On Loss and Drugs

This is going to seem a little disjointed, I'm sure, but to preface this, a former student at my high school recently died of an overdose. We're not sure as to the details yet, but I felt that this conversation I pieced together from Facebook might be able to help someone. The guy's name was Ryan, and he left behind a daughter.

I'm partially inspired to put this here because of the recent death of Justin JewWario Carmical. Both deaths were sudden and tragic.


Here it is:


I don't even know how to even. That's a life. I don't care who you are, or if you knew them or not, that is a *life*. Cut short and ended. A spark of the impossibility of life, Gone.

No drug is a safe drug. Weed may have medicinal properties, yes, but it's still a fair bit dangerous. Wanton use without analyzing the risks is just silly and stupid and I can't even begin to describe how bad of an idea it is.

And the thing is, it's romanticized the same way Cigarettes were back in the 50s. You're not "cool" unless you do this drug or that drug. You're not "sexy" unless you toke up.

And that's not the case. You are as cool and a sexy as you think you are, and no one can change that.

And that romanticization (not a word, but whatever, it needs to be) leads to things like this happening.

This is just beyond heartbreaking and I didn't even know him.

What we have to accept is that while we feel it was too soon, while we feel the hurt and the sorrow, God has a higher plan. We may not understand it, and it *sucks* not knowing what it is.

We ask ourselves "How can this be a part of it all? HOW can this sorrow and tragedy be somehow for the better? What is gained through this?" And more than likely we may never know. And we may never know because this tragedy has changed us all in ways we cannot fathom.

If ever there were a comforting thought, it is that we here on this earth are fleeting and our candles burn short but bright. And those that are extinguished before us shone the brightest light we'd seen! If ever there were a comforting thought in the face of tragedy, it's that those who go before us, go so that we may live with them forever in our hearts and so that we may learn something from them and hold them even more dear to us.

Death is not the end. Death is the beginning of a new chapter in our lives. Death is a temporary barrier between us and the ones we love in eternal joy.

But then, aren't preventable deaths and a death after a life lived different? Yes, They are different. They're different in the way we are affected by them. In one we take solace in that they lived a good life, and hopefully died peacefully. In the other, we ask ourselves "What could I have done to prevent it from happening?"

And the answer, truthfully, is that unless you're aware of the possibility of it happening, you truly can't. And it sucks and it hurts, and half of the time I don't believe it myself. Hell, you're talking to the guy who legitimately wants to be Superman and save everyone he sees from whatever's ailing them!

Hurt now. Be angry now. Cope in whatever way you cope. But when the dust settles, when it's all said and done and we've mourned until we can't physically mourn anymore, all we have are memories, both good and bad. But each of those memories hold the face, the laugh, the smile, the cry, the voice, the *soul* of the person we've lost.

If I ever say nothing else of value for the rest of my days, then at least I can say this: Every life has meaning, and that life leaving us has twice as much meaning because of how much they meant to us while here. 

The dead never truly die because we keep their memory alive. And thousands of years from now, when everyone who remembers you is dead and gone, you'll still be around. The ones we've lost will still be around. Because we're all connected. How we act in 2000 years is a product of how we treat each other today. Every smile, every laugh. It all changes us in subtle, minute ways that we don't even being to see at first. It's only when they're gone that we see how they've helped mold and shape us, chipping off tiny little bits of stone from the sides to form a perfect picture of who we are.

I often say "you are God's Masterpiece because of the time he put into making you who you are", and this is a bit part of that. Every interaction with someone helps shape us into who we are, and helps form that masterpiece. There's no such thing as death because they leave their fingerprints on the marble when they carve that tiny little sliver from the rough marble.

Ryan was God's Masterpiece and his brush all at the same time. He left a darling, lovely little girl who, yes, will grow up without her father. But if I've learned one thing in my life, it's that the ones we never see can sometimes leave the most lasting effect on us.

I guess now I'm rambling, but I dunno, I just wanted to help in any way I could. Hopefully someone closer to Ryan will see this and it'll be just what they need to see today.

And if that's you, whoever you are, reading this right now? God loves you, and I love you, and while the hurt never really goes away, it dulls with time. But it's love, the love you have for Ryan, the love God has for you, and the love I share everyday, all of it... *that* never goes away. It never weakens or dulls over time. It is there through the tears and the pain and it's in those times when it gets *stronger*.

On Influences

I realize I don't post often on here. And honestly, its not for lack of trying, its more of an "out of sight, out of mind" deal. That and lack of inspiration to write.

But today we lost probably the most famous author in the past 100 years - Ray Bradbury. Now, a lot of the hip cool youngsters these days don't know who Bradbury is. And, honestly, that's a shame, because the man wrote some of the greatest works of fiction I've ever read. From A Sound of Thunder to Farenheit 451, to countless others, Bradbury's works have influenced hundreds upon hundreds of writers around the world, including myself.

Personally? My favorite story of his is A Sound of Thunder. Though I'll admit, I've not read his entire library of works, so there might be one out there I'll enjoy far more.

I don't know where I'm going with this, really, I just kind of need to think out loud I guess. I mean, the name of this post is "On Influences", so You'd expect me to go into great detail on who's influenced me as a writer or artist or person or whatever the hell you want to apply that word to.

But no. I guess all I really wanted to say is that Ray Bradbury is one of the greatest creative minds ever to live, and yet his books and stories are no where near as famous as Twilight. And that makes me sad.

God's Eye View (1)

Something exists. Something truly and utterly horrifying. The exact nature of this 'something' is entirely unknown, even to myself. I'm unsure of whether it is something from the dawn of time or something wholly new. I'm unsure of its size and power. I'm unsure of just what it even is, truth be told. So as you read this, remember that. And remember this - At one time, I was not entirely unlike yourself, whoever you may be. Perhaps that's why I'm writing this log of my journey, however it may end? Perhaps, by some strange occurrence, if this should find its way somewhere, to someone as average and unimportant as I had once been, they might learn of this terrible evil, and be able to take precautions against it, if there are any. Hopefully the "gift" this abomination has cursed me with will aid in its downfall.

Life, for me, had once been simple. An average guy from an average Midwestern town with an average job. I knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that I was stuck behind that counter at that damned bank for the rest of my life, despite how many things I wanted to do with my life. I knew without a shadow of a doubt that my relationship had no major issues. And I knew - I knew - without a shadow of a doubt, that the world was unfair and that there could never be any sort of higher power that thought the creation of this horrid earth was "good". And eventually, one after the other, I was proven wrong.

It started shortly after my thirty-sixth birthday. My coworkers held a quick, small party for me before we were scheduled to officially start for the day. It was a nice gesture, and I appreciated it for the rest of the day. Until I was called into the office of Edmund Bigont, our supervisor and the most hated - and feared - man in a ten mile radius of wherever he was at any given moment. Immediately I knew that whatever I was being called in for, it wouldn't be good - Ed's office was never a place where raises or promotions were given out, though most of us  thought it was primarily because he was unabashedly racist, particularly in regards to Latinos, and when most of your staff is Hispanic, well... You get the picture.

"Frank," he said once I'd entered, his gruff voice straining through the rock quarry in his throat. "Take a seat."

Meekly, I sat across from him. All four hundred pounds of him seemed to tower over me, despite the fact that he was only of average height. My lips were sewn shut as the fat man ran his pudgy fingers through silver strands of thinning hair. The peppered gray of his small goatee and mustache did its best to hide the hideous scar on his upper right lip - a remnant of his days in the military. For quite some time, we sat there, silently. Many times, I thought to bring up the issue of why I'd been called there, but I knew better than to rush Ed Bigont to do anything. Fat, squeaky clean hands fumbled through folders and with themselves in that silence while I distracted myself by looking at everything and everything in the room.

Models of boats and planes of all sorts adorned the office. Pictures of a happy family sat nearby most of them while a framed plaque sat perfectly center on a shelf, holding various medals earned during some military excursion into a land I knew nothing about. A piece of my mind thought to ask him about some of them - I always did like war stories from whoever had them, even if it was Ol' Edmund.

"Frank, I wanted to thank you for coming in today. I know its been hard for you the past few weeks, what with your mom and all," his voice broke the uncomfortable silence between us.

The floor suddenly seemed very lovely to look at once the topic of my mother was brought up.

"Yeah, its... its been rough."

"I'm sure it hasn't been a very 'happy' birthday to say the least. But that's not what I wanted to talk about."

He paused for a moment before continuing. I think he might've actually been trying to think of how not to be rude.

"You know, its not easy, having this job. I might be your supervisor, but it always falls on me from up high to be the bearer of bad news. Its never really my decision. And I'm the one who catches the blame for it all - don't think I don't know about what some people say about me.

"Fact is, times are tough for everyone. And apparently the higher ups think with your current situation, you're too much of a risk, financially."

My heart didn't just sink. It crashed and burned like the goddamn Hindenburg. As much as I hated the job, as much as I absolutely detested some of the people who came in, demanding I give them money they don't have, this was the only thing keeping myself and Maria afloat. And now some faceless suit in an office was getting rid of me solely because my mother had passed.

"What are you saying," I stupidly asked.

"Dammit, Frank, you're not making this easy. Now listen, I fought tooth and nail against this - Lord knows you're the best one out there. People above me want you gone. I don't know why, they just do. I bought you some time, but honestly, I don't think they'll change their mind. So, I want you to take my two weeks paid vacation and just do whatever."

For a while, I couldn't believe what I'd just heard. Edmund Bigont, the most vile man I've ever known, wasn't just being kind to me, he was actively trying to help. Staring at him, my mind couldn't quite process the information he'd thrown at me.

"Uh... Thanks," I uttered after a moment. "Thanks a lot, Ed. I'll, uh... I'll get right on that."

As I stood to leave, Ed stopped me.

"Oh there's one more thing," he said. I fell back into my seat gently.

"Yeah?"

"Not sure why, but someone left this envelope for you. Strangest thing I ever did see."

The tan paper of the envelope stood out against the dark hues of the office. Curiously, I reached out, taking it from the older man. The paper felt, looked, and even smelled old.

"Thanks?" I questioned, unsure of just what to expect from an envelope that looked like it came from the eighteen hundreds.

"Its not a problem. Just head home for today and take it easy, alright?"

"Yeah, I'll go ahead and do that. Thanks again, Ed."

After leaving the office, my mind was more on the envelope than on the impending termination of my job. I felt the textured parchment between my fingers, eyeing the seal used to keep it shut, wondering who in their right mind still sent letters like this, and why, of all places, did they leave it for me at my job? Turning it over in my hand, I noticed the front of the letter had a strange symbol on it, one I'd never seen before but held an air of familiarity about it. A jagged triangle  in the center of the paper, with an eye at the very center of the triangle. A chilling sensation ran down my spine once my eyes were laid upon the symbol. Something about it unnerved me to the very bone.

Wasting no time and throwing my caution and silly feelings of dread to the wind, I opened the envelope, an action I regret to this day. There was only a single piece of paper within the envelope as well as an object I couldn't quite glimpse. The paper was easily removed. Once it was out of the way, I turned the envelope on its head, letting whatever the object was inside roll out onto my open palm.

The cool feeling of it resting in my palm as soothing and calming, and a strange sense of Deja Vu came upon me as I looked at the object in my hand. Lying there, still as could be, was a single, silver and black ring, with the most unusual carvings on it. the head of the ring was the most strange - an eye surrounded by jagged shapes reminiscent of teeth or flames. Holding it up to the light, I found myself becoming lost in the ring before finally placing it in my pocket and looking at the paper that had been inside. It was folded only once, but the paper was so coarse and rigid, it was as if it had been in there for ages.

Once it was open, I read only three handwritten words and a set of initials.

Keep it safe - T.E.

A Dream

I had a dream last night. I'm not sure what exactly it was about. All I really remember was that the stars... were alive. And I was being chased by *something*. Something dark and twisted, all while the Stars watched me from above. And during the whole thing, Metallica's "Wherever I May Roam" was playing, sometimes softly, sometimes loudly, whenever we(I was with a group of people) were traveling through what I *think* was the African Plains.

I feel like it had some kind of significance. If nothing else, its given me some muse to write.

Discovering Ashes 16

“Oh, you must f’give me, Jack! Where are m’manners today?!” He said cheerfully. I felt the ropes holding my wrists loosen until they were free. As I sat up, I muttered my thanks. It was then that I saw my surroundings - truly saw them - for the first time.


A dingy, dark brown chamber, like the kind you’d find in some fuckin’ video game or castle dungeon or something, was really the best way I could describe the room I was in. All around me, though, electronics of all kinds were jerryrigged into working with the old-as-shit bricks and mortar. The light that had blinded me earlier I now saw to be a single incandescent bulb hanging from a loose cluster of wires that ran the ceiling and wall into another area where I could see a generator. On the walls were monitors, each showing different images of statistics, videos, and photographs of city leaders.


“What the…”


“Welcome to mah innuh Sanctum, Jack Carnegie. Very few are allowed in here, but the ones I let in always leave with a better… understandin’ of what my organization does.”

 “And, that is…?”

“Why, we run things of course! Your precious  ‘Phoenix City’ is kept in check by yours truly! Y’see, Jack, We - that is t’say myself - keep the crime in this fair, fair city in check!”

 I chose that moment to look behind me to see my captor, Viper. He must have been pretty sure of himself, since from what I could see, he had no way of defending himself in case I wanted to just scream ‘Fuck you!’ and deck him right then and there. Admittedly, he had this… air around him, this charisma that made me listen, made me want to hear more. Maybe it was the navy blue suit with red tie and white undershirt that reeked of a time gone by. Maybe it was the crow’s feet or the slight wrinkling of his skin in various places on his face and hands. Maybe it was the white hair that for some reason screamed with a wisdom I hadn’t seen or experienced before.

Hell, I never paid attention to anyone’s hair! But this guy… everything about him oozed a kind of… demanding presence. This was the guy who’d sent that kid after me?

“So your riddle,” I started. “It wasn’t just a riddle, was it?”

“Ha ha, you are a smart one, Suh! Yes, I admit it, it was a test, son!”

Discovering Ashes 15

When I came too, I was met first with a blinding light in my eyes and second with immense pain in the back of my head that spider-ed its way to the front and down my spine. Everything was fuzzy, hazy, and my mind refused to work correctly. The only thoughts I could really comprehend were ‘Where am I?’  and ‘What hit me?’. The first option I must’ve said at some point, because no sooner had I thought it, someone responded.

“Take it easy, Jack, You’re safe and sound! Well, safe anyway!” The voice crooned above me. The slight twang of a drawl made it very comforting in an odd way. Hell, even the laugh that followed it made me feel safer!  

“Wha…?” was all I could squeeze out before the voice cut me off again.

“Ah-ah-ah, Jack! You got yo’self a nasty bump dere! I’d take you upstairs, but ah tink yo’ friends might be a tad bit… upset at poor ol’ Vipah here”

“Vi…per?”

“De one an’ only, Jack! Y’see, ah been followin’ you fo’a long time. Long’ah den you could know! You’re special, Jack Carnegie! An’ ya pal Vipah gon’ tell you why.”

I tried to move, only to find my hands bound to whatever I was laying on - from the feel of it, it might’ve been a concrete slab, but as the light above me started to dim I don’t think it would’ve fit with my surroundings. Viper must’ve noticed my discomfort from how much I kept trying to get my hands free.

“Oh, you must f’give me, Jack! Where are m’manners today?!” He said cheerfully.

I felt the ropes holding my wrists loosen until they were free. I muttered a thanks as I sat up and started truly looking at what was around me.

Discovering Ashes 14

I reached for the radio on my shoulder. It was probably best if I let everyone else know just what I saw, instead of blundering further inside by myself; besides, I didn’t have a hammer to tear down the wall. Pressing the side of the radio, the familiar cracking sound of the button and the speaker were a bit comforting.

“Hey, uh… Dex? I need some help down here,” I whispered before releasing the button. It was silent for a moment.

And then another.

And then another.

My heart kicked it into high gear as thoughts of why no one was answering me flooded my mind. Breathing suddenly became a chore as my body started shivering and shuddering from the cold and from something else entirely. The air, while oppressive before, was thicker and more menacing, like it was trying to choke me. The memories of the stories came back in a flash, and I found myself hearing sounds and smelling things I hadn’t heard or smelled when I’d first entered the dank, decrepit basement. Normally I would chalk these things up to just my adrenalin making me a bit more sensitive to my surroundings or some bullshit like that most people found out through the Discovery Channel.

But not now. Not this. I’d had adrenalin pumping through my veins the moment I stepped from the stairs, so to only just now smell and hear the sounds and odors told me one thing.

I wasn’t alone.

Turning on my heel, the flashlight shined brightly into the darkness all around me, shaking and bobbing with my hand’s own dance of fright and paranoia. I couldn’t see anything new or remotely odd - relatively speaking - around me, but I could still hear the sound! It sounded close, closer than I would’ve liked! It was oddly familiar, but in this wasteland it was entirely alien to me.

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhpt

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhpt

The sound started to get shorter and louder, and I found myself looking everywhere at once while keeping my feet planted firmly on the ground beneath me. Crumbling noises started to follow each moment of the sound, and I started to get a picture in my head of just what the hell it was I was hearing. In my mind, I saw metal, and really the high tone of the noise would probably back me up.

Wait….

Turning round back to the small hole, I caught a glimpse of A hand before a sharp pain went through the back of my skull and everything went black.





This makes 25 pages in Word Processor the story's gone on for. Not my longest work, but certainly the one with the most happening and development in such a short timescale!