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.)

Happy re-Birthday

Image by another_finn via Flickr

Today marks the 20th anniversary of my rebirth. This is the day that a hot headed 13 year old and an impulsive 14 year old developed their own rite of passage without intention and forever changed both their lives. One will be forever haunted and one will be eternally grateful.

In celebration of this twisted birthday, I have decided to post something I wrote in 1995. It is a little rough but it sings the story. So, as though I were in an old movie, I am here to say, "Take it away Sam."

It was a glorious feeling now that I reflect. Death. The absence of feeling. My vision went black, not even black, there was nothing. No senses, nothing. It was wonderful.

I was shot by a gun, a .44 magnum to be exact. A beautiful, metallic, harbinger of death. The long, cold barrel stared me straight in the eyes, no not the eyes, the soul. The pistol screamed! I fell into nothingness. My face leaped towards the words the pistol shouted as the rest of my body attempted to jump awy. My unliving form fell forward in amazing speed but my chin caught us at the edge of the desk I was occupying. My senses were already on vacation by this time. Vacation nothing, they were half way to Mexico on a more permanent basis.

The depressing part was that my sight had returned. I was watching a set of stairs walking up and away from me. My feet weren't moving. "This must be the stairway to Hell," I thought. I was upset to find out that I was wrong...very upset.

The blood raced from my still unmoving form in ungodly amounts. If I had feeling, the sensation would be better than sex, I'm certain. Everything swiftly turned crimson and the sight alone made the tip of my mind tingle.

I was outside. The rest of my senses returned, unfortunately. They were as depressed as I am now. I found myself staring at the alley behind my shooter's home. Bored. Alone for another part of my life. I walked, slipping on my own type O all the way back up the stairs I was dragged down and into the executioner's room, the place I had the chance to greet Death. This is where I found the gunman dialing for help. At the time, I was pleased. I don't understand why. I sat on the bed, wasting space in the corner and began taking delight in the actual entry wound and the oral innards that were exiting my widened maw. The mouth stew seemed more like a witch's brew...a dozen teeth, freshly mulched gums, a pinch of gunpowder, a handful of ripped and burned flesh...and it was all annointing my person.

The angels charged into the room, wearing their customary white. Two had brought in a stretcher, two were equipped with towels and a red, plastic box. Strange equipment for angels. One supressed my bleeding crevice with a towel while another checked my heart rate. The other two loaded me onto their stretcher and hauled me off like groceries in a shopping cart.

Well, that's how I saw it six years after the event. I have had time to heal and grow since and have grown to love what I once loathed. I appreciate the life I fought for.

My life never returned to normal and there are many things I cannot do that I watch the rest of the world take for granted, things that I used to be hateful for not being able to do. The toughest part of the whole change was the deadened nerves in the left side of my face that cripple me in the sense that I no longer smile without looking like Quasimodo and that my facial expressions are so outlandish now that they cause a second glance from people around me, even people that are often in my presence. I know that my goofy expressions are enough to cause people to point and snicker, and it still stings every time someone does, but I know that if they were to try going through the ordeal that made me the joke I am today, they wouldn't have the willpower to survive the first week of my trials, let alone the years of physical and psychological torture and two decades of societal ridicule and when I feel the needles of shame or embarrassment piercing through my chest, I just think of the gun. No other pointing hurt quite like it and just like it, I will survive the pointing of others and become stronger for it.

Though my life isn't normal and I can't do some of the simplest of things, my life is great and I wouldn't trade in for any other. I am me, not because of the handicaps that hold me back, but because of the success I achieve in spit of them!

Happy birthday to me!

(Same event, different emotional perspective)

Writer's Challenge #5

Image via Wikipedia

This challenge was one that was posted to me by a friend of a friend (long story) and it was creative enough that I thought I would share it with you.

Go online or hit your local music store to grab a list of 20 Indie rock band names, at random (I recommend a top 20 list for 2008 or have a couple friends go with you and get them to split the task of gathering bands).

Take your 20 band names and create a story using the names. Use all 20 names, they don't have to be in order and you can use other words to enhance but get all 20 band names in.

writer's Challenge #4

Taking full advantage of my recent visit to the coast, I thought it might be interesting to see things from another creature's eyes. This thought came about while watching people flocking to tide pools and gawking at the various aquatic lifeforms.

So, this challenge: Pick a sea creature that can typically be found on the shoreline and write a story strictly from this creature's point of view.