Why I killed the roach

I did not kill the roach because of what it did, or what it was, but because of what it meant.

Update 2/15/2017

Hey to all my darling fans. It has been some time since my last post, and unfortunately there might be some more time before my next actual post. This post will just be an update and some musings that i've been having lately.

I still want to improve my writing skills, but I don't like the idea of forcing myself to write, and ironically, that is probably the antithesis of practice. Worry not you loyal followers for i shall make a post sometime in the days(or weeks) to come.

Onto my next topic; My own musings. Lately i've been thinking of the idea of destiny.

 Destiny, in the sense that something that is meant to happen happens.

But that is in my opinion a flawed idea. Nothing is truly written in stone and we shouldn't walk around like everything's going to be fine even if we don't lift a finger.

Yet, i can't shake the feelings of what if. What if i had gone to a different school and made different friends.

 What if i had been born a different gender or race, or had different goals or aspirations.

It makes me think that maybe we should do a bit more to cherish our circumstances that happen to be pleasant.

Like that friend or those friends that you have. Like that dog you didn't have to let into your home. Maybe even those parents that are still together.

Overall, there is no destiny. Things just are or they aren't.

30 minute post #6

Malek stood there entranced by the gaping door. He looked to his left. A brooding pair of eyes ushered him forward. With a one last gulp of fresh air, he entered the dark and descended the stairs. His remaining thought was that there was no turning back.


The Door revealed a set of stairs that were trenched in darkness that seemed to grow the further Malek peered. The man to his left gave him a hollow stare as he gestured him forward. Malek inhaled solemnly and began his descent. No turning back now.


The door swayed open with a rusty creak. It revealed to Malek a sinister scene. A staircase wrapped in black that seemed to go down for miles. He fidgeted with the cusp of his coat. He always did before doing things that he'd be sure to regret. He looked to the stranger on his left. His eyes were somber and face hinted at nothing. He gestured Malek toward the entrance.  With a last glimpse of the outside embedded in his retina, Malek entered.


The sight before him was reminiscent of an 80s mafia flick. You know the ones. A strange box of a shack in the middle of nowhere and inside it was a set of stairs that looked as if it led to some dark abysmal place. Maybe it was hell. Malek could feel the man watching him, as if expecting to just go in. Going in was in fact the last thing Malek wanted to do. But he knew that wasn't an option, not in this situation. So he did what he had to. He ran.what a twist.


He'd been here before. Well, not here here, as in not this location exactly, but Malek has definitely been in a situation like this. It certainly ticks the usual boxes. Taken to the woods in the middle of nowhere. Forced to enter a shack with a staircase that probably leads to hell. A big soulless guy in a suit giving him weird looks. Though there is the absence of a gun being pointed to the back of his head, but other than that, yeah he'd been here before.

"You've gotta be kidding me. In there?!" Malek looked to the Man in a suit. His face was empty but his arm suggested he enter the shack or else.

30 Minute Post #5

Jeremy had never met someone quite like Ivan. There was just something about him. The way he walked. The way he wore his work clothes. His bag that always seemed filled to the brim. Jeremy was never quite sure if it was filled with notebooks and paper of tools and bolts. It would always jingle when he walked through the office. Every time you heard jingling followed by a succession of footsteps reminiscent of a squad of soldiers, you'd see Ivan, strolling by.

Jeremy even asked him one day. He said, "Ivan why does your bag Jingle when you walk by?" And Ivan laughed, as if he heard the funniest joke in the world said by the funniest person in the world. He would laugh and laugh and then say in his hoarse accent, "It's my lunch!" That actually raised more questions than it settled. Speaking of lunch, Jeremy never saw what Ivan ate for lunch, cause Ivan always ate in the elevator. Usually during lunch time, everybody would either eat at their desk or go out for a quick bite, but Ivan would jingle his way to the elevator, ride up and down for a few minutes while eating his food. Then he'd emerge and jingle his way back to his desk, and get back to work.

The gossip around the office usually revolved around Ivan. People would say, "have you seen Ivan lately?", and others would reply, "yeah, I can't believe it either." One day Jeremy asked Ivan what he thought of all the talk about him, but Ivan just laughed. "I'm glad i'm so popular!" He would say between his gasps for air.

30 Minute Post #4 Make me a machine.

"Make me a machine."

"Come again?" You set your documents aside. Your chair sways so that you may meet the eyes of the man sitting opposite your desk. His name is Ronald, a possible client. From the stains of sweat on his collared white shirt, to the bags under his eyes overlooked by disheveled clumps of hair, you can tell the man has had a rough time as of late. They usually have.

"That's what you do, right? You can make me a machine?" Ronald says. He clenches his fists, and looks pleadingly into your eyes.

"make me a machine?" You repeat.

"Yes." He sighs. Irritation evident in his voice. "Must I keep begging you?" You study his face. He has a scraggly beard and skin damaged by years of sun exposure. A cog in his late 50 perhaps? You sit up, and fold your fingers on your desk. It matters not, as you can tell that  he won't respond well to a no. You doubt that he would be able to afford the procedure, not like that's stopped you before, though.

"Why do you want to be a machine?"  Ronald matches your gaze. and although your eyes meet, for an instance, it seems as if he had looked past or through you, as if searching for something. He looks away and speaks.

"I don't need this human heart. I don't need this weak mind. What I need is an escape, an out. So imust ask again, please, make me a machine."

"You didn't answer my question."

"What the hell do you want to know, can't you just do it." He almost shouts at you. His knuckles clenched and white.You sigh, irritation outweighing the pity in your voice.

"Details. I'll need details if we are to carry out the procedure."

"Like?"

"Can you afford this?"

He is silent.

"What are you trying to forget?"

He is silent.

You sigh again and remove yourself from your chair. "If you won't answer my questions, then I cannot, and will not help you." A silence soon consumes the air. You predict he'll break down soon and he'll pour his soul out to you. They usually do, and you hope for it. It's the only thing that makes this job worthwhile.

"My wife and daughter." He begins. "I lost them." You smile to yourself, and he regales you with his life. By the end of it, you know that hes a Cog, who's spent 40 years in the fields. After losing his family in a tragic accident, he no longer has the will to live and that he wants to start over. He wants to embrace a new a existence.So, with glee and disgust in your heart, you turn him into a machine.

The procedure takes 10 hours, and by the end of it, you're not sure whether you've done him more good than harm, but what you do know is that the next one will be just as enjoyable.

Old pens version 2

For most of my life, I've always thought i was a main character. but lately I've been feeling like a side character who's about to be cut from the script. You've heard it before, i'm sure. I was gonna do this and i was gonna do that and how did i end up like this and when did it come to that? That's being human i guess.

I want to blame my father for many of these problems. He was the type to push you in the direction you wanted to go, no matter how misguided you seemed in hindsight. Have you ever had that feeling, of believing wholeheartedly that you were gonna do that thing and it was all gonna work out? But, years later you're 28 and you realize you shouldn't have dropped out of college to be a writer one drunken night.

After my father died, i decided to move out of the city and back to our lackadaisical little suburb to be with my mom. I figured i needed an escape. Maybe i'd get a part time job, take some time off and then continue working on my novel. But it's been 3 months, and i'm getting nowhere again.

 Let it be known, that I love my mother. She's whole reason that i moved home, well partly. Truth be told I was broke and getting nowhere with my novel. My Agent couldn't give me another advance and I was about to be out on my ass if I didn't get a "real" job.

I wake up to the sound of my mother downstairs making breakfast, with the her clamoring of pots and pans, of dishes and plates. I can practically drown in the smell of waffles.

"Morning Sarah", my mothers voice rings through my ears bright an early as usual. For a round portly woman, she's got such a shrill voice. When I enter the kitchen, I'm met with her always ready smile, and her Red autumn hair that sways as she bounces around the kitchen. I give her an acknowledging "hn" and take my seat at the table, ready to devour my morning sustenance.

She sets a plate of waffles in front of me and we eat in silence. I'm not sure how long it's been since we've eaten together- my mom and dad and me. I look at the wall by the phone. There's that picture of us, still hanging there after all these years. It was our first and only time to Disney land, and Dad was just dead set on commemorating it. I was 12 and I had the biggest gap in my teeth, Mom had her arms wrapped around me, pressing her hair into my face. And dad, he was alive, and he looked happy with his goofy hair style that belonged in the seventies.

After breakfast, my mother Insists on hugging me before leaving for work. After she leaves I sit on the sofa and contemplate suicide. The suicide of my would be career that is. After a few minutes, i give up on my contemplation and i drag my laptop from under couch and I get to work. It doesn't take long for me to get words on the page. My process consists of starting with an action, which quickly spirals into a mess until, I start haphazardly deleting sentences left and right. Then i start over.
Some might call this an inefficient process, and they'd be right. Soon I stop. I look at the page before me. Then I close my laptop and lay down for a while.

This has been my life for the past three months. Actually this has been my life for a few years now. For the next hour or so I lay there, and actually contemplate suicide. My phone buzzes several time. It's my agent. I ignore it.

 I've only published 3 works in my life. None of which have given me any recognition. I sometimes search for them online only to read less than positive reviews. I laze around for the rest of the day and eventually go to sleep. Another day another failure.

I eventually cave a few days later and answer my agents calls. She says I have till the end of the month to give her a draft of anything or we'd be through. Perfect.

30 Minutes Post #3

I remember the day old Sheriff Richard Dusty waltzed into the the  local hospital kicking up a storm. He was screaming  and hollering about wanting to shoot that Jeremy Jefferson boy for shaming his daughter. That was the way he put it at least. The boy was recuperating on the third floor of the hospital from a broken ankle, which he got from hopping out of Jessica Dusty's bedroom window as the old sheriff was coming up the stairs, or at least that's what the neighbors said. It was pretty much the talk of the town for weeks. Nothing that rambunctious has happened since that little liar Madison finch swore she saw the loc ness monster in old Robertson Bay.

"Lemme at him! I want that boys head under my boot."

"Now now sheriff, let's just calm down. You don't need to go making a fuss. And Nobody needs to be under nobodies boot."

They said five nurses had to hold him back, and that the sheriff though not as young as he used to be was like a young bull the way he was bucking and hollering. The funny thing is, the Docs were thinking of tranquilizing him.

"You sorry sacks best get of out my way or I'm gonna put the lot of you in jail for a night!" Right as he says that, Sarah miller, ya know that dean miller boys mama, well she stands up and gives the sheriff a mean look.

"Sheriff i do believe you don't have the right to lock anyone up, and if anything you should lock yourself up, for trying to hurt an injured boy."

"Mrs.Miller mind your own business. How many times have I pulled you over for speeding, but let you off with a warning," The sheriff said, and boy you should've seen Sarah millers face as she sat back down, a red as the stop signs she speeds past.

Unfortunately for them, but fortunately for us, the sheriff managed to lose them and he was running up them stairs like, ya know, that Usain bolt fella. I hear if you go ask Mr. Michaels, the security man, he'll let you see the tape for a dollar.

 So he get's to the third floor right, and he's making his way about, looking for the door that has that Jefferson boys name on it right, and he finds it, but you know there's more then one Jeremy Jefferson in town. Sheriffs got his gun cocked and he's closing in on that door, and just as the sheriff opens the door, he comes face to face with 80 year old Jeremy Jefferson, who at that time was having a sponge bath. They say the sheriff was greener than a fresh banana. And just as he's about to release the contents of his stomach who should come whizzing by in a wheel chair, it's young Jeremy Jefferson, and here's the catch. Sitting in his lap is Jessica dusty. Now if that ain't something, i don't know what is.

Short Story - "Old Pens" version 1

I will be doing something different. Usually I post something that i write up in thirty minutes and i don't look back to it, but for this one i'm going to post the intro a story i want to tell. I Will rewrite this intro until I feel like it is a good direction to start for where I want to go with this story. Well, enjoy.

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Old pens


"Where are you going?"

I stopped at the door and craned my neck to follow the voice. It was my mom. I gave her a quick reassurance, and said, "to write."

"Well don't stay out too late."

"Mom, i'm 28 not 16." I  opened the door, then I exited one world and entered another. This was more of a state of mind if anything. One of my many methods for entering the zone, ya know,  to get those creative juices flowing. I walked my usual path until i came across the local diner.

The place was the same as always. I walked in, waved to Pam, took my usual booth with a cup of coffee, took out my pen and pad, and stared at the blank sheets. An onlooker would probably assume, i was writing by telepathy, but i wasn't writing anything, because i couldn't write anything.

My indecision dragged on over the course of 3 hours and 5 cups of coffee, a likely unhealthy amount. But hey, even if don't write, I should i at least act like i write, right?

It was 11:35 when i left the diner; still early. With no wave of inspiration in me, I decided to visit a friend.

30 minute post #2 Part 2

There's a saying that goes, "seeing is believing,"but Jeremy would be hard pressed to believe what was happening before him. The letter had floated from his hand and folded in on itself, almost like it had been swallowed by a vacuum of time and space. Then he heard it, a voice.

"Thank you for summoning me." He was surrounded by him or it.
Jeremy twisted and turned to find the source, but could not make heads or tails of it's location.
He then felt something on his shoulder, a hard clutch. He was quickly whisked around, and became face to face with what appeared to be a man.

"There's no need to be alarmed, Mr.Anderson." The figure said, but it's attempts to calm him, were unnoticed, as Jeremy had proceeded to bolt for the door.

"This is a dream, This is a dream, This is a dream." He kept repeating, perhaps hoping his speel would become an incantation. He was closing in on the exit, but that thing beat him to it, rising from the ground to block his escape, but then another thought came to mind.
"The window!"He almost yelled in desperation, before changing directions. In all his panic, jeremy had forgotten that he lived on the fourth floor, a fact he would soon be reminded of. After prying open the window, he poked his head out and very quickly pulled it back in.
"I'm pretty sure that if i jump out, i'll die. But, if this is a dream, i'll wake up." Such logic has never before been reached by a person of sane mind, so it was no wonder that it had come to jeremy almost by second nature. He dove through the window, but before he could plumet to his death, his entire body had been grasped, and he was pulled back into his apartment, and eventually his senses.

30 minute Post #2

He tugged the bottle from his lips, and peered down the opening. A single drop fell, before finding a place in his eye. He yelled out in pain and threw the bottle. It smashed against a wall, placing another stain on the already haggered walls of his studio apartment. He rushed from his couch and waded through his collection of trash before comming to the bathroom. The sound of rushing water filled the room, followed by haphazard splashing as he tried to rinse his eye. The cool water soon subsided his pain. He raised his head to face a man he didn't recognize anymore.

He rubbed his jaw and raked his fingers through his hair. He eyed his reflection, closely as if wondering how he had come to this, then his eyes caught sight of a fragmented square in the frame of the mirror. It was a picture. In it a young woman was immortalised with a beaming smile plastered on her face as she overlooked a coast of some sort. He raised a hand towards the picture, but brought it down on the light switch of the bathroom and walked out into the hall of his apartment.  

He entered his living room. It was bathed in dim light casting from the blinders of his windows. Like a child with a hint of curiosity , he stepped towards them, and looked outside for the first time that day. The scene before him was like an ad oan the cover of a holiday magazine. Children were playing as cars drove by. He even saw a man walking a dog and a woman who could have been his grandmother feeding pigeons.

That's life in the city i guess.

With his curiosity satiated, he turned from the blinds and sunk back in his usually spot. He started wondering how long it had been since he spoke to another person. His eyes fell to his coffee table. It was littered with letters, probably bills he thought. His brows arched as a particular letter caught his eye. It was crimson. He didn't have anything else to do, with the cable and internet deactivated, and with the lights soon to follow, he might as well catch up on some reading.

He  managed to dig it out of the pile stack on the table, and read the print on the front.

"To Mr.Anderson of  Apartment 145, 48899 central Lane." He inspected the crimson envelope. The hint of ink still lingered on it. "That's strange, there's no return address.." He trailed of and started digging it open. After opening the letter, the contents said:

"Hello, mr. Anderson. Today is the first day of the rest of your life."

30 Minute Post

The attendant yells next, and a man steps forward and shows his documents, and then the next person  is called and so on and so forth. Check in lines are usually longer at busy ports, but today must be a slow day. The line stretches across the floor of the terminal, like a long endless rope, but soon it will be your turn.

It's your first day in the city of Lenos, but you've prepared yourself for the destination, because it's not everyday that a person decides to uproot their life and take it elsewhere, well atleast you don't. You look at your wrist. The time is 10 am. You look ahead, and see that a new check-in window has opened. and the line seems to be moving faster now. As the minutes go by, you're soon at the head of the line. and the attendant calls you to the window, so you hurriedly pull your luggage along and head to the window.

You greeted by a blazing beauty. Blazing as in, she is quite literally enveloped in a dim glow of orange and red hues. This is your first time meeting a Sol in person. Although she looks human, her radiance and orange skin tone are a dead give away. You're surprised alittle, but you remember it's common for different species to coexist in this city.

"Hello citizen. Glory to Ker, and i hope you're doing oh so well on this fantastic day." She says and sports a smile. Her teeth are practically beaming.

“Um hello to you too.” You say as brightly as you could muster.

“I’ll need to see some documents before I can let you into Lenos.”

“Oh right, of course,” You compose yourself and take the papers from the inside of your jacket, and pass them to the attendant. She takes them with that smile still plastered on her face and quickly gives them a look over. She then turns back to you, then to the documents, and her smile fades into an expression of confusion.

A thirty minute warmup short

“Fuck that hurt!” Vinny’s voice erupted, silencing the rambunctious air of the establishment. Glasses were set down, depriving parched lips. Chairs scraped the polished wood of the floors as people stood to get a view of the scene on display.

“I told you not to put you-“

“Listen here you stupid broad.” He removed himself from his seat, and clutched her noodley wrist. She tried to untangle his grip, but to no avail.

“Stop you’re hurt-“

“Shut the fuck up, when I’m talking to you.” His mouth was sour and his eyes were piercing.

 “Hey pal why don’t you take it easy?”  Without skipping a beat, vinny pulls out his revolver and points it at the stranger.

“How about you sit down, pal. I’m handling business over here.” Soon all eyes are on him, but vinny is a rock. The man begins to back away, when the cocking of a shotgun fills the air.

“That’s enough Vinny, get the fuck out of my bar.” A voice booms across the room, as a guy probably no taller than a middle schooler waddles in their direction. Vinny eyes the barrel of the gun aimed at him, and begrudgingly releases the girl’s wrist. He then puts the gun back in his overcoat and walks out.

The autumn air hits his face as he is bathed in the light of a full moon.

He starts heading off, when a figure exits the shadows the clicking of heels make their way towards him. He turns and see’s the woman from before

.

“The fuck is this?”

“You think you’re top shit huh? But you’re nothing but a low life. This world be better off without men like you mucking around.” she says, her face carrying a disgusting smugness about it.

“You dumb broad, you think you can talk to me like that. I’m gonna b-.“With the single swinging motion of her arm, his head is cleaved off of his body which collapses shortly after, spraying the streets with his blood. The woman licks her lips and begins devouring the remains in an animalistic ritual of sorts.

After doing her deed, she makes her way down the street, and the sound of her clicking heels fade into the night.

The purpose of this blog

I intend for this blog to be used for the purpose of documenting my progress to be a better writer, artist, and game developer. That is all.

Unfinished works hopefully for now

When i first started learning how to write, I thought I was top shit. I've never felt so wrong in my life. After writing for some time, not only have i started to hate my writing, but i've started to stagnate. Hopefully this blog will re-mediate that, but only time will tell. In the mean while, enjoy some unfinished crap.


The Astronaut

Richard was an astronaut. Well, in spirit at least. Truth be told he had never been to space. They didn't let 10 year olds in space.
That's what his Science teacher told him. That didn't stop richard, though. With an imagination that rivals einsteins he dares to dream, but with an education that couldn't compare, hes faced with reality again and again. But still richard persisted. He had been to space camp every year since the age of 7. Plus, He practically owned every book about space even if he didn't understand some of the words. His parents were just glad he wasn't like other ten year olds. You know the ones. Need i say more?

Luckily, it so happened that one day richards school was chosen to be accomodater of A science fair that just happened to be sponsered by Nasa.
So richard decides to enter. But he had no inkling of what to build. A bottle rocket would be too cliche, and he knew he was better than that, so with the help of His parents and The Neil armstrong figment of his imagination he decided that he would attempt something better.

Argos 13

Stop me if you’ve heard this one before: “A woman abandons her friends and family for a life of solitude in outer space.” If there ever was a word best used to describe Anya, it was “deliberate.” At the age of 10 she chose to stop having birthday parties, at the age of 17 she chose to move out on her own and at the age of 28, she chose to drift in space on a solitary watch mission.  “I won’t be missed,” she told the recruiter from the Earth defense federation. She wasn’t wrong, but she wasn’t entirely right. There were no friends to miss her, but she had family; an estranged mother and a bitter sister. Though try as she may to deny the anguish and pain in her sisters bloodshot eyes that day, Anya knew she would be missed. There was nothing for her on that rock, though. Nothing she wanted atleast. She wasn’t going anywhere in life, and she didn’t want be as she would put, like those “frail women.” She didn’t want to get married to a man who only showed his love when the lights were off, and she certainly didn’t want to lose her so called golden years and all of its prospects by raising children who may or may not love her when she’s lost all sense of being.

To her the choice was the clearest thing she had ever realized in her existence, and all she had to do was spend 3 years on a space station for a reasonable sum of money. Money she was going to use to find herself when her midlife crisis kicked in. The Argos 13. That was her station. There were forty nine individuals just like her, forty nine other “heroes.” Well that’s what they were hailed as before they left, but looking back, Anya realized they were fools. Poor money grubbing fools that should’ve rejected this call to duty, but that was some time ago and as her mother always told her, “There’s no use longing for the past.”

She slouched in her seat at the helm of the command console. ”It’s a shame that old bat succumbed to her own warnings.” She whispered under her breath and recalled memories of her mother; flowing red hair and a vibrant smile. She reached into her breast pocket and pulled out a folded up photo. The creases in it were beginning to ware away the image; a redheaded woman holding a baby as a man stood, smiling, beside her holding the hand of a toddler girl. She studied the photo intently, running her eyes over the people in the picture just as she had done every day for the first year. It was only during the second that regret began to fill her, but here she is almost done with her third year. She then tucked it away and stood from her chair.

Space blah blah blah(working title)

“Reality is a strange construct,” Farrah muttered. Her eyes were fixed on the fizzing liquid as it twirled in her glass. Her companion faced her and cocked it’s head. Their gaze met and she rolled her eyes. “Think of it like this, len.” Her companion caressed it’s forehead, as if fortelling how this conversation would go. “The me in the reflection of this space beer is me but at the same time, it’s not really me. Do you follow?”

“If by follow, you are asking whether I understand your pseudo-philosophical musings, then yes. I do, ‘follow’.

Her face soured and she gulped down her beverage.

“Ms. Farrah, We’ve spent the last two days waiting on this contact of yours to return to us, and as of this morning, I’ve calculated the chance of a betrayal to be up to 82%.”

“Wow that’s only a 20% difference from last time.” She motioned to a gruff man shining glasses behind the counter. “I’ll take another.”

“Are you not aware of the possible ramifications of a 20% increase?”

“The only thing I’m aware of are your lack of ____. Stop bombarding me with statistics.”

“Fine, I’ll stop, but I don’t suppose my stopping will protect the xeron district from possible bombardement of the axion forces within 2 cycles. Your father explicityly orde-.“ Lens voice was overpowered by the sheer force of farrahs fist knocking on the counter.

“My father what?” She turned to him. Her expression now reminiscent of a lioness. “He gave us an explicit order? Just like he explicitly raised me, or how he gave my mum an explicit beating?” She grabbed her newly filled glass and inhaled it’s contents. She then let out a hefty belch and placed the glass onto the marbled stained counter top. “My father was an explicit asshole, and I quite frankly could give a rats ass about his orders.”

Out of the corner of her eye, a figure beckoned to her. She tossed a few credits on the counter and hopped from the seat. “When we save the galaxy, we’re gonna do it my way. Come on now, It’s time to go.”