Last year at this time, my earth shook.. My buildings were reduced to rubble. My world was rendered ghostly and desolate. My parents died last year, days before my Birthday and Thanksgiving. Both of them. Within days of each other. My father was dying from the Cancer that was consuming him, my mother wore herself to death caring for him. She died first, of a brain aneurysm, in my living room while I was in my garage. She lie on that cold wooden floor for close to 20 minutes before I found her. The doctors told me she died instantly and simply fell where she stood. My father passed on 3 days later, and while he was not told my mother was gone (and in no condition to comprehend that either) I have the feeling he knew and just said goodbye to us to be with her.
[Part of me likes to think that she was there getting a room ready for him and he was simply waiting for the cable to get turned on so he could watch the Texas Rangers in the World Series.]
This showed me that I am not as strong as I like to think I am. I was an emotional wreck. This much is true. And if you want the honest answer to the "How are you doing?" question, I still haven't recovered. I doubt I ever will. But I don't think I am supposed to. Not fully at any rate. I relied on the kindness of my friends then. They were my rock. No. That isn't 100% right. They were my anchor as the storm rocked my puny little boat with it's Olympian Fury. I will never be able to repay that kindness.
I wanted to say something at my parents funeral. I wanted to use my words to find the right way to encapsulate my parent's legacy before the many people at the funeral service but I was unable. I still have trouble putting into print what is in my head where they are concerned. How do you eulogize the two people who meant everything to you?
They were good people.
That is it. In an nutshell, that was the core of my parents. No one met them and disliked them. They had their flaws, just like we all do, but at the bare minimalistic core of their beings, they were good people. I like to think I have that same quality, that on some genetic level I have simply been gifted from birth with decency. My friends who know me will all tell you I have, but I know better. Being decent is a daily challenge. And they won that challenge more than they lost.
I still miss them. Every day. I don't talk about them...especially with people who I have to see on a daily basis. The hardest part of dealing with this event has been my friends' concern. I see how they have taken on my suffering like a cross for themselves and THAT....that is the thing that still wrenches my heart.
I have a lot to do now. I decided on the day that I put them into the dirt on that clear, cold day, with a sky so blue it touched me, that I would make our name known. They would live on through me. That's not as creepy as it sounds. It's called a legacy and mine has been stunted. I have devoted the last 10 years of my life taking care of my parents. Now I will devote the remaining days I have left to making sure that the world knows my name. Through THAT, they will achieve something they never did in life. I will give them something to be look on with pride and say from wherever they are now "THAT is my Son. Look at him go."
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Saturday, October 29, 2011
Monster Boss - Halloween 2011 Short Story
Monster Boss
2011 Halloween Short Story by Roger A Wilbanks
1
Howard Miller was the world's smartest idiot. He may have a high IQ, but by all measures his grasp on the day to day operations of the real world left many of the people in his life scratching their heads in amazement. He could talk for hours about science and history and often did, but the day he won the lottery, he quit his high paying job only to find that his winnings totaled one week's salary because he had only matched 4 numbers.
It was this action that brought him to the office of Dr. Heinrich Fuller. Dr Fuller moved to Cockrell Hill only recently and his presence in this sleepy town had yet to make its full impact. To many he was a mystery. None could recall ever seeing him. They only noticed that one day the 2-story Art Deco office building on the corner of Franklin and Jefferson was vacant and the next it was open for business. Almost. No one was entirely sure what business Dr Fuller was engaged in. He never saw patients and the only sign of life in his office was the ever present Howard Miller as he bustled to and fro taking care of the daily operations. The whispers began immediately, gaining strength with a spate of mysterious disappearances among the town's homeless population. The whispers grew louder as strange markings appeared on the trees surrounding the tiny city within the woods.
This past summer had been the hottest one the residents of Cockrell Hill could remember. No one was free of its oppressive smothering. Even Mr Cain, the town's eldest, could recall the Montonauk river ever running so low through the city. Ancient masonry, hidden by 2 centuries of flowing water was now visible, marking the location of bridges built by the town's previous masters. Autumn began its slow trot towards the town atop a rust-colored pony, and everyone could look at the horizon and feel a sense of relief seeing him getting larger upon the horizon. Summer wasn't quite done with them yet, however. Just as the thermometers began their reluctant crawl south, he gave them one more week of sweat-covered bodies and fever dreams to remember him by.
Howard opened the parlor door to Dr Fuller's office on Monday. A plate of unfinished greyish meat that comprised the remains of Doctor's dinner lay in front of the door that led to the upstairs office. This reminded Howard of the meals his grandmother would make herself and as the Doctor was almost as old as she was, Howard assumed their culinary tastes similar.
The fan was broken again. He swept the night's debris out onto the sidewalk as he did each day prior. He never gave any thought to where this clutter came from. Small pieces of white-flecked shell and sand were spread out across the floor along with dust Howard assumed had fallen from the ceiling. This office was almost 100 years old and had been vacant for the last 50 years, standing watch on the corner with the thousand yard stare that only forgotten buildings can manage. He swatted the flies away from his face as he did his daily cleaning. This hot flash had brought them to the people once again. The invitingly repulsive odor of a bloated corpse was on the morning's air. The Sheriff would no doubt have to make the trip to the trickling riverbed to see which animal was the latest claimed by the drought-like conditions. Howard ignored the smell as others sitting outside speculated what animal could cause this type of odor. Clay Harrison, the town Barber, guessed it must be a stray pack mule wandered down from the mountain campsites. Arnold Cobblepot, Attorney at Law, argued it was the missing heifer from Old Lady Wilke's dairy farm. Howard knew what it was and sniffed his derision at these guesses, completing his sweeping before the sun had fully scaled the trees. He closed the door to the office and opened the arched window that set atop the door frame. Each window within the arch swiveled to allow air to flow freely into the building. Howard returned to his desk and began to address the paperwork left for him by Dr Fuller.
The Dr ordered a lot of medical supplies. There were at least 14 pages of items ranging from simple test tubes from California to sophisticated micro measurement devices from Europe. Howard filed the letters and prepared the day's mail with the supply requests, including Dr Fuller's premade checks within each manilla envelope. This task completed, Howard poured himself another cup of coffee. As he stirred in his powdered creamer, he noticed that worms had appeared under the table his coffee station was set upon. These worms were white and stringy and less than an inch long. They resembled phlegm more than earthworms. Howard assumed these were brought to the surface from whatever malignant growth that spawned them by the heat and swept them up. He returned to his coffee and saw that his sugar bowl has been moved from the corner of the table. It had 4 round, inch-wide whitish smudges in a vertical line along one side. Howard picked up his sugar bowl and wiped it clean, only now noticing the seashell piece in his sugar bowl. It was larger than the ones he swept up every day but clearly made of the same material. He dumped the sugar and refilled it from the sealed bag below.
Coffee in hand, Howard was officially done with his duties for the day. He never saw Dr Fuller during the daytime. When he was hired, he remembered the Dr interviewed him at dusk and was late in doing so. Howard chalked that up to the man's busy schedule and accepted the job that was offered. The pay wasn't close to what he was making as when he was an electrical engineer in the City, but at least now he could walk to work rather than commute 2 hours a day. For that alone, he was grateful. Howard sensed the commotion in the street long before he heard it. The Sheriff's pickup raced past his window with people following the dust cloud kicked up . Howard assumed they had found the body of the cow. As they prepared to assign blame for the ignorant animal's demise, Howard remained in his chair and sipped his coffee. He opened up the crossword puzzle from today's newspaper and began his daily ritual. Clay Harrison ran past his window and stopped. He looked in at Howard, oblivious to the ruckus. He made a curious, pained expression and continued along to the Sheriff's office. Howard greeted this look with a derisive shrug and correctly answered “Gallop” as a 6 letter word for “faster than a trot”. He wrote it in ink.
The commotion had gained a welcome drop in volume as the townsfolk gathered at the Sheriff's office, 3 blocks away from Dr Fuller's office. Howard wrote the word “Frangible”, completing the puzzle's request for a 9 letter word for “Easily Broken...on purpose” He heard a thump from upstairs. It sounded like something soft and wet falling from a great height. He heard this noise from time to time. Dr Fuller had once explained that he had several experiments ongoing on upstairs that involved caged animals. Howard accepted that one had simply fallen within its cage and wrote “Decline” as a a 7 letter reply to “...of the Roman Empire” The unmistakable sound of dragging filled the small downstairs office from the room above, but Howard was prevented from fashioning an explanation for this odd noise by the face of Clay Harrison again in his window. This time the curious glare was replaced by roiling anger. Clay looked away from the office and screamed “He's here!” As he turned his eyes back to Howard, other townsfolk appeared in the 8 foot long window frame including Arnold Cobblepot, Sheriff Talbot and even Ernie Hutton, the town mechanic. All of them were looking at Howard.
2
Howard pointed at himself and said “Me?”, unsure of the question he was answering. Sheriff Talbot nodded his yes and pointed at the sidewalk outside the office with an unmistakable “Now!” motion.
Howard put his pen down and took a sip of his coffee. He looked at the door that opened to the upstairs office and saw that it was securely locked. He went outside.
Arnold began the inquisition.
“What the hell is your boss doing up there? This is the 6th cattle mutilation this summer.”
“What are you talking about?” Howard answered.
“There hasn't been so much as a cow coming down with a case of Hoof and Mouth in generations. Your boss moves in with his science experiments and every week now we find the remains of some animal out in the woods.” the lawyer demanded.
“And what makes you take the deductive leap and say that Dr Fuller is the cause of this? Because he's new?” Howard looked every person in the mob in the eye as he asked this. “You see the remains of some cow that fell in with a bad wolf and come running to ME saying 'Your Doctor is a Monster!' Seriously?” Howard laughed. The crowd began to lose it's venomous edge.
Clay Harrison would buy none of this. “Look. We all know how much smarter than us you think you are, but nothing strange like this happened before THAT freak arrived. None of us have ever seen the man. The only way we even know he's here is the lights that he turns on at night while he's working. He might not be a monster but he sure is fucking weird!”
The mob found their voice again and roused their agreement.
“So he's Dracula, now?” Howard laughed. “He only comes out at night and shreds cattle? Are you people listening to yourselves?” Howard was laughing now. “Does that make Earl a wolf-man because he works the night shift at the brewery? I never see HIM during the daytime. Hey Earl. Do you even HAVE a shadow? This is laughable. If you want to figure out what is killing these animals, I suggest you bring in a game warden and not an exorcist!” Howard turned on his heel and stormed back inside, slamming the door behind him. The mob, exhausted of their anger like a snuffed candle, dispersed without a sound. Only Sheriff Talbot remained. He wasn't looking at Howard though. He was looking at the 2nd floor window directly above them and wondering if he had really seen what he thought he had just seen.
3
The hours fell through the glass like grains of sand as the workday drew to a close. Signs in the shop windows along Franklin and Main streets began to reflect this change as they flipped from OPEN to CLOSED. Lights ignited in the windows that dotted this busy street in defiance to the lazy shawl darkness pulled across the town. Howard turned the desk lamp on as he began his end of day cleaning. His closing sweep produced more bits of sand and seashell pieces as well as dust from the geriatric building's rafters. Howard's focus was drawn to the abrupt blink of light that appeared at the base of the door leading upstairs. “The Boss is here,” he thought. No sooner had this occured to him he was startled by a rap on the window outside. The Sheriff was standing outside the office and pointed to the ground in front of him, again signaling to Howard “Now.” Howard looked down and sighed. He leaned the broom against the doorway that led upstairs and walked outside. The heat from the day was still attached to everything, leeching strength and comfort from everyone.
“I don't know what your boss is doing. I don't care. I know he's been the one doing this cattle thing and I want you to relay one thing for me. Stop. Now. This isn't the place for him to pull this crap. I won't allow it.”
“Sheriff, I expect this kind of nonsense from the people who live here. They have nothing else to talk about. Life in this little place never changes. Anytime something new happens, they get out their pitchforks and torches. But you? I expected you to be above this.” Howard shook his head and leaned against the building. Sheriff Talbot looked back to the window again. The light was on now and he was certain that if he looked long enough he would see it again. He returned his gaze back to Howard.
“Cut the bullshit, Miller. You and I both know what is going on here and I'm the guy standing here telling you right now that I won’t allow it. Tell your boss “Tonight is your last night here.” Tell him I said he is no longer welcome here. Tell him that he has this one last chance to pack his shit and slip out just as fast as he slipped in. if he's still here in the morning there's gonna be hell to pay.” This caught Howard's attention. He had known this man for 30 years and never heard him say anything so abrupt leave his mouth. That was part of the reason he was the town sheriff. He never went too far along with any one emotion. His rule was one of deja vu; every day like the one before. To hear him threaten Dr Fuller shook Howard from the derisive stare he had affixed to Sheriff Talbot. “What the hell are you talking about, Sheriff?”
“I have been on the phone all day since finding that corpse. I told the folk here it was Old Lady Wilke's cow. I lied. It was Cliff. I found him in a clearing marked off with those symbols we've been seeing around town. I know Fuller did this. I talked to the Sheriffs in 4 other towns along the river. The stories were all the same. Strange man moves in, people disappear, everything boils to a head as the clergy get involved and the office he was holed up in goes up in blazes and the local person hired to mind the store meets a gory end. Did you know there are exorcists prowling the woods RIGHT NOW looking for your boss? He's very popular among their kind. Something like a trophy. I'll bet he's been on the run for a while now. “ The blood began to drain from Howard's face as he began seeing the logic in the Sheriff's words.
He had seen this all unfold before him and convinced himself that there was nothing to fear. He smelled the rotten meat every morning, knowing he'd not left anything out. He realized those weren't seashells he had swept up. They were scales. His mind turned back to the incident with his coffee station this morning. Those marks were hand prints. The good Doctor had been putting something in his coffee since he started working there. Howard vomited and fell to the sidewalk. “I should have seen this all along...” he whispered.
“Howard, don't take this the wrong way, but you're an idiot. You wouldn't have seen this if your boss had unfurled his leather wings in front of you while he was chomping down on Old Man Higgins. You may be the smartest person in this town, but when it comes to seeing the tree right in front of you, you can't get past the forest. But I want you to tell him “Move along” This is his last warning. If he's not gone by this time tomorrow (he raised his voice so that the shape now behind the curtain of the second story window could easily hear) this town will be crawling with priests looking for some place to sprinkle their holy water and shove their crucifixes.”
Howard got up and wiped the spew from his face. “I'm not going back in there. He's all yours.” He turned on his heel and ran into the night.
Sheriff Talbot took a step back and looked at the 2nd story window with the light on. “I know you heard me. I don't make idle threats. I have already made the necessary phone calls. These people will be here tomorrow.” The shape in the window pulled back the curtain and locked eyes with the sheriff who looked much different now. His eyes glowed like red coals and an issue of smoke bellowed forth from them as he glared into the upstairs window and said “The last thing this town needs is another monster.”
2011 Halloween Short Story by Roger A Wilbanks
1
Howard Miller was the world's smartest idiot. He may have a high IQ, but by all measures his grasp on the day to day operations of the real world left many of the people in his life scratching their heads in amazement. He could talk for hours about science and history and often did, but the day he won the lottery, he quit his high paying job only to find that his winnings totaled one week's salary because he had only matched 4 numbers.
It was this action that brought him to the office of Dr. Heinrich Fuller. Dr Fuller moved to Cockrell Hill only recently and his presence in this sleepy town had yet to make its full impact. To many he was a mystery. None could recall ever seeing him. They only noticed that one day the 2-story Art Deco office building on the corner of Franklin and Jefferson was vacant and the next it was open for business. Almost. No one was entirely sure what business Dr Fuller was engaged in. He never saw patients and the only sign of life in his office was the ever present Howard Miller as he bustled to and fro taking care of the daily operations. The whispers began immediately, gaining strength with a spate of mysterious disappearances among the town's homeless population. The whispers grew louder as strange markings appeared on the trees surrounding the tiny city within the woods.
This past summer had been the hottest one the residents of Cockrell Hill could remember. No one was free of its oppressive smothering. Even Mr Cain, the town's eldest, could recall the Montonauk river ever running so low through the city. Ancient masonry, hidden by 2 centuries of flowing water was now visible, marking the location of bridges built by the town's previous masters. Autumn began its slow trot towards the town atop a rust-colored pony, and everyone could look at the horizon and feel a sense of relief seeing him getting larger upon the horizon. Summer wasn't quite done with them yet, however. Just as the thermometers began their reluctant crawl south, he gave them one more week of sweat-covered bodies and fever dreams to remember him by.
Howard opened the parlor door to Dr Fuller's office on Monday. A plate of unfinished greyish meat that comprised the remains of Doctor's dinner lay in front of the door that led to the upstairs office. This reminded Howard of the meals his grandmother would make herself and as the Doctor was almost as old as she was, Howard assumed their culinary tastes similar.
The fan was broken again. He swept the night's debris out onto the sidewalk as he did each day prior. He never gave any thought to where this clutter came from. Small pieces of white-flecked shell and sand were spread out across the floor along with dust Howard assumed had fallen from the ceiling. This office was almost 100 years old and had been vacant for the last 50 years, standing watch on the corner with the thousand yard stare that only forgotten buildings can manage. He swatted the flies away from his face as he did his daily cleaning. This hot flash had brought them to the people once again. The invitingly repulsive odor of a bloated corpse was on the morning's air. The Sheriff would no doubt have to make the trip to the trickling riverbed to see which animal was the latest claimed by the drought-like conditions. Howard ignored the smell as others sitting outside speculated what animal could cause this type of odor. Clay Harrison, the town Barber, guessed it must be a stray pack mule wandered down from the mountain campsites. Arnold Cobblepot, Attorney at Law, argued it was the missing heifer from Old Lady Wilke's dairy farm. Howard knew what it was and sniffed his derision at these guesses, completing his sweeping before the sun had fully scaled the trees. He closed the door to the office and opened the arched window that set atop the door frame. Each window within the arch swiveled to allow air to flow freely into the building. Howard returned to his desk and began to address the paperwork left for him by Dr Fuller.
The Dr ordered a lot of medical supplies. There were at least 14 pages of items ranging from simple test tubes from California to sophisticated micro measurement devices from Europe. Howard filed the letters and prepared the day's mail with the supply requests, including Dr Fuller's premade checks within each manilla envelope. This task completed, Howard poured himself another cup of coffee. As he stirred in his powdered creamer, he noticed that worms had appeared under the table his coffee station was set upon. These worms were white and stringy and less than an inch long. They resembled phlegm more than earthworms. Howard assumed these were brought to the surface from whatever malignant growth that spawned them by the heat and swept them up. He returned to his coffee and saw that his sugar bowl has been moved from the corner of the table. It had 4 round, inch-wide whitish smudges in a vertical line along one side. Howard picked up his sugar bowl and wiped it clean, only now noticing the seashell piece in his sugar bowl. It was larger than the ones he swept up every day but clearly made of the same material. He dumped the sugar and refilled it from the sealed bag below.
Coffee in hand, Howard was officially done with his duties for the day. He never saw Dr Fuller during the daytime. When he was hired, he remembered the Dr interviewed him at dusk and was late in doing so. Howard chalked that up to the man's busy schedule and accepted the job that was offered. The pay wasn't close to what he was making as when he was an electrical engineer in the City, but at least now he could walk to work rather than commute 2 hours a day. For that alone, he was grateful. Howard sensed the commotion in the street long before he heard it. The Sheriff's pickup raced past his window with people following the dust cloud kicked up . Howard assumed they had found the body of the cow. As they prepared to assign blame for the ignorant animal's demise, Howard remained in his chair and sipped his coffee. He opened up the crossword puzzle from today's newspaper and began his daily ritual. Clay Harrison ran past his window and stopped. He looked in at Howard, oblivious to the ruckus. He made a curious, pained expression and continued along to the Sheriff's office. Howard greeted this look with a derisive shrug and correctly answered “Gallop” as a 6 letter word for “faster than a trot”. He wrote it in ink.
The commotion had gained a welcome drop in volume as the townsfolk gathered at the Sheriff's office, 3 blocks away from Dr Fuller's office. Howard wrote the word “Frangible”, completing the puzzle's request for a 9 letter word for “Easily Broken...on purpose” He heard a thump from upstairs. It sounded like something soft and wet falling from a great height. He heard this noise from time to time. Dr Fuller had once explained that he had several experiments ongoing on upstairs that involved caged animals. Howard accepted that one had simply fallen within its cage and wrote “Decline” as a a 7 letter reply to “...of the Roman Empire” The unmistakable sound of dragging filled the small downstairs office from the room above, but Howard was prevented from fashioning an explanation for this odd noise by the face of Clay Harrison again in his window. This time the curious glare was replaced by roiling anger. Clay looked away from the office and screamed “He's here!” As he turned his eyes back to Howard, other townsfolk appeared in the 8 foot long window frame including Arnold Cobblepot, Sheriff Talbot and even Ernie Hutton, the town mechanic. All of them were looking at Howard.
2
Howard pointed at himself and said “Me?”, unsure of the question he was answering. Sheriff Talbot nodded his yes and pointed at the sidewalk outside the office with an unmistakable “Now!” motion.
Howard put his pen down and took a sip of his coffee. He looked at the door that opened to the upstairs office and saw that it was securely locked. He went outside.
Arnold began the inquisition.
“What the hell is your boss doing up there? This is the 6th cattle mutilation this summer.”
“What are you talking about?” Howard answered.
“There hasn't been so much as a cow coming down with a case of Hoof and Mouth in generations. Your boss moves in with his science experiments and every week now we find the remains of some animal out in the woods.” the lawyer demanded.
“And what makes you take the deductive leap and say that Dr Fuller is the cause of this? Because he's new?” Howard looked every person in the mob in the eye as he asked this. “You see the remains of some cow that fell in with a bad wolf and come running to ME saying 'Your Doctor is a Monster!' Seriously?” Howard laughed. The crowd began to lose it's venomous edge.
Clay Harrison would buy none of this. “Look. We all know how much smarter than us you think you are, but nothing strange like this happened before THAT freak arrived. None of us have ever seen the man. The only way we even know he's here is the lights that he turns on at night while he's working. He might not be a monster but he sure is fucking weird!”
The mob found their voice again and roused their agreement.
“So he's Dracula, now?” Howard laughed. “He only comes out at night and shreds cattle? Are you people listening to yourselves?” Howard was laughing now. “Does that make Earl a wolf-man because he works the night shift at the brewery? I never see HIM during the daytime. Hey Earl. Do you even HAVE a shadow? This is laughable. If you want to figure out what is killing these animals, I suggest you bring in a game warden and not an exorcist!” Howard turned on his heel and stormed back inside, slamming the door behind him. The mob, exhausted of their anger like a snuffed candle, dispersed without a sound. Only Sheriff Talbot remained. He wasn't looking at Howard though. He was looking at the 2nd floor window directly above them and wondering if he had really seen what he thought he had just seen.
3
The hours fell through the glass like grains of sand as the workday drew to a close. Signs in the shop windows along Franklin and Main streets began to reflect this change as they flipped from OPEN to CLOSED. Lights ignited in the windows that dotted this busy street in defiance to the lazy shawl darkness pulled across the town. Howard turned the desk lamp on as he began his end of day cleaning. His closing sweep produced more bits of sand and seashell pieces as well as dust from the geriatric building's rafters. Howard's focus was drawn to the abrupt blink of light that appeared at the base of the door leading upstairs. “The Boss is here,” he thought. No sooner had this occured to him he was startled by a rap on the window outside. The Sheriff was standing outside the office and pointed to the ground in front of him, again signaling to Howard “Now.” Howard looked down and sighed. He leaned the broom against the doorway that led upstairs and walked outside. The heat from the day was still attached to everything, leeching strength and comfort from everyone.
“I don't know what your boss is doing. I don't care. I know he's been the one doing this cattle thing and I want you to relay one thing for me. Stop. Now. This isn't the place for him to pull this crap. I won't allow it.”
“Sheriff, I expect this kind of nonsense from the people who live here. They have nothing else to talk about. Life in this little place never changes. Anytime something new happens, they get out their pitchforks and torches. But you? I expected you to be above this.” Howard shook his head and leaned against the building. Sheriff Talbot looked back to the window again. The light was on now and he was certain that if he looked long enough he would see it again. He returned his gaze back to Howard.
“Cut the bullshit, Miller. You and I both know what is going on here and I'm the guy standing here telling you right now that I won’t allow it. Tell your boss “Tonight is your last night here.” Tell him I said he is no longer welcome here. Tell him that he has this one last chance to pack his shit and slip out just as fast as he slipped in. if he's still here in the morning there's gonna be hell to pay.” This caught Howard's attention. He had known this man for 30 years and never heard him say anything so abrupt leave his mouth. That was part of the reason he was the town sheriff. He never went too far along with any one emotion. His rule was one of deja vu; every day like the one before. To hear him threaten Dr Fuller shook Howard from the derisive stare he had affixed to Sheriff Talbot. “What the hell are you talking about, Sheriff?”
“I have been on the phone all day since finding that corpse. I told the folk here it was Old Lady Wilke's cow. I lied. It was Cliff. I found him in a clearing marked off with those symbols we've been seeing around town. I know Fuller did this. I talked to the Sheriffs in 4 other towns along the river. The stories were all the same. Strange man moves in, people disappear, everything boils to a head as the clergy get involved and the office he was holed up in goes up in blazes and the local person hired to mind the store meets a gory end. Did you know there are exorcists prowling the woods RIGHT NOW looking for your boss? He's very popular among their kind. Something like a trophy. I'll bet he's been on the run for a while now. “ The blood began to drain from Howard's face as he began seeing the logic in the Sheriff's words.
He had seen this all unfold before him and convinced himself that there was nothing to fear. He smelled the rotten meat every morning, knowing he'd not left anything out. He realized those weren't seashells he had swept up. They were scales. His mind turned back to the incident with his coffee station this morning. Those marks were hand prints. The good Doctor had been putting something in his coffee since he started working there. Howard vomited and fell to the sidewalk. “I should have seen this all along...” he whispered.
“Howard, don't take this the wrong way, but you're an idiot. You wouldn't have seen this if your boss had unfurled his leather wings in front of you while he was chomping down on Old Man Higgins. You may be the smartest person in this town, but when it comes to seeing the tree right in front of you, you can't get past the forest. But I want you to tell him “Move along” This is his last warning. If he's not gone by this time tomorrow (he raised his voice so that the shape now behind the curtain of the second story window could easily hear) this town will be crawling with priests looking for some place to sprinkle their holy water and shove their crucifixes.”
Howard got up and wiped the spew from his face. “I'm not going back in there. He's all yours.” He turned on his heel and ran into the night.
Sheriff Talbot took a step back and looked at the 2nd story window with the light on. “I know you heard me. I don't make idle threats. I have already made the necessary phone calls. These people will be here tomorrow.” The shape in the window pulled back the curtain and locked eyes with the sheriff who looked much different now. His eyes glowed like red coals and an issue of smoke bellowed forth from them as he glared into the upstairs window and said “The last thing this town needs is another monster.”
Saturday, August 20, 2011
A Year and a Day
While the time is off a bit, hear me out.
It's been a year since my father fell while walking down the hall. He was having trouble breathing and eating. He was recovering from throat cancer, but how do you recover from that? His throat had been scorched raw...his teeth removed and his saliva glands incinerated. He survived the cancer but I would never call the life he was forced to live recovered. It was survival.
Pure and simple.
We, my brother and I, watched the man we grew up loving, fearing and respecting erode in front of our eyes. Piece by piece were removed from this man as payment for the life he chose to lead. The cigarettes and the alcohol you currently enjoy are adding up right now. I promise you this. I've seen the payment they demand upclose and in person. I'm not about to sit on a soapbox and decry the dangers of excess. You keep on smoking and drinking, as will I. Just understand the nature of your transaction. You are exchanging the now for tomorrow. You are enacting the free will that makes us intrinsically human and for that, I can't fault you. Just as I couldn't bring myself to tell my father, several years removed from cancer treatment to stop smoking and drinking.
He would have told me to mind my own goddamn business had I brought it up, and he would have been right in doing so. Still, it is a source of regret on my part that I wasn't more emphatic in my protest.
On Aug 31 of last year...after he had fallen several times and was having trouble even breathing, he agreed to go to the hospital. The doctor at the VA Emergency Room told me and my mother that my father would be dead in a week. He thought he was being optimistic in this prediction. He honestly didn't think my father would last the night.
I told his doctor what every son believes in his heart. "You don't know my father. He is a fighter." He laughed the safe amusement of a doctor who knows better. But I was sincere. My father WAS a fighter. After they drained his lung of the fluid build up and replenished his fluids (His inability to swallow for weeks had limited his eating and drinking. He was dehydrated and malnourished) the fighter emerged. My father, whom this doctor of medicine had honestly thought would be dead in days was healthy and ready to go home. Until the test results returned. My fathers cancer had returned and in a more aggressive form than before. It was incurable...inoperable and they again told me and my family that my father would be dead in a week.
"You don't know my dad." I said again. This time they were right. The cancer took a little longer than a week. It took 3 months to be precise...but it claimed my father. The stress of staying by his bedside for these months also claimed my mother, only days before he passed. I thanked the doctors at the VA for their exemplary service and care and buried both my parents days after my birthday.
This marked the end of my life as I knew it. I struggle to find the words to describe how this affcted me. A year ago today, I was hot, I was tired, but I was whole...I was happy. Times were tough but I knew I would make it through because of my family. The future was a window I watched play out life's daily performance while I sat comfortably distanced.
Nine months ago, I discovered the meaning of the word numb. I have been without feeling since that day. It is as if a piece of my soul was buried alongside my parents in that cemetary. I have smiled since then. I have cried as well. I have been visited by my parents almost nightly in my dreams. Sometimes these are plesant and provide me with a sense of peace. Other times... Well other times they simply aren't. In the last 9 months I would guess that I have seen my parents die at least 200 times in my dreams and I fear that is an optimistic number.
I wake at 3am with the same feeling of despair smothering me as I felt when the doctor at Methodist Hospital told me my mother was dead. My body is usually soaked in my own sweat. It is not a feeling I have shared with anyone. But I know what it is and I know why I write this now. I share this with you anonymous people now as a catharsis. I will continue to dream of my parents. I will continue to revulse in horror at my memory of performing CPR on my already dead mother and I will continue to see with utter clarity in my mind's eye the withered body of my father as we said goodbye. I will also know that their spirits were gone from those lifeless bodies and the pain they endured without complaint whisked away by the embrace of Old Man Death. I don't hate Old Man Death, mind you. his is a necessary task. Without his service, suffering and pain would be the norm.
But as much as I miss my parents and want them back, I understand. I get it. Time has softened the blow a bit. The dreams still come with regularity. They will for some time to come. I can live with this. It's the alternative that would hurt more. My father continuing to suffer. My mother continuing to wear herself to the bone standing her vigil. That's what I find unacceptable. That's what the lesson of the last year has taught me.
If you had said to me a year and a day ago that my parents would both still be alive today, I would have taken that as a good thing. But having seen what I have...having endured what I have...How could that be a good thing? Today is the first day in this entire time that I can say without feeling in the least bit bad about it that I am happy that my parents are gone. I can say this because their pain ended. The next step in their lives began. THIS...I envy. I can't wait to see them again and ask them how things have been. I bet they have some pretty damned awesome stories to tell.
It's been a year since my father fell while walking down the hall. He was having trouble breathing and eating. He was recovering from throat cancer, but how do you recover from that? His throat had been scorched raw...his teeth removed and his saliva glands incinerated. He survived the cancer but I would never call the life he was forced to live recovered. It was survival.
Pure and simple.
We, my brother and I, watched the man we grew up loving, fearing and respecting erode in front of our eyes. Piece by piece were removed from this man as payment for the life he chose to lead. The cigarettes and the alcohol you currently enjoy are adding up right now. I promise you this. I've seen the payment they demand upclose and in person. I'm not about to sit on a soapbox and decry the dangers of excess. You keep on smoking and drinking, as will I. Just understand the nature of your transaction. You are exchanging the now for tomorrow. You are enacting the free will that makes us intrinsically human and for that, I can't fault you. Just as I couldn't bring myself to tell my father, several years removed from cancer treatment to stop smoking and drinking.
He would have told me to mind my own goddamn business had I brought it up, and he would have been right in doing so. Still, it is a source of regret on my part that I wasn't more emphatic in my protest.
On Aug 31 of last year...after he had fallen several times and was having trouble even breathing, he agreed to go to the hospital. The doctor at the VA Emergency Room told me and my mother that my father would be dead in a week. He thought he was being optimistic in this prediction. He honestly didn't think my father would last the night.
I told his doctor what every son believes in his heart. "You don't know my father. He is a fighter." He laughed the safe amusement of a doctor who knows better. But I was sincere. My father WAS a fighter. After they drained his lung of the fluid build up and replenished his fluids (His inability to swallow for weeks had limited his eating and drinking. He was dehydrated and malnourished) the fighter emerged. My father, whom this doctor of medicine had honestly thought would be dead in days was healthy and ready to go home. Until the test results returned. My fathers cancer had returned and in a more aggressive form than before. It was incurable...inoperable and they again told me and my family that my father would be dead in a week.
"You don't know my dad." I said again. This time they were right. The cancer took a little longer than a week. It took 3 months to be precise...but it claimed my father. The stress of staying by his bedside for these months also claimed my mother, only days before he passed. I thanked the doctors at the VA for their exemplary service and care and buried both my parents days after my birthday.
This marked the end of my life as I knew it. I struggle to find the words to describe how this affcted me. A year ago today, I was hot, I was tired, but I was whole...I was happy. Times were tough but I knew I would make it through because of my family. The future was a window I watched play out life's daily performance while I sat comfortably distanced.
Nine months ago, I discovered the meaning of the word numb. I have been without feeling since that day. It is as if a piece of my soul was buried alongside my parents in that cemetary. I have smiled since then. I have cried as well. I have been visited by my parents almost nightly in my dreams. Sometimes these are plesant and provide me with a sense of peace. Other times... Well other times they simply aren't. In the last 9 months I would guess that I have seen my parents die at least 200 times in my dreams and I fear that is an optimistic number.
I wake at 3am with the same feeling of despair smothering me as I felt when the doctor at Methodist Hospital told me my mother was dead. My body is usually soaked in my own sweat. It is not a feeling I have shared with anyone. But I know what it is and I know why I write this now. I share this with you anonymous people now as a catharsis. I will continue to dream of my parents. I will continue to revulse in horror at my memory of performing CPR on my already dead mother and I will continue to see with utter clarity in my mind's eye the withered body of my father as we said goodbye. I will also know that their spirits were gone from those lifeless bodies and the pain they endured without complaint whisked away by the embrace of Old Man Death. I don't hate Old Man Death, mind you. his is a necessary task. Without his service, suffering and pain would be the norm.
But as much as I miss my parents and want them back, I understand. I get it. Time has softened the blow a bit. The dreams still come with regularity. They will for some time to come. I can live with this. It's the alternative that would hurt more. My father continuing to suffer. My mother continuing to wear herself to the bone standing her vigil. That's what I find unacceptable. That's what the lesson of the last year has taught me.
If you had said to me a year and a day ago that my parents would both still be alive today, I would have taken that as a good thing. But having seen what I have...having endured what I have...How could that be a good thing? Today is the first day in this entire time that I can say without feeling in the least bit bad about it that I am happy that my parents are gone. I can say this because their pain ended. The next step in their lives began. THIS...I envy. I can't wait to see them again and ask them how things have been. I bet they have some pretty damned awesome stories to tell.
Friday, May 27, 2011
God is a practical joker at heart
It isn't lost on me, this dark side of yours.
You take from me everything I love. My love, my living, my home, etc.
This action from you is focused. Dedicated.
Your aim has been true. You have hit your target.
I have fallen into depths which I could never fathom.
Well, I couldn't fathom prior.
But you slipped, God.
You fell short of your goal to destroy that which you have created here.
In chipping away from me, you have left the important parts whole.
You have gotten soft, God...I see this now.
In taking from me all that is important, you have held a card or two in that deck and JUST like the blackjack table that wants you to stay a while longer, you are pulling out those cards now.
You gave me a World Series. My father approved.
You gave me a NBA Finals. He would have liked that as well.
You gave me a comic book convention and showed me the way to make myself stand apart. My mother smiled on me that day.
But HERE, I have to draw the line.
1992.
Ray, Jay, Trey, Chris and I play Sega Genesis. Our favorite game is NHL Hockey. We have nights that we play this simple game for double digit hours. We all picked our favorite teams, we remained loyal throughout all the itterations of this game. Jay loved his Blackhawks. Ray loved his Devils. Trey stuck with the Dallas Stars. I was torn between two teams. But only these two teams. Regardless of their rankings, I stuck by these teams like they were family.
Boston Bruins (The team I have loved since seeing that a man can truly fly)
Vancouver Canucks (The team that showed me that the true path to greatness is the marraige of skill and heart.
Now, in your infinte jest, you have delivered upon me this quandry. When given everything you ask for, how do you decide what is important?
Do I root for the Canucks? They are so talented.
Do I root for the Bruins? Pop taught me the game watching them on ESPN at Uncle Joe's house.
The Bruins have defined me for a great portion of my life. Ray Bourque broke my heart just as he did the city of Bostons when he jumped ship and became a traitor. I often imagine I am the goalie that stopped that shot Bobby Orr gained infamy on.
But I still get goosebumps thinking of Pavel Bure streaking in on a defenseless goalie.
You are trying to buy my allegiance, God. I can see this with the wisdom you yourself have granted me. In other words I am not fooled. I see the conciliatory nature of your gift and I refuse to accept it. I choose here and now.
I stand behind the Bruins, God.
Do Your Worst.
You take from me everything I love. My love, my living, my home, etc.
This action from you is focused. Dedicated.
Your aim has been true. You have hit your target.
I have fallen into depths which I could never fathom.
Well, I couldn't fathom prior.
But you slipped, God.
You fell short of your goal to destroy that which you have created here.
In chipping away from me, you have left the important parts whole.
You have gotten soft, God...I see this now.
In taking from me all that is important, you have held a card or two in that deck and JUST like the blackjack table that wants you to stay a while longer, you are pulling out those cards now.
You gave me a World Series. My father approved.
You gave me a NBA Finals. He would have liked that as well.
You gave me a comic book convention and showed me the way to make myself stand apart. My mother smiled on me that day.
But HERE, I have to draw the line.
1992.
Ray, Jay, Trey, Chris and I play Sega Genesis. Our favorite game is NHL Hockey. We have nights that we play this simple game for double digit hours. We all picked our favorite teams, we remained loyal throughout all the itterations of this game. Jay loved his Blackhawks. Ray loved his Devils. Trey stuck with the Dallas Stars. I was torn between two teams. But only these two teams. Regardless of their rankings, I stuck by these teams like they were family.
Boston Bruins (The team I have loved since seeing that a man can truly fly)
Vancouver Canucks (The team that showed me that the true path to greatness is the marraige of skill and heart.
Now, in your infinte jest, you have delivered upon me this quandry. When given everything you ask for, how do you decide what is important?
Do I root for the Canucks? They are so talented.
Do I root for the Bruins? Pop taught me the game watching them on ESPN at Uncle Joe's house.
The Bruins have defined me for a great portion of my life. Ray Bourque broke my heart just as he did the city of Bostons when he jumped ship and became a traitor. I often imagine I am the goalie that stopped that shot Bobby Orr gained infamy on.
But I still get goosebumps thinking of Pavel Bure streaking in on a defenseless goalie.
You are trying to buy my allegiance, God. I can see this with the wisdom you yourself have granted me. In other words I am not fooled. I see the conciliatory nature of your gift and I refuse to accept it. I choose here and now.
I stand behind the Bruins, God.
Do Your Worst.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Favorite All Time Mom Moment
We all have one. For some it's getting that perfect present for Christmas. For others it's having your first really bad boo boo taken care of.
For me, it's art related. I'm certain this comes as little shock to anyone.
I was going to Sunset High School and my art teacher had picked me as the best artist of my school to join similar artists at a DISD sponsored Artist Guild thingy. We met every wednesday at a park rec center and focused on ne aspect of art each time, broadening our scopes. It allowed us to meet like minded people and talk shop. I enjoyed the Hell out of it.
My Art Teacher (Mrs Woods) and I never saw eye to eye. Ever. To this DAY she is still the only art teacher to ever fail me. She saw me helping another student in class and hauled me to the hall for a 20 minute lecture on condecension. We just didn't like each other.
The finale of the Youth Artist's Guild was a gallery showing of our collected best work at City Hall with ALL of Dallas' dignitaries present. The Mayor, teh council, all the leading business people and various reporters and followers. It was a Who's Who of 1987 Dallas. I had submitted a fairly complex painting of a single cloud that garnered a lot of attention. I was not the best artist in this bunch by far. But my cloud painting took everyone off guard. They were expecting a bob when I gave them a weave. A LOT of folks gathered around my painting and were talking to me about it. The Mayor was asking me questions...one of Dallas' premier Black Artists, Arthello Beck was complimenting me on my use of some of the techniques that he taught me when it happened. Mrs Woods walked up to my mother, standing behind me beaming in the adoration of over 20 of Dallas' finest and said in her OUTSIDE Voice, "Mrs Wilbanks? Your Son Has A Potty Mouth!" This stunned everyone present except for mom. She looked at my teacher and laid into her with such...words fail me here. Leave it to say that afterwards, Mrs Woods need have no doubt where I got my Potty Mouth from, be it in this life or the next.
Never been prouder of my Mom.
Happy Mother's Day Mom.
--rog--
For me, it's art related. I'm certain this comes as little shock to anyone.
I was going to Sunset High School and my art teacher had picked me as the best artist of my school to join similar artists at a DISD sponsored Artist Guild thingy. We met every wednesday at a park rec center and focused on ne aspect of art each time, broadening our scopes. It allowed us to meet like minded people and talk shop. I enjoyed the Hell out of it.
My Art Teacher (Mrs Woods) and I never saw eye to eye. Ever. To this DAY she is still the only art teacher to ever fail me. She saw me helping another student in class and hauled me to the hall for a 20 minute lecture on condecension. We just didn't like each other.
The finale of the Youth Artist's Guild was a gallery showing of our collected best work at City Hall with ALL of Dallas' dignitaries present. The Mayor, teh council, all the leading business people and various reporters and followers. It was a Who's Who of 1987 Dallas. I had submitted a fairly complex painting of a single cloud that garnered a lot of attention. I was not the best artist in this bunch by far. But my cloud painting took everyone off guard. They were expecting a bob when I gave them a weave. A LOT of folks gathered around my painting and were talking to me about it. The Mayor was asking me questions...one of Dallas' premier Black Artists, Arthello Beck was complimenting me on my use of some of the techniques that he taught me when it happened. Mrs Woods walked up to my mother, standing behind me beaming in the adoration of over 20 of Dallas' finest and said in her OUTSIDE Voice, "Mrs Wilbanks? Your Son Has A Potty Mouth!" This stunned everyone present except for mom. She looked at my teacher and laid into her with such...words fail me here. Leave it to say that afterwards, Mrs Woods need have no doubt where I got my Potty Mouth from, be it in this life or the next.
Never been prouder of my Mom.
Happy Mother's Day Mom.
--rog--
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
So Here's your pound of flesh...
How does it taste?
Does it erase t he memory of your loved ones burning?
Does it replace theimages in YOUR head of people jumping from the towers to their death?
All I see when I think of Osama Bin Ladin are flames and twisted metal. Burning bodies and smoking wreckage. Screaming bystanders and gape-jawwed outsiders. Which are you?
Did YOU die in the flames?
Did YOU jump to your death as I watched?
Did your family or friend roast alive as they waited for some unknown rescuer doomed to his OWN death?
I ask you this as a friend who has felt all of these...where does your satisfaction come from today?
Do you roll out in the streets today to celebrate?
Do you burn candles today in tHANKS?
Do you drink a toast?
How does this make you feel?
I ask you this plainly as I am able. How does us killing another man make you feel?
Do you feel like running the streets as they do in Iran?
As they do in Pakistan?
As they do in Saudi Arabia?
Does our pound of flesh make you feel whole?
This is a very simple question. Does OUR act of savagery make us as a nation better or does it simply make us whole and replace a piece that was missing?
Think of this as you tap the keg and call for a national day of celebration.
We just executed a man. How are we different from them?
It's a simple question.
Does it erase t he memory of your loved ones burning?
Does it replace theimages in YOUR head of people jumping from the towers to their death?
All I see when I think of Osama Bin Ladin are flames and twisted metal. Burning bodies and smoking wreckage. Screaming bystanders and gape-jawwed outsiders. Which are you?
Did YOU die in the flames?
Did YOU jump to your death as I watched?
Did your family or friend roast alive as they waited for some unknown rescuer doomed to his OWN death?
I ask you this as a friend who has felt all of these...where does your satisfaction come from today?
Do you roll out in the streets today to celebrate?
Do you burn candles today in tHANKS?
Do you drink a toast?
How does this make you feel?
I ask you this plainly as I am able. How does us killing another man make you feel?
Do you feel like running the streets as they do in Iran?
As they do in Pakistan?
As they do in Saudi Arabia?
Does our pound of flesh make you feel whole?
This is a very simple question. Does OUR act of savagery make us as a nation better or does it simply make us whole and replace a piece that was missing?
Think of this as you tap the keg and call for a national day of celebration.
We just executed a man. How are we different from them?
It's a simple question.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
My Badass Dream
I get these from time to time. They play out as movies. I never get to star in them, though I think that would be way cooler.
I always spectate and kind of nudge the action along where I feel it needs to go...like a director.
This one was unique in that it actually features a comic book character of mine in what I think is one of the best action scenes (though you may disagree) I have done yet.
I woke at the very end so alas...it goes no farther.
I always spectate and kind of nudge the action along where I feel it needs to go...like a director.
This one was unique in that it actually features a comic book character of mine in what I think is one of the best action scenes (though you may disagree) I have done yet.
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