed."

Edna slumped back down in her chair after that. Apparently she was unable to formulate a reply.

# # # #

Thoughts on writing novels.

Tue, 19 Oct 2004 13:20:48 GMT

How are you all doing. I have just posted bellow the first chapter of the first novel I've completed. I'm looking forward to hearing your feedback. It is an interesting thing to finish a novel. I was depressed for a while and now all I can think about is making it as perfect as I can. I'm hoping you like it, but I won't be jumping off any buildings if you don't. The truth is I like it. I think the writing is melodic, and mature. I think I have come up with some of the best characters I have ever read myself. Still let me know if I'm nuts.

"The Coming War" Chap. 1.

Sun, 17 Oct 2004 04:04:21 GMT

The shadows seem just a little deeper than I’m accustomed tonight. I don't know if it's me, or if the old wound is opening up again. I dream of reasons. Reasons to think, reasons to believe, reasons to talk about the child. She smiling again now, just inside the corner of my eyes. I am hers—nothing more or less—Christ that’s difficult to admit. I exist only inside the void of her swiftly dying hope—and time is short for me. Someone—a prophet, poet, or some other damn fool—said once, “she smiles when the pain comes.” I never smile any more, but I’m hoping to tonight.

Act I

Chapter 1:

Cruelty

Shadow shadow silent bright

Break the stillness of the night

Deep inside a savage lie she shines

And we are broken

Lovelight twilight hollow child

See it change but for a while

Dwindling like a second chance we dance
And she’s our token

She is surrounded now

We’re cutting at her skin

A gasp a silent sorrow

Swallowed she’s within

The shadows seem just a little deeper than I’m accustomed tonight. I don't know if it's me, or if the old wound is opening up again. I dream of reasons. Reasons to think, reasons to believe, reasons to talk about the child. She smiling again now, just inside the corner of my eyes. I am hers—nothing more or less—Christ that’s difficult to admit. I exist only inside the void of her swiftly dying hope—and time is short for me. Someone—a prophet, poet, or some other damn fool—said once, “she smiles when the pain comes.” I never smile any more, but I’m hoping to tonight.

I will tell you her story. It is the tale of the end of love, the end of hope, the end of all the intangible things which you believe are indestructible. I was watching as she fell. I saw the last dull glimmering of her innocence fade, and I bore witness. I will tell you if you can stand to hear it. I have seen the last real thing die—her bones were buried in lies—and the truth of her life twisted until all meaning was lost. I will tell you the last true story. Her name was Susan. She was never my wife, but in every way that mattered she was my love.

She lived in an ugly world. In some ways she was a reflection of that. She was deathly thin, and dirty of appearance when first I saw her. But I don't come in to the end, and we had better start at the beginning. She was sixteen years old when the war began. It did so as do most episodes of suffering, without anybody noticing. Except perhaps for the girl. She noticed many things we had not at first expected.

That morning Susan’s mother decided to kick in lieu of their standard good morning slap in the face. The child tried to keep from crying out. Things were always worse when she cried out. Still, pain is pain. It almost always creates some reaction. She gave only a whimper really, you wouldn't have even heard it if you weren't listening, but Susan's mother was. The second blow was aimed from above and was landed with a closed fist. It was indeed worse than it’s predecessor.

"No food for you today bitch,” her mother was a tall heavyset woman, who’s frantically tangling hair always reminded Susan of the cartoons she’d watched as a child where someone got electrocuted. As she spoke, her eyes bulged, making her appear absurdly—like a very angry—fish out of water. Strange conflicting images, but somehow Valerie Harris sold them both. She spoke without really seeming to notice her child. But it was a lie—Susan knew it—just as she knew both the truth and the lie to what her mother had said. There would be no food from HER, that much was true, but Susan had other ways. That was the game, to survive in spite of the obstacles her mother placed in her path. It was a violent, frightening, brutal sort of sport, but to Susan at least it was her life.

Susan went to the trash bag that contained her three wearable shirts. She picked the baggy one, the one mother would demand she wore regardless. She pick up her jeans, and headed up the thick wooden stairs that lead out of the basement. They smelled strongly of the previous day’s sweat, but the would have to do. She had nothing else to wear, and staying home was definitely not an option.

It was a bitterly cold December morning—with a strong wind that cut right through her sweatshirt. Susan didn't have far to walk, but before she got there, she was feeling the affects of exposure. Not long after, a dirty yellow school bus picked her up at the curb. As she rode away, the silhouette of her home faded obligingly into the horizon, and as it did she forced herself again to forget what went on there. Her haven was James Madison High school, in a small rural community in southern West Virginia called Freedmont by those who acknowledged it’s existence. It wasn’t much as refuges went. The building was old—falling apart in places—and couldn’t be kept warm during the winter. But it was not 348 Willingham road, and for that much at least Susan was grateful. She closed her eyes and began the mental process of blocking out the people talking about her in the next seat back Before she could, she heard something about an explosion in New York City. Then she closed her eyes and went to sleep. It had been two months and three days since last her mother had fed her, sixty four days in all. Still here, she thought. Still here.

# # # #

The bus arrived at school by 7:45 am. This gave the students fifteen minutes to get to their first class. Mostly they spent the time talking to friends, grabbing a quick breakfast, or frantically scribbling down a copy of a friends homework. Susan spent it in deep contemplation. She was struggling with the events of the previous day, when she’d been caught stealing food from the schools cafeteria.

She’d been SQUEALED ON! The thought brought a renewed rush of anger. She began to search the scattering of faces in the hallway for one in particular. It was the face of Anthony Mauro, her only friend—the dead man.

She found him by his locker, where the gym ran parallel to a group of classes that included the schools dilapidated choir hall. Anthony, she never called him Tony, often joked that he got to hear the worst singing and witness the worst athletics the school had to offer each morning before his first class. It was a dumb joke, and he told it every day but normally it made her smile. Today though there would be no laughter between them. Today his eyes looked dead.

She had meant to charge in, to rail at him about his betrayal, but the look in his eyes told her he understood exactly. Susan wanted to scream.

"Come with me," he said, turning back towards the auditorium.

"Where?" But she already knew.

"Rachel's waiting on us in her office." That set her off.

"So it's Rachel now,” She stammered. “Your both real good friends."

How could she have been so wrong about him? Susan turned to leave but after a few short paces a fist slammed into the locker in front of her.

"Your not leaving,” he said. “I don't care if you call her wicked bitch of the west we’re going to her office NOW!"

It wasn't that Anthony was cruel. He wasn’t prone to bouts of anger or lashing out. Typically, he was the most temperate person Susan had ever known. But he was damn intractable when he thought he was right, a trait which had gotten him beaten badly in the only two fist fights Susan had ever witnessed. The problem was she couldn't afford him to be stubborn about this. She stared pleadingly into him. For a moment his resolve seemed to waver, then his jaw set and his deep blue eyes stared back at her. Those eyes were pained and worried but also resolute.

I am out of my depth, they said to her, this is to much for me, but I'm not backing down. You need me. Giving up Susan turned towards the direction he'd indicated. They were heading back towards the office she'd become intimately acquainted with the previous day. It was the of Rachel Stover, the schools resident guidance counselor.

# # # #

The old oak door slammed louder than it had any right to, as the two of them entered. A radio on the far wall was softly whispering, a tune she only vaguely remembered.

"There are things I remember," the singer said, "and things I forget”

Susan wished she could forget.

Rachel stood behind her desk, a slender woman with long brown hair that was just crossing the cusp of middle age. She appeared to be nervous, as if she doubted Anthony would be able accomplish the task she’d set for him. She turned at the sound of their entry and suddenly there was a plate of food sitting on the table between them. It was odd though because before she’d turned Susan would have sworn there had been nothing there.

Susan didn't let it bother her, she had bigger problems. Her mothers car had just pulled passed Rachel’s office window. The faded blue Toyota Corolla lurched into the schools parking lot, cutting an angry path across the pavement. Susan’s legs almost gave out. Things were getting worse.

"You don't eat much." Rachel said flatly, daring Susan to argue the fact. The girl made as if to try a denial but she couldn't seem to find the words. Rachel glanced outside, apparently she’d just noticed the new arrival.

"We'll have a little talk first," The older woman said. "later maybe I'll deal with that thing." The councilors mood seemed to shift violently. "First things first though. You must be starving. Eat up."

The words were a command. A moment after they were spoken Susan became violently aware of just how hungry she had been. She fell on the plate in front of her, unable to stop herself.

"That will be all Tony," Rachel said to her friend keeping watch at the door. Her tone carried the same sense of command. Susan didn't have to divert her eyes to know how her friend would react.

"No mam," he said, surprising her but sounding shacky. "I go when she does." The guidance councilors tone changed then from one of command to one of infinate persuasion.

"She is in no danger while I am here. Go back to your classes. Forget what just happened here."

Susan did look up at that point. She turned behind her to look at Anthony. His jaw was set again, those potent eyes were watering, and his whole body seemed to shudder under the weight of Rachel's words, but his reply came back readily.

"No," he repeated. "I’m not leaving without her."

It was a stupid thing to say given who he was talking to and the power inherent in the councilors voice, but it was completely Anthony. Susan realized she loved him for it.

Rachel smiled and looked at Anthony as though she had just seen him for the first time. "Very well," she said. "Then it will be the two of you."

The woman indicated a chair in the corner that to the best of Susan's knowledge had not been there a moment before. Anthony sat down, growing more rattled as the day progressed. After that Susan turned back to her plate. If the others spoke after that she did not notice. She was consumed with the meal, and with the feeling of strength that was slowly bleeding back into her body. When at last she was full the plate still appeared only half empty. Susan leaned back into her chair and looked up again at the councelor. She had intended to offer thanks. The others grave impression stopped her.

"You are damaged," Rachel began, allowing the most minor of cracks in her stern demeanor. " I need to know the extent of that damage."

Without warning Susan’s whole life’s history flashed before her eyes, and she began recounting to the two her entire history of abuse. Desperately she tried to stop the words, but they came unbidden, weighing on her like the weight of the world. She told them how her mother had begun striking her when she turned ten. The beatings had been initiated by no behavior she could clearly recall. They had just started one day and her condition had grown steadily worse ever since. She saw—and then she told them—of how she had been made to move her things into the basement of her families home, and of how her mother had systematically taken those belongings away, one item at a time. Her mother had claimed it was reduce the clutter Susan had been causing. After that clothing had disappeared, then her books, and then at last her name.

Her mother had declared that she was only to be referred to as "That Girl." With that declaration Susan had lost her siblings as well. They had learned to steer clear of her to avoid their mothers wrath. But that had happened long ago, what came next was more recent, and infinitely more painful. She recounted to them her mothers games.

Susan relived them all with a growing panic that strove to separate her from her rational mind. There was the cleaning game, where if everything in the house was not spotless she was beaten. The silent game, where if she made any sound at all, she would be cut. The bathing game, where she was made to lie down in tubs of scalding water. The question game, where if she answered wrong, her mother took a switch to her back. The naked game where her brothers would be made to remove her clothing, while their mother told them how vile their sister was. And finally there was the food game—mothers favorite. It was a simple one, mother just denied you food, and beat you for sneaking when you didn't die. Susan felt the blows landing on her even as she described them. She fell out of her chair.

Tears burned acid streaks down her face as she revealed to the world her shame. Only one thing she kept from them, one pain that was hers alone. It was no easy. Her body shook with the effort of her deceit, but her voice did not betray her. Then her lips stopped moving, and it was over. When Susan had finished her recounting, Rachel ran a hand through her hair and staring down at her with clouded eyes. Anthony sat in the corner of the room looking sick, shocked, and angry. Susan knew that look. It was the kind of anger that stayed with you for a long time, that turned you into someone you didn't like. It was the kind of anger that Susan felt every time she looked into mother's dead eyes. The child buried her face in her hands. She didn't want to see that look in another's face.

"This will not due," Rachel said, lifting Susan gently to her feet and appearing to speak with someone in the ceiling. "There has to be some kind of mistake."

Then, equally bizarrely, the ceiling answered. It was a quite voice, soft and kind. It was the sound of the pained look in Anthony's eyes, the sound of sympathy, of hope, and unconditioned acceptance.

"There has been no mistake," it said. "She is the one."

Rachel looked caged, but she seemed to know better than to argue with whoever was in the ceiling. She ran her hands down the front of her pretty yellow dress, perhaps to by herself a moment for contemplations. She bowed her head.

"As you say my lord," she said. "But this will require more work than I had thought."

The ceiling appeared not to want to dignify that last comment with a response. Susan didn't understand any of it. All she knew was that the world had suddenly turned profoundly strange, and her worst nightmare was more than likely sitting outside Rachel’s office at that moment.

As if reading her thoughts, Rachel threw her gaze towards the door.

"That moment is going to have to come soon child," she said, "but first you both must chose. I can handle this one of two ways, the human way in which I’ll work through official channels to make sure that that thing never harms you again…."

"What’s the alternative?" Anthony interrupted. It was the first time he’d spoken since refusing to leave the room. Susan wondered if he now wished he had. Rachel however seemed to take it as a sign that he had recovered from what he’d heard.

"You’d call it magic." She said, flashing a grin and turning her hands up like a showman.

"Why me?" Susan croaked. Her throat was parched, and her eyes hurt from crying, but she had to know. "Why do you even care."

Rachel regarded her for a moment, as if she were trying to decide if Susan could handle the truth.

"Because it's my job," she said at last, "and because Christ is dieing, and in you he sees some hope to survive."

Susan's head droped forward, and she buried it again in her hands. Anthony spoke what she'd been thinking.

"What the hell are you talking about?" he asked.

# # # #

“Actually,” Rachel said. “there’s quite a bit going on.” It would have been easier to discount the woman as some sort of a nut if the ceiling hadn’t just been speaking. The woman regarded Susan with withering stare.

“Are you familiar with the idea that belief creates reality,” she continued.

Susan shrugged neutrally.

“Its the notion that god only exists because we believe in him. It’s utter garbage in my opinion but relevant to the conversation.” Rachel paused a moment. “God does indeed predate the religions that worshiped him.”

“Says you.” Susan couldn’t believe she’d cut the woman off.

Rachel didn’t appear to mind—she almost seemed welcome it. “Quite right,” she said excitedly, “and saying it doesn’t make it so, but hear me out.”

"The saying is false but its inverse is true. As faith dies it leaves a void which becomes a sort of polar opposite to that which created your world. In the beginning it was so weak we hardly noticed it. But now it’s gathered sufficient strength to pose a threat. It’s become sentient, and hungry—a faith eater. That’s what I meant when I said that God was dying. For the first time since intelligent life was brought to this plane we could lose.”

“You mean you are losing.” Anthony looked ill.

“Correct,” Rachel replied. “so you can understand if we’re justifiably panicked.”

“Who are you?” Susan asked.

It seemed to take the woman longer than it should to formulate a response.

“Mostly I’m Rachel Stover,” she said with no apparent regard for the absurdity of her reply. “At any rate, we’ve decided to call a champion from the ranks of humanity. You being an individual of somewhat unique suffering, he’s chosen you.”

“Who has?” Susan asked.

“God.”

Anthony stood up. “So how long has it been since you left planet earth?”

Rachel turned to him. “I’d think you would be the first to acknowledge the truth of what I am saying, having been gifted.”

The blood seemed to drain from her friends face, and something indiscernible passed between them. Then there was silence.

The radio in the corner began a familiar song, about a man who couldn't dance. As it began Susan became filled with sure certainty that a horrible mistake had occurred. She closed her eyes and listened to the staccato rhythm of the tunes backbeat, wishing the day could be started over.

The pseudo-silence allowed Susan time to gather her thoughts. Perhaps it was the unusual nature of her life to that point, but she was having less trouble than her companion coming to terms with what she was being told. The trouble was, she still wasn't sure that Rachel was not playing the worlds cruelest joke on her. Her lack of faith in the woman had been the reason she’d refused to come to the office even after Rachel had promised not to turn her in. She’d obviously gone back on her word not to tell anyone about Susan’s crime. How much of a stretch was it to believe that the same person was now enjoying the strange ray of hope she was dangling in Susan’s face.

As these thoughts formed in Susan's mind she understood for the first time how truly valueless she was to the world. She rose intent on salvaging at least the appearance of dignity, but a hand—resting in the gentlest manner imaginable—stayed her progress. Susan turned to look into Anthony's face. He stared into her with those eyes that seemed to say they understood, and suddenly she believed it all. Her friend, the one who'd never mocked her filthy cloths, the one who'd been beaten badly when he’d stood up to Sam Michaels—a senior—on her behalf, Anthony believed, and he was neither a fool nor was he cruel.

Quietly, the moment of crisis passed. Susan sat back down. There was really only one question left to ask.

"Why is she here?" Susan asked. Rachel sighed in response.

"Because I think you need to know why, if you're going to do what needs to be done,” she said, “and because I want to know myself." The councilors voice broke for a moment. She lifted a hand to Susan's face and wiped away a tear the girl hadn't yet noticed.

Just then there came a hard knock on the door, and an angry female voice from the other side. Susan recoiled at the sound. Anthony jumped in his feet, his whole body tensing as though he were going to attack the woman.

"That'll be quite enough of that Mr. Mauro," Rachel snapped while she smoothed the ruffles of her dress. To Susan she looked for all the world as though she were girding herself for battle. The scene was slightly comic and at the same time deadly serious. Both children were pinned where they were when the door opened and Susan's mother stormed into the office.

The woman's eyes glanced first to her daughter, then to Rachel, and finally to Anthony.

"Who the hell is that?" SHE said, pointing to the corner." Rachel didn't seem flustered in the least by the woman's enraged demeanor.

"That," she replied, "is the girls guardian."

At that the other woman exploded. "I'm the girl's goddamn guardian."

"Only in the legal sense," Rachel explained as if the woman was merely being slow to catch onto the obvious. "I was speaking more in the practical sense."

"Listen you cocky bitch....." Valerie Harris began. Then Rachel Stover become cross.

What happened after that was a little difficult for Susan to remember afterwards. Rachel, her guidance councilor, seemed to grow a three feet in front of them as the office was engulfed by a blinding white light. When she spoke again the room vibrated with the force of every syllable.

"I HAVE NOT COME TO BANDY INSULTS WITH THE LIKES OF YOU! HOLD YOUR TOUNGE WRETCH AND PERHAPS YOU WILL LEAVE HERE WITH YOU LIFE."

The fireworks had the desired affect. Susan's mother stood spellbound and absolutely silent as Rachel returned to her previous stature.

"Now," she continued. "You have come here for a specific reason. Your daughter and I require the truth of why you've mistreated her."

"I don't know..."

"Do I appear to be the sort of person you can lie to? I assure you I am not." Rachel seemed to grow just a little and the illumination above brightened. "It is not a question of your guilt. I merely require you to explain yourself."

"I don't owe you a goddamn thing,” the captive muttered, turning to leave.

"I will not warn you again Mrs. Harris. The truth now!"

Rachel's tone switched again, and Susan could tell that she was using the same force of speech that she’d attempted on Anthony earlier. Her mothers face went slack and she seemed to rock back on her heals.

"I had to keep her from bleeding," the woman said. "He'd be on to her if she were bleeding, and then he wouldn’t need me."

Susan struggled for a moment to understand what her mother was saying, then her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of retching. Anthony had just vomited on the floor.