Pepper Spray and Protests

There comes a time that when the government becomes too big for its proverbial britches. When this happens, it is the citizens duty to rise up and remind the government who they work for. Peaceful protests and outrage, channeled appropriately are some of the tools in the arsenal against tyranny potentially overtaking our system of government.

I have been a part of protests in Boston and Washington D.C. I have made use of my constitutional rights in fighting against laws that would impede on my rights and the rights of others on issues that affect many on a grand scale. I have sat in protest, joining arms with others, been told to move, had red water thrown at me and marched until I couldn’t feel my feet anymore. I’ve spoken with priests on both sides of issues I marched for, and gotten perspective that I couldn’t without these acts of social outrage.

For those of you that know me personally, you know about the following. I am from a conservative family, led by a powerful woman whom has now passed from our lives. My grandfather, uncle, and now my cousin have proudly served in the United States military. Not one of the members of my family is quiet. We all have strong opinions and no one can change that. I am the newest generation of this proud family, to take to the issues, and do what I can to make life better for myself and those around me. 

That being said, I write this in complete outrage of situations occurring in California. At the University of California at Davis, a campus police office sprayed a line of students with pepper spray, while they sat, arms linked in protest. What they are protesting, and why they were there is irrelevant to me. They align with the recent Occupy movements that have been taking place, so tuition and the general disarray of our economy.

There is something distinctly disturbing about the chemical attack on the students. These officers are there to protect and serve. Protect and serve the citizens that employ them. They, like the government, step out of line from time to time, and must be put back into line. I respect the officers and those that exemplify the best that the system has to offer. I however cannot imagine, being in front of a line of protesters that sat peacefully and spraying them down.

I can not adequately express the poor taste left in my mouth by this situation. I can however say that this will not be the last time we hear about this situation, or situations like it. Riots are breaking out all over the world. The world has declared war on it’s governments, sometimes with very little catalyst. Today, I ask you to take a hard look at what’s important to you. Our fathers, grandfathers, and complete strangers fought to give us these freedoms and protect them. What are you doing to preserve your rights? 

From the Desk of A Mad Scientist

Greetings and Salutations,

While I am aware of the formalities expected towards this prestigious council, I will be keeping this in plain common for those within the council walls that may in fact be more brawn than anything else. Your demands on the scientific community have been oppressive at best, of late.

This is being brought to your attention, not because of the new chairperson overseeing the development of weaponry and the like, due to the fact that, suddenly, three of my minions have turned up dead. Now, I would like to blame the forces of good, and chalk it up to an unfortunate casualty of the business but the evidence otherwise is a bit too overwhelming to point fingers elsewhere. Ms. Raven’s instruments of death have been well categorized by myself and my colleagues, noting the specifics of the poisons she uses in an effort to make them look natural within most the human species. These same poisons were found within one of my minion’s circulatory system. I’ve done some preliminary investigating on my own, suspicions being followed before revenge was approved by the council. In a in-person follow-up, I’ll present all of the findings.

For now, however, I’d like to place my name in for the replacement of the talented Crimson Raven, our current chairperson. Below is a copy of my resume, including all the of the contraptions and gadgets that I’ve supplied over my 15 year stint with the council, including some freelance work. The highlights however, include my current project, a dragon automaton, with fire ‘breath’ that can shoot , on a full fuel tank, up to 100 feet of flame, and can perform tasks up to the cognitive level of that of a young child, through some dynamic programming and a little ingenuity. This stunning piece of work is one of a kind and currently going through our patent office. The client, who generously provided the materials and funds; chooses to remain nameless has provided thorough documentation on his/her alignment.

Oh, this all seems suspicious, you say? Too many things starting to point the bony finger my way? Adorable, that your childish minds cannot comprehend someone who takes the initiative to submit a report, perform an autopsy, and recommend oneself for the soon to be vacant position. Though you would be right to investigate, those that are veterans to the Council will vouch for my abilities in that given arena. I don’t kill. My creations do. Poisons are for people who want to watch the slow decline of a victim. I prefer a hands off approach. Something more… inventive. Less old-lady-killer-esque.

I look forward to your quick reply. I’ll have my lasers aimed towards the sky. Do be so kind to try to sneak up this time. The minions need the target practice.

Gracious Send Off,

Erik A. Mathhers

Mad Scientist Extraordinaire
Tinkerer, Inventor, et al. 

Inkwell Recap for 8/01/2011 : A Guest Speaker

Good Monday All!

Hello and welcome to the first Inkwell Recap in a .. month or so. That's partially my fault, with being completely and utterly creatively exhausted with my attempts at the first attempt at Camp NaNo eating up all that my muse could offer, and it wasn't enough. That is to say, my first months' attempt failed completely and utterly. That however is neither here nor there. This is about what went down at Inkwell tonight.

Zack, one of our younger members, and easily one of the more talented, offered his views on the writing process and his helpful tips, along with the writing exercise I'll provide you with at the bottom of this entry. His advice was insightful and above all gave all the writers permission to suck. Look, this isn't new advice, but to someone, somewhere it's actually fairly radical. The ability to let yourself suck in order to get your first draft out is something that not a lot of writers allow, or even let themselves do. Below is the video to the Vlog Brothers entry by Maureen Johnson, a well known author in the YA Genre.



In addition to this bit of insight, he offered a writing challenge that has been deemed one of the hardest to do given the subject matter and the delicacy with which it has to be handled. With that being said, I leave you with the classic T.S. Eliot/John Gardner writing prompt.

This exercise is quite possibly the most difficult, demanding and important exercise a writer can ever do. The poet and critic, T. S. Eliot, coined the phrase “objective correlative” to designate what he believed was the most important element in writing: Rendering the description of an object so that the emotional state of the character from whose point of view we receive the description is revealed WITHOUT ever telling the reader what that emotional state is or what has motivated it.

The late John Gardner, recognized in his lifetime as the leading creative writing teacher in the United States, developed the following exercise for students:

A middle-age man is waiting at a bus stop. He has just learned that his son has died violently. Describe the setting from the man’s point of view WITHOUT telling your reader what has happened. How will the street look to this man? What are the sounds? Odors? Colors? That this man will notice? What will his clothes feel like? Write a 250 word description

Respond with your flash fiction in the comments section if you feel so compelled. This was my response.

I sat, cell phone dropping from my hands in perceived slow motion. I had no strength. Nothing left within me to propel me forward; to get me to care about what was going on. The air was silent and the music that played a continuous theme to my life seemed to come crashing to a halt, jumbled up behind the last sentence I had heard. A screech filled the deadened air and I looked up, seeing a bus pull towards the curb. I glanced to my side at the man sitting with me on the bench. He was saying something. What I couldn’t tell, but from the lip movement, he seemed to be asking if I was ok. I shook my head; in a sort of gesture I could hear him. His ragged gloves hand, gripped my shoulder and I looked to where the cell phone had fallen. I went to go pick it up and someone handed it to me, their cool blue eyes meeting my own. All at once, the noises of the day to day world came rushing back. The cars, the voices of the people around me, and my wife’s voice on the other end of the cell phone, seeing if I was still there. It had started off like any other day, and now the world seemed to have settled into cooler shades of black and grey. The concrete seemed darker, and the bus that pulled up in front of the stop wasn’t its normal vibrant blue. The sour smells of the city, seemed more pungent. The sky had clouded over, shadowing all that surrounded, as if to echo my mood. The whoosh of the doors to the bus opened with a gust of air, blowing what was left of my hair backwards.

“All aboard, last stop approaching” The shock of the moment seemed to wear off and in that moment I simply cried. Collapsed onto the bench and cried. This street would be forever changed.

Preview of My Camp NaNo Project : Aurona and Eiji

“Good morning, sweetie.” A soft voice purred from the doorway. Aurona yawned and pulled the sheets over her head. "Come on. Time to go to work, doll." A pair of cool, soft hands slid under the blanket to her sides.

"What the shit are you doing?!" Aurona shot up, screaming frowning at the girl that sat on their bed. The girl had blue hair and blue eyes and looked as innocent as one could, while having plotted this the whole time. Aurona rubbed her eyes and frowned, letting her arms drop into her lap. The girls own brown hair hung by her shoulders, a piece of it sticking up into the air, courtesy of a cowlick. The blue haired girl smirked and shook her head.

"Auri, you have to go to work."

"Ugh. Why do you keep saying that? Oh wait, because I pay the rent." She stood and shook her head, pulling her hair back into a quick pony tail, grabbing a towel and heading to the bathroom. The blue haired girl looked down on the bed and sighed, letting her shoulders slide , drawing a small heart into the covers. She stood and walked to the doorway. The silence that hung in the air for the minutes between spoke volumes that the two didn't ever acknowledge.

It wasn't that Aurona didn't love Eijin. She did. The girl was wonderful and above all else, could keep pace with her, in more than one arena. The sad truth was that Eijin wasn't pulling her weight and hadn't been for months. It was wearing on 'Aurona's' last nerve. She looked out the window in the bathroom, seeing a rainbow, and letting a small smile and a breath of release pass her lips. The shower calmed her more than she knew that she needed. Eijin sat in the kitchen, letting a cup of coffee go cold, as she too starred out the window. Aurona sighed and pulled out the chair across from her.

"Look, Eijin..."

"No, you look Aurona. I've been looking. There aren't very many carrier positions left out there and honestly I'm not good at much else." She sighed and for a moment her normally happy blue eyes reflected the sad truth that surrounded them.

"You don't have to worry about it. I'll just... deal." Aurona said and sighed looking out the window, hoping one of those distant clouds would hold the answer the two women sought after. The sadness seemed to take over as Aurona stood, kissed Eijin's forehead and walked to the bedroom to get ready for the day.

On Writers Block and Having It

There comes a time in every writers life, where all the inspiration in the world could come and slap us straight in the face and it still wouldn't help. 'There it was! The greatest idea your muse ever put in your lap...' *silence* '...and there it goes'.

The terrible truth of the matter is that the wall that slams down between our imagination and our fingers is crippling. It seems that the disconnect itself is the very thing that will sap away our life energies. Ok, maybe it's just me. Running a writing group and writing your next great novel takes time, energy and creativity, all of which leave when writers block hits.

Because pictures of cats on the internet fix everything...

Now I've written seminars on how to ease the strain of writers black, delivered a few dozen from it's grasp, and routinely try to find ways to spur on others muses; even when my own is out of the office. Today and the last week or so has just not been one of those times.

Come back later this evening for a bit of fiction, that has been a long time in coming...

~Jessi

Skeletons in the Closet

There are phrases that cause me to roll my eyes, and others that give me pause. The phrase 'skeletons in the closet' will never have the same, innocent connotations again. I sit writing this from the diner down the street of my new home. Why you ask? Just sit tight. I'm more than willing to tell you.

I signed the last of my paperwork sitting in the dining room of my new-old Victorian. The home was 75 years old, and looked like nothing had been changed in it since. The wallpaper had aged, light rose color with floral patterns adorned the room. There was a certain charm to the old place, though the wallpaper and the rugs would need to be torn out, I thought silently assessing the room while the lawyer looked over the paperwork.

"Ok. Looks like it's all set. I don't understand why the hell you wanted this place." James furrowed his brow and tapped the paperwork back into a nice neat little pile. I just laughed and stood, looking out the window in the backyard.

"The views are amazing. Besides, who wouldn't want this place?" I mused and tried to open the window. It was stuck due to humidity and I rubbed the back of my head, making a mental note to change out the windows. I heard a soft chuckle from the table, watching my failed attempt.

"Someone with a bad shoulder." James mused and tucked the papers into his briefcase.

"And I'm the egotistical one? You don't have to make this all about you..." I joked and rubbed my shoulder, looking over to my lawyer, watching him laugh a little while he straightened his tie.

"I'm sure you'll love it here, you crazy bastard." James managed and looked towards the front door. He'd been creeped out by the place since I brought him here months ago. I kept telling him about my vision and my plans for the writing nooks, and the wine cellar and all of it. He didn't see it. Any of it. I turned away from my window and gestured him towards the door.

"I will. Tonight's the first night here. The reno crews come in tomorrow first thing in the morning." I smiled and opened the front door, taking in the fresh air of spring that washed through. James nodded and looked at his watch.

"Indeed. Want to grab a drink tomorrow? The wife wants me home early tonight, but she's out with her sister tomorrow."

"Yeah sounds good." I shook his hand and the lawyer left for the night. I went back inside, ordered a pizza and went to bed for the night.

The next morning came with no indication that things were about to take a gruesome turn. The crew arrived and I laid out the plans on the table, the guys placing their equipment down on the covered hardwood floors. The inspectors were going through making sure all the closets and what not were empty so they could begin. I'd be handing over my keys and not seeing the place again for a month while they worked.

"What the fuck?!" I heard resound from the basement. The crew chief frowned and led me downstairs to see what the commotion was about.

"Is this some sort of joke?!" The older Hispanic man looked at me like I'd killed his only dog. He stood back, still keeping his gaze on me and the chief and I stepped forward. I gasped. Inside of a concealed closet sat the skeleton of someone, but definitely a person. I reached for the cell phone in my pocket and dialed 9-1-1.

So here I sit. Writing this all down, partially for my own memory and the other part for James, when he shows up to guide me through my legal council against the sellers. I was sure this wouldn't be the end of this story.

A Time for Silence

Why is that through all the social networking, all we can think about is relationships?
Sometime, just sometime, I'd love to see someone proclaim
“I broke up and I'm OK with being single!”
But wait, that too is about relationships
My social chatter is mostly noise confused and garbled
trying to push past the inanity of life
while failing miserably in my humble attempts
I 'like' peoples statuses and leave snarky remarks
I see people that I know will never, ever be good together
go through the ups and downs
and they expect me to go along for the ride.
This coaster only has room for two,
And
I'm not you so please step inside with your significant other
There are times when I cry for you
There are times when I laugh at your mistakes
I say “I've told you it'd never work”
and you threaten to strangle me every time
The truth is
I'm tired of seeing you all hurt
I'm tired of picking up pieces
the pieces with which you'll make the same mistakes
again
and again
and again.
I'm tired of being right
I'm tired of being wrong with my personal life
I'm just... tired
I want to be happy.
I want you to be happy to.
But for once, can't we just be happy
by ourselves?
No.
Because then we'd have no need for facespace and all the rest
We need others.
And we need to be wrong.
But I'm sorry I'm not 'like'-ing that new relationship status.
Call me callous, call me cruel
but when I pick up the pieces again
I'll try really hard not to say
“I told you so”

Sex, sex, sex, oh yeah and some real life events... in a City

I love to hate Sex and the City. The television show. You know the one with the overly perfect group of four friends, struggling through their late 20's into their mid-40's that have too much sex? Yeah that's the one. I think it's bad for women. Not in the 'everyone should strive not to have as much sex as they do' kinda way. You want to have that much sex? Go for it. I'm not even going to go into the fact that there are so many inconsistencies in the show that don't ever add up, that the show might as well have been a horny teenage virgins dream about what her and her friends would be like, if they owned a good bra and great shoes. Because shoes fix everything, don't you know.

I hate Sex and the City and all the shows like it because they're spot on in places and it infuriates me. I'm a fairly strong woman, with a decent amount going for her. So why am I single? Oh right. Because I'm a neurotic mess compiled with a slew of walking contradictions. Where the hell are my Jimmy Choos?

Of course all of this was brought up by the fact that I was being a stereotypical 20-something woman, sitting on the couch, talking to an ex about what went wrong, and halfheartedly watching a rerun of, you guessed it, Sex and the City. All I needed was my Northface jacket and a yogurt.

So there I was, at midnight on a friday night, house bound, mostly because of allergies; admittedly, watching a show entirely aimed at people like me. Just like a shot to my heart the nightly question Carrie asks herself is raised. “Soulmates: Reality or Torture Device?” So I bring it up to my ex. He says reality. Of course he does. I had to roll my eyes. It wasn't that I didn't think his answer was genuine, simply that for me, the idea of running across the one person I would spend the rest of my life with is an absurd concept. I've already come across two men I could have married. One of them even had a good job. Maybe I'd have my Jimmy's if I'd stayed... (I jest, of course). And then the thought occurred to me, I'm just not ready. Not an unusual thought of late, simply one that happened to meander through my brain at the wrong time. Hell I don't know if I'll ever be ready, I convince myself. I mean just reently I learned that I could legitimately be attracted to someone again. Sparks and all! Well no fireworks yet, or maybe ever. I really don't care. Is it odd though, that even as unready as I am, I still want to be able to come home to someone?

Once more my life seems to brush up on the edge of cliché and passe. I'm sitting in my pajama shorts, wrapped up in a blanket, typing this all away, with a distinct inner monologue playing, guiding my fingers to the right keys. Ultimately, my life is my own. Cliché or not. But man is being single getting old fast. I don't want Mr. Right-Now anymore. Then again I'm not ready for Mr. Right. Or who knows. Maybe I am and he just hasn't shown up with a white horse in shining armor yet. Maybe if I hold up a sign... Nah. I'd be allergic to the horse anyway.

At the heart of the show, Sex and the City is a feel good mostly romcom that tries to emulate real life as little as possible while still making a passable facade. The women are stereotypical and for the most part, fairly 2D. Doesn't mean I don't love them any more or less. The thing I love about the show? Knowing that if the ever crazy women of tat show can find love... maybe it's not a lost cause. But until that knight of mine shows up, I'm going to keep wandering in no-mans land blindfolded. I really hope they deactivated most of the mines.

Frontiers of the Mind Pt. 3 : A Surpise Encounter

It had been days since the ship had taken me aboard to bring me to my mission point. I stood quietly in the galley looking out over the vastness of the black, star speckled abyss. The scotch in my glass was some sort of fake, though the barkeep insisted it was the genuine product. I shook my head and looked over my shoulder. The room seemed to fade to black for a moment. I held my head in my hand and reopened my eyes, scotch now spilled on the floor about 20 ft behind me. I groaned, resetting my jaw, as I came to the realization someone had just punched me. I growled and turned to look at who had done it. A drunk upstart in a uniform betraying him to the Alliance. My vision flooded with red as I stepped forward and my fist connected to the kids stomach, doubling him over. A guard jogged forward as I stood still, forcing the monster in me to recoil back to the depths of my brain.

Gustav's office was starting to become a cornerstone of my visit aboard his ship. I sat there with the plucky bastard that started the whole damned thing. He was giving his side of the story and I sat rolling my eyes. I barely had a bruise on me from the punch he delivered. The kid was blaming it on everything from the drinks to me looking like a professor at the academy he hated, all of it. Gustav looked like he was going to sock the kid for lying from the get go.

“Don't attack visiting officers. I thought that was a clear enough order. Aside from that, you broke about six codes of conduct at once Mr. Reiss.”

“Yes sir.” Ah this would be the part where he apologizes. I looked over at him. Instead of him looking back his eyes were fixed on Gustav, who glared over the top of his archaic reading glasses.

“Go back to your quarters. You're suspended from duty for one week. You are confined to your level.”

“Yes sir.” His voice was defiant, even in his answers. He stood, saluted and was escorted from the room. Gustav took off his glasses and rubbed his ever increasing forehead.

“You didn't start this shit did you George?”

“You think if I had started it, he would have been able to walk away?” I rolled my eyes and let them land back on Gustav. He smirked and let an exasperated laugh escape for a split second.

“Captain, alien vessel approaching to our starboard.”

“Never a dull moment.” Gustav sighed and stood gesturing towards the door so I could lead. The door slid open and the crew looked tense. I relaxed my shoulders as much as I could, forcing them down. I ignored most of the stares and looked at the view of the ship. The hailing frequencies were open but no one was answering. I shifted my weight and looked closer at the ship on the screen.

“Fuck.” I whispered and it was already too late. On the bridge stood four armored soldiers with blasters. My eyes widened and a fifth being joined them. She looked female though who knows. She looked around her and met everyone's gaze as one of the guards handed her a headset.

Gustav stood up a bit straighter and I frowned. This situation felt a little too familiar for my liking.

“We come in peace, strangers.” The woman said, in a polyphonic voice. I raised a brow, but managed to hoke back 'Yeah with blasters. Nice touch. How about a muffin basket next time?'. I didn't think Gussy wanted to break up another fight today.

“Peace generally doesn't come with blasters pointed at the one you're trying to convince of that.” Gustav growled. I bit my tongue so hard I could taste the copper. The woman smiled and motioned for her men to lower their weapons.

'Just kill them George...'
'No I can't.'
'They're intruders. They deserve it. You'll be hailed as a hero.'
'No.'
'Just imagine the feel of their bones racking in your hands...'
'Not the time you sadistic fuck' Thankfully the voice seemed to die down and recede to the back of my mind as I felt my vision blurring for a moment, watching the woman and her entourage. This could get messy if I wasn't careful. I felt someone's hand on my shoulder. My head turned to see my therapist and one of her attendants. They knew me too well. I turned back to the entourage of aliens. The woman eyed me.

“Keep your dog at bay will you?”

“Funny you should say that, you brought all of yours...” I sneered letting a wicked little smile take over my features. Gutav's face paled and the woman laughed.

“You're such a good little puppy aren't you? Don't worry,dear. Your time will come.” I could feel something in the back of my mind that wasn't mine. It was her voice coaxing me on. I laughed. Gustav paled as the gaze between the woman and I darkened considerably.

“Sometimes thoughts are better left unsaid.” she sneered.

“Than perhaps you should learn you place and keep your mouth shut.” I snapped and let the smile erupt into a full mad mans grin. This would be fun.

(ok normally I don't do this but i'm stuck on where to bring this next. I need suggestions because i don't want this to die off. Cast your votes or second someone else's below <3)

A Double Li[f]e Pt. 2

I open my eyes to a field of flowers. I smile softly, feeling the warm sunshine on my face. I get up, standing in the midst of millions of daisies. My feet are bare and I'm wearing a white dress. I take a deep breath and inhale the sweet air of spring. I'm afraid to close my eyes, maybe forcing me out of this field. I look around, stopping on a young girl.

"Hello." I say, offering her a smile. She tilts her head and blinks, offering an empty smile in return.

"Who are you?"

"My name is..." I stopped for a moment and the little girl's eyes turned dark black, and she began to rise from the ground. I held up my arm in front of my face, to see my bruised and broken arm hanging in front of me.

"No..." I moan and start breathing quickly. I turn to run and fall to the ground, blood pooling under me from my leg bones poking through my shin. I cry out, not because I'm in pain but because it's all coming back to me...

My eyes flash open and I'm screaming. The soldiers are holding me down... I start sobbing when i stop screaming, trying to tell them desperately that I was just trying to survive. It's all incomprehensible. They can't understand. God the pain...My eyes flutter and i feel someone tapping gently on my face. I open my eyes and he gives me a thumbs up. I think it's a he. It's hard to tell in fatigues. I can't hear their voices. They can't hear mine. All I can feel is pain and the hot tears pouring down my face. The heat... god it's hot here...I look at the soldier and close my eyes.

The field is gone. I'm back in a room with the interrogator. I shudder and look up from my feet, to his face. I'm met with a slap, and I cringe, opening and closing my jaw a couple times, getting ready to spit out some vicious slur. Instead, nothing comes out. I blink and open my mouth again, mouthing the words to a swear, but no sound emits. What the hell...I'm slapped again and he begins speaking but not in a language I understand.

My eyes open again and I'm on a stretcher. There's some kind of loud rumbling about me. I'm strapped down again. This time by straps and not by arms. I look over to where some of the noise is coming from. There are two men in camo coats standing to my right. They seem to be discussing something, but the background noise is too loud. I grimace and tug at the back of one of their coats. The doctor turns and smiles wide for a moment before, frantically looking at something. What's that beeping? He grabs a needle and injects something into a clear tube... wait is that attached to my arm? I blink and begin to realize what's going on. I'm on an Army transport. I relax a little and the look at the gentleman again. Do I know them? I sigh and begin to feel comfortable... Maybe I won't die today.

[...to be continued]

A Double Li[f]e

I learned very early on that the ability to live a double life was the best asset to my arsenal of weaponry. It's really not as dramatic as all of that, though. Well I suppose given as I'm writing this I'm handcuffed in a confession dragged out of me. And by dragged I mean,beaten. My eye is swelling shut and the cuffs are too tight. My leg is broken and I'm covered in bruises.

A thud to the my back."Erase that. Start from the double life". I cough and lick my bottom lip. Copper. Great. More of the same then...

It's really not as dramatic as all of that, though. Well I suppose given as I'm writing this I'm handcuffed in a confession dragged out of me. And by dragged I mean,beaten. My eye is swelling shut and the cuffs are too tight. My leg is broken and I'm covered in bruises. I began my training with the CIA at the age of 20. Irony being that I couldn't yet drink but I could serve my country as a spy. It's really very difficult to have a normal life, when you're training at night and trying to go to university during the day.

I look over my shoulder to the guard behind me. Just a few more hours. They must be on their way by now... He doesn't see my act of insubordination and so i turn around again and look back to my paper. He doesn't care about any of this. Just following orders. I can't hate him for that. I can hate him for the broken bones and bruises, and the twitch I'll have for a month of so. Bastard.

My duties have led me through two divorces and an assassination of a husband. By the way I'm only 30 years old. This service without question thing must get on peoples nerves. Does it get on yours I wonder?

I stop in my writing for a moment and hear a grunt from behind me. I smile to myself and continue.

My mission as it was handed down was to

A sudden slam from the other side of my cell door and a blast of gunfire. Finally. I remain focused on my paper and the gunfire resounds through the hallway. Took em fucking long enough. I'm up in the air and thrown to the wall. "God damn it." I growl. I'd landed on my broken arm and there is bone piercing through the flesh. I can feel the cold realization of shock settling in. The door opens and my world goes black...

[to be continued]

I hate waiting...

I sit quietly in front of my computer, waiting. I’m nervous. I’m so incredibly tired, and I need to know. My sister is in FL and her father is in the ICU, unconscious and intubated. I’m ready to cry or to be the shoulder to be cried on. But for now… I can do nothing. My phone sits beside me, silent. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve starred at that phone today, eyes fixated on the star-ship Enterprise in its background. I just want a text. I want to know.

While I sit, I realize that much of my adulthood has been like this. Sitting. Waiting. Acting when appropriate and knowing when to pull back. The only issue I take with that is right now, I really want to get on a plane and fly down to FL. What would I do once there? Not a clue. I just want to be there for her. I hate this. Actually… I more than hate this. This situation is heart-wrenching. I can’t imagine how Steve is dealing.

It isn’t for lack of trying that I’m still sitting here. I bought a new book the other day. Just a Geek by my childhood crush, one Mr. Wil Wheaton. His book is a great read and on any other day I would be done with it by now. But today is not that day. I tried writing some fiction. Failed. I’ve been watching Top Chef reruns on and off all day. I’ve been sending her texts on and off, trying not to bother her. I’ve thought about a certain someone, but even those thoughts have been derailed by worry. I paced. For close to an hour, I paced. My house isn’t big enough. That was the only cohesive thought I had managed to pull out of that pacing as well. I have a frenetic sort of energy bubbling up, and spilling out of my fingers. I don’t think writing this will help though. I know that even when I’m done writing this, it won’t be enough.

The phone is still quiet. My aim sits silently, facebook isn’t pinging with conversations. And all I can do is wait.

Fuck.