Cigarette smoke, sweet and heavy, drifted through the air as the group stopped for a breather. One of the scouts climbed the statue we were gathered around, looking around for possible attackers. Her slanted eyes squinted into sun and a playful breeze tossed her short black hair into her face. After a few minutes she slid down to talk to the captain, who crushed his cigarette thoughtfully under his boot while he listened to her report. I saw him glance my way and averted my gaze to study the massive stone structures around us. He flapped a hand my way and the man they’d appointed to watch me propelled me to the statue.
“Climb it.” He ordered, gesturing at the statue, “Tell us what you see.”
I nodded and climbed as quickly as I could, finding easy handholds in the spiraling metal that ornamented the stone statue. Once I was a few lengths up I looked out and over at the impressive landscape. The group was gathered below me in a tiny knot. The statue and the group were midway down a giant stone walkway that led to the ruins. Deep canyons fell to either side of the path, promising death to anyone clumsy enough to slip. Huge stone statues of ancient gods rose from the nothingness that was the canyons. They appeared to sit on nothing, just a grimacing face or spiked teeth rising from the dark to form islands. But I wasn’t here to sightsee. My eyes and my sight were the reason the group kept me around. When they found out I could sometimes see the danger that came for us, they killed everyone in the last group I ran with to use me. But I was alive, that was all that mattered. I settled on the statue of stone and iron and looked out to the road that we had traveled hours earlier to get to the ruins. My pupils shrunk to pinpoints and the view telescoped until I could see the grains of dust that coated the old path. My eyes flicked back and forth, looking for movement, and I caught a flash of color. I refocused until I could see them. They were running so fast, and there were so many. Madly dashing up the path, paying no heed to those knocked into the canyon, their red eyes focused single-mindedly on their goal.
I half slid half fell down the statue to land breathless in front of the captain.
“They’re coming.” I gasped.
“GO!!!” He screamed to his people. We ran up the path into the gaping mouth of the ruined temple. We spread out through the place, every member of the ragtag band for himself. I ran down a flight of stairs into a room with twin spiraling staircases. I took one of these and ran down a hallway. A few members of the group knew what I could do and would always follow me to my hiding places, reckoning that I was likely to survive and they would by proximity. This made hiding increasingly difficult. A black curtain passed over my eyes and I stopped running to collapse against a wall. I slid to the floor and pressed my hands to my eyes as images flicked across them.
I’m in a little room.
There are curtains
I’m hiding behind a curtain?
I’m hiding behind the door?
A girl lies in the center of the small room, one of the infected sitting on her legs and tearing savagely at her face. Another one comes in and drags another girl out from behind the door, they’re both screaming and there’s so much blood.
Wait, I’m hiding behind the door.
Or was it the curtains?
I blinked the pictures out of my eyes and climbed to my feet, feeling my way along the door in a partially blind state. I didn’t get the future pictures often, and I didn’t have time to sit and contemplate, much less wait until I could fully see. People from the group streamed past me as I entered yet another hallway. I felt blindly along the wall and turned the first doorknob I felt. I let myself into a small room and as I blinked spots out of my eyes the room identified itself as the one I’d seen earlier in the future picture. A few girls streamed in after me, the last one shutting the door firmly and setting her ear against it, listening intently. I looked around the tiny room, touching the space behind the door where I had hid in one of my pictures. Instead of hiding there, I crawled beneath a small ragged curtain that fell to the floor against one wall. Thankfully none of the other girls tried to join me, as it was the most obvious hiding place in the room, and not that invisible. The girl with her ear to the door pressed a finger to her lips, eyes bulging with panic. We all tried to hush our breathes and heartbeats as we heard the rapid thundering of feet running past the door. A small girl with brunette hair curled as small as she could behind the door. The door slammed inwards too fast for any of us to react. It caught the girl who had been listening in the forehead and knocked her to the ground. Before she could suck in a breath one of them was on her, clawing at her face and tearing out her intestines. I pressed my hands against my mouth to squish any horrified sounds I might make. I’d seen worse, but it seemed like every death was shiny and new. I was waiting for that cynicism and world weariness to set in and harden me against it, but it hadn’t happened yet. The girl behind the door wasn’t so good at suppression, and the tiny breathe she huffed drew the second infected like a fly to sugar. She pulled the girl out by an arm and when the screaming started I pressed my eyes to my knees.
And then they were gone.
-Meghan
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Sarah: Hey
I miss you guys. All of you. I especially appreciate those of you who have helped this past week with the difficult situation I've faced - Jasmine for helping me with your labor and cleaning skills and Mr. Wood, you are awesome, thank you. And I want you to know that each of you has made my life brighter happier and more awesome. See some of you at the NAMI walk on Saturday.
With love and appreciation,
Sarah
With love and appreciation,
Sarah
Jasmine: Night Climbing
This past Friday I was getting off work, I have a job now for those who didn’t know, Jarrod was supposed to pick me up so that we could go to the climbing gym. Snooze was out of town and Eli was getting a ride from Weston. Anyways I’m walking around the side checking my voice mail because we aren’t allowed to have our cell phones on us during work hours, when Weston calls me asking if I got his voice mail. He wanted to know if I wanted to go climbing in Tijeras at a place that sounded like Big Rock, but Weston mumbles so I’m not really sure of the name. Of course I said yes. It’s climbing outside. I say yes to that any time!
I get off at six o’clock on Fridays. It rained a few days before this, snowed in some parts of the state probably including Tijeras. It was going to be dark by the time we got there. By the time I hung up with Weston promising to pick me up in twenty minutes I had no idea why I was going climbing outside when it was so damn cold. Jarrod couldn’t come because he was going dancing later.
Twenty minutes turned out to be fifty, I’m convinced that Weston doesn’t actually know how to tell time, but Eli apologized for him profusely when he realized that I’d been waiting outside in the cold the whole time, and they did eventually come rescue my frozen self to take me somewhere even more cold.
In the car was Weston, Eli, and Weston’s girlfriend, a name that I am spacing on which is not good since I made out with the girl one drunken night. Not important to the story though. We drove the half hour to the climbing site and were basically flung to the ground the second we stepped out of the truck. It was so windy and cold. And terrible. I put on another layer of shirt and we wound our way down the trail to where two climbers were already waiting for us, Sam and someone else. They had a fire going because they are amazing people who deserve gold stars.
It was already getting dark at this point, and all I could think about was getting as close to the fire as I could not climbing. The climb basically looked like a cliff that came down with a nice little bit of it hanging out over the ground. Not sure how to describe it… like an over hang, and indent, a something that hangs out over the ground. There was a part that you could traverse, and other bits. The girl and I walked a way up the cliff away from the fire and climbed a bit in our street shoes. I wasn’t quite ready to take off the shoes in the freezing wind yet. We made it up then headed back to the fire.
It wasn’t long before the rest of the horde arrived, Peter and Dan and Shawn, and some other guy. Peter brought those fake logs and suddenly our fire was so much bigger they stood around drinking some beer, and vodka which incidentally makes you warmer than the fire did. And eventually pulled on shoes and started climbing. The piece they were trying I think was a V9. It started at the bottom and ended up upside down with several big moves made upside down in order to get you to the vertical part of the climb. It was fun to watch and I don’t think any of them actually finished it. Eli and I stuck to the traversing which consisted of going back and forth over an area mostly lit by the fire.
Two more girls arrived. And Weston’s girlfriend went to hang with them. Eli and I stuck with the wall. It was fun, challenging. Some guy said it counted as a 5 11 which is cool. I could do all the parts I just couldn’t really put them together, not properly. But I climbed by firelight, it wasn’t that cold, and I’d like to do it again when it is somewhat warmer.
I get off at six o’clock on Fridays. It rained a few days before this, snowed in some parts of the state probably including Tijeras. It was going to be dark by the time we got there. By the time I hung up with Weston promising to pick me up in twenty minutes I had no idea why I was going climbing outside when it was so damn cold. Jarrod couldn’t come because he was going dancing later.
Twenty minutes turned out to be fifty, I’m convinced that Weston doesn’t actually know how to tell time, but Eli apologized for him profusely when he realized that I’d been waiting outside in the cold the whole time, and they did eventually come rescue my frozen self to take me somewhere even more cold.
In the car was Weston, Eli, and Weston’s girlfriend, a name that I am spacing on which is not good since I made out with the girl one drunken night. Not important to the story though. We drove the half hour to the climbing site and were basically flung to the ground the second we stepped out of the truck. It was so windy and cold. And terrible. I put on another layer of shirt and we wound our way down the trail to where two climbers were already waiting for us, Sam and someone else. They had a fire going because they are amazing people who deserve gold stars.
It was already getting dark at this point, and all I could think about was getting as close to the fire as I could not climbing. The climb basically looked like a cliff that came down with a nice little bit of it hanging out over the ground. Not sure how to describe it… like an over hang, and indent, a something that hangs out over the ground. There was a part that you could traverse, and other bits. The girl and I walked a way up the cliff away from the fire and climbed a bit in our street shoes. I wasn’t quite ready to take off the shoes in the freezing wind yet. We made it up then headed back to the fire.
It wasn’t long before the rest of the horde arrived, Peter and Dan and Shawn, and some other guy. Peter brought those fake logs and suddenly our fire was so much bigger they stood around drinking some beer, and vodka which incidentally makes you warmer than the fire did. And eventually pulled on shoes and started climbing. The piece they were trying I think was a V9. It started at the bottom and ended up upside down with several big moves made upside down in order to get you to the vertical part of the climb. It was fun to watch and I don’t think any of them actually finished it. Eli and I stuck to the traversing which consisted of going back and forth over an area mostly lit by the fire.
Two more girls arrived. And Weston’s girlfriend went to hang with them. Eli and I stuck with the wall. It was fun, challenging. Some guy said it counted as a 5 11 which is cool. I could do all the parts I just couldn’t really put them together, not properly. But I climbed by firelight, it wasn’t that cold, and I’d like to do it again when it is somewhat warmer.
Monday, April 26, 2010
Meghan: less than or equal to three
I crossed my eyes to turn the pen dangling from my mouth into two pens. Slowly I let my eyes focus until the pens merged into one, then repeated the process, rapidly multiplying my pens.
I’m studying, I swear.
Groaning quietly I leaned back in my little wooden chair, hearing things pop in my hips and back. It was time for a break. Trying not to disturb the deathly quiet of the library stacks I slid my books into my backpack and stood up. Then promptly staggered and had to clutch the desk I had been working at to keep from falling down. How long had I been working? I carefully slid my bag on my shoulder and trudged to the elevators. Caffeine, my love, I’m coming for you.
I pushed the down button with the steady repetition of someone with nothing better to do and walked to the door that finally lit up. The doors slid open and I had one foot inside before my eyes processed the image of the scrawny kid screwing together metal tubes.
Oh metal tubes, how interesting, my mind (dulled from weeks of studying for finals) told me. But a second later that other, more intelligent part of my brain woke up and told me what those metal tubes were for.
“Uh…” I said stupidly as we stared at each other, “I’ll just take the next one.” I stepped slowly back from the door.
“No, wait!” He hissed, almost apologetically pointing his mostly assembled weapon in my direction. He screwed what looked to be the last piece on with shaking hands, “Get in.”
I blinked and just walked in next to him. He frantically pushed the up button and started to breathe a little bit steadier as the numbers of the elevator continued to count up. He didn’t even look my way, but as his prisoner I didn’t return the courtesy and looked him over critically. Thin as a rail, wild looking hair, glasses and bad skin; damn what a terrible cliché. Why doesn’t an athletic, gorgeous frat boy ever decide to take out the school with an automatic? The light dinged and the elevator opened to the ninth floor.
“So where next?” I asked casually.
“The stairs. We’re going to the roof.”
“You know they lock that door.” He looked at me in such a heartbroken manner that I couldn’t help adding, “I’m sure you can just shoot the handle off, right?”
“Right.” He looked relieved and we walked to the staircase. I’m pretty sure I could have made a run for it, but a twitchy kid with a gun wasn’t something I wanted to try. And if I got away he would probably follow me, the poor guy didn’t even have a plan.
We got to the locked door and I tried to duck behind him out of the way of any recoil while he shot the lock on the door. Fortunately none hit me; unfortunately none hit him either and we walked out into the sunshine. I stretched in the warm light while the twitchy homicidal boy army-crawled to the edge of the roof with his weapon. I walked over and sat down next to him, leaning against the lip of the roof.
“Do you mind if I get some homework done?” I asked, “I have finals and I really need to study.”
“Fucking finals.” He muttered. I took this as permission and pulled out my books, continuing the process of rewriting my notes for the fifth time.
“Only five times?” he sneered as he scouted the crowds of students below for a victim, “You call that studying?”
“Hey, I do fine.” I said defensively, “and you don’t see me on top of roofs aiming at innocent college students.”
“Innocent?”
“Well, as innocent as college students can be.” I amended.
“Yep, they’re innocent, and they’re going to stay that way. I’m doing them a favor.”
I snorted in disbelief, starting on my Spanish vocabulary
His jaw twitched, “What?”
“Seriously, a favor? How would you know? Have you ever died before?”
“No. But anything’s better than this.”
“Then try everything else. If this anything isn’t your perfection then try another anything.”
He stared at me for a breath, “Wow. Deep.”
“I took philosophy for a while before flunking out. Too much?”
“No, it was good.”
I smiled at the pages in my lap, “So… Did I fix you?”
The corner of his mouth dipped up in a sort-of smile, “No.”
“Damn. You may have to go to an actual therapist.”
“Ha ha.” He said sarcastically. He shifted to sit next to me, pointing the barrel of his gun to the sky. Fluffy white clouds scuttled by in terror, but I felt better about that then students. I tried to watch him while at the same time labeling a detailed drawing of the heart for my anatomy class. He fumbled with the gun, clearly not knowing how to use it. He was trying to point the barrel at himself but he was realizing that his arms were too short. I could see where this was going and tried to appear deeply absorbed in my studying.
“Hey.”
“Hmm?” I replied, nose inches from my scribbles.
“I don’t even know your name, what’s—“
“No.” I cut him off.
He looked confused, “Your name isn’t no.”
“You’re going to ask me to shoot you, the answer is no.”
“But--” I saw the weakening in his resolve, but his face hardened, “No. If you don’t shoot me I’ll shoot you.”
I stuffed my books into my pack, “Okay.”
He looked startled at my abrupt change, “But—“
I stood up and brushed gravel from the back of my legs, “Well I don’t want to die, do I? Give me the gun.”
“Oh.” He scrambled to his feet and handed over his weapon. While I looked it over he paced in front of me, rubbing his mouth and chanting, “Okay, okay, okay, okay—“
“Okay.” I said brightly, “Where do you want it.”
His face (if possible) grew whiter, “What?”
“The head, the chest, or the throat? Or we could just do it everywhere to be sure.”
He swallowed, “The head is good.”
“Okay, head.” I backed up a little and took aim, “You’re sure?”
He nodded, mouth in a firm line, “I’m sure.”
I fired.
The gun clicked and the air whooshed out of him as he collapsed on the ground. But just as suddenly he was up again.
“What happened?” he gasped, touching his head to make sure it was still there, “Am I dead?”
“No.” I looked down at the gun in my arms, “Oh, the safety was on, silly me. Let’s try this again.”
One of his eyes twitched and it looked like he was going to throw up, but he took up position again. I leveled the gun again, double checked that the safety was off, and fired.
Tears poured down his face as the sound blasted across his eardrums.
He curled into the fetal position, hugging his knees to his chest.
“If you feel that way about a test fire, how do you think you’ll like the actual thing?”
He let out a sob and covered his face with his hands, “Just hurry up.”
“Nope.”
He uncovered his face to the sounds of metal clacking, just in time to see his ammo cartridge disappear over the side of the building. I unscrewed another piece and wiped it down briskly before sending it sailing after its friend.
His eyes bulged with horror, “Y—you—“
“Don’t worry, I wiped off the fingerprints, they probably won’t know it was you. Not that you did anything.”
He was the most pitiful, hopeless thing I’d ever seen as he shook on the ground in front of me. I continued tossing pieces over as he rolled and struggled to his feet. He seemed unable to do anything but stare and gape, face turning alternating colors of red and white. When there was nothing but a long, thin barrel left I walked over to where he stood staring over the edge at the students gathering around the scraps of metal.
I tapped him gently on the head with the barrel, “You might want to run. Pretty soon someone will recognize what those metal things are and come up here.”
His hands slid around my wrists and his eyes stared into mine, blank and uncomprehending.
I smiled softly at the little broken boy, “You’ll be fine.” I gripped the metal of the gun barrel in my hands and bent the ends towards each other, molding it into a heart. Gently prying his hands from my wrists I slid the heart over his arm like a big bracelet. He blinked out of his wide eyed stare in surprise, staring at me in confusion.
I smiled and patted him on the head, “See you later.” I bent to scoop up my backpack and sling it over my shoulders.
“Wait.” He croaked, “Who are you?”
“No one.” I walked rapidly to the stairs.
He followed, clutching his metal heart and spitting out questions as fast as he could draw breathe, “What? Who? Where? How?” But when he set foot on the stairs I was gone. He took the stairs two at a time, trying to catch up but he was out of the library before he finally realized that I wasn’t there anymore. He craned his neck, wondering if he had just imagined the whole thing.
“Hey Josh!” someone called, startling him out of his thoughts.
“Ughh?” he replied intelligently
“The physics final is cancelled.”
His heart stopped in his throat, there was no way his worst final was cancelled, it had to be a joke, “No way.”
His friend nodded rapidly, “I know I thought the same thing, but Mr. Yolkavich was hit by a flying piece of metal at the library and had to go to the hospital.”
Josh winced, “Is he okay?”
“He’s fine, just a head thing or whatever. But who cares? No final!” And he ran off screaming the good news to any other classmates he could find.
Josh looked down at the bent metal in his hand.
“Thanks.”
-Meghan
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Doug: Just who's side are you on?
I'm depressed.
I just around six hours writing a paper about the Second Amendment. I picked the second amendment because I feel passionate about firearms, and think that Americans should have the right to own guns if they feel like it and are responsible citizens.
Turns out that the Second Amendment really doesn't provide any real legal wordage indicating that private citizens have the right to own firearms regardless of participation in state militas. I argued for everything I hate.
Turning in this paper is going to be the hardest thing I've ever done. I almost feel like throwing it in the trash, or permanantly deleting it.
But I can't. I know in my heart that I've presented a logical arguement. And that I'm right. There is no basis for private citizens being protected from state or even federal governments taking away their guns.
But there should be.
And I'm willing to fight for what I think should be a right.
So come get my gun. You're going to have to pry it from my cold dead fingers.
-Doug
"Go ahead. Make my day."
-Clint Eastwood
I just around six hours writing a paper about the Second Amendment. I picked the second amendment because I feel passionate about firearms, and think that Americans should have the right to own guns if they feel like it and are responsible citizens.
Turns out that the Second Amendment really doesn't provide any real legal wordage indicating that private citizens have the right to own firearms regardless of participation in state militas. I argued for everything I hate.
Turning in this paper is going to be the hardest thing I've ever done. I almost feel like throwing it in the trash, or permanantly deleting it.
But I can't. I know in my heart that I've presented a logical arguement. And that I'm right. There is no basis for private citizens being protected from state or even federal governments taking away their guns.
But there should be.
And I'm willing to fight for what I think should be a right.
So come get my gun. You're going to have to pry it from my cold dead fingers.
-Doug
"Go ahead. Make my day."
-Clint Eastwood
Saturday, April 17, 2010
Meghan: Teapot
This started out as a reply to Sarah's blog but became too long so it is reposted
It's late at night and Sarah is working calmly on her final pottery project. A passing freshman trips over a stray chord and falls onto Sarah's wheel, a hand landing directly on her beautiful teapot. Sarah looks calmly down at the warped remains of her work, then slowly back up to the freshman, who begins to sweat. Just as calmly she picks up her chibi knife and launches herself at the unfortunate clumsy one, slicing and hacking madly. When it is over she squeezes a handful of diced meat over a new lump of clay and begins to mold her project anew.
The next day Sarah’s teacher holds her project up to the light, exclaiming with joy.
“Sarah, how did you get these colors into your clay? It’s beautiful!”
Sarah just smiles widely and licks a spare flick of something reddish from her arm. (After spending all night working in the room there had been no time to go back home and wash off those pesky bloodstains).
In the years that followed Sarah would serve many a pot of tea from her bloody pot. It was always said that those who drunk from it developed a certain craving for meat…
-Meghan
It's late at night and Sarah is working calmly on her final pottery project. A passing freshman trips over a stray chord and falls onto Sarah's wheel, a hand landing directly on her beautiful teapot. Sarah looks calmly down at the warped remains of her work, then slowly back up to the freshman, who begins to sweat. Just as calmly she picks up her chibi knife and launches herself at the unfortunate clumsy one, slicing and hacking madly. When it is over she squeezes a handful of diced meat over a new lump of clay and begins to mold her project anew.
The next day Sarah’s teacher holds her project up to the light, exclaiming with joy.
“Sarah, how did you get these colors into your clay? It’s beautiful!”
Sarah just smiles widely and licks a spare flick of something reddish from her arm. (After spending all night working in the room there had been no time to go back home and wash off those pesky bloodstains).
In the years that followed Sarah would serve many a pot of tea from her bloody pot. It was always said that those who drunk from it developed a certain craving for meat…
-Meghan
Friday, April 16, 2010
Jasmine: Guy Fawkes Masks
Their faces where ghost-like, drawn thin and long reminiscent of Guy Fawkes masks, but more dead. They beat at me with spider like hands, each blow barely landing, but when their skin touched mine it stole my breath away, and it felt like it was stealing my soul. Little bit by bit sucking my soul through their soft dead fingers. I kicked out at them, and threw punches, and when they landed their faces and knee caps exploded in bloody horror. The villain would fall only to have an identical one replace them. There were always seven. It felt hopeless and I was getting weaker. No longer standing I kicked up at them lying on my back. I was in a narrow alley way that seemed to go on forever, no one there to help me or no one close.
Then I woke up. This was a very unsettling dream I wonder what it means.
Then I woke up. This was a very unsettling dream I wonder what it means.
Doug: I can't speak above a whisper now.
"GET IN MY OFFICE WOOD!"
"AYE AYE GUNNERY SERGEANT!"
"REPORT IN LIKE YOU'VE BEEN TOLD!"
"AYE AYE GUNNERY SERGEANT! MIDSHIPMAN WOOD REPORTING AS-"
"GET THE FUCK IN HERE. SHUT MY HATCH!"
"AYE AYE GUNNERY SERGEANT!"
"WHAT HAPPENED THIS MORNING WOOD? WHAT HAPPENED? WHY IS BULLDOG SO MESSED UP? WHY DO I HAVE SOME MIDSHIPMEN IN FULL FUCKING CAMMIES, AND SOME IN BOOTS AND UTES? READ THIS EMAIL WOOD! READ IT!"
"AYE AYE GUNNERY SERGEANT!
Bulldog,
Friday we will be wearing woodland MARPAT utility uniform with deuce gear (H-harness or LBV and canteens). We will be mustering at Denny field at 0630, running down to the Arboretum, and from there we will pick up rifles as well as ammo cans to conduct an endurance run through the Arboretum. We will drop the rifle and ammo can at the vans near the Arboretum after and run back to clark.
For Saturday's Field exercise, I will have a handout for all of you to look at regarding fire team basic tactics and hand and arm signals. Come see me Thursday afternoon to get this or after PT on Friday. I will also be giving a course to the freshmen on this during friday at 0830, 0930, 1030, and 1130. Anyone else is welcome to come.
Very Respectfully,
MIDN 1/C Bergman"
"IT SAID WE WERE PICKING UP THE RIFLES AT THE ARBORETUM, DIDN'T IT WOOD?"
"YES GUNNERY SERGEANT!"
"WELL WHY DID WE HAUL THEM ALL THE WAY FROM CLARK HALL TO THE ARBORETUM INSTEAD? THROUGH CIVILIAN AREAS?! .... WHY!!!!!?"
"NO EXCUSE GUNNERY SERGEANT!"
A dictionary slams into the wall by my head. I do not flinch.
"LOOK UP LEADERSHIP WOOD! TELL ME WHAT IT MEANS!"
"AYE AYE GUNNERY SERGEANT!" a mad scramble through pages.
"LEADERSHIP! NOUN! ONE: THE POSITION OR FUNCTION OF A LEADER! TWO: ABILITY TO LEAD! THREE: AN ACT OR INSTANCE OF LEADING! FOUR: THE LEADERS OF A GROUP!"
"THAT SOUND LIKE WHAT YOU DID THIS MORNING WOOD?!"
"NO GUNNERY SERGEANT!"
"ARE YOU FIT TO LEAD ME?!"
"NO GUNNERY SERGEANT!"
"DO YOU WANT TO BE FIT TO LEAD ME?"
"YES GUNNERY SERGEANT!" Almost a snarl.
"THEN FIGURE YOUR SHIT OUT WOOD! LEAD! YOU'RE THE PLATOON SERGEANT! UNIFORMITY IS ON YOU! MAKING SURE SHIT GOES DOWN CORRECTLY IS ON YOU!"
"YES GUNNERY SERGEANT!"
"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY OFFICE WOOD!"
"AYE AYE GUNNERY SERGEANT!"
Every time I do not break in front of this man, I count as a victory. I fucked up this morning. But I won the endgame.
-WOOD
"The bended knee is not the tradition of our Corps."
General Alexander A. Vandergrift, USMC 1946
"AYE AYE GUNNERY SERGEANT!"
"REPORT IN LIKE YOU'VE BEEN TOLD!"
"AYE AYE GUNNERY SERGEANT! MIDSHIPMAN WOOD REPORTING AS-"
"GET THE FUCK IN HERE. SHUT MY HATCH!"
"AYE AYE GUNNERY SERGEANT!"
"WHAT HAPPENED THIS MORNING WOOD? WHAT HAPPENED? WHY IS BULLDOG SO MESSED UP? WHY DO I HAVE SOME MIDSHIPMEN IN FULL FUCKING CAMMIES, AND SOME IN BOOTS AND UTES? READ THIS EMAIL WOOD! READ IT!"
"AYE AYE GUNNERY SERGEANT!
Bulldog,
Friday we will be wearing woodland MARPAT utility uniform with deuce gear (H-harness or LBV and canteens). We will be mustering at Denny field at 0630, running down to the Arboretum, and from there we will pick up rifles as well as ammo cans to conduct an endurance run through the Arboretum. We will drop the rifle and ammo can at the vans near the Arboretum after and run back to clark.
For Saturday's Field exercise, I will have a handout for all of you to look at regarding fire team basic tactics and hand and arm signals. Come see me Thursday afternoon to get this or after PT on Friday. I will also be giving a course to the freshmen on this during friday at 0830, 0930, 1030, and 1130. Anyone else is welcome to come.
Very Respectfully,
MIDN 1/C Bergman"
"IT SAID WE WERE PICKING UP THE RIFLES AT THE ARBORETUM, DIDN'T IT WOOD?"
"YES GUNNERY SERGEANT!"
"WELL WHY DID WE HAUL THEM ALL THE WAY FROM CLARK HALL TO THE ARBORETUM INSTEAD? THROUGH CIVILIAN AREAS?! .... WHY!!!!!?"
"NO EXCUSE GUNNERY SERGEANT!"
A dictionary slams into the wall by my head. I do not flinch.
"LOOK UP LEADERSHIP WOOD! TELL ME WHAT IT MEANS!"
"AYE AYE GUNNERY SERGEANT!" a mad scramble through pages.
"LEADERSHIP! NOUN! ONE: THE POSITION OR FUNCTION OF A LEADER! TWO: ABILITY TO LEAD! THREE: AN ACT OR INSTANCE OF LEADING! FOUR: THE LEADERS OF A GROUP!"
"THAT SOUND LIKE WHAT YOU DID THIS MORNING WOOD?!"
"NO GUNNERY SERGEANT!"
"ARE YOU FIT TO LEAD ME?!"
"NO GUNNERY SERGEANT!"
"DO YOU WANT TO BE FIT TO LEAD ME?"
"YES GUNNERY SERGEANT!" Almost a snarl.
"THEN FIGURE YOUR SHIT OUT WOOD! LEAD! YOU'RE THE PLATOON SERGEANT! UNIFORMITY IS ON YOU! MAKING SURE SHIT GOES DOWN CORRECTLY IS ON YOU!"
"YES GUNNERY SERGEANT!"
"GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY OFFICE WOOD!"
"AYE AYE GUNNERY SERGEANT!"
Every time I do not break in front of this man, I count as a victory. I fucked up this morning. But I won the endgame.
-WOOD
"The bended knee is not the tradition of our Corps."
General Alexander A. Vandergrift, USMC 1946
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Sarah: My Favorite Thing to Do
I held the exacto-knife in my hand. So small, so delicate, it remains the only knife to which I have any attachment at all. I flip it in my hand effortlessly. The tool, the weapon, is only an extension of myself. I apply just the right amound of pressure to create the most delicate, fine surgical slit. The dirt yields to my will. Changing and cleaning the blades brings me joy. I use it to transform my creations. Fluid, sensual, smooth - this art is the one thing for which I have a certain love and mastery.
Making something out of nothing.
This has so many meanings. It has become my mantra.
I create each piece from the one element that can be found all over the world twenty-four hours, twenty-four seven. Dust, earth, mud, aluminum silica, it has so many names. Blowing in the face of soldiers in Iraq, creeping in the corners of soccer mom's minivans, simultaneously present under ever Wonder of the World, it is something that is more prevalent than the ocean. It is my weapon. It is my medium. It is my life.
You don't have to be badass to make something badass.
Any great work of art... revives and readapts time and space, and the measure of its success is the extent to which it makes you an inhabitant of that world - the extent to which it invites you in and lets you breathe its strange, special air. ~Leonard Bernstein, What Makes Opera Grand?
Making something out of nothing.
This has so many meanings. It has become my mantra.
I create each piece from the one element that can be found all over the world twenty-four hours, twenty-four seven. Dust, earth, mud, aluminum silica, it has so many names. Blowing in the face of soldiers in Iraq, creeping in the corners of soccer mom's minivans, simultaneously present under ever Wonder of the World, it is something that is more prevalent than the ocean. It is my weapon. It is my medium. It is my life.
You don't have to be badass to make something badass.
Any great work of art... revives and readapts time and space, and the measure of its success is the extent to which it makes you an inhabitant of that world - the extent to which it invites you in and lets you breathe its strange, special air. ~Leonard Bernstein, What Makes Opera Grand?
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Meghan: Zombielicious
“Saaaaaraaaaah!!!” I called loudly at her apartment door, leaning against the security gate.
“She has a doorbell, you know.” Jasmine depressed the little button, causing a bell to ring somewhere inside.
“I prefer this method.” I gathered my lungs for another call, but before I could the apartment door opened releasing Sarah and her boyfriend Casey.
We were going to the movies. It was kind of an everyday thing, but the whole group plus sig ots (significant others) was showing up for this one, so tension levels were high. Sarah pushed open the gate and we walked to pile into my car. I eyed Sarah’s pale and sweating face.
“Sarah, are you okay?” Maybe it was just nerves? But it wasn’t that stressful of a situation…
“I’m fine,” She said, fanning strands of hair away from her face, “We were making aspirin in my chem class and I tried some this morning, I just feel a little sick.”
I blew out my cheeks and flipped through radio channels as I drove. Meh, it was probably nothing.
We got to the theatre where we met up with Doug, Abe, and Molly. Jasmine and I kissed Doug (to the confused looks of those around us). Sarah was eyeing the snack bar in a visciouse manner, so the rest of us left her and Casey to buy food while we got seats. The show had already started, so we filed quietly into a front row; neck craning sucked, but at least we could sit together. After a few minutes Sarah and Casey slipped in next to us. Sarah passed me a gummy worm and I licked the sugar that came with off my fingers. She and Jasmine leaned their heads on my shoulders and I leaned back happily to watch the movie. Sometime during the first gun fight, Sarah’s breath buzzed in my ear and I froze involuntarily at the sensation.
“You smell good.” She said as her nose barely traced the skin of my neck.
“Thank you?”
“I mean, really good, like…” She caught my wide eyed stare and pulled back with an embarrassed squeal, “I’m so sorry! I’m just so hungry.”
I laughed quietly, “It’s okay, eat candy please, not me.”
I turned my attention back to the movie and tried to understand what twists of the plot I hadn’t been paying attention to. I had just absorbed enough of the plot to realize the plot sucked when I heard sucking noises next to me. Really? I know the movie is bad but must we make out like rabid teenagers? I answered myself easily; yes, yes we should. I traced my fingers along Jasmine’s leg and kissed her cheek. Grinning, she turned to face me but as she turned her face froze and she made strangled, horrified noises. I stopped what I was doing and frowned at her, only to follow her gaze over my shoulder to Sarah. The bottom half of her face was painted in something dark that dripped down her neck and chest. Her hands shone darkly with the same stuff, but what was far more horrifying was Casey writhing in her lap. His lips and nose were gone, and from the strangled noises that he was making I’d say that the stumpy root protruding from his mouth wasn’t a whole tongue. His eyes rolled wildly in his head and his hands groped for something. In his pain he tore at Sarah’s hair and clothes but she didn’t seem to notice, she just bowed her head to the frantic pulse thumping in his throat.
“FUCK! HOLYFUCKINGSHIT—“ The stream of curses flew unbidden from my mouth as I scrambled over the seats in front of me faster than I’ve ever scrambled before. Yes, I should have been quieter, but I’d like to see you remain quiet in that situation. Jasmine scrambled right after me (possibly a few steps ahead) while Doug, Abe, and Molly, who had been sheltered from the sight by our bodies and the loud action noises of the movie, gaped. Sarah turned from her meal and focused white fogged eyes on them. It was the gut wrenching moan escaping her lips that caused Doug and Abe to spring into action, dragging Molly over the chairs with them. However they were too late to escape Sarah’s lunge and she fastened onto Molly’s ankle. Abe screamed in rage as Sarah shook his girlfriend’s ankle in her mouth like a puppy with a bone. He grabbed Sarah by the neck and tore her from Molly’s leg, hissing as she tore into his arm with her nails and gnawed on his knuckles. He heaved her away from him, into the crowd of fleeing movie-goers. Ignoring his bleeding fingers he knelt over Molly’s leg.
“Is she what I think she is?” He asked Doug quietly.
Doug looked into his eyes with horror. Abe clasped his hand and thumped his back, grinning.
“Well, it’s been fun.” He knelt by Molly again and kissed her forehead while she ground her teeth against the pain. Then he slid his fingers gently around her jaw and snapped her neck. He lay her down on the cold floor then turned to the crowds of bystanders that Sarah was savaging while we looked on in horror.
“Abe--!”
“Might as well go out with a bang.” He murmured quietly. And before we could stop him he was launching himself over the seats towards the violence.
“LEAVE!!” he called across the room as he seized the arms of a huge black man with half his face missing.
We hesitated; spellbound in the horror of the moment, but then another rattling gasp choked out from where we had been sitting as Casey clawed his way over the seats. Now we wanted to run. But as all my muscles screamed at me to flee licked my lips and stared at the strap of my purse hanging over my chair. I needed my car keys. Without stopping to think about it I tore towards the seats, feeling the relief of the purse in my hand and no jaws closing on my body parts. I slung it over my shoulder as I ran towards the glowing exit sign and the door that Doug held open for me. The door had just swung shut behind us when a gunshot tore through the late night air. We spun to see two cops pointing their quivering weapons at us. We tried to slowly edge away from the door we had just come through, but they were having none of it.
“Where you involved in the riot?” one of them asked.
We really needed to get out of here. Soon.
“No.” Doug said curtly, in his I-am-talking-to-authority voice.
Me, I just needed to get out of there, cops with guns were nothing compared to an army of the walking undead. My eyes rolled wildly in my head and I edged further from the door.
“Stop moving.” I was ordered. It was finally too much tension for me to take and tears flooded down my cheeks. Normally my body’s reaction to emotionally tense situations was beyond irritating, but now I would use anything I had.
“They’re in there!” I sobbed, waving at the exit door, “They have guns, knives, bombs, help us!” Maybe the bombs were a bit much, but one of the cops edged towards the door while the other kept his gun on us. We waited for the angry moans that inevitably came from the room followed by the policeman’s subsequent cursing and gun firing to make a break for it. But as we tore across the parking lot bullets ripped the air around us, as the panicked cop shot at the wrong people. Doug went down with a groan and blood dripping down his leg. I started to turn back but he rolled between rows of cars and yelled at me to bring the car back.
“Where’s the car, where’s the car…” I murmured hysterically under my breathe as I eyed the massive parking lot.
“You lost the car!?” Jasmine screamed at me as we ran.
“I did not lose it, I parked somewhere in this row!” I screamed back, “Or maybe that one. No, it’s that one!” I beeped open my long lost vehicle and we both jumped inside. Miraculously I didn’t hit any other vehicles as I peeled out of the parking space and zoomed towards Doug. Jasmine helped drag him into the backseat just as the undead movie watchers began making their way out of the theatre and into the streets. Jasmine wiped a hand across her forehead, streaking Doug’s blood across her face.
“The bullet’s too deep; it’ll probably have to come off.”
I clenched my jaw as I turned onto the freeway;
we were alive, but barely.
-Meghan
“She has a doorbell, you know.” Jasmine depressed the little button, causing a bell to ring somewhere inside.
“I prefer this method.” I gathered my lungs for another call, but before I could the apartment door opened releasing Sarah and her boyfriend Casey.
We were going to the movies. It was kind of an everyday thing, but the whole group plus sig ots (significant others) was showing up for this one, so tension levels were high. Sarah pushed open the gate and we walked to pile into my car. I eyed Sarah’s pale and sweating face.
“Sarah, are you okay?” Maybe it was just nerves? But it wasn’t that stressful of a situation…
“I’m fine,” She said, fanning strands of hair away from her face, “We were making aspirin in my chem class and I tried some this morning, I just feel a little sick.”
I blew out my cheeks and flipped through radio channels as I drove. Meh, it was probably nothing.
We got to the theatre where we met up with Doug, Abe, and Molly. Jasmine and I kissed Doug (to the confused looks of those around us). Sarah was eyeing the snack bar in a visciouse manner, so the rest of us left her and Casey to buy food while we got seats. The show had already started, so we filed quietly into a front row; neck craning sucked, but at least we could sit together. After a few minutes Sarah and Casey slipped in next to us. Sarah passed me a gummy worm and I licked the sugar that came with off my fingers. She and Jasmine leaned their heads on my shoulders and I leaned back happily to watch the movie. Sometime during the first gun fight, Sarah’s breath buzzed in my ear and I froze involuntarily at the sensation.
“You smell good.” She said as her nose barely traced the skin of my neck.
“Thank you?”
“I mean, really good, like…” She caught my wide eyed stare and pulled back with an embarrassed squeal, “I’m so sorry! I’m just so hungry.”
I laughed quietly, “It’s okay, eat candy please, not me.”
I turned my attention back to the movie and tried to understand what twists of the plot I hadn’t been paying attention to. I had just absorbed enough of the plot to realize the plot sucked when I heard sucking noises next to me. Really? I know the movie is bad but must we make out like rabid teenagers? I answered myself easily; yes, yes we should. I traced my fingers along Jasmine’s leg and kissed her cheek. Grinning, she turned to face me but as she turned her face froze and she made strangled, horrified noises. I stopped what I was doing and frowned at her, only to follow her gaze over my shoulder to Sarah. The bottom half of her face was painted in something dark that dripped down her neck and chest. Her hands shone darkly with the same stuff, but what was far more horrifying was Casey writhing in her lap. His lips and nose were gone, and from the strangled noises that he was making I’d say that the stumpy root protruding from his mouth wasn’t a whole tongue. His eyes rolled wildly in his head and his hands groped for something. In his pain he tore at Sarah’s hair and clothes but she didn’t seem to notice, she just bowed her head to the frantic pulse thumping in his throat.
“FUCK! HOLYFUCKINGSHIT—“ The stream of curses flew unbidden from my mouth as I scrambled over the seats in front of me faster than I’ve ever scrambled before. Yes, I should have been quieter, but I’d like to see you remain quiet in that situation. Jasmine scrambled right after me (possibly a few steps ahead) while Doug, Abe, and Molly, who had been sheltered from the sight by our bodies and the loud action noises of the movie, gaped. Sarah turned from her meal and focused white fogged eyes on them. It was the gut wrenching moan escaping her lips that caused Doug and Abe to spring into action, dragging Molly over the chairs with them. However they were too late to escape Sarah’s lunge and she fastened onto Molly’s ankle. Abe screamed in rage as Sarah shook his girlfriend’s ankle in her mouth like a puppy with a bone. He grabbed Sarah by the neck and tore her from Molly’s leg, hissing as she tore into his arm with her nails and gnawed on his knuckles. He heaved her away from him, into the crowd of fleeing movie-goers. Ignoring his bleeding fingers he knelt over Molly’s leg.
“Is she what I think she is?” He asked Doug quietly.
Doug looked into his eyes with horror. Abe clasped his hand and thumped his back, grinning.
“Well, it’s been fun.” He knelt by Molly again and kissed her forehead while she ground her teeth against the pain. Then he slid his fingers gently around her jaw and snapped her neck. He lay her down on the cold floor then turned to the crowds of bystanders that Sarah was savaging while we looked on in horror.
“Abe--!”
“Might as well go out with a bang.” He murmured quietly. And before we could stop him he was launching himself over the seats towards the violence.
“LEAVE!!” he called across the room as he seized the arms of a huge black man with half his face missing.
We hesitated; spellbound in the horror of the moment, but then another rattling gasp choked out from where we had been sitting as Casey clawed his way over the seats. Now we wanted to run. But as all my muscles screamed at me to flee licked my lips and stared at the strap of my purse hanging over my chair. I needed my car keys. Without stopping to think about it I tore towards the seats, feeling the relief of the purse in my hand and no jaws closing on my body parts. I slung it over my shoulder as I ran towards the glowing exit sign and the door that Doug held open for me. The door had just swung shut behind us when a gunshot tore through the late night air. We spun to see two cops pointing their quivering weapons at us. We tried to slowly edge away from the door we had just come through, but they were having none of it.
“Where you involved in the riot?” one of them asked.
We really needed to get out of here. Soon.
“No.” Doug said curtly, in his I-am-talking-to-authority voice.
Me, I just needed to get out of there, cops with guns were nothing compared to an army of the walking undead. My eyes rolled wildly in my head and I edged further from the door.
“Stop moving.” I was ordered. It was finally too much tension for me to take and tears flooded down my cheeks. Normally my body’s reaction to emotionally tense situations was beyond irritating, but now I would use anything I had.
“They’re in there!” I sobbed, waving at the exit door, “They have guns, knives, bombs, help us!” Maybe the bombs were a bit much, but one of the cops edged towards the door while the other kept his gun on us. We waited for the angry moans that inevitably came from the room followed by the policeman’s subsequent cursing and gun firing to make a break for it. But as we tore across the parking lot bullets ripped the air around us, as the panicked cop shot at the wrong people. Doug went down with a groan and blood dripping down his leg. I started to turn back but he rolled between rows of cars and yelled at me to bring the car back.
“Where’s the car, where’s the car…” I murmured hysterically under my breathe as I eyed the massive parking lot.
“You lost the car!?” Jasmine screamed at me as we ran.
“I did not lose it, I parked somewhere in this row!” I screamed back, “Or maybe that one. No, it’s that one!” I beeped open my long lost vehicle and we both jumped inside. Miraculously I didn’t hit any other vehicles as I peeled out of the parking space and zoomed towards Doug. Jasmine helped drag him into the backseat just as the undead movie watchers began making their way out of the theatre and into the streets. Jasmine wiped a hand across her forehead, streaking Doug’s blood across her face.
“The bullet’s too deep; it’ll probably have to come off.”
I clenched my jaw as I turned onto the freeway;
we were alive, but barely.
-Meghan
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Doug: The Illusion of Safety
So. My school had a power outage last night.
I’m not talking a flickering of the lights. I’m talking, tree falls on power line, transformer blows up, the entire grid goes dark for close to an hour. That kind of power outage.
I’m in bed, and my phone surges and lights up. My printer makes a funny noise and dies; the clock light next to my bed disappears. A god-awful explosion echoes in the street outside.
You can almost count to three in your head before the frat boys begin screaming incoherently. I roll out of bed and move to the window, peeking out. No lights visible in sight. I check my phone; it still works, so The Change hasn’t happened.
I throw on some pants and head into the hallway to check on the roomies. They’re fine. It’s still a madhouse outside. Screams, male and female, fill the air like it’s Mardi Gras. Fee’s using her phone as a light, and I remember I have a flashlight. Flicking it on, I recon the outside.
There are people running up and down 45th and 17th. It looks like the power’s out on everything east and north of us, but the main city is fine. The Greeks are setting off fireworks, some mortar shells, nothing too impressive. Things are loud, but not out of hand. Because I have drill in the morning, I go home and head back to bed after loading the AR. Can’t be too careful.
6 hours later I’m staring at a newspaper with a massive picture of a bonfire, captioned “UW students hold Midnight Bonfire During Power Outage.”
Apparently, the Greeks decided that because there were no lights on they could do whatever they liked, so a block away from my apartment a massive bonfire fed by mattresses, couches, and any other detritus they could get their hands on was created sometime around 1230. At approximately 1 am the police showed up, but not in enough force to stop the madness. At around 1:20 am, Fifty cops in Riot gear materialized out of the darkness with a fire truck. By 2, the show was over and people had gone back to bed.
This would be funny if I wasn’t thinking about what would happen if something serious occurred. Say all the power goes out, and the cops are tied up somewhere else? Would that bonfire have gotten out of hand and burned down Greek row? Possibly. Is a power outage all it takes for college students to go all “Lord of the Flies”?
I mean, we’re all civilized. Right?
-Doug
"'I should have thought that a pack of British boys... would have been able to put up a better show than that.'"
- William Golding, Lord of the Flies, Chapter 12
I’m not talking a flickering of the lights. I’m talking, tree falls on power line, transformer blows up, the entire grid goes dark for close to an hour. That kind of power outage.
I’m in bed, and my phone surges and lights up. My printer makes a funny noise and dies; the clock light next to my bed disappears. A god-awful explosion echoes in the street outside.
You can almost count to three in your head before the frat boys begin screaming incoherently. I roll out of bed and move to the window, peeking out. No lights visible in sight. I check my phone; it still works, so The Change hasn’t happened.
I throw on some pants and head into the hallway to check on the roomies. They’re fine. It’s still a madhouse outside. Screams, male and female, fill the air like it’s Mardi Gras. Fee’s using her phone as a light, and I remember I have a flashlight. Flicking it on, I recon the outside.
There are people running up and down 45th and 17th. It looks like the power’s out on everything east and north of us, but the main city is fine. The Greeks are setting off fireworks, some mortar shells, nothing too impressive. Things are loud, but not out of hand. Because I have drill in the morning, I go home and head back to bed after loading the AR. Can’t be too careful.
6 hours later I’m staring at a newspaper with a massive picture of a bonfire, captioned “UW students hold Midnight Bonfire During Power Outage.”
Apparently, the Greeks decided that because there were no lights on they could do whatever they liked, so a block away from my apartment a massive bonfire fed by mattresses, couches, and any other detritus they could get their hands on was created sometime around 1230. At approximately 1 am the police showed up, but not in enough force to stop the madness. At around 1:20 am, Fifty cops in Riot gear materialized out of the darkness with a fire truck. By 2, the show was over and people had gone back to bed.
This would be funny if I wasn’t thinking about what would happen if something serious occurred. Say all the power goes out, and the cops are tied up somewhere else? Would that bonfire have gotten out of hand and burned down Greek row? Possibly. Is a power outage all it takes for college students to go all “Lord of the Flies”?
I mean, we’re all civilized. Right?
-Doug
"'I should have thought that a pack of British boys... would have been able to put up a better show than that.'"
- William Golding, Lord of the Flies, Chapter 12
Monday, April 5, 2010
Jasmine: Stephanie posted this and I thought it was awesome
One day the old German Shepherd starts chasing rabbits and before long, discovers that he's lost. Wandering about, he notices a panther heading rapidly in his direction with the intention of having lunch.
The old German Shepherd thinks, 'Oh, oh! I'm in deep doo-doo now!' Noticing some bones on the ground close by, he immediately settles down to chew on the bones with his back to the approaching cat. Just as the panther is about to leap, the old German Shepherd exclaims loudly, 'Boy, that was one delicious panther! I wonder, if there are any more around here?'
Hearing this, the young panther halts his attack in mid-strike, a look of terror comes over him and he slinks away into the trees. 'Whew!' says the panther, 'That was close! That old German Shepherd nearly had me!'
Meanwhile, a squirrel who had been watching the whole scene from a nearby tree, figures he can put this knowledge to good use and trade it for protection from the panther. So, off he goes, but the old German Shepherd sees him heading after the panther with great speed, and figures that something must be up.
The squirrel soon catches up with the panther, spills the beans and strikes a deal for himself with the panther.
The young panther is furious at being made a fool of and says, 'Here, squirrel, hop on my back and see what's going to happen to that conniving canine!
Now, the old German Shepherd sees the panther coming with the squirrel on his back and thinks, 'What am I going to do now?', but instead of running, the dog sits down with his back to his attackers, pretending he hasn't seen them yet, and just when they get close enough to hear, the old German Shepherd says...
'Where's that squirrel? I sent him off an hour ago to bring me another panther!
Moral of this story...
Don't mess with the old dogs... Age and skill will always overcome youth and treachery!
BS and brilliance only come with age and experience.
Of course, I am in no way insinuating that any of you are old, some are just more 'youthfully challenged'.
You did notice the size of the print, didn't you?
The old German Shepherd thinks, 'Oh, oh! I'm in deep doo-doo now!' Noticing some bones on the ground close by, he immediately settles down to chew on the bones with his back to the approaching cat. Just as the panther is about to leap, the old German Shepherd exclaims loudly, 'Boy, that was one delicious panther! I wonder, if there are any more around here?'
Hearing this, the young panther halts his attack in mid-strike, a look of terror comes over him and he slinks away into the trees. 'Whew!' says the panther, 'That was close! That old German Shepherd nearly had me!'
Meanwhile, a squirrel who had been watching the whole scene from a nearby tree, figures he can put this knowledge to good use and trade it for protection from the panther. So, off he goes, but the old German Shepherd sees him heading after the panther with great speed, and figures that something must be up.
The squirrel soon catches up with the panther, spills the beans and strikes a deal for himself with the panther.
The young panther is furious at being made a fool of and says, 'Here, squirrel, hop on my back and see what's going to happen to that conniving canine!
Now, the old German Shepherd sees the panther coming with the squirrel on his back and thinks, 'What am I going to do now?', but instead of running, the dog sits down with his back to his attackers, pretending he hasn't seen them yet, and just when they get close enough to hear, the old German Shepherd says...
'Where's that squirrel? I sent him off an hour ago to bring me another panther!
Moral of this story...
Don't mess with the old dogs... Age and skill will always overcome youth and treachery!
BS and brilliance only come with age and experience.
Of course, I am in no way insinuating that any of you are old, some are just more 'youthfully challenged'.
You did notice the size of the print, didn't you?
Meghan: Pollen fall
I wound a scarf around my mouth and nose, breathing in the sweet, slightly dusty smell of oranges. Quickly, so I didn’t let any of the fall in, I unlocked my door and slipped out. The world had turned silent overnight, muffled in the dusty cover of pollen. My tennis shoes scuffed through the thick layer on the street, leaving a trail of footprints behind me. My footsteps stirred the settled pollen, raising it in swirls of yellow that stuck to my arms and legs, settled in my hair and dusted my eyebrows. I squinted through the clouds, making my way slowly along the empty streets. Cars were parked aimlessly, their windows grimed hopelessly with yellow dust. I stopped to draw swirling patterns on one, only to see them quickly covered as I walked away. I continued on my way, slinging my bag higher on my shoulder and peering around blindly. A lump in the road ahead made me hesitate, and when I heard it coughing thinly I ran towards it. I knelt beside the man curled in the street and cursed his stupidity. People with allergies and lung problems were ordered to stay inside during the fall, what was this idiot doing in the streets? His coughs rattled nastily in his chest and I hesitated, not wanting to lose my scant protection, before I took off my scarf and wrapped it around his mouth and nose. Trying to breathe in the clogged air around me, I hoisted him to his feet and towed him along with me. The store I had been heading for was close by, we could probably make it.
Once inside the nearby convenience store, I gestured to the owner for a cup of water while my companion collapsed on the ground. I snatched my scarf back and growled at him,
“What were you thinking? Why aren’t you inside?”
He paused in his coughing to spit out, “I thought I could make it.”
I grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled his head back so I could examine the color of his eyes. Brown, both of them, not the slightest trace of a lighter color.
I released him with a sigh, “You have no Walker in you, why would you go out? You could have died.”
“My kid is sick.” He spat something yellow and nasty on the floor and the store owner eyed him in irritation, “I had no choice.”
“Then you ask your neighbor.” I said in exasperation, “Or your neighbor’s neighbor, or whoever your nearest Walker is.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
His jaw clenched, “They’ll have nothing to do with us, I asked them to walk for me, but they said I’d have to pay.”
I twitched my lips in irritation, I had heard of this new practice, but I liked to think that extracting money from helpless asthmatics was beneath me. Most of them gave me blankets they had made, or discounts at their stores during off season, or something like that; it worked out.
“Where do you live? I’ll walk you.” I said, before I could rethink it. He gave me an address and I whistled, impressed that he had made it this far without keeling over. Well technically he had keeled over, but he still made it far. We circled the store and bought the things we had come for; then set out into the pollen fall again. I wasn’t looking forward to the walk, but I could only hope there’d be an errant Walker for me to beat into righteousness at the end of it.
-Meghan
Once inside the nearby convenience store, I gestured to the owner for a cup of water while my companion collapsed on the ground. I snatched my scarf back and growled at him,
“What were you thinking? Why aren’t you inside?”
He paused in his coughing to spit out, “I thought I could make it.”
I grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled his head back so I could examine the color of his eyes. Brown, both of them, not the slightest trace of a lighter color.
I released him with a sigh, “You have no Walker in you, why would you go out? You could have died.”
“My kid is sick.” He spat something yellow and nasty on the floor and the store owner eyed him in irritation, “I had no choice.”
“Then you ask your neighbor.” I said in exasperation, “Or your neighbor’s neighbor, or whoever your nearest Walker is.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
His jaw clenched, “They’ll have nothing to do with us, I asked them to walk for me, but they said I’d have to pay.”
I twitched my lips in irritation, I had heard of this new practice, but I liked to think that extracting money from helpless asthmatics was beneath me. Most of them gave me blankets they had made, or discounts at their stores during off season, or something like that; it worked out.
“Where do you live? I’ll walk you.” I said, before I could rethink it. He gave me an address and I whistled, impressed that he had made it this far without keeling over. Well technically he had keeled over, but he still made it far. We circled the store and bought the things we had come for; then set out into the pollen fall again. I wasn’t looking forward to the walk, but I could only hope there’d be an errant Walker for me to beat into righteousness at the end of it.
-Meghan
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Jasmine: Easter Bunnies
Jarrod hated this holiday more than any other. With its baskets full of colored plastic grass and animal shaped chocolates Easter was the bane of his existence and he cursed god and his son that it came around at all even if it was only once a year. You see some supernaturals, most of them, get really cool powers, like I can read minds, Abe’s skin is invulnerable to damage, Doug can breathe underwater, Meghan’s a vampire, whatever that means, and Sarah gets all A’s. We’re all really impressive. Jarrod, He’s a wererabbit. Once a month the moon rises full and Jarrod’s flesh splits, his bones break, and his body bleeds itself into a tiny fluffy white bunny, with adorable floppy bunny ears. He’s just the sweetest little thing but he hates it and everything associated with it. Like Easter.
For Jarrod, and everyone who knows him, the beginning of Lent signals a dark time. In school it was because of the pranks. Being a werebunny around Easter is like wearing a blinking red sign that says “MOCK ME!” and people did. I admit there was one bunny shaped peep that may or may not have made it from my house to Jarrod’s backpack, but it was only the one. Jarrod’s suffering was constant, every day someone decorated his locker in pastel pinks and greens, he was pulling that plastic grass out of places I prefer to think Jarrod didn’t have. In every class he would get some chocolate egg or hollow bunny. Even when it’s not spring Jarrod still won’t touch chocolate, he says it reminds him of the bad times. On the other side none of his friends ever had to buy Easter gifts. By Easter he’d always been “gifted” enough loot to fashion a themed float in a parade.
To make it worse when a wereanimal is put under enough stress sometimes they will change involuntarily. It became a game to make Jarrod angry or frustrated enough that he would shift into that lovable little ball of fluff, and there were several incidents up until the tenth grade. In that year the taunts and goodies were just as prevalent as ever. It was about a week before Easter and only two days before the full moon and there was some kid, some big dumb jock whose name I don’t even remember now, and he was teasing Jarrod about having a fuzzy asshole, or something. Jarrod’s thoughts were starting to slip away from me, you see I can only read human minds and when a wereanimal changes their minds are no longer human. So I tried to pull him away from the action, to try and save the situation but it was already too late. Jarrod’s arm had already turned to white fur beneath my hand, his head began sprouting huge fluffy white ears. And a round furry ball had burst out of the back of his pants. But he didn’t shrink. He stayed Jarrod sized just became bunny shaped with long sharp bunny claws and two terrifyingly large front teeth dripping with saliva. One minute I was holding onto a furry Jarrod arm, and the next he had leapt atop the bullying Jock and was tearing into his neck with those teeth. The hallway stood in shock not knowing what to do until security came in and shot him up with tranquilizers.
The kid Jarrod attacked healed, he was a werewolf and they tend to do that. But Jarrod was not the same. He still turns into that tiny little bunny but once a year around Easter he now turns into a huge monstrous rabbit with wild eyes and a hunger for flesh. Jarrod also doesn’t hate Easter anymore. He loves it. He throws wild Easter parties with chocolate fountains and bunny shaped cakes. Other wererabbits have come to see him, some of them have come quite far. You see in every generation there is only one chosen among all wererabbits to be the Easter Bunny.
For Jarrod, and everyone who knows him, the beginning of Lent signals a dark time. In school it was because of the pranks. Being a werebunny around Easter is like wearing a blinking red sign that says “MOCK ME!” and people did. I admit there was one bunny shaped peep that may or may not have made it from my house to Jarrod’s backpack, but it was only the one. Jarrod’s suffering was constant, every day someone decorated his locker in pastel pinks and greens, he was pulling that plastic grass out of places I prefer to think Jarrod didn’t have. In every class he would get some chocolate egg or hollow bunny. Even when it’s not spring Jarrod still won’t touch chocolate, he says it reminds him of the bad times. On the other side none of his friends ever had to buy Easter gifts. By Easter he’d always been “gifted” enough loot to fashion a themed float in a parade.
To make it worse when a wereanimal is put under enough stress sometimes they will change involuntarily. It became a game to make Jarrod angry or frustrated enough that he would shift into that lovable little ball of fluff, and there were several incidents up until the tenth grade. In that year the taunts and goodies were just as prevalent as ever. It was about a week before Easter and only two days before the full moon and there was some kid, some big dumb jock whose name I don’t even remember now, and he was teasing Jarrod about having a fuzzy asshole, or something. Jarrod’s thoughts were starting to slip away from me, you see I can only read human minds and when a wereanimal changes their minds are no longer human. So I tried to pull him away from the action, to try and save the situation but it was already too late. Jarrod’s arm had already turned to white fur beneath my hand, his head began sprouting huge fluffy white ears. And a round furry ball had burst out of the back of his pants. But he didn’t shrink. He stayed Jarrod sized just became bunny shaped with long sharp bunny claws and two terrifyingly large front teeth dripping with saliva. One minute I was holding onto a furry Jarrod arm, and the next he had leapt atop the bullying Jock and was tearing into his neck with those teeth. The hallway stood in shock not knowing what to do until security came in and shot him up with tranquilizers.
The kid Jarrod attacked healed, he was a werewolf and they tend to do that. But Jarrod was not the same. He still turns into that tiny little bunny but once a year around Easter he now turns into a huge monstrous rabbit with wild eyes and a hunger for flesh. Jarrod also doesn’t hate Easter anymore. He loves it. He throws wild Easter parties with chocolate fountains and bunny shaped cakes. Other wererabbits have come to see him, some of them have come quite far. You see in every generation there is only one chosen among all wererabbits to be the Easter Bunny.
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