Friday, June 28, 2013

My Uncle’s Time in the War

My Uncle Ned was a Private-First-Class in the United States Army, although he says he should’ve been a goddamn Squad leader for all he did for this goddamn country. He was stationed on Andiron Six for the bulk of the war, which saw more action than any of those pussies that stayed home saw, so don’t call my Uncle Ned a coward, goddamn it! My Uncle Ned told me about when the Insect Warriors scurried through my Uncle’s encampment, slaughtering nearly all of my Uncle’s goddamn friends. The bug guts was up to my Uncle’s knees when the battle was over. My Uncle thought he scorched his hands, his gun was so hot and his hands were so covered in gunpowder. And, did he get a medal for his bravery? No. Not even a goddamn handshake for his trouble. He got court-marshaled and then, dishonorably discharged. The Brass told my Uncle that there wasn’t any Insect Invasion, that we weren’t even fighting any goddamn insects.

Well, What the hell was I shooting at?

The Brass told him he had been shooting randomly into the air, screaming into the night. The Brass, in all their wisdom quote-unquote, said that my Uncle was supposed to be fighting the Germans and his conduct had nearly given away their outpost. Well, my Uncle was zipped back to Earth on the next light-speed shuttle to find that the Insect Empire had invaded here on Earth. He says that the Insects are hiding in people suits, indoctrinating children and aiding the Blacks to get the vote. Before I know it, there’ll be a goddamn insect in the White House and then, it’ll be all over. And that was my Uncle’s time in the war.

Thursday, June 20, 2013

The Man Who Disappears- A Doctor Who FanFiction

You walk up to this old man at the end of the bar because you'd been told to. You had asked around, hoping to hear some word about the Doctor. The whispers had led you to a cold, fishing village that might not have seen the sun in a decade. The fishy wind had been fighting you, clawing at your coat, trying to shoo you out of the village. Even still, you came because you needed to know about the Doctor. This old man at the end of the bar, with his salty, gray hair, has salty, gray eyes. He's got a frown tattooed on his face and he's got his nose planted so deep in his mug that you think he might be trying to drink his Guiness up his nostrils.
You call him 'Sir' because you want to sound respectful, but he doesn't respond. You slide a Tenner in front of his mug and his eyebrows perk up.
"What do you want?" The old man says in an accent so thick that you nearly get lost in it.
"I want to know about the Doctor." You say like you've said a thousand times before. You eye the old man and think that he'll know as much as everyone else. That is to say, he'll know nothing at all. Maybe, it's time you went home and forgot about the last of the Time Lords.
"Why would you be asking about that man? He's not even a man, you know. An alien. Some might say, he's a monster who chases other monsters."
"So, you do know about the Doctor?" You ask.
"As much as I can know. That is, far more than I'd ever like to know. My son, you see, had asked the Doctor for help and the Doctor killed him."
"What?" You ask. The Doctor wasn't a killer... Well, that wasn't exactly true. You knew that the Doctor protected the Earth and that meant stopping invaders from attacking, which sometimes meant killing. The Doctor had killed, you knew that, but the Doctor wouldn't kill a human.
"He did." The Old Man said, looking you in the eyes. For a moment, you think he might've read your mind. "My boy, my son had an affliction, one that I didn't understand, one that I couldn't help him with. He'd disappear. Right before your eyes. He'd always come back. Sometimes, he was bloody. Sometimes, he was naked, but he'd always come back."
"My boy was clever. I don't know where he got his smarts. Found them underneath a rock, perhaps. I know he didn't get them from me." A smile cracks across the Old Man's face, but is quickly washed away.
"He kept this notebook and he figured out exactly where he was going when he was gone. He had them in a list, knew that he always went to one of five places: 15th Century China, 18th Century America, 19th Century Poland, Scotland in the 23rd Century and a place that was full of trees. He couldn't find out where that last place was, but he thought that it was a place before or after people ever existed. He knew what was happening and where he was going, but he couldn't find a way to stop it." The Old Man's eyes went dark and hollow and you think he must of known it, because he looks away from you.
"He was only 19-years-old and the Doctor killed him, but not before promising that he'd help my boy. The Doctor came sauntering down the road, asking about my son, asking about the man who disappears. The Doctor was right on my doorstep, him and a girl. The Doctor had this thing. It looked like a high-tech wand, but he called it a screwdriver. He waved it in front of my boy and my boy just vanished in front of my eyes, in front of the Doctor and the Doctor's girl. The two of them exchanged looks like it was all fun, like my son popping out of thin air, nude and bleeding, was all a game." The Old Man took a long draft of his drink and smacked his lips.
"The Doctor didn't see the fun in it when he came back. I didn't want to, but I get the Doctor my son's notebook. The Doctor said he could follow my son, find him, keep him safe. He actually told me that. Him and his girl left and true to his word, he found my son and he also found something else. He found out that my son's affliction was causing people to get hurt, causing them to die. It wasn't my boy's fault. He couldn't help it. I don't even think he knew. Apparently when he disappeared, he torn something open that didn't close right away. People fell in after my boy and they died in the space between there and here. It wasn't my boy's fault. He didn't deserve to die over something he couldn't control." You hear the Old Man take in a deep breath and you want to tell him that he doesn't have to continue, but you don't.
"The Doctor tried something to stop my boy from disappearing, from taking people with him when he did, but it didn't work. The Doctor was supposed to be the one that fixed things like that, but he couldn't fix my boy. So, instead, he killed him. The Doctor was a coward about it. He had his girl take me to the harbor while he did the deed because he knew that I would've stopped him. My boy could've killed a million people when he disappeared, I wouldn't have let him die for it." The Old Man's voice shutters wih rage and pain and a single tear rolls down his cheek.
"He was laying in his bed, like he was just sleeping. The Doctor said he was dead and he stood there, staring at me, waiting for me to do something. My fists were balled tight and I wanted... I wanted to shatter his skull. I wanted to beat him to death. I want to run my fists right through him and realized that the Doctor, the great and powerful Doctor, wanted me to. He killed my boy and he hated himself for doing it. He wanted to feel all the pain that he had caused me and decided, then and there, that I wasn't going to give it to him. I'd let him live with it. I told him to get out, to leave forever. He left with his head down below his shoulders and I never saw him again." The Old Man drains the rest of his mug and gestures for another. You don't know what to say, so you say nothing. You blink and remain silent.
"That's the Man you're looking for." The Old Man says as he reaches for his new mug of Guiness. You stand and step away from the Old Man and decide that, maybe, it is time that you went home and let the Time Lords be nothing more than a fairy tale.

Wednesday, June 19, 2013

Me Being Me: 2AM Edition - My Dream Girl

I've been thinking about fate, about the nature of the thing that is meant to be. I'm not sure if I've revealed this on The Dark Abby, but, for sometime now, I've been having dreams about this girl.

I don't know her name, so I named her Lily.  I, normally, don't give much attention to my dreams, mostly because they're nothing to write home about. I, normally, dream about random images mixed with external stimilus. If someone's having a loud conversation about sandwiches, my dreams will be about bolony and mayo.

My dreams with Lily, however, are more focused. They feel more anchored, like I were visiting an actual place. I can still recognize the external stimilus, but I know to ignore it because the dream fels more important. Lily wants me to find her and I know it's crazy to be looking for a girl I met in my dreams, but I am looking, although in a half-hearted way.

There was this dream, in which I got the name of a town in Plymouth County, Massachusetts. In the dream, Lily had asked me to come back to Halifax, a place I had never been. I looked it up on-line. It's a small town by a lake, swamped with greenery and sprawling roads. It sounds beautiful, but I'm afraid to go there. I seems like a sign of insanity to be, literally, chasing dreams. In the dream, I was suppoded to find a foot-bridge ornamented with sunflower. In the dream, it's early spring, still cold although the sun is shining down, cleanly. What if I were to go there and see her on that day in early spring? What if I walked up to her and waited for her to recognize me? What if she didn't? What if I hadn't been led to Halifax, if I had somehow learned about the place through some TV show and Lily isn't Lily? What if her name is Sarah, or Amber, or Coral? What if she's just some pretty girl who had nothing to do with me?

Her possible fiction is more comforting than her being real. Things have some much less consequence in dreams. Right now, she's just something I dreamed. If I find her, even if she knows me, there will be consequences. It'll mean I'm meant to do something about her existence.

Monday, June 3, 2013

Me Being Me (Revival Post.)

I wanted to touch base and talk about what's been going on with me.

After two years, I'm going back to college. May had been a big month for me and June is turning out to be just as large. I'm figuring out funding, quitting my job and devoting more time to getting back on the horse.

In July, I'll be a Readercon, my first convention ever. I'm stoked about that. I've got my room booked and my membership waiting. In prepartation, I've looked up a couple of the authors in attendance and I'm boning up on their novels. I want ot cram in as much reading as I can in between now and July 11th, the first day of Readercon. It's unlikely, but, maybe, I might stumble into Peter Straub while grabbing one of my Cranberry+Vodka drinks. I have no idea what would happen in that unlikely scenerio. I'd probably say, "Hey." as I walk away because, although I love his work, I have no idea what Peter Straub looks like.

After that, September is going to be big. I'm hoping I can submit a query to this agent I've been waiting on. If you're curious (dare I hope 'Excited?) about Kid Silver: Alone than start asking about it. People talking about the book can only do good things. I'll also be enrolling at UMass Lowell and hopefully taking a class with Dave Daniels, an author of some esteem. So that's what's up with me.