This came as a response to a friend's question about my writing method. I went way above and beyond the call in my answer, but that was because he touched off a nerve that got me thinking. I liked the guts of my response enough to want to share them.
The basic question was "How do you write?" and this was what I said in reply.
"I hardly ever write stream of consciousness stuff intentionally these days. But that question is the one that has stumped writers and hopefuls for a very long time. Stephen King goes into almost an entire chapter talking about fan reaction to him with that question getting the majority of the attention.
As far as how I go about writing, that depends on the subject matter. On something like a short story, I generally start with a simple idea. I will often sit down and do something other than write for hours or days without putting anything more than a single sentence down. "He kept the body in a cooler in the garage, wrapped in a rusty chain." When I hear the story begin to talk to me, I grab a pen and more or less dictate what I hear. Often times you know how the story will play out, you know what the other characters will say instinctively. It's almost like watching a movie or peeking in on someone else's conversation. You have a very palpable feel for the direction it will take, but you don’t write that down just yet.
When I get a feel for the story, at this point, I feel more like a reporter. Sure I craft the conversations, but I hear them first in my head. Often if I try to plot these out, it kills whatever spark they have so I let them come naturally. I’m not really worried if they sound silly or have bad grammar. I’ll edit the second draft. When I try to make them fit a set pattern, a lot of times, something will come completely out of the blue and change the direction completely. This often comes as a surprise to me more than anyone. I’m the guy that is putting the words into someone else’s mouth, for crying out loud, and even I don’t know what they’re going to say next.
The set pieces (Ex: The Portland Express) all begin this way. I sat down with a single sentence and just added a piece here and a piece there. It’s like building a wall out of bricks. Every character, setting, motivation, building and conflict is another brick in that wall.
With comics, you have to come at it with a set goal. Conflict has to be introduced and resolved within the confines of whatever time limit (page count) you have pre-set. That puts a lot of limits on what you can do (especially if you pick a 4-page chapter as your medium) You have to get to the point fast and then get to the resolution fast. You really don’t have the time to develop. It does get you into a pattern though and soon you find the stories writing themselves. The trick at THAT point is to develop the BIG picture. This guy will eventually do this, that guy will eventually do that . You keep the rope loose on it though because here, just like in one of those conversations, something will happen on page 3 of chapter 25 that completely sets in motion a different chain of events.
You really have to be fluid in your thinking. From that point of view, outlines really hinder you.
It’s the one shot stories I do that allow me the largest amount of writing latitude. The story where the reader doesn’t know the character and is willing to give you the benefit of the doubt is probably the autobahn of writing. No limits, anything goes. These stories have no plot. You just know how it begins and allow the characters to tell their own story.
This is why I am surprised more people don’t write. With as much television as we watch, with as many conversations as we have in our lifetimes, you would assume that people would be able to craft a conversation out of nothing and have it sound natural. That more people can’t do this amazes me. It has to do with what you are willing to put into it. This is perhaps the most self-exposing thing I can think to do. I’m essentially taking my private thoughts and committing them to paper as part of the Public Record. Most people would absolutely refuse to do something like this for fear of sounding like a fool. Personally, I think that as long as they put in the time to learn the rules (grammar, spelling, punctuation, etc) they have nothing to fear.
It’s the ones with a lot to say that don’t say it that make me shake my head. Just write it down.
Eventually all that crap you learned in school will make sense out of it."
--rog--
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Congealing The Concepts
Going against my established grain here, I’m going to describe a process that has helped me make some sense out of the jumble that is my ever-increasing volume of notebooks filled with ideas.
I periodically write out a list of every one of my story ideas and comics on a page, but have lately noticed that this page has grown to 2 and then to 3 pages long. This has had a dampening effect on my energy when I am faced with the prospect of diminishing time and increasing workload. I find I simply do not have enough time (or energy) to handle the work.
This has had a sobering effect on me.
Then I began to notice little things. Some of these stories were stand-alone ideas, or One-Shots, but others were threads in a bigger idea. As soon as I noticed this patterns began to take shape. The Bigger picture emerged. This one particular story might appear to be a Stand Alone, but I used a character and a setting that appeared in another, and this ties it in. Soon, I had winnowed an enormous 67-story backlog into 4 easily workable piles.
This is the Congealing The Concepts part. I know a lot of writers fall into this trap. They turn the idea spigot on and record the flow. Soon, they become inundated with concepts and ideas and eventually they drown in them. The trick here is to look for the patterns. As soon as you spot them, merge them. This does not mean alter them, Lord no. It means that 16 page short is no longer it’s own entity, rather it has become Chapter 12 in your larger narrative.
When you see this patternization emerge, it actually refocuses your writing energy where it is needed. On the story itself. You may notice a slight alteration of the initial story, but this is an editing process rather than a surrender.
The point is this. Overwhelming yourself with ideas is a bad thing. But only as long as you allow it to remain chaotic. You are writing what you know, be it Steampunk, Romance or Super Heroes. That is what you know best, and as a result, you will find yourself walking down similar paths with your story telling. This repetition is what binds your stories together. This is the written reflection of you. You must be aware of it, or at the very least open to its existence enough to recognize it. When you do see this pattern emerge, then you can begin the real task of taking jumbled pieces of work into the Great Narrative that you and I know you have in you.
I periodically write out a list of every one of my story ideas and comics on a page, but have lately noticed that this page has grown to 2 and then to 3 pages long. This has had a dampening effect on my energy when I am faced with the prospect of diminishing time and increasing workload. I find I simply do not have enough time (or energy) to handle the work.
This has had a sobering effect on me.
Then I began to notice little things. Some of these stories were stand-alone ideas, or One-Shots, but others were threads in a bigger idea. As soon as I noticed this patterns began to take shape. The Bigger picture emerged. This one particular story might appear to be a Stand Alone, but I used a character and a setting that appeared in another, and this ties it in. Soon, I had winnowed an enormous 67-story backlog into 4 easily workable piles.
This is the Congealing The Concepts part. I know a lot of writers fall into this trap. They turn the idea spigot on and record the flow. Soon, they become inundated with concepts and ideas and eventually they drown in them. The trick here is to look for the patterns. As soon as you spot them, merge them. This does not mean alter them, Lord no. It means that 16 page short is no longer it’s own entity, rather it has become Chapter 12 in your larger narrative.
When you see this patternization emerge, it actually refocuses your writing energy where it is needed. On the story itself. You may notice a slight alteration of the initial story, but this is an editing process rather than a surrender.
The point is this. Overwhelming yourself with ideas is a bad thing. But only as long as you allow it to remain chaotic. You are writing what you know, be it Steampunk, Romance or Super Heroes. That is what you know best, and as a result, you will find yourself walking down similar paths with your story telling. This repetition is what binds your stories together. This is the written reflection of you. You must be aware of it, or at the very least open to its existence enough to recognize it. When you do see this pattern emerge, then you can begin the real task of taking jumbled pieces of work into the Great Narrative that you and I know you have in you.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
The Jinx: (The Room - Chapter 2)
By: Roger A Wilbanks
“Dude! She doesn’t come to another game. That’s five in a row!”
Arthur threw his helmet against the wall and stomped his way over everyone’s gear bags to his seat in the room. He began ripping his pads off as if he were pulling leeches off of someone he greatly disliked.
“I’m sorry if I’m being a dick here but FUCK! Every game you’ve brought her to we got stomped. I ain’t saying it’s her fault…”
“Good!” Reggie shot back. “You better not go there! My girlfriend isn’t a Jinx!”
“…I ain’t saying it’s Her fault cause YOU’RE the one that brought her to the game in the first place!”
“That’s out of line Arthur.” Glenn said.
Glenn was the Captain of the Hawks and the people in this room paid attention to him when he spoke.
“Shelly ain’t the one that couldn’t catch a pass tonight. Shelly didn’t miss three empty nets. And Shelly didn’t fall on her ass at center ice and give up a 3 on 0 rush. Lay off the girl and focus on getting your game back on track.”
“I wasn’t having those problems until SHE started coming to the games, Glenn, and you know it! I went from 2 solid points per game to a frikkin pylon-shaped douche bag when her face started popping up in the stands and so did a lot of other people here.” Arthur looked around the room for agreement and was met with quiet noncommittal silence.
“You’ve always been a douche bag, Arthur.” Reggie said. “You can’t blame My girlfriend for Our losing streak. That’s insane!”
“Look Reg, I know you are a solid goaltender. Hell, you kept us in that asskicking contest right up till the end tonite. Your game hasn’t dropped off at all since she started coming to watch us but everyone else’s in here has.” Arthur pleaded.
This time, no one spoke up to defend Shelly and this statement was greeted with the same noncommittal silence as before. Reggie looked to Glenn who simply shrugged and began untying his skates. The silence overpowered Reggie and the Big Picture came into focus for him.
“Ok. She won’t be at the next game. I’m not gonna blame her though. She’s not wearing a sweater for Fuck’s sake, you guys are.” Reggie sat down at his place on the bench and pulled off his chest protector. “I will make sure she is not here all the same. Any of you call her a Jinx again though and I’ll break my stick across your fucking teeth.”
He started violently undoing the straps holding his goalie pads on and added, “You better win or I’m kicking EVERYONE’S ass after!”
“That’s it. Discussion over. Billy, pass out the game beers.” Glenn said. “Nothing leaves this room boys. Shelly gets one sniff of this conversation or what was said here and after Reggie pounds you, you’ll have to deal with me.”
This was unnecessary. Every man in this room knew the sacred bond that protected free speech within its walls. Everyone was able to say anything he wanted in here no matter the subject or details and it would never be spoken again on the outside without his expressed consent. This bond was the glue that held 14 men of varying social degree together into a cohesive unit and it was unbreakable. The repercussions were too severe for any of them to even contemplate. Doctors, lawyers and bricklayers alike all nodded in agreement. The King had spoken and in this room at least, his decision was final.
The Hawks were an adult men’s hockey team playing in what they called a beer league. Each of the men paid hundreds of dollars each season to play ice hockey one night per week. To the outsiders who giggled about their obsession, this was a glorified fantasy league where grown men lived out their daydreams of NHL stardom, but to the men on the ice it was something far greater. These men lived for their sport. Ice hockey and the weekly game gave them a purpose in life. It gave them a reason for living. The bonds these men formed with their teammates transcended those they had with their family or coworkers.
It was as close to war as any of them would ever see, but each of them would tell you that they understood the misery felt by a squad covering themselves in a foxhole while enemy artillery pounded their position.
That happened three games ago in the 12-0 loss to the Vikings.
They all felt the elation of victory pulled from the jaws of defeat.
The last game before the losing streak ended with them scoring 3 unanswered goals in the final 5 minutes of regulation to force overtime and an eventual shootout win.
These men walked into battle every Tuesday night and it didn’t matter that no one died or that there was no end to the conflict. To them the battle was everything. They were gladiators with hockey sticks and ice skates instead of swords and shields. The Hawks were especially motivated by the fact they had won four consecutive league championships, never losing more than 5 games in a single 40 game season.
The current 5 game losing streak ate at their very cores.
Hockey players are superstitious people by their very nature, more so than any other athlete with the exception of the relief pitcher in baseball or the field goal kicker in football. Basketball players may have favorite shoes, but hockey players have lucky underwear and in some occasions, will only wash same articles of clothing when their luck takes a turn for the worse.
They tend to be quite obsessive about their individual game, often going to extremes of dedicated ritual to insure their peak performance in that night’s game. They react, often violently, to anything that disrupts their rhythm. They recognize dangers immediately and will not hesitate to take any action necessary to return their game back to its original state. Reggie’s new girlfriend Shelly started coming to watch him play over a month ago. She has watched a total of 5 games from the comfort of the stands and the results have all been the same. Dismal. The Hawks usual dominance was replaced by mediocrity as they went out of their way to find new ways to lose. Even the 7-2 lead they carried into the final period of tonight’s game wasn’t enough to stem the tide of darkness surrounding them. As the losses piled on, the guys had been searching for a reason why they were suddenly incapable of passing, shooting and skating with their normal skill level. They all agreed a dark cloud had settled over their bench and tonight, a face was put on the dark cloud, a face and a name.
Shelly.
Now this solemn group of men gathered in the eerie quiet of a usually boisterous locker room demanded her blood. Reggie was outnumbered and outvoted. He would have to ban Shelly from the game. Everyone in this room knew what that meant but it didn’t matter.
Reggie would take one for the team.
If his relationship survived this, it was meant to be. If Shelly understood, she was a gift from Heaven and worthy of praise as a true hockey girlfriend. As soon as a new win streak was started, she would be welcomed back. The odds of her starting another losing streak pretty much precluded a return however. Since this was Reggie’s team as much as it was any man’s, that spelled bad news for Shelly.
This was the commitment each man gave as his price of admission into this locker room. Every man in here was prepared to pay whatever price that was demanded of him for the good of the team. They even called it the Soul Tax in recognition of what it demanded. That attitude was a necessary ingredient for the success the Hawks had enjoyed lately and now it was Reggie’s turn to pay the tax for the team.
Anytime outsiders caught a glimpse of this side of hockey players, they tended to label the entire group as insane. “You don’t know the half of it, pal.” Was the unvoiced response that accompanied the shrug and chuckle.
“You want help?” Glenn asked.
It was a pointless offer of solidarity. Everyone knew Reggie had to handle this solo but that didn’t mean the boys weren’t behind him in spirit.
“No thanks. I got this. It ain’t going to be pretty though. I’ll catch up with you guys at the Goose later. I don’t want this to be a public show.”
The Goose was the bar and grill most of the players in the league visited after their games. The beer was cold and the food was hot. Its closeness to the rink meant that while the players all went home in different directions, they could all drive a mile together for a burger and a beer.
“I understand man and for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
“No need, but I do appreciate it. I just hope she takes it well. You all remember that story about the Moose Knuckle forward who banned his girlfriend from their games a while back? She cut up all four of his tires at their next game and smashed the window in every car in the lot that night.”
“You think Shelly’s got that in her?”
“Nah. She’ll cry a lot but no property damage. I hope.”
“Either way, good luck. She’s a sweet girl, but this is just the way it has to be.”
“Yeah…sure.”
Reggie walked alone to the shower to plan his attack. No one joined him. His solitude now would be respected. When he returned and packed his gear, he walked out of the room without a word. None was needed. This was a dead man walking. The Hockey Gods demanded human sacrifice and Shelly was on the altar. Every man in the room knew this was the price they themselves might be called upon to pay some day.
Shelly was outside the rink when Reggie caught up with her. She was smoking a cigarette, something she only did when she was nervous. He kissed her on her cheek and walked to his Jeep to pack his gear for the drive home. When he returned, she was done with the cigarette. She looked at him expectantly, aware that by the look of defeat in his eyes something wasn’t right.
“The other girlfriends and wives won’t talk to me anymore.” She began. “They think I am to blame for you guys losing!”
“Yeah…about that..” Reggie started.
“Oh GOD! You think that too! I don’t believe this! Are all of you people Completely Insane? You treat this game like it’s...like it’s some kind of holy mission, like it’s life or death, when it’s just-a-fucking-game! I thought you were different, Reg. I thought you had a head on your shoulders that wasn't filled with pudding.”
“I don’t blame you Shelly. I know why we’ve been losing and none of it is your fault. You don’t score goals, you don’t play defense and you don’t let in goals from the red line. We do. But if these guys get it into their heads that something needs to change, nothing and no one’s going to stop them. You are right about that, though. When it comes to the game we are all insane. That’s the price we all pay to do what we do. We have all stared into the abyss for so long that we have become it.”
“So what now? Did your teammates send you outside to break up with me? Are you going to toss me over a cliff like some Vestal Virgin?”
“No. I’m not going to break up with you over hockey, are YOU insane? I just have to ask you to not come to the game next week. Hockey doesn’t control my entire life, just the 2 hours a week I spend here. That’s the only part these guys have any say over.”
“Sounds to me like you need to grow a pair, Reg. You mean to tell me that just because your team can’t skate well you are willing to put me on the chopping block? I’m not the reason you can’t win, THEY are! Yet I don’t see you telling them to play better. I don’t see you joining a new team that CAN win with me in the stands. If you go along with this you are as much to blame as they are. If you ban me from the game you might as well break up with me because if you don’t I’m going to dump your gutless ass right here and right now.”
“Come on now Shelly, be reasonable here. I’m not blaming you for anything. I know none of this is your fault. If anyone here is to blame it’s me for dragging you out to these games in the first place. I knew the risks involved when I did that but I invited you out anyway. It’s eaten me up every day since then that we haven’t won because deep down, I knew the guys would have this reaction. But the fact is they asked me to ask you to stay away, knowing full well what that meant and what your reaction would be.”
“So you’re going to be a good little boy and do just like you are told then?”
“Now that isn’t fair. I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt here and trying to do this as painlessly as possible.”
“No. You’re feeding me a load of horseshit and hoping I sprout flowers on top of my head. Look Reg, I’ll make this easy on you. I’ll leave now and never come back to this rink again. No matter what. I’ll even do you one better. I’ll lose your number. I suggest you do the same with mine. Don’t come calling me when you finally do win.”
Shelly turned to walk away and stopped to turn back.
“If you ever win again, that is.”
“Ooooooh man that was harsh!” Arthur said as he filled Reggie’s glass from the fresh pitcher. “She went there?”
“Yeah, well…what are you gonna do?” Reggie replied.
Shelly wasn’t the first casualty in the battle for the League Championship and she certainly would not be the last.
“Think she’s gone for good?” Glenn asked as he passed the Chips and Salsa Reggie’s way.
“Prolly. Nobody likes to be called a Jinx. She took it pretty bad.”
The table remained silent with the exception of minimal chitchat. In tone, it resembled a wake but in reality it was a display of solidarity for the sacrifice made by one of their own. Each man would fall on that sword in a similar manner for the betterment of the team and each of them knew this. This was democracy at its purest form. The majority had spoken and Reggie had followed the will of the group even though it cost him something dear. That didn’t make it any easier for him to accept the loss, but it did make it bearable.
“Alls I’m saying is we better not lose another frikkin game all season. Because if we do…”
That thought was left unspoken but every man knew that it was up to him to step up his individual game to insure that Reggie’s sacrifice was not in vain. He had just paid the Soul Tax for his teammates, and nothing short of their complete effort would be acceptable payment for that debt.
At this thought, every man at the table raised his glass unbidden and said, “To Shelly.”
Glenn added, “To Reggie.”
“To that goddamn trophy.” Reggie said.
“To that goddamn trophy.” Every man at the table replied.
“Dude! She doesn’t come to another game. That’s five in a row!”
Arthur threw his helmet against the wall and stomped his way over everyone’s gear bags to his seat in the room. He began ripping his pads off as if he were pulling leeches off of someone he greatly disliked.
“I’m sorry if I’m being a dick here but FUCK! Every game you’ve brought her to we got stomped. I ain’t saying it’s her fault…”
“Good!” Reggie shot back. “You better not go there! My girlfriend isn’t a Jinx!”
“…I ain’t saying it’s Her fault cause YOU’RE the one that brought her to the game in the first place!”
“That’s out of line Arthur.” Glenn said.
Glenn was the Captain of the Hawks and the people in this room paid attention to him when he spoke.
“Shelly ain’t the one that couldn’t catch a pass tonight. Shelly didn’t miss three empty nets. And Shelly didn’t fall on her ass at center ice and give up a 3 on 0 rush. Lay off the girl and focus on getting your game back on track.”
“I wasn’t having those problems until SHE started coming to the games, Glenn, and you know it! I went from 2 solid points per game to a frikkin pylon-shaped douche bag when her face started popping up in the stands and so did a lot of other people here.” Arthur looked around the room for agreement and was met with quiet noncommittal silence.
“You’ve always been a douche bag, Arthur.” Reggie said. “You can’t blame My girlfriend for Our losing streak. That’s insane!”
“Look Reg, I know you are a solid goaltender. Hell, you kept us in that asskicking contest right up till the end tonite. Your game hasn’t dropped off at all since she started coming to watch us but everyone else’s in here has.” Arthur pleaded.
This time, no one spoke up to defend Shelly and this statement was greeted with the same noncommittal silence as before. Reggie looked to Glenn who simply shrugged and began untying his skates. The silence overpowered Reggie and the Big Picture came into focus for him.
“Ok. She won’t be at the next game. I’m not gonna blame her though. She’s not wearing a sweater for Fuck’s sake, you guys are.” Reggie sat down at his place on the bench and pulled off his chest protector. “I will make sure she is not here all the same. Any of you call her a Jinx again though and I’ll break my stick across your fucking teeth.”
He started violently undoing the straps holding his goalie pads on and added, “You better win or I’m kicking EVERYONE’S ass after!”
“That’s it. Discussion over. Billy, pass out the game beers.” Glenn said. “Nothing leaves this room boys. Shelly gets one sniff of this conversation or what was said here and after Reggie pounds you, you’ll have to deal with me.”
This was unnecessary. Every man in this room knew the sacred bond that protected free speech within its walls. Everyone was able to say anything he wanted in here no matter the subject or details and it would never be spoken again on the outside without his expressed consent. This bond was the glue that held 14 men of varying social degree together into a cohesive unit and it was unbreakable. The repercussions were too severe for any of them to even contemplate. Doctors, lawyers and bricklayers alike all nodded in agreement. The King had spoken and in this room at least, his decision was final.
The Hawks were an adult men’s hockey team playing in what they called a beer league. Each of the men paid hundreds of dollars each season to play ice hockey one night per week. To the outsiders who giggled about their obsession, this was a glorified fantasy league where grown men lived out their daydreams of NHL stardom, but to the men on the ice it was something far greater. These men lived for their sport. Ice hockey and the weekly game gave them a purpose in life. It gave them a reason for living. The bonds these men formed with their teammates transcended those they had with their family or coworkers.
It was as close to war as any of them would ever see, but each of them would tell you that they understood the misery felt by a squad covering themselves in a foxhole while enemy artillery pounded their position.
That happened three games ago in the 12-0 loss to the Vikings.
They all felt the elation of victory pulled from the jaws of defeat.
The last game before the losing streak ended with them scoring 3 unanswered goals in the final 5 minutes of regulation to force overtime and an eventual shootout win.
These men walked into battle every Tuesday night and it didn’t matter that no one died or that there was no end to the conflict. To them the battle was everything. They were gladiators with hockey sticks and ice skates instead of swords and shields. The Hawks were especially motivated by the fact they had won four consecutive league championships, never losing more than 5 games in a single 40 game season.
The current 5 game losing streak ate at their very cores.
Hockey players are superstitious people by their very nature, more so than any other athlete with the exception of the relief pitcher in baseball or the field goal kicker in football. Basketball players may have favorite shoes, but hockey players have lucky underwear and in some occasions, will only wash same articles of clothing when their luck takes a turn for the worse.
They tend to be quite obsessive about their individual game, often going to extremes of dedicated ritual to insure their peak performance in that night’s game. They react, often violently, to anything that disrupts their rhythm. They recognize dangers immediately and will not hesitate to take any action necessary to return their game back to its original state. Reggie’s new girlfriend Shelly started coming to watch him play over a month ago. She has watched a total of 5 games from the comfort of the stands and the results have all been the same. Dismal. The Hawks usual dominance was replaced by mediocrity as they went out of their way to find new ways to lose. Even the 7-2 lead they carried into the final period of tonight’s game wasn’t enough to stem the tide of darkness surrounding them. As the losses piled on, the guys had been searching for a reason why they were suddenly incapable of passing, shooting and skating with their normal skill level. They all agreed a dark cloud had settled over their bench and tonight, a face was put on the dark cloud, a face and a name.
Shelly.
Now this solemn group of men gathered in the eerie quiet of a usually boisterous locker room demanded her blood. Reggie was outnumbered and outvoted. He would have to ban Shelly from the game. Everyone in this room knew what that meant but it didn’t matter.
Reggie would take one for the team.
If his relationship survived this, it was meant to be. If Shelly understood, she was a gift from Heaven and worthy of praise as a true hockey girlfriend. As soon as a new win streak was started, she would be welcomed back. The odds of her starting another losing streak pretty much precluded a return however. Since this was Reggie’s team as much as it was any man’s, that spelled bad news for Shelly.
This was the commitment each man gave as his price of admission into this locker room. Every man in here was prepared to pay whatever price that was demanded of him for the good of the team. They even called it the Soul Tax in recognition of what it demanded. That attitude was a necessary ingredient for the success the Hawks had enjoyed lately and now it was Reggie’s turn to pay the tax for the team.
Anytime outsiders caught a glimpse of this side of hockey players, they tended to label the entire group as insane. “You don’t know the half of it, pal.” Was the unvoiced response that accompanied the shrug and chuckle.
“You want help?” Glenn asked.
It was a pointless offer of solidarity. Everyone knew Reggie had to handle this solo but that didn’t mean the boys weren’t behind him in spirit.
“No thanks. I got this. It ain’t going to be pretty though. I’ll catch up with you guys at the Goose later. I don’t want this to be a public show.”
The Goose was the bar and grill most of the players in the league visited after their games. The beer was cold and the food was hot. Its closeness to the rink meant that while the players all went home in different directions, they could all drive a mile together for a burger and a beer.
“I understand man and for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
“No need, but I do appreciate it. I just hope she takes it well. You all remember that story about the Moose Knuckle forward who banned his girlfriend from their games a while back? She cut up all four of his tires at their next game and smashed the window in every car in the lot that night.”
“You think Shelly’s got that in her?”
“Nah. She’ll cry a lot but no property damage. I hope.”
“Either way, good luck. She’s a sweet girl, but this is just the way it has to be.”
“Yeah…sure.”
Reggie walked alone to the shower to plan his attack. No one joined him. His solitude now would be respected. When he returned and packed his gear, he walked out of the room without a word. None was needed. This was a dead man walking. The Hockey Gods demanded human sacrifice and Shelly was on the altar. Every man in the room knew this was the price they themselves might be called upon to pay some day.
Shelly was outside the rink when Reggie caught up with her. She was smoking a cigarette, something she only did when she was nervous. He kissed her on her cheek and walked to his Jeep to pack his gear for the drive home. When he returned, she was done with the cigarette. She looked at him expectantly, aware that by the look of defeat in his eyes something wasn’t right.
“The other girlfriends and wives won’t talk to me anymore.” She began. “They think I am to blame for you guys losing!”
“Yeah…about that..” Reggie started.
“Oh GOD! You think that too! I don’t believe this! Are all of you people Completely Insane? You treat this game like it’s...like it’s some kind of holy mission, like it’s life or death, when it’s just-a-fucking-game! I thought you were different, Reg. I thought you had a head on your shoulders that wasn't filled with pudding.”
“I don’t blame you Shelly. I know why we’ve been losing and none of it is your fault. You don’t score goals, you don’t play defense and you don’t let in goals from the red line. We do. But if these guys get it into their heads that something needs to change, nothing and no one’s going to stop them. You are right about that, though. When it comes to the game we are all insane. That’s the price we all pay to do what we do. We have all stared into the abyss for so long that we have become it.”
“So what now? Did your teammates send you outside to break up with me? Are you going to toss me over a cliff like some Vestal Virgin?”
“No. I’m not going to break up with you over hockey, are YOU insane? I just have to ask you to not come to the game next week. Hockey doesn’t control my entire life, just the 2 hours a week I spend here. That’s the only part these guys have any say over.”
“Sounds to me like you need to grow a pair, Reg. You mean to tell me that just because your team can’t skate well you are willing to put me on the chopping block? I’m not the reason you can’t win, THEY are! Yet I don’t see you telling them to play better. I don’t see you joining a new team that CAN win with me in the stands. If you go along with this you are as much to blame as they are. If you ban me from the game you might as well break up with me because if you don’t I’m going to dump your gutless ass right here and right now.”
“Come on now Shelly, be reasonable here. I’m not blaming you for anything. I know none of this is your fault. If anyone here is to blame it’s me for dragging you out to these games in the first place. I knew the risks involved when I did that but I invited you out anyway. It’s eaten me up every day since then that we haven’t won because deep down, I knew the guys would have this reaction. But the fact is they asked me to ask you to stay away, knowing full well what that meant and what your reaction would be.”
“So you’re going to be a good little boy and do just like you are told then?”
“Now that isn’t fair. I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt here and trying to do this as painlessly as possible.”
“No. You’re feeding me a load of horseshit and hoping I sprout flowers on top of my head. Look Reg, I’ll make this easy on you. I’ll leave now and never come back to this rink again. No matter what. I’ll even do you one better. I’ll lose your number. I suggest you do the same with mine. Don’t come calling me when you finally do win.”
Shelly turned to walk away and stopped to turn back.
“If you ever win again, that is.”
“Ooooooh man that was harsh!” Arthur said as he filled Reggie’s glass from the fresh pitcher. “She went there?”
“Yeah, well…what are you gonna do?” Reggie replied.
Shelly wasn’t the first casualty in the battle for the League Championship and she certainly would not be the last.
“Think she’s gone for good?” Glenn asked as he passed the Chips and Salsa Reggie’s way.
“Prolly. Nobody likes to be called a Jinx. She took it pretty bad.”
The table remained silent with the exception of minimal chitchat. In tone, it resembled a wake but in reality it was a display of solidarity for the sacrifice made by one of their own. Each man would fall on that sword in a similar manner for the betterment of the team and each of them knew this. This was democracy at its purest form. The majority had spoken and Reggie had followed the will of the group even though it cost him something dear. That didn’t make it any easier for him to accept the loss, but it did make it bearable.
“Alls I’m saying is we better not lose another frikkin game all season. Because if we do…”
That thought was left unspoken but every man knew that it was up to him to step up his individual game to insure that Reggie’s sacrifice was not in vain. He had just paid the Soul Tax for his teammates, and nothing short of their complete effort would be acceptable payment for that debt.
At this thought, every man at the table raised his glass unbidden and said, “To Shelly.”
Glenn added, “To Reggie.”
“To that goddamn trophy.” Reggie said.
“To that goddamn trophy.” Every man at the table replied.
The Birds: (The Room - Chapter 1)
The Birds
By: Roger A Wilbanks
“He won’t come out.”
“Why the hell not?” Glenn banged on the locked bathroom door.
BANG BANG BANG “Reggie! Get your ass out here and get dressed! It’s the first game of the frikkin season and it starts in ten minutes!”
Larry put his hand on his Captain’s shoulder. “He saw birds today.”
“Oh Holy Fuck! Birds? You’re kidding me! REGGIE! Get out here NOW!”
“He ain’t budging.” Larry said as he walked back to his spot on the dressing bench.
Glenn assessed the moment and refocused his plan of attack.
“How many birds, Reg?” he asked.
“Three.” was the bathroom door’s answer.
“Oh shit. That’s bad.” He said.
Every player in the Hawk’s locker room knew two very important things. The first was that ice hockey goalies are both highly superstitious and certifiably insane. The second was that Reggie, their goalie was abnormally afraid of birds. He had actually struck a bird with his CJ-5 while driving to a game many years ago. He not only lost that game by a larger than normal margin, but suffered a severe injury as well. Since that moment he was convinced that the sight of birds (especially dead ones) on a game day was an omen of the darkest portent. This thought so invaded his rational thought process that now, after the sight of three dead pigeons under the I-635 overpass, he now found himself barricaded in a stinky dressing room toilet, refusing to budge.
“We’re playing the Ice Brigade tonight, Reg. You hate those guys, remember?”
Silence spurred Glenn to try again. “Come on out man. Things will be different this time. I promise.”
“Not gonna happen, skipper. I step out on that ice tonight and I’m a dead man. One of them was fuckin LOOKING at me!”
“Look Reggie. We’ve done this for seven years now. We have won the last 4 championships in this stupid league. You saw birds then too, remember? Do you think any of the guys in here are going to let anything happen to you now?”
More silence.
“Want me to call Mort?” Larry asked. Mort was Larry’s twin brother and also a goalie. He and Reggie never saw eye to eye on anything, but he was handy if Reggie couldn’t play. Even if he wasn’t as talented as the goalie who was now locked in a bathroom stall, refusing to budge. He wasn’t called to play often, however. Reggie always played. Mort wasn’t as good a goalie as Reggie, but when you are dying of hunger, a Whopper’s just as tasty as Filet Mignon.
“Nah. He’ll come out. He’s a gamer. Right Reggie?” The only answer was the echo from the concrete walls. “Besides. I heard the Brigade’s bringing back Conner this season.” There was a slight rustle in the bathroom stall but the door remained locked.
“Conner? Holy Crap! Didn’t that guy score three goals against Reggie in that 18-skater shootout a few years back? They really could have used him last season. He was in jail, right? What was he in for anyway?”
“Assault, I think. Or a DUI. Not really sure, but he’s here tonight.” Attrition was the primary enemy of any beer league hockey team. These teams are a collection of like-minded men who’s love for hockey spurs them to spend thousands of dollars a year to compete against other like-minded men. Needless to say, not every team is able to maintain a consistent roster from one year to the next. New faces appear on each team, or in Conner’s case, re-appear. In the six games Conner faced Reggie over a two-year span, he scored 22 goals. Each goal was unassisted. To put it in the plainest of terms, Conner owned Reggie.
“FUCK! See what I mean? Fucking birds! Why do they always have to drop dead right in FRONT of me?”
“Reg, it’s not the bird’s fault that Conner’s back. He got paroled. This isn’t a bad thing though.” Every eye in the locker room now focused on Glenn to see how he would spin this development. Even the ones hidden behind a locked door.
“Think about it, man. He’s been in jail for a year. He’s bound to be rusty. This could be your chance to get even with him for all those goals!”
“Three birds, Skip! Not one. Not even two. THREE! Bam! Dead bird. Bam! Another dead bird. And just a foot farther, BAM! Another Freakin Dead Bird! Only thing different was THAT was the one that was looking at me! I could see it in its eyes man. It was warning me not to play. It was telling me it’s my time!”
“Bullshit.” The Captain answered.
“Excuse me?” Reggie said.
“I said Bullshit, Reggie. You’re not afraid of a fucking bird.”
“I never said I was afraid of the birds, Skip. I’m afraid of all the bad shit that happens to me when I see them.”
“Reggie, I’ve never seen you back down from a fight. I’ve never known you to get rattled.” The faces in the locker room were unconvinced. The voice behind the bathroom door was sounding pretty rattled right now. “Even that game where he scored 6 goals against you, you were STILL mad. You kept telling us to let him through.”
“And he kept scoring…”
“But you never blinked, man.
“Great. So in addition to being a sieve, I’m a glutton for punishment.”
“No, man. You’re missing the point. You’re a fighter. Do you honestly expect us to believe you’re going to go Chicken Shit on us just cause you saw a few dead birds?”
Heads began nodding in the room. The players liked this line of attack and motioned Glenn to push his advantage home.
“I’m not a…I’m a…Ah Fuck it Skip! I know I’m going to get hurt tonight. I FEEL it. Soon as that bird looked at me all I could see was an ambulance.”
“But the bird didn’t look at you, Reg. You looked at IT.”
Silent ‘golf claps’ made their way around the room. Everyone could tell that this was the speech that would save their goalie.
“Don’t you see the difference here? You didn’t run into those birds by accident. It was Destiny.”
Eyes rolled as the room felt their Captain was sawing on the wrong side of the branch that he stood on.
“How do you figure that, Skip?”
“When you see Conner, do you get scared?”
”Hell no. You know better.”
“Right, but does Conner see you? Or is he always looking just past you?”
“You mean into the net? Following the puck he just shot there?”
“You’re not helping, Arthur. You are the one doing the looking here, Reggie. That bird wasn’t looking at you. You were looking at IT. Just like when you look Conner in his eyes when he’s coming in on a breakaway against you. Do you blink then?”
“Not exactly…”
“That’s my point.” Arthur pointed to an imaginary watch. Glenn nodded. “You looked that bird down just like it was a breakaway. You don’t stick your head in the ice when Conner’s skating towards you. You’re not going to do it when a bird looks at you either.”
The unnecessary sound of a flushing toilet announced the end of the argument. After a brief rustle of noise, the lock clicked open and the door swung free. Reggie was back.
“If I get hurt, I’m gonna kick your ass, Skip.”
“I’ll guard you like you were my own baby, Reg.”
(end)
By: Roger A Wilbanks
“He won’t come out.”
“Why the hell not?” Glenn banged on the locked bathroom door.
BANG BANG BANG “Reggie! Get your ass out here and get dressed! It’s the first game of the frikkin season and it starts in ten minutes!”
Larry put his hand on his Captain’s shoulder. “He saw birds today.”
“Oh Holy Fuck! Birds? You’re kidding me! REGGIE! Get out here NOW!”
“He ain’t budging.” Larry said as he walked back to his spot on the dressing bench.
Glenn assessed the moment and refocused his plan of attack.
“How many birds, Reg?” he asked.
“Three.” was the bathroom door’s answer.
“Oh shit. That’s bad.” He said.
Every player in the Hawk’s locker room knew two very important things. The first was that ice hockey goalies are both highly superstitious and certifiably insane. The second was that Reggie, their goalie was abnormally afraid of birds. He had actually struck a bird with his CJ-5 while driving to a game many years ago. He not only lost that game by a larger than normal margin, but suffered a severe injury as well. Since that moment he was convinced that the sight of birds (especially dead ones) on a game day was an omen of the darkest portent. This thought so invaded his rational thought process that now, after the sight of three dead pigeons under the I-635 overpass, he now found himself barricaded in a stinky dressing room toilet, refusing to budge.
“We’re playing the Ice Brigade tonight, Reg. You hate those guys, remember?”
Silence spurred Glenn to try again. “Come on out man. Things will be different this time. I promise.”
“Not gonna happen, skipper. I step out on that ice tonight and I’m a dead man. One of them was fuckin LOOKING at me!”
“Look Reggie. We’ve done this for seven years now. We have won the last 4 championships in this stupid league. You saw birds then too, remember? Do you think any of the guys in here are going to let anything happen to you now?”
More silence.
“Want me to call Mort?” Larry asked. Mort was Larry’s twin brother and also a goalie. He and Reggie never saw eye to eye on anything, but he was handy if Reggie couldn’t play. Even if he wasn’t as talented as the goalie who was now locked in a bathroom stall, refusing to budge. He wasn’t called to play often, however. Reggie always played. Mort wasn’t as good a goalie as Reggie, but when you are dying of hunger, a Whopper’s just as tasty as Filet Mignon.
“Nah. He’ll come out. He’s a gamer. Right Reggie?” The only answer was the echo from the concrete walls. “Besides. I heard the Brigade’s bringing back Conner this season.” There was a slight rustle in the bathroom stall but the door remained locked.
“Conner? Holy Crap! Didn’t that guy score three goals against Reggie in that 18-skater shootout a few years back? They really could have used him last season. He was in jail, right? What was he in for anyway?”
“Assault, I think. Or a DUI. Not really sure, but he’s here tonight.” Attrition was the primary enemy of any beer league hockey team. These teams are a collection of like-minded men who’s love for hockey spurs them to spend thousands of dollars a year to compete against other like-minded men. Needless to say, not every team is able to maintain a consistent roster from one year to the next. New faces appear on each team, or in Conner’s case, re-appear. In the six games Conner faced Reggie over a two-year span, he scored 22 goals. Each goal was unassisted. To put it in the plainest of terms, Conner owned Reggie.
“FUCK! See what I mean? Fucking birds! Why do they always have to drop dead right in FRONT of me?”
“Reg, it’s not the bird’s fault that Conner’s back. He got paroled. This isn’t a bad thing though.” Every eye in the locker room now focused on Glenn to see how he would spin this development. Even the ones hidden behind a locked door.
“Think about it, man. He’s been in jail for a year. He’s bound to be rusty. This could be your chance to get even with him for all those goals!”
“Three birds, Skip! Not one. Not even two. THREE! Bam! Dead bird. Bam! Another dead bird. And just a foot farther, BAM! Another Freakin Dead Bird! Only thing different was THAT was the one that was looking at me! I could see it in its eyes man. It was warning me not to play. It was telling me it’s my time!”
“Bullshit.” The Captain answered.
“Excuse me?” Reggie said.
“I said Bullshit, Reggie. You’re not afraid of a fucking bird.”
“I never said I was afraid of the birds, Skip. I’m afraid of all the bad shit that happens to me when I see them.”
“Reggie, I’ve never seen you back down from a fight. I’ve never known you to get rattled.” The faces in the locker room were unconvinced. The voice behind the bathroom door was sounding pretty rattled right now. “Even that game where he scored 6 goals against you, you were STILL mad. You kept telling us to let him through.”
“And he kept scoring…”
“But you never blinked, man.
“Great. So in addition to being a sieve, I’m a glutton for punishment.”
“No, man. You’re missing the point. You’re a fighter. Do you honestly expect us to believe you’re going to go Chicken Shit on us just cause you saw a few dead birds?”
Heads began nodding in the room. The players liked this line of attack and motioned Glenn to push his advantage home.
“I’m not a…I’m a…Ah Fuck it Skip! I know I’m going to get hurt tonight. I FEEL it. Soon as that bird looked at me all I could see was an ambulance.”
“But the bird didn’t look at you, Reg. You looked at IT.”
Silent ‘golf claps’ made their way around the room. Everyone could tell that this was the speech that would save their goalie.
“Don’t you see the difference here? You didn’t run into those birds by accident. It was Destiny.”
Eyes rolled as the room felt their Captain was sawing on the wrong side of the branch that he stood on.
“How do you figure that, Skip?”
“When you see Conner, do you get scared?”
”Hell no. You know better.”
“Right, but does Conner see you? Or is he always looking just past you?”
“You mean into the net? Following the puck he just shot there?”
“You’re not helping, Arthur. You are the one doing the looking here, Reggie. That bird wasn’t looking at you. You were looking at IT. Just like when you look Conner in his eyes when he’s coming in on a breakaway against you. Do you blink then?”
“Not exactly…”
“That’s my point.” Arthur pointed to an imaginary watch. Glenn nodded. “You looked that bird down just like it was a breakaway. You don’t stick your head in the ice when Conner’s skating towards you. You’re not going to do it when a bird looks at you either.”
The unnecessary sound of a flushing toilet announced the end of the argument. After a brief rustle of noise, the lock clicked open and the door swung free. Reggie was back.
“If I get hurt, I’m gonna kick your ass, Skip.”
“I’ll guard you like you were my own baby, Reg.”
(end)
Trapped
By: Roger A Wilbanks
I have been down here for two days. I think it has been two days, that is. Hard to tell time on a watch you can’t see anymore. It’s dark down here and cold. I shouldn’t be alive and I doubt anyone will find me before I die.
My legs are trapped under a large chunk of floor. They are crushed and I’m pretty sure I am going to lose them both. The pain is just a constant companion. The pain and the dark. I remember hearing stories of people who had survived long periods of time in the wilderness without food or water after suffering serious injuries, but how many of them were claustrophobic? How many were actually trapped in their own coffin, buried under eight stories of 1920’s art deco office?
My legs hurt bad and I don’t care about anything else. That is a good sign, I think, the pain. I hear the occasional bang and clatter overhead telling me that they are looking for us. There are others here. I can hear two girls crying, one above me and one to my right. One of the girls stopped crying a few hours ago. I think she’s gone now. There is a guy below me, trapped in a pocket like mine, only big enough for him to move around. I am sure it is a guy based on the movement he’s making and the fact he’s not crying. He’s making a lot of noise moving around. I think he’s trying to dig himself out. I hope to GOD he doesn’t shift anything that makes my pocket collapse. I would warn him but I have lost my voice. Damn my luck to get buried with a sinus infection. That’s the good thing about my legs hurting so bad. It takes away from the pain from my sinus infection.
I would bang on the debris if I could move my hands but they are pinned. I lost feeling in my right arm and have to shift my weight every hour or so to get a tingle back in my left one. The backlight on my watch wore out about an hour ago. Shifting my left arm a bit I could get it to turn on, but that’s gone now. I am in the dark. I am timeless. Were it not for the sound my neighbors are making, time would be standing perfectly still.
There was a shift in the ground just now. Is that asshole under me moving something or was that the searchers? Does that mean I am going to be saved? GOD I want to live! I have so much to live for God. Carol and I just got serious. She just got me a dog for crying out loud. Jesus, she must be beside herself now. Help her through this, God, please. Keep her safe until I get out of here and come back to her.
I think I am getting out of here. That is a good sign. That is assuming that Dumbshit under me stops moving things about. If you could hear me I would scream at you, pal. You need to stop or you will end up with a few tons of me on top of you. I am sure you don’t want that.
Vibrations. Jackhammer or saw? That’s definitely above me… I know it! Dumbshit under me hears it too! He’s moving about more. STOP you moron! For the love of God keep still! Make some noise, bang on metal but don’t pull out the legs from under my table! The other crying girl is quiet now. I have no idea what happened to her. Wait! That crash! It came from her direction. Holy Jesus, that scream!
She…she’s gone. I know it. I only wonder if dumbshit’s moving about caused it or if the guys above us did.
They heard her! They’re moving their work away. They’re leaving me! Come on Dumbshit, make some noise! Banging. Good. Make it loud man and I’ll buy you dinner when we get out of here. Steak and chophouse, my treat. Just keep up the action and we’ll both get out of this alive. I can hear them getting closer. Come on man! Make the difference in both our lives. You will be a hero.
That sound, down below us. It sounds like creaking, groaning, twisting metal. It is coming from Dumbshit’s hole. He’s screaming now, but not in pain. That’s fear. He’s losing it. His hole is closing in on him. Hold on man…they’ll get us out of here. He has to keep up the noise though, that’s how they’ll find us.
More creaking. Their machinery must be too heavy for the pile. They’re leaving!
NO!
Come back guys. I would rather you crushed me trying to save me than just leave me here to die in the dark. Silence now. They know I am here, they HAVE to. Dumbshit’s banging got their attention, I know it. Now it is time to wait. Let them get the crane onto the top of this pile and start peeling it away like an onion layer. You’ll get to me if you do that boys, but you might want to hurry. I’m in pain.
I’m actually crying now. The tears have a bitter, salty taste but they won’t last long. I’m too dehydrated to maintain them. My legs won’t stop throbbing and I’m sure I will lose this arm.
God it is dark.
I hurt.
Must have dozed off there. No idea how long I was out. Wait…what is that? Light? A tiny speck of light right above me. They have started digging again with a vengeance. They must know I’m here. That’s what woke me up. Dumbshit under me is silent now. That’s useless to me, but for all I know, he’s dead now. I’m not. At least I don’t think I am. Could that ray of light I see be the afterlife? No way. I’m alive, I know it. I have to be. The beam above me moved just then. I can’t see it, but the dust just landed on my face. It’s caking the tears to my face. OW! Something just hit my head. I’m bleeding. I can feel the warmth trickle down my neck. No idea how bad it is…just let them patch me up when they dig me out of here. I’m coming home Carol, I believe that now. These guys are right on top of me and they are making progress. It’s only a matter of time before they get to me. Just have to wait a bit longer now. I can tell the debris on top of me is shifting. It’s moving. They’re getting closer every second. Any minute now one of these guys will peek down here and see me looking up at him. I’m going to try real hard to smile at him, I really will. It’s been three, maybe four days down here I think. That’s nothing. A Labor Day Holiday to the Gulf.
The Light!
It’s Blinding!
I can’t see now, it’s too bright. Am I dead?
(Salvage workers pulled Perry Harding from the collapsed rubble of the Wainwright Building in downtown San Francisco. He was given up for dead and spent eight days trapped beneath a mountain of twisted steel and broken concrete. The workers assumed he was a corpse until they noticed him smiling up at them. He was carefully removed from the building and taken to the nearest hospital. His legs were crushed beyond repair and amputated. His right arm suffered severe nerve damage and was permanently disabled. After three months of treatment and rehabilitation, he was released from the hospital and married Carol Deevers who never gave up on him. She had maintained a constant vigil at the collapse with the couple’s dog Zero and refused to believe him dead. Perry says hello and hopes you are well. )
I have been down here for two days. I think it has been two days, that is. Hard to tell time on a watch you can’t see anymore. It’s dark down here and cold. I shouldn’t be alive and I doubt anyone will find me before I die.
My legs are trapped under a large chunk of floor. They are crushed and I’m pretty sure I am going to lose them both. The pain is just a constant companion. The pain and the dark. I remember hearing stories of people who had survived long periods of time in the wilderness without food or water after suffering serious injuries, but how many of them were claustrophobic? How many were actually trapped in their own coffin, buried under eight stories of 1920’s art deco office?
My legs hurt bad and I don’t care about anything else. That is a good sign, I think, the pain. I hear the occasional bang and clatter overhead telling me that they are looking for us. There are others here. I can hear two girls crying, one above me and one to my right. One of the girls stopped crying a few hours ago. I think she’s gone now. There is a guy below me, trapped in a pocket like mine, only big enough for him to move around. I am sure it is a guy based on the movement he’s making and the fact he’s not crying. He’s making a lot of noise moving around. I think he’s trying to dig himself out. I hope to GOD he doesn’t shift anything that makes my pocket collapse. I would warn him but I have lost my voice. Damn my luck to get buried with a sinus infection. That’s the good thing about my legs hurting so bad. It takes away from the pain from my sinus infection.
I would bang on the debris if I could move my hands but they are pinned. I lost feeling in my right arm and have to shift my weight every hour or so to get a tingle back in my left one. The backlight on my watch wore out about an hour ago. Shifting my left arm a bit I could get it to turn on, but that’s gone now. I am in the dark. I am timeless. Were it not for the sound my neighbors are making, time would be standing perfectly still.
There was a shift in the ground just now. Is that asshole under me moving something or was that the searchers? Does that mean I am going to be saved? GOD I want to live! I have so much to live for God. Carol and I just got serious. She just got me a dog for crying out loud. Jesus, she must be beside herself now. Help her through this, God, please. Keep her safe until I get out of here and come back to her.
I think I am getting out of here. That is a good sign. That is assuming that Dumbshit under me stops moving things about. If you could hear me I would scream at you, pal. You need to stop or you will end up with a few tons of me on top of you. I am sure you don’t want that.
Vibrations. Jackhammer or saw? That’s definitely above me… I know it! Dumbshit under me hears it too! He’s moving about more. STOP you moron! For the love of God keep still! Make some noise, bang on metal but don’t pull out the legs from under my table! The other crying girl is quiet now. I have no idea what happened to her. Wait! That crash! It came from her direction. Holy Jesus, that scream!
She…she’s gone. I know it. I only wonder if dumbshit’s moving about caused it or if the guys above us did.
They heard her! They’re moving their work away. They’re leaving me! Come on Dumbshit, make some noise! Banging. Good. Make it loud man and I’ll buy you dinner when we get out of here. Steak and chophouse, my treat. Just keep up the action and we’ll both get out of this alive. I can hear them getting closer. Come on man! Make the difference in both our lives. You will be a hero.
That sound, down below us. It sounds like creaking, groaning, twisting metal. It is coming from Dumbshit’s hole. He’s screaming now, but not in pain. That’s fear. He’s losing it. His hole is closing in on him. Hold on man…they’ll get us out of here. He has to keep up the noise though, that’s how they’ll find us.
More creaking. Their machinery must be too heavy for the pile. They’re leaving!
NO!
Come back guys. I would rather you crushed me trying to save me than just leave me here to die in the dark. Silence now. They know I am here, they HAVE to. Dumbshit’s banging got their attention, I know it. Now it is time to wait. Let them get the crane onto the top of this pile and start peeling it away like an onion layer. You’ll get to me if you do that boys, but you might want to hurry. I’m in pain.
I’m actually crying now. The tears have a bitter, salty taste but they won’t last long. I’m too dehydrated to maintain them. My legs won’t stop throbbing and I’m sure I will lose this arm.
God it is dark.
I hurt.
Must have dozed off there. No idea how long I was out. Wait…what is that? Light? A tiny speck of light right above me. They have started digging again with a vengeance. They must know I’m here. That’s what woke me up. Dumbshit under me is silent now. That’s useless to me, but for all I know, he’s dead now. I’m not. At least I don’t think I am. Could that ray of light I see be the afterlife? No way. I’m alive, I know it. I have to be. The beam above me moved just then. I can’t see it, but the dust just landed on my face. It’s caking the tears to my face. OW! Something just hit my head. I’m bleeding. I can feel the warmth trickle down my neck. No idea how bad it is…just let them patch me up when they dig me out of here. I’m coming home Carol, I believe that now. These guys are right on top of me and they are making progress. It’s only a matter of time before they get to me. Just have to wait a bit longer now. I can tell the debris on top of me is shifting. It’s moving. They’re getting closer every second. Any minute now one of these guys will peek down here and see me looking up at him. I’m going to try real hard to smile at him, I really will. It’s been three, maybe four days down here I think. That’s nothing. A Labor Day Holiday to the Gulf.
The Light!
It’s Blinding!
I can’t see now, it’s too bright. Am I dead?
(Salvage workers pulled Perry Harding from the collapsed rubble of the Wainwright Building in downtown San Francisco. He was given up for dead and spent eight days trapped beneath a mountain of twisted steel and broken concrete. The workers assumed he was a corpse until they noticed him smiling up at them. He was carefully removed from the building and taken to the nearest hospital. His legs were crushed beyond repair and amputated. His right arm suffered severe nerve damage and was permanently disabled. After three months of treatment and rehabilitation, he was released from the hospital and married Carol Deevers who never gave up on him. She had maintained a constant vigil at the collapse with the couple’s dog Zero and refused to believe him dead. Perry says hello and hopes you are well. )
Today is the First Day…
By Roger A Wilbanks
There was definitely something different about Brian Krewsloge when he walked into work today. The receptionist Janice picked up on it immediately. Brian spoke to her.
He never did that.
Most of the time the only acknowledgement she received was an indiscriminate hello. Any more than that usually required some sort of national holiday. It wasn’t that he was rude, he simply kept to himself. But today, he asked her how her day was going. He asked about her little boy and how his hockey team was doing. The conversation was kind and not forced in a way that was just counter to the way he usually did things. This was not the strange part however.
He smiled, too.
Brian had developed a reputation as a hard-ass. While he wasn’t necessarily mean spirited, he took the hard projects and got them to work. He ruffled a few feathers in the process because, while he was cordial to all whom he dealt, he was never nice. His was not a reputation for mincing words or accepting excuses.
Today he stopped seven people in the hallway and struck up conversations with them. This was all before lunchtime. Timmy in accounting put forth the idea that Brian finally got laid, as everyone in the office knew he had been single since his divorce 5 years ago. This theory was discredited when Brian’s mood remained the same three weeks after what had already been nicknamed the “Nice Day” day.
Brian just changed personalities for the better and no one could figure out why. He made the coffee everyday even though he never drank it. He helped coworkers move large file folders when he passed them in the hall. He even stayed late and helped Kenny the custodian empty the trashcans. He talked to him for an hour and soon learned that Kenny’s grandson was the star player on an inner city high school basketball team that made the playoffs for the first time in 20 seasons. On learning this, the following day he started a collection to help send Kenny and his family to the State Championship in Houston as well as organized a group from the office to go to the game as well. He cheered the loudest when Kenny’s grandson scored the winning basket in overtime.
Yes, there was definitely a change in Brian and everyone noticed it. He and Janice started dating and soon a different colored bouquet of roses began appearing daily on her desk for no reason. Mr Jennings noticed the extra effort around the office and Brian finally earned the promotion he had grumbled so long about being overlooked for.
People complained that the New Brian was simply a ruse designed to obtain that promotion and that soon you would begin to se the Old Brian begin to emerge. They were wrong. Brian attacked his new role in the company with the same fervor he did all things these days and soon the company began seeing records that stood for generations fall one by one. Sales, Production, Organization. Each department that was touched by Brian saw a rebirth and was filled with a new sense of purpose and energy.
Brian was everywhere.
He managed to do all this and still maintain his budding romance with Janice. He attended every one of her son’s hockey games and even got tossed from one when her son got clobbered and Brian had to be restrained from attacking the opposing team’s coach. It was no secret that Janice was QUITE pleased with the New Brian in the bedroom. Janice would tell anyone that asked that Brian attacked that aspect of his life with equal if not greater enthusiasm.
All in all, three months of exposure to the New Brian had a magical effect on those around him. People were helpful at work. They hung out together after work and went to each other’s houses to watch the Big Games. Morale was at an all time high when Brian did another thing he never did before.
He took a vacation.
He had taken time off work during the 12 years he had been with the company, but he always stayed home. He never went anywhere fun. This time that was going to change as Brian announced that he was taking 2 weeks off to see Europe. Janice was unable to go so she stayed home and provided everyone in the office with updates from the daily postcards Brian sent from the places he visited. He saw all the sites he always wanted to see and even took requests from his coworkers.
It soon became everyone’s vacation.
The postcards arrived every morning save one detailing his travels and everyone gathered around Janice’s desk as soon as the mail arrived to hear what he saw that day. When his 2 weeks were almost up, he extended his trip by another week so that he could visit Asia. No one objected. The postcards from China, Tibet and Japan amazed all who saw them. Janice had bought a large world map and began tacking the postcards to the countries they were sent from so that everyone could track Brian’s journey. When he finally returned he was thinner and a little more tired than he was when he left, but the spark was still there in his eyes. He told Janice that while the sites he saw were amazing beyond words, the food and travel conditions left a lot to be desired. Brian soon returned to work and regaled any who would listen with stories from his trip that wouldn’t fit on the postcards.
It really came as no surprise when less than a month later, he took another leave of absence from the company. He had decided to write a novel. He was a huge fan of detective stories and decided to try his hand at crafting one. Janice was sure he would be good at it since he was such a talented writer and had a sharp wit. Brian locked himself in his house for several weeks, checking in periodically with Janice with updates. She was concerned that he was neglecting his health and had still not regained the weight he had lost on his trip. In fact, as time progressed, he was actually thinner now than when he got back. Brian insisted he was doing all he could do to maintain his health and that was the end of it.
Six weeks and 450 pages later, Brian emerged from his study with a riveting tale of deception and discovery that amazed all who read it. He made everyone a bound copy of his novel, which he titled “Gather ye rosebuds” and sent it to a literary friend of his in New York who had connections. Two weeks later, Brian received a letter at work from this friend informing him that his novel had been bought by the third publisher he shopped it to for quite a large sum of money. Brian took this news in stride and catered a large Italian meal for the entire office to celebrate. The question was put to Brian at this party,
“Will you continue working or, now that you are a writer, devote yourself full-time to that?” Brian became quiet for the first time in months. An answer was not readily available.
“I’ll have to get back to you on that one,” he smiled.
Three days later Brian Krewsloge died in his sleep.
Janice was the first to discover his body. She came to his house when he hadn’t answered her repeated phone calls to see if anything was wrong. She immediately called 911 and talked to the police. Brian’s doctor arrived at his house almost the same time as the police and he pulled Janice aside to talk to her in private.
“Brian was diagnosed with inoperable cancer 5 months ago. I gave him the option of Chemotherapy and hospitalization that would have prolonged his life probably 6 more months but he told me something odd when I did. He said, ‘Doc, I’ve spent my entire life living for tomorrow. For that one more day. I have to go to work so that I still have a job tomorrow. I have to pay my mortgage so that I still have a house tomorrow. I have to buy groceries so that I can cook dinner tomorrow. I have never lived for today. I’m 43 years old and I can’t honestly say I have enjoyed one single day of my life. I am changing that today. If you tell me I only have 6 months to live, I will tell you I have 180 days to do all the things I have dreamed of doing. I am going to live each one of those days like it was my last.’ That is exactly what he did.
Oh yes, on his trip to Europe, he did stop and see a specialist friend of mine for a second opinion. He learned there that his condition had indeed worsened. He was then sent to China to see another specialist. The diagnosis was the same. He was dying and maybe had 3 weeks left. I was ordered to inform no one of this. Brian was never one to seek or accept pity. That would have killed him faster than the Cancer. He wanted to keep this secret from everyone, even you. He spoke of you often and quite fondly. He gave me this letter to give to you when he finally passed on.”
Janice took the one page letter and began to read it as the doctor went to speak with the police officers. Tears flowed down her face as she read the final words of the man she had grown to love. In the letter, he thanked her for the love she had shown him and apologized for not talking to her much sooner. He asked her to forgive him for keeping this secret but he wanted his final days filled with joy. He asked her not to grieve for him but to take his cue and live each day as if it were her last. He said that this had brought him indescribable happiness. He asked her to relay these wishes to any and all that asked. He wanted this to be his legacy. He also informed her that she was the beneficiary of his estate. All he had was now hers. He hoped the money from the novel would provide security for her and her son whom Brian had also grown to love.
His funeral plans had already been made and his only request was that people not mourn him; rather they should celebrate what his life became. This would not be the case, however. Everyone that had grown to know this new life-loving Brian Krewsloge shed tears by the bucket on learning of his passing. His momentarily bright spark had illuminated the lives of all that he had contacted.
His funeral was standing room only. Even people whom he met in pubs across Europe attended the service. Janice stood to give his eulogy.
“Live today with the knowledge that you are going to die.” She said.
“Brian has that one small thing to ask of each of you. Smile at the person in line with you at the convenience store. Hold the door for someone and say ‘Thank You’ when someone does it for you. Give a dollar to a homeless man. Go see a silly movie. Stop at a park and enjoy the sound of laughing children. Pet a stranger’s dog. Do these things and you will make the world a better place. We are all going to die. Each and every one of us. The only thing we can honorably do is earn these last remaining days on this planet by making the lives of those around us better.”
She was greeted with a respectful silence. As the friends and family filtered past her though, they all assured her that they would do just that. They would all follow the example so briefly but brightly displayed by their departed friend. Janice did all that she could to maintain the memory, including giving birth to a 7 pound 5 ounce baby boy 7 months after Brian’s death. She gave the boy the gift of Brian’s full name and spent every day of the rest of her life trying to live up to it.
The end
There was definitely something different about Brian Krewsloge when he walked into work today. The receptionist Janice picked up on it immediately. Brian spoke to her.
He never did that.
Most of the time the only acknowledgement she received was an indiscriminate hello. Any more than that usually required some sort of national holiday. It wasn’t that he was rude, he simply kept to himself. But today, he asked her how her day was going. He asked about her little boy and how his hockey team was doing. The conversation was kind and not forced in a way that was just counter to the way he usually did things. This was not the strange part however.
He smiled, too.
Brian had developed a reputation as a hard-ass. While he wasn’t necessarily mean spirited, he took the hard projects and got them to work. He ruffled a few feathers in the process because, while he was cordial to all whom he dealt, he was never nice. His was not a reputation for mincing words or accepting excuses.
Today he stopped seven people in the hallway and struck up conversations with them. This was all before lunchtime. Timmy in accounting put forth the idea that Brian finally got laid, as everyone in the office knew he had been single since his divorce 5 years ago. This theory was discredited when Brian’s mood remained the same three weeks after what had already been nicknamed the “Nice Day” day.
Brian just changed personalities for the better and no one could figure out why. He made the coffee everyday even though he never drank it. He helped coworkers move large file folders when he passed them in the hall. He even stayed late and helped Kenny the custodian empty the trashcans. He talked to him for an hour and soon learned that Kenny’s grandson was the star player on an inner city high school basketball team that made the playoffs for the first time in 20 seasons. On learning this, the following day he started a collection to help send Kenny and his family to the State Championship in Houston as well as organized a group from the office to go to the game as well. He cheered the loudest when Kenny’s grandson scored the winning basket in overtime.
Yes, there was definitely a change in Brian and everyone noticed it. He and Janice started dating and soon a different colored bouquet of roses began appearing daily on her desk for no reason. Mr Jennings noticed the extra effort around the office and Brian finally earned the promotion he had grumbled so long about being overlooked for.
People complained that the New Brian was simply a ruse designed to obtain that promotion and that soon you would begin to se the Old Brian begin to emerge. They were wrong. Brian attacked his new role in the company with the same fervor he did all things these days and soon the company began seeing records that stood for generations fall one by one. Sales, Production, Organization. Each department that was touched by Brian saw a rebirth and was filled with a new sense of purpose and energy.
Brian was everywhere.
He managed to do all this and still maintain his budding romance with Janice. He attended every one of her son’s hockey games and even got tossed from one when her son got clobbered and Brian had to be restrained from attacking the opposing team’s coach. It was no secret that Janice was QUITE pleased with the New Brian in the bedroom. Janice would tell anyone that asked that Brian attacked that aspect of his life with equal if not greater enthusiasm.
All in all, three months of exposure to the New Brian had a magical effect on those around him. People were helpful at work. They hung out together after work and went to each other’s houses to watch the Big Games. Morale was at an all time high when Brian did another thing he never did before.
He took a vacation.
He had taken time off work during the 12 years he had been with the company, but he always stayed home. He never went anywhere fun. This time that was going to change as Brian announced that he was taking 2 weeks off to see Europe. Janice was unable to go so she stayed home and provided everyone in the office with updates from the daily postcards Brian sent from the places he visited. He saw all the sites he always wanted to see and even took requests from his coworkers.
It soon became everyone’s vacation.
The postcards arrived every morning save one detailing his travels and everyone gathered around Janice’s desk as soon as the mail arrived to hear what he saw that day. When his 2 weeks were almost up, he extended his trip by another week so that he could visit Asia. No one objected. The postcards from China, Tibet and Japan amazed all who saw them. Janice had bought a large world map and began tacking the postcards to the countries they were sent from so that everyone could track Brian’s journey. When he finally returned he was thinner and a little more tired than he was when he left, but the spark was still there in his eyes. He told Janice that while the sites he saw were amazing beyond words, the food and travel conditions left a lot to be desired. Brian soon returned to work and regaled any who would listen with stories from his trip that wouldn’t fit on the postcards.
It really came as no surprise when less than a month later, he took another leave of absence from the company. He had decided to write a novel. He was a huge fan of detective stories and decided to try his hand at crafting one. Janice was sure he would be good at it since he was such a talented writer and had a sharp wit. Brian locked himself in his house for several weeks, checking in periodically with Janice with updates. She was concerned that he was neglecting his health and had still not regained the weight he had lost on his trip. In fact, as time progressed, he was actually thinner now than when he got back. Brian insisted he was doing all he could do to maintain his health and that was the end of it.
Six weeks and 450 pages later, Brian emerged from his study with a riveting tale of deception and discovery that amazed all who read it. He made everyone a bound copy of his novel, which he titled “Gather ye rosebuds” and sent it to a literary friend of his in New York who had connections. Two weeks later, Brian received a letter at work from this friend informing him that his novel had been bought by the third publisher he shopped it to for quite a large sum of money. Brian took this news in stride and catered a large Italian meal for the entire office to celebrate. The question was put to Brian at this party,
“Will you continue working or, now that you are a writer, devote yourself full-time to that?” Brian became quiet for the first time in months. An answer was not readily available.
“I’ll have to get back to you on that one,” he smiled.
Three days later Brian Krewsloge died in his sleep.
Janice was the first to discover his body. She came to his house when he hadn’t answered her repeated phone calls to see if anything was wrong. She immediately called 911 and talked to the police. Brian’s doctor arrived at his house almost the same time as the police and he pulled Janice aside to talk to her in private.
“Brian was diagnosed with inoperable cancer 5 months ago. I gave him the option of Chemotherapy and hospitalization that would have prolonged his life probably 6 more months but he told me something odd when I did. He said, ‘Doc, I’ve spent my entire life living for tomorrow. For that one more day. I have to go to work so that I still have a job tomorrow. I have to pay my mortgage so that I still have a house tomorrow. I have to buy groceries so that I can cook dinner tomorrow. I have never lived for today. I’m 43 years old and I can’t honestly say I have enjoyed one single day of my life. I am changing that today. If you tell me I only have 6 months to live, I will tell you I have 180 days to do all the things I have dreamed of doing. I am going to live each one of those days like it was my last.’ That is exactly what he did.
Oh yes, on his trip to Europe, he did stop and see a specialist friend of mine for a second opinion. He learned there that his condition had indeed worsened. He was then sent to China to see another specialist. The diagnosis was the same. He was dying and maybe had 3 weeks left. I was ordered to inform no one of this. Brian was never one to seek or accept pity. That would have killed him faster than the Cancer. He wanted to keep this secret from everyone, even you. He spoke of you often and quite fondly. He gave me this letter to give to you when he finally passed on.”
Janice took the one page letter and began to read it as the doctor went to speak with the police officers. Tears flowed down her face as she read the final words of the man she had grown to love. In the letter, he thanked her for the love she had shown him and apologized for not talking to her much sooner. He asked her to forgive him for keeping this secret but he wanted his final days filled with joy. He asked her not to grieve for him but to take his cue and live each day as if it were her last. He said that this had brought him indescribable happiness. He asked her to relay these wishes to any and all that asked. He wanted this to be his legacy. He also informed her that she was the beneficiary of his estate. All he had was now hers. He hoped the money from the novel would provide security for her and her son whom Brian had also grown to love.
His funeral plans had already been made and his only request was that people not mourn him; rather they should celebrate what his life became. This would not be the case, however. Everyone that had grown to know this new life-loving Brian Krewsloge shed tears by the bucket on learning of his passing. His momentarily bright spark had illuminated the lives of all that he had contacted.
His funeral was standing room only. Even people whom he met in pubs across Europe attended the service. Janice stood to give his eulogy.
“Live today with the knowledge that you are going to die.” She said.
“Brian has that one small thing to ask of each of you. Smile at the person in line with you at the convenience store. Hold the door for someone and say ‘Thank You’ when someone does it for you. Give a dollar to a homeless man. Go see a silly movie. Stop at a park and enjoy the sound of laughing children. Pet a stranger’s dog. Do these things and you will make the world a better place. We are all going to die. Each and every one of us. The only thing we can honorably do is earn these last remaining days on this planet by making the lives of those around us better.”
She was greeted with a respectful silence. As the friends and family filtered past her though, they all assured her that they would do just that. They would all follow the example so briefly but brightly displayed by their departed friend. Janice did all that she could to maintain the memory, including giving birth to a 7 pound 5 ounce baby boy 7 months after Brian’s death. She gave the boy the gift of Brian’s full name and spent every day of the rest of her life trying to live up to it.
The end
The Waiting Room - Halloween Story 2009
By Roger A Wilbanks
“About time you showed. He’s almost here.”
“I was busy, sorry. Have I missed it?”
“No. They’re still in the prep area. He’s got plenty of time. Sort of.”
“Shame, this one. He was such a nice guy. Never gave nobody no trouble. Just did his time and kept his mouth shut.”
“Yeah, but what are you gonna do? The chair don’t care if you’re a nice guy. It only hates you for being alive.”
“Well THAT’S about to change in a minute, right? Where are they?”
“They are walking him in now, see? There goes the light.”
“Only a matter of time now, boys. Any last minute calls from the Governor?”
Cold laughter erupted from the pale yellow room. “I guess not. Sucks to be him.”
“Come on now. Show a little respect. That’s a dead man walking this way.”
“What’s it matter to me? I done my time. I paid my due. Now that some sucker is getting the golden road I’m supposed to throw rose petals at his feet? Screw that shit and screw him!”
“He didn’t do it though. You know that!”
“So the fuck what? How many people taken that last sit didn’t do it? More than anyone’ll ever care to admit and YOU know that of all people!”
“Still…an innocent man is about to die. You can at least show some sliver of compassion. There they are. Look sharp boys.”
“And Girl.”
“Sorry Doris. ‘And Girl’ There they go. Strapping him in, shaving his head. He looks scared.”
“Don’t see why. We all gotta die sometime. He’s just getting a jump on the competition.”
“Would you PLEASE show some respect??? If you can’t show compassion then show some silence!”
“You two knock it off. Padre’s giving him the Last Rites now.”
”Look at him. Still saying he’s innocent. How cute. The chair don’t care, pal. A real man would know that and stop whining about how fair life isn’t.”
“Wonder what he got for his last meal?”
“Steak. They always get steak.”
“Yeah. That and Ice Cream. One hell of a dinner if you ask me. That shit’s good if you can live long enough to keep it down. Instead, these dumb bastards just shit it all over themselves when Hank fires up old Sparky there. Me? I would have picked broccoli.”
“Shittin yourself’s the least of the toll you pay to ride that lightning.”
”Knock it off, they’re about to hit it.”
“Look at those witnesses. Cheering like idiots. Crazy bunch of cocksuckers. Wonder if any of them care that he’s innocent? His family’s watching for cryingoutloud.”
“Oh NOW you care. You are a hypocrite man. Always have been.”
“Look. I don’t give two shits in a snowstorm if he did it or didn’t do it. Not a lot I can do about that from here IS there? But those people over there…THEY bear the responsibility for his death. They are the ones that wanted…no, Demanded an eye for an eye. They are the ones that ignored the evidence. They are the ones with his blood and charred flesh on their hands. Me? I’m just a witness in the waiting room same as you.”
“You made your point, now shut up. They are about to throw the switch.”
“Funny how the lights still dim when they do that. Everyone knows they run on a separate breaker.”
“That’s for effect. Gives the witnesses a basis for comparison. Some way to gauge the amount of power flowing through him.”
”QUIET PLEASE!”
“Sorry.”
“OK, it’s over. Let’s go get him.”
“Where…. where am I?”
“Relax there buddy. You have moved on.”
“Who are you people?”
“We are the ones that have gone before you.”
“Every one of us here has ridden Sparky for the last time. We all come back here when the next person rides the lightning and welcome him…or her…to the other side.”
“But I didn’t do it though. I’m innocent!”
“No man, you’re dead. Guilty or innocent don’t mean shit over on this side. Not yet anyway.”
“But the real killer…”
“Will ride his own lightning some day. I guarantee you that.”
“And trust me pal, it’ll be infinitely worse for him than it was for you. You innocent guys got it pretty good over here. It’s us slobs that actually done the crimes that get shafted.”
“I shit myself…”
“Should have gotten the beef stew and broccoli man. Make them clean THAT up. Rookies, when you guys gonna learn?”
“What’s next for me?”
“Next? That’s a good one. What do you WANT to do man? You got all the options now.”
“Will I ever get to see my family again?”
“Oh yes, when they move on. Till then, think of this as a well-earned vacation. All we gotta do is come back when the State decides to fry another poor sucker (no offence) and help him out.”
“Yeah…we’re the welcoming committee. Ain’t no parade for you though, just us.”
“But I didn’t do it though. I didn’t want to die. I had so much to do…”
“Quit your whining, boy! You got to accept the fact that you are dead and move on now or you will end up just like those poor bastards over there. They NEVER leave. They have to stay here because they can’t accept the fact that they are dead. Living folk call them ghosts. Me? I call em suckers. You gonna be a sucker, boy? Go get your chains fitted right now then and we’ll see you when we see you. Otherwise get a grip on your situation, accept the reality and move on with the rest of us.”
“That’s harsh man.”
“But necessary. This jackass here’s got it made but he can’t see that till he accepts it. He’s fucked if he doesn’t and you all know that.”
“He’s right. Just accept your state and we’ll help you. But we can’t do anything for you till you do.”
“I’m…dead?”
“THAT a boy! What else?”
“I’m innocent…and it doesn’t matter? That’s what you got for me? Just take my pride and let go of everything else? And let those pieces of SHIT get AWAY WITH IT???”
“Whoa man…that’s a dangerous place you’re dancing in. You can’t come unglued now. This is a very precarious time for you. You HAVE to make the right decision here. You gotta let go and move on. The alternative is too bad to mention.”
“I let go and they get AWAY WITH IT!!!”
“No they don’t. Not ultimately. Trust me on this.”
“I don’t care! I want them to pay NOW for killing me.”
“He’s already lost man. Let him go and let’s get going.”
“No he’s not. Not just yet. Listen closely to me here. You are literally standing at that fork in the road. Walk away with us now and you continue on the right path. All options are open to you, you control your destiny. If you decide to take the other path and stay here filled with hate and revenge, your destiny will control you. You will NEVER leave. EVER. Do you understand me? EVER! You have heard of Hell, right? Well this place will become yours innocent or not. This place won’t care. The more the merrier as far as it’s concerned only it won’t be merry for you. That’s your alternative. I can’t tell you what’s on the other side of that door. It’s different for everyone but you are gonna like it. All you have to do is take all that hate, take all that revenge and leave them here in this room. We all did, well most of us. The ones that didn’t…well you can see them over there. You want to join them, that’s your choice. It always is your choice, always has been.”
“Who makes them pay? Who balances the scales?”
“You just gotta have Faith, bro.”
“Faith? I prayed every Goddamn day when I was on Death Row! What good did it ever do me?”
“If you gotta ask, you may not ever know.”
“Moment of truth pal. We’re leaving and that door’s gonna close on you forever when we do. Got that? Forever.”
“Faith, huh? Trust some room full of spooks that everything is going to be all right and just walk out that door and leave all this anger and hate behind? Move on?”
“That’s it in a nutshell.”
“Pretty much.”
“Amen.”
Silence gripped the room for some time…
“Ok. Lead the way. Can I look at my family one last time?”
“Why not? You’ll see them soon enough though. Time ain’t normal over here.”
“Thanks.”
He looked at his family full of pain and sorrow and turned away.
“Ok pal…that’s enough. We have to go now. You coming?”
“Yeah…might as well.”
“That a boy! You’ll like it here. I promise.”
The end
“About time you showed. He’s almost here.”
“I was busy, sorry. Have I missed it?”
“No. They’re still in the prep area. He’s got plenty of time. Sort of.”
“Shame, this one. He was such a nice guy. Never gave nobody no trouble. Just did his time and kept his mouth shut.”
“Yeah, but what are you gonna do? The chair don’t care if you’re a nice guy. It only hates you for being alive.”
“Well THAT’S about to change in a minute, right? Where are they?”
“They are walking him in now, see? There goes the light.”
“Only a matter of time now, boys. Any last minute calls from the Governor?”
Cold laughter erupted from the pale yellow room. “I guess not. Sucks to be him.”
“Come on now. Show a little respect. That’s a dead man walking this way.”
“What’s it matter to me? I done my time. I paid my due. Now that some sucker is getting the golden road I’m supposed to throw rose petals at his feet? Screw that shit and screw him!”
“He didn’t do it though. You know that!”
“So the fuck what? How many people taken that last sit didn’t do it? More than anyone’ll ever care to admit and YOU know that of all people!”
“Still…an innocent man is about to die. You can at least show some sliver of compassion. There they are. Look sharp boys.”
“And Girl.”
“Sorry Doris. ‘And Girl’ There they go. Strapping him in, shaving his head. He looks scared.”
“Don’t see why. We all gotta die sometime. He’s just getting a jump on the competition.”
“Would you PLEASE show some respect??? If you can’t show compassion then show some silence!”
“You two knock it off. Padre’s giving him the Last Rites now.”
”Look at him. Still saying he’s innocent. How cute. The chair don’t care, pal. A real man would know that and stop whining about how fair life isn’t.”
“Wonder what he got for his last meal?”
“Steak. They always get steak.”
“Yeah. That and Ice Cream. One hell of a dinner if you ask me. That shit’s good if you can live long enough to keep it down. Instead, these dumb bastards just shit it all over themselves when Hank fires up old Sparky there. Me? I would have picked broccoli.”
“Shittin yourself’s the least of the toll you pay to ride that lightning.”
”Knock it off, they’re about to hit it.”
“Look at those witnesses. Cheering like idiots. Crazy bunch of cocksuckers. Wonder if any of them care that he’s innocent? His family’s watching for cryingoutloud.”
“Oh NOW you care. You are a hypocrite man. Always have been.”
“Look. I don’t give two shits in a snowstorm if he did it or didn’t do it. Not a lot I can do about that from here IS there? But those people over there…THEY bear the responsibility for his death. They are the ones that wanted…no, Demanded an eye for an eye. They are the ones that ignored the evidence. They are the ones with his blood and charred flesh on their hands. Me? I’m just a witness in the waiting room same as you.”
“You made your point, now shut up. They are about to throw the switch.”
“Funny how the lights still dim when they do that. Everyone knows they run on a separate breaker.”
“That’s for effect. Gives the witnesses a basis for comparison. Some way to gauge the amount of power flowing through him.”
”QUIET PLEASE!”
“Sorry.”
“OK, it’s over. Let’s go get him.”
“Where…. where am I?”
“Relax there buddy. You have moved on.”
“Who are you people?”
“We are the ones that have gone before you.”
“Every one of us here has ridden Sparky for the last time. We all come back here when the next person rides the lightning and welcome him…or her…to the other side.”
“But I didn’t do it though. I’m innocent!”
“No man, you’re dead. Guilty or innocent don’t mean shit over on this side. Not yet anyway.”
“But the real killer…”
“Will ride his own lightning some day. I guarantee you that.”
“And trust me pal, it’ll be infinitely worse for him than it was for you. You innocent guys got it pretty good over here. It’s us slobs that actually done the crimes that get shafted.”
“I shit myself…”
“Should have gotten the beef stew and broccoli man. Make them clean THAT up. Rookies, when you guys gonna learn?”
“What’s next for me?”
“Next? That’s a good one. What do you WANT to do man? You got all the options now.”
“Will I ever get to see my family again?”
“Oh yes, when they move on. Till then, think of this as a well-earned vacation. All we gotta do is come back when the State decides to fry another poor sucker (no offence) and help him out.”
“Yeah…we’re the welcoming committee. Ain’t no parade for you though, just us.”
“But I didn’t do it though. I didn’t want to die. I had so much to do…”
“Quit your whining, boy! You got to accept the fact that you are dead and move on now or you will end up just like those poor bastards over there. They NEVER leave. They have to stay here because they can’t accept the fact that they are dead. Living folk call them ghosts. Me? I call em suckers. You gonna be a sucker, boy? Go get your chains fitted right now then and we’ll see you when we see you. Otherwise get a grip on your situation, accept the reality and move on with the rest of us.”
“That’s harsh man.”
“But necessary. This jackass here’s got it made but he can’t see that till he accepts it. He’s fucked if he doesn’t and you all know that.”
“He’s right. Just accept your state and we’ll help you. But we can’t do anything for you till you do.”
“I’m…dead?”
“THAT a boy! What else?”
“I’m innocent…and it doesn’t matter? That’s what you got for me? Just take my pride and let go of everything else? And let those pieces of SHIT get AWAY WITH IT???”
“Whoa man…that’s a dangerous place you’re dancing in. You can’t come unglued now. This is a very precarious time for you. You HAVE to make the right decision here. You gotta let go and move on. The alternative is too bad to mention.”
“I let go and they get AWAY WITH IT!!!”
“No they don’t. Not ultimately. Trust me on this.”
“I don’t care! I want them to pay NOW for killing me.”
“He’s already lost man. Let him go and let’s get going.”
“No he’s not. Not just yet. Listen closely to me here. You are literally standing at that fork in the road. Walk away with us now and you continue on the right path. All options are open to you, you control your destiny. If you decide to take the other path and stay here filled with hate and revenge, your destiny will control you. You will NEVER leave. EVER. Do you understand me? EVER! You have heard of Hell, right? Well this place will become yours innocent or not. This place won’t care. The more the merrier as far as it’s concerned only it won’t be merry for you. That’s your alternative. I can’t tell you what’s on the other side of that door. It’s different for everyone but you are gonna like it. All you have to do is take all that hate, take all that revenge and leave them here in this room. We all did, well most of us. The ones that didn’t…well you can see them over there. You want to join them, that’s your choice. It always is your choice, always has been.”
“Who makes them pay? Who balances the scales?”
“You just gotta have Faith, bro.”
“Faith? I prayed every Goddamn day when I was on Death Row! What good did it ever do me?”
“If you gotta ask, you may not ever know.”
“Moment of truth pal. We’re leaving and that door’s gonna close on you forever when we do. Got that? Forever.”
“Faith, huh? Trust some room full of spooks that everything is going to be all right and just walk out that door and leave all this anger and hate behind? Move on?”
“That’s it in a nutshell.”
“Pretty much.”
“Amen.”
Silence gripped the room for some time…
“Ok. Lead the way. Can I look at my family one last time?”
“Why not? You’ll see them soon enough though. Time ain’t normal over here.”
“Thanks.”
He looked at his family full of pain and sorrow and turned away.
“Ok pal…that’s enough. We have to go now. You coming?”
“Yeah…might as well.”
“That a boy! You’ll like it here. I promise.”
The end
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)