Chapter 0: The Needle

“When you’re standing on the ground staring up, the Space Needle looks like it reaches to the ceiling of the earth but when you’re on the top with your feet dangling off the beams around the safety grid of the observation deck, especially at night…

And there I was, looking down to my festively lit destination where I could just barely make out the multicolored ants in the darkness ignorantly moving from one little building to the other. Walking or strolling, biking or jogging their way through their meaningless life without a single thought of the uselessness of their every action. I even humored the notion of letting one little ball of spit chase to the ground in hopes of landing on one of the sheeple.

Sure, I could have picked a better structure in the great city of Seattle to be pining about my last moments on the planet. I could be sitting on top of the Columbia Center, Seattle’s largest and darkest building. In fact, if you’ve ever taken an Argosy waterfront cruise, your ship’s host would happily inform you over the loud speaker that the Columbia Center is the second tallest building on the west coast and stands seventy some stories tall.

I could be perched on top of Union Square, looking down at Freeway Park or peering over the edge of Seattle Municipal Tower or Key Bank Tower or whatever it’s called these days. Seriously, I could be on top of any of the buildings seen from the tip of the needle, Jackson Federal Building, any of the bank centers, Rainier Tower, even the cute little Smith Tower down in Pioneer Square that looks like the little brother to all these obelisks but was once able to claim the title of largest building west of the Mississippi.

Yeah, I could be on top of any of those buildings, ready to leap to my final landing spot, even with their security and protective measures. After all, my feet were ready to lead me off the edge of the most notable manmade monument of the Pacific Northwest. No, I chose the Space Needle for a very specific reason. The kids absolutely loved coming here.

So there I sat, avoiding the cries and heckles from the safety of the deck stretched out miles behind me. Staring down the darkness, letting the wind run its fingers through my hair and brush the tears from my face. The chill stung my cheeks and my throat was raw. Not from the weather but from screaming up at God, demanding and begging that he justify his actions, howling with despair at every unanswered plea.

That’s when I met Samuel. That’s when the world came crashing to an end.”

Chapter 0: Z

                 "...and you are listening to KISS 101, Walla Walla's rock and roll station on top of the Marcus Whitman Hotel in downtown Walla Walla! You just heard Guns N' Roses' Paradise City, yet another wild hit from this up and coming band’s debut album and now we follow it up with rock n' roll newcomers, Skid Row with what's going to be a smash hit, Youth Gone Wild which is exactly what you're gonna do when you hear this adrenalin fueled song!" The DJ's voice is abruptly cut off with a rotation and a click.
                "Dammit Jeff, that sorta music is what makes you dumb enough to be stuck on transport duty." The weed of a correctional officer glares down from the aisle of the bus to the young driver.
                "Come on Skip, you know I had an accident on the tower!" The frustrated driver darts his eyes up from the traffic on Poplar street to the awkwardly thick face on the lanky, thin haired guard leaning against the prisoner grate. He hits the blinker and turns into the St. Mary's hospital's back parking lot.
                "Jeff, you fell down the tower ladder because you were looking at the administration girls with your binoculars and weren't watching where you were going!" The thin guard's awkward belly jiggles as he laughs. His words bring a buzz of discussion to the dozen blue jump-suited inmates on the other side of the cage followed by various points of laughter throughout the dingy, white, criminal transport bus.
                "Shut up!" The driver shoots death sentences at the mirror and over his shoulder then back again to the unloading zone leading to the automatic doors of the medical center. The transport screeches and hisses to a stop, shotguns are equipped, and the line of shackled inmates is stretched and dragged through the back entrance of the hospital and directed by gunpoint to the cancer wing where they are processed and cuffed to inspection tables individually, getting prepared for examinations and physicals, pads and monitors, samples and injections.
                Hours pass while correctional officers Skip and Jeff absently surf through magazine after magazine only breaking the silence and monotony when they share a scantily clad advertisement for juvenile amusement or groan at the clock's honest display of the time.
                The waiting of the correctional officers finally pays off and their prisoners are returned to them, albeit more hollow and pale. Jeff turns from his magazine to the inmates and then to Skip, "Well, looks like we got our kids back."
                The officers stand and return to their jobs, herding the husks that were once prisoners back to the transport and then to the prison on the hill. The bus pulls through the penitentiary gate and out of the haunting silence as the lengthy cage guard muses, “Unloading is always more relaxed than the loading.” As he unlocks the cage door and prepares the gravely silent inmates for relocation. The prisoners move slowly but steadily from the bus to the human corrals, shambling to their pens by action more than thought.
                Hours pass, Jeff and Skip clock out and go home. The dinner hour comes and goes. Even the sun drops below the western hills, painting the wheat fields before it lowers into slumber. Before the call for lights out is sounded through the penitentiary, each of the twelve inmates that returned from the hospital transition from sallow to visceral, turning on their cell mates and pushing violence onto the contained prisoners. Whether it is the punch in the face or a savage bite, the inmates burst into riotous discord. The screams signal to the guards that all is not well within the cell block and the officers signal control to call in the Emergency Response Team, the prison's equivalent to police SWAT. By the time the first inmate is forcibly passed over the top rail and hits the ground three stories below, the ERT has entered the cell block and begun to contain the rampaging inmates long enough to bring the Specialized Emergency Response Team in with their rifles. The increased stress that this government militia brings provides just the final incentive to encourage the already panicked and enraged inmates to lunge forward as one wave of hatred crashing down on the shield bearing guards. This sudden burst of violence begets a reactionary explosion of violence with the report of gunfire. The altercation lasts less than five minutes and results in dozens of lifeless prisoners and twice the amount in spent rifle shells.
                The extra time the tax payers unwittingly put money toward is in the cleanup of the remains. In time, the prisoners with family are dealt with in a manner that accommodates the next of kin while the inmates that have no legacy are wrapped like deli meat and buried in the back property, not quite affectionately known as nine wing, like a family pet with no more than a brick and a government number. In a month's time, all is forgotten and new prisoners are quickly shipped into the void left by the bloody riot.

2 new beginnings

I will be posting two different chapter zeroes for your consumption. Enjoy or ignore.

Chapter 1 (A preview for the curious)

                                "I would like to thank you all again for coming tonight. I look forward to talking with you next week at the same time. And don't forget, the meeting has been changed to conference room number two oh eight so we’ll meet there next week." Steve-Bob flashes a youthful smile that belies his adulthood as he uses his sausagy digits to gather his notes, curriculum and other assorted papers. "By the way, I wish you all a careful drive home, watch the wet roads everybody," he follows up as the small assembly of drones slowly disincorporate and each person begins finding his own way in life again, one trudging footstep at a time. Joy radiates from Steve-Bob's tall frame as he tries to connect with each lost soul by way of handshake or friendly pat on the shoulder and a gracious 'thank you' or 'good night'. This group has a bit of promise, Steve-Bob thinks, reflecting on the many anger management groups he has spoken for in the last couple years. Groups like this remind me why I continue on this path of servitude. They make it all worthwhile.

                                With his seminar closed and his heart open, Steve-Bob embraces the warm cotton that fills his chest and finishes gathering his charts and worksheets, bundles them neatly into his black canvas briefcase and wheels about on his heel to the door only to find the way blocked by a looming figure holding a long, slender weapon. Joy and fulfillment drain from Steve-Bob's face along with his blood. The warm cotton in his chest freezes, sending chilling tingles to the furthest reaches of his large body and he is suddenly aware of an electrical hum from an unknown source.

The figure does not move.

Steve-Bob's mouth begins to compensate for the immediate dryness and the dams break, allowing the saliva to flow. The blood drains to his hands now, making his fingers heavy which nearly prevents them from holding anything. As the handle of the briefcase begins to slip, the friction in his hands remind him of the tangibility of the moment and he knows this isn't some dream and reaffirms his grasp on the bag. "H-Hi there," Steve-Bob musters, "I'm sorry but the seminar is over."

No response.

"There um…there will be another one next week. You can come to that one if you like."

Nothing.

                                Oh god! A chill shakes his spine into submission. This is it! This man is going to kill me! What did I do? His mind begins playing a high speed slideshow of the human mutilation and autopsy photos he had to endure during his training for emergency responder. Each of these bizarre slides replace the generic victim's face for Steve-Bob's own, providing there is a face left.

                "Hello?" Steve-Bob manages to stumble, but still...nothing. The hum amplifies and suddenly, Steve-Bob realizes that he is required to be absolutely anywhere but inside this room at this time. "L-Look guy, I um...I am just on my way out. So, uh...so do you need something?"

                A nod from the stranger. Finally! A response. He raises his hand and offers forth the end of his weapon with dirt traced knuckles to reveal a bristled head. A broom? Oh lord, how stupid! "Hey sure, fellah. I’ll be out of your way in just a second, just let me get my things together and I'm through with this room." Stupid! Stupid stupid stupid! He's just a janitor. Come on, get it together! With his spare hand, Steve-Bob gathers his tacks and the flyer for next week's seminar and heads through the door, shuffling past the cleaning man and his tool. The janitor grins crookedly. Did he just scoot closer? Steve-Bob's meaty back scrapes the door frame and his largish belly brushes awkwardly against the janitor and his broom. Creepy! "Good...uh....good night." Without waiting for a response, Steve-Bob heads down the hall as fast as his long, meaty legs can take him without seeming too obvious that he feels like a hen trapped in a chicken coop with a fox on the loose. He listens as he high paces down the hall but can hear no footsteps other than his own and, once getting to the lobby of the large building, he relaxes his momentum long enough to stop at the community bulletin board to post his flyer for next week's class. With one frantic scan back toward tonight's class, Steve-Bob hurriedly stabs the paper onto the board and darts through the front door, nearly plowing down a small elderly woman trying to make her way inside. "Excuse me...” he exclaims apologetically, “…excuse me"

                                Fresh air fills his lungs and thaws the cotton that once felt nearly warm enough to heat an igloo. Okay, get it together, he coached himself, it was a janitor...nothing more. Not everybody is out to get you. Calm down. With one last curse toward his anxiety attacks, Steve-Bob composes himself and heads down the street, feeling more confident with each stride. He heads out on foot toward his final destination before going home and by the time he makes it to St. Paul's Church of Eternal Joy, the memory of the creepy janitor is all but gone, replaced by the comfort and safety that the towering edifice of old world religion instills within his breast. From the pointed roof, down to the statues of the holy mother at the base of the stone steps, this building serves as a spotlight in the dark of today's society. The ancient architecture of the brickwork and the stained glass windows set the premises apart from the uniform of the modern construction, reminding Steve-Bob that there truly is some stability in this ever changing world.

                                Steve-Bob begins to climb the steps of the church as the doors atop the steps swing open and a woman nearly as tall as Steve-Bob makes her exit from the building. Her hair is cut close and curled and, despite her slightly advanced age, she still carries a figure that increases the heart rate of many. Steve-Bob knows her well, many times having to remind himself that his thoughts of her are immoral and most likely unappreciated but he never can stop looking fondly upon her. "Good evening Evellyn." His words covered in satin.

                                "Oh..." she says with a start, "Hiya Stevie B. I didn't realize you were going to be here this late," she pauses with a glance deep into the church. He knows she makes little nick names for everyone whose name she can remember but he can't help but feel just a little special any way. She turns back to Steve-Bob, "So, is there...is there anything I can do for you?"

                                Thou shall not covet another man's wife. That wasn't a come on line. Thou shall not covet another man's wife. Come on Steve-Bob, say something. She's waiting. Was it a come on?

                                "Stevie B?" her demeanor is pleasantly impatient.

                                "Uh...No Evellyn. I'm just...is father Nichols still here? I wanted to talk to him about my day." She listens patiently as he continues, "I made so much progress and I think I'm really starting to touch people."

                                With a graceful step to the side, Evellyn motions Steve-Bob inside, "You know he is. I think he's still in the back chambers but he will be out momentarily." She smiles as Steve-Bob skips up the stairs and thanks her before going into the building. Can this guy really be in his thirties, she questions to herself as she continues aloud, "See you Sunday Stevie B."

                                "See you then Evellyn. Good night." He races back out as she's making her way down the steps, "Hey Ev, um...would you like me to walk you home?"

                                "That's thoughtful of you Stevie but, well, I drove here and my car is right at the corner," she awkwardly jabs her thumb just behind her. The two meet glances and each fidgets with uncertainty until Evellyn closes the conversation, "Okay, good night Stevie B."

                                "All right," he shoots a school boy smile, "Alright then, goodnight," he offers as he walks back inside, allowing the thick oak doors to close behind him.

I have added mobile to my blog so I can begin blogging from abroad...

Randy Hermsen

Randy Hermsen, 54, of College Place died Dec. 7, 2009, at Providence St. Mary Medical Center.
Arrangements are pending at Herring Groseclose Funeral Home, 315 W. Alder St.

Just this morning, I was told the news.
I couldn’t believe it and am a little confused.
How could a guy that makes me laugh all day,
Decide to just pick up and walk away?
I thought you would handle it longer than you did,
You never gave up and you never hid.
I watched you go through some hard times.
Whether you were innocent or convicted of your crimes.
You were the one person that would never stop,
And you always found a way to come out on top.
So, it surprises me that much more
That you were the one to walk out the door.
You were a beacon for many, a champion of hope,
And you were the rock people hung to when they just couldn’t cope.
When I felt I couldn’t take the hostility any longer,
You stepped up and made me stronger.
When I just wanted to lash out and fight,
You helped me find the path that was right.
I enjoyed your humor no matter how racy,
You kept me sane when all around us was crazy.
We all know that you left and aren’t coming back,
And we are hurt that you didn’t call us to help you pack.
But we know what happened and understand
That things don’t always go quite as planned.
We all hate the fact that you are no longer here
But no matter how far you went, you’ll always be near.
Because, in my heart and memories you always stay,
And I will think of you each and every day.
You were one of the rare people that made this world a better place
And I wish so bad that I could tell you to your face.
I will miss you Randy, you were truly a great friend.
But more than that, you were my brother by the end.
So rest now, as you deserve to do,
And know that your fight with cancer is through.
You have so much life that will go unsung
And I hate that it’s true that only the good die young.

I miss you chief and wish I could tell you that I have not met many people quite as important as you.

Temple of Terror

This Halloween, Walla Walla Washington will be the home of a new realm of fear as the Temple of Terror will be opening its ancient doors and unleashing its horrors onto the land! Step through the portals on October 29th, 30th, and 31st and be awed by the amazing, gawk at the gore, scream at the sights and sounds of the dead and deranged! Can you survive this unholy building of doom? Will you be able to keep your soul from the minions of darkness? Can you at least keep your heart beating in this maze of madness? We shall see.......

Temple of Terror
Oct. 29 - 31
Portals open at 7pm

Come in and enjoy the terror with two alternate routes!
Initial entry is $8 with alternate round re-entry of $4.

(There will be a free and safe event area to drop the little victims off around the side, complete with coloring activities and face painting.)