Love Story

There you are!

I know this is crazy, and I'm not usually like this, but you're the prettiest boy I've seen around here in a long time. Or girl, you're a girl, right? I'm sorry, I haven't been able to see too well lately, something's wrong with my eyes...Where are we?

Anyway, I really like the way you smell. There's something about you that's...irresistible. You mind if I come a little closer? Mind if I reach... Oh, hey, I didn't mean to startle you like that, it's just, your skin...Hey, don't be frightened. I know I'm not much to look at anymore, but I'm sure I know how to treat a delicious, I mean beautiful girl like... Where are you running off to? Playing hard to get, huh? I like that. They've all been playing hard to get, it's my new favorite game.

I see you running into that cabin in the clearing, the door slamming shut behind you. I shuffle up to the door as best I can, tripping over a root in the process and landing face first into the most, soft earth. It's alright, it didn't bleed, didn't even hurt. My arms and legs have been all stupid lately, I haven't been able to walk right or use a door handle for some time now. Lucky for me, the adjacent window is open. I let myself in with a thud. It's alright, it didn't bleed, didn't even hurt.

I know you're in here. I can hear the soft panting of your breath through your luscious lips, I can smell the delectable blood in your meat. I know my words aren't coming out right, that's been happening a lot lately. What's important is that you know, above all else, I'm in love with you, and I'll show you just how much as soon as I can get into this closet you're hiding in.

I can't open the closet using the door knob. Did you know that? I'm trying to force it open by knocking it down. What the hell, it's not my door, right? I hear your whimpering on the other side of the door, in the lulls between my strikes. It's driving me wild, you're so cute! Suddenly, I'm on my back. You clever little devil, did you open the door in my face? I see you standing there above me in all your majesty, like some sort of foam bat wielding angel. It must be foam, because it doesn't hurt no matter how hard you swing it. It feels like you're hitting me in the head with a pillow full of fog. Where are you running off to now, back to the woods?

I hear you running through the cabin and out the front door. I hear a sudden yelp followed by a lovely crack and a thud. Looks like you hit the same tree root I did. I hear you scream and start to cry. I'm at the front door looking out you, though my cloudy eyes I see you, a beautiful mass on the ground. You see me and go silent, in a flash you begin to frantically claw at the ground, still trying to get away, eh? One of your legs drags behind, looks like you won't be running anymore. I begin to shuffle toward you.

 After what seemed to be an eternity, I've finally caught up to you. I fall on your back and you begin to thrash and sob violently. Your tears, the cracking of the bones in your leg, and the blood under your skin, have all combined to seduce me completely. I love you more than I've loved anyone or anything else, more than life itself, in fact. Despite your thrashing and clawing I've managed to get my mouth up to that gorgeous shoulder of yours. Now, time for the first taste. We are now one.

I love you.

Unknown Person: Chapter 1

I want to tell you my story. I'm the only one who can.

I stepped out of the Yupster's apartment feeling like a million bucks. He spent the weekends at his girlfriend's overpriced downtown apartment, and as such, I was making use of his pad. It was always good to spend a night with a roof over your head and a bed, even if it wasn't your own. Besides, I thought, he'd never know. I was feeling especially creative and decided to take his out clothes for a spin too. I was walking down the street wearing khaki corduroys and a pink oxford; I even had his backup wayfarers on. Why not? Far as I knew, I could do it regardless of what I was wearing. Even glasses couldn't mess me up. "Hipster Bank-Robber Strikes!", read the Times headline in my mind. I chuckled at the thought. It's a mixed blessing that the things I do rarely make the news, I suppose.  

I walked over to First Imperial, the closest bank to the apartment. I was always walking, on account that I had no car or place of residence and had no way of getting either. However, getting money was easier for me than most, as I was about to demonstrate to the movie audience in my head.

I stepped into the First Imperial bank branch. The interior walls were painted a revolting golden brown that clashed poorly with the stone facade outside. The branch was nearly empty, save for two tellers, a guard, and a few poorly dressed immigrants seated opposite a banker. I always found the contrast between the clean, cheerful, youthful bank workers and dirty, depressed, middle-aged bank customers interesting; it always reminded me of medieval times, with the beautiful royalty and the shit covered peasants. It's the sort of thing you notice if you work at banks. Regardless, the small number of people would make this job a piece of cake. Both tellers greeted me, the guard, a chubby, balding middle-aged man, had his mind on other things.

I walked up to the teller, the one with the prettier smile. She was college-age and on the short side, but was fit and had gorgeous curly brown hair. Her teeth were textbook, she must have been a dentist's kid.

"Welcome to First Imperial Bank! My name's Jenny, what can we do for you today.", she greeted. I smiled in response. She seemed happy to see me. Couldn't have recognized me, must have been my hipster threads.
.

You have to believe me when I say that I always tried to make sure nobody got hurt. Sure, I could come in here guns-blazing and get away with the money all the same, but if I was careful, everyone would get to go home. Or go to a hipster apartment, in my case. In any case, I wasn't armed for today's festivities.  

"Wow Jenny, those are nice nails you got there!", I said. I couldn't tell you anything about Jenny's nails, but what I can say is that this trick worked with most female teller, and some male ones. It was a good way to keep them from hitting silent alarm with their hands.

"Oh, you think so," she said, placing all ten of her fingers within view, "I had them done at this new place down the..."

"This is a robbery." I said, cutting her off, as my smile transformed into a scowl. "Give me all the money in your drawer and keep your hands where I can see them." She paused, as though my words had taken her to a new reality, which was a good thing, I had a minute or two to fill out and it's damn hard to blabber on for that long while you're robbing a bank. She began to turn her head.

"Don't look at her." I said calmly yet forcefully. "Get the money out of the drawer, Jenny. Put it into some envelopes!" She snapped out of her days and began pulling the money out of the drawer and into envelopes, just as I had asked. I could feel the gaze of the other teller and guard on me. I they must have known something was wrong. It didn't matter, it was almost time.

"Hey, calm down." I said cracking a smile. "Everything's gonna be alright." I said as she handed me envelopes. "By the way, anyone ever tell you that you have a lovely smile?"

"Huh?" She said, a response to me flipping the script yet again. Suddenly, the teller closed her eyes and gave her head a little shake, almost as though something had unexpectedly hit her between the eyes. She opened them, blinking. The guard, who was once at the door, was now standing a half-step behind me. He looked puzzled, it was a look I've grown accustomed to. I looked over to the other teller, she was already filing paperwork at her drawer. The Banker's speech on loans wasn't interrupted.

"Hey, you really snuck up on me there, Sir. Welcome to First Imperial Bank! My name's Jenny, what can we do for you today?" She said, as though the last few moments had never happened.

"Oh no." I said, "I've got everything I need, you have a nice day, Jenny."

I walked passed the guard, who was now a statue of confusion, and left the bank. Sure, she probably got fired for being short a couple of hundred dollars, but hey, that's capitalism. Maybe I'd come back in five minutes and do the same with the other teller, assuming no one had hit a silent alarm, of course.

I had plans to come back to First Imperial tomorrow, and City National, and all the other banks in this area over the weekend. The Hipster-Bank Robber was still on the loose, after-all. Of course, unknown to me, plans were about to change.

Life, Blizzard, and the Cessation of Communication

I wanted to write this week. Really, I did! I wanted to write a scree on how people like you were spending too much time fawning over Joss Whedon's Avengers as the State stands ready to sodomize you sans lube through your student loan's interest rate, or about how the President's change of heart over Same-Sex Marriage is ultimately much to do about nothing, if not a noble gesture. Perhaps I was even going to introduce you to your new favorite college football team.

Alas, the pseudo-truth is that my job, my side project, and my family obligations have all conspired to leave me too tuckered-out, and frankly stressed-out, to properly express myself via your local LCD screen. The real-truth? I just downloaded a copy of Diablo III and am about to hit "PLAY." See you next week, you sexy bastards!

Destinations Pt.4 Finale

"I'm Sorry..."

Read the message prompt that flashed across Sarah's Tablet, interrupting her reading and her peace. It was from Brad. Her finger rose to slide the prompt open, but a tic stopped her. Dubbed by some as "Good Sense", the tic kept her from quitting her post and leaving GSRSI 3 at a myriad of opportunities, as well as keeping the weak from opposing the strong and the meek from screaming in the dark. However, the beast would not be denied; Sarah second attempt flung the message open with such ferocity that it surely left millions of electrons dizzy. She began to read:

"I'm sorry I've been ignoring you..."

Images of gorgeous women, other women, began to fill Sarah's mind; Brad's past acquaintances and girlfriends, along with women as yet unknown to her. This time, the Tic proved useful, and she continued:

"But I've been in a really dark place lately. To tell you the truth, I'm still in a dark place..."

She knew that Brad had taken John's "accident" very badly, "Is that what he's talking about?", she wondered as the message continued:

"But things are gonna get better, Babe. I'm leaving LA. I took a contract job with the GSRSI security detail..."

All the anger in the world couldn't keep her heart from fluttering, her spirit from raising. Not only was Brad talking to her again, but he was actually going to be floating over the surface of Io with her. She continued:

"It's only gonna be for a year, but if they like me, the recruiter says that they'll keep me. Isn't that great?"


She concurred. However, the next sentnece sent a chill down her spine and froze the blood in her veins:


"There's just one little thing I need to take care of."


"No...", she thought, "He couldn't mean..."


In that moment, the station, like Sarah, floated ineffectiually in space and time. Unlike Sarah, GSRSI 3 was unaffected by the violence of Io's sesmic activity, Jupiter's Storms, or one man's hate.

The End


"

Destinations Pt 3

The heat of the summer sun hovered above the dusty earth like hateful, shimmering fog; high noon. Rico was fleeing on horseback toward the Mission, and Sheriff Bradley was in hot pursuit, almost close enough to smell the varmint's cigar. Dust assaulted the Sheriff's eyes, causing them to water and his vision to blur. Rico turned in his saddle and began to fire. For a man riding a horse at full gallop, his aim was frightening. Bullets screamed past the Sheriff: One to the left, one to the right, the next took Bradley's hat, sending it tumbling off the horse's backside and onto the ground below. Colt Frontier in hand, the Sheriff fired back. The first two sailed harmlessly onto the either. The third, however, found it's mark, as the Sheriff could barely make out a Rico jerking in his saddle and flailing his arm, and a shining speck flying into the air; Rico's gun. Rico braced himself on his saddle and was nearly thrown off by his galloping horse. His right-arm seemingly debilitated, the Sheriff figured that Rico would not be to fire a weapon or ride a horse at full speed. He'd be able to give that bastard a proper neck-tie, thought the Sheriff. Through the dust, the Sheriff could barely make out Rico, his horse still at full gallop, reaching into his saddlebag and putting it up to his face.

They were quickly nearing the Mission, it's wall and bell coming into relief through a filter of dust. The Sheriff was gaining on Rico, despite his best effort to ride a galloping horse with one hand. With his left hand, Rico flung an object behind his body. Transfixed, the Sheriff saw as It disappeared into the dust and midday heat before passing under the Sheriff's horse. Just as the sheriff looked back at his quarry, both he and his horse were thrown forward and slammed onto the hard-scrabble ground, the rocks tearing into their flesh with the like a wild animal. The Sheriff rose off the ground and released a groan audible to all but him, the blast deafening him before enshrouding his bloodied battered frame in dust.

"Blasted dynamite!"

The Sheriff grabbed the reigns of his concussed horse and practically jerked it to it's hoofs. Trying to capture Rico had become too dangerous, thought the sheriff. If Rico had more dynamite, there wouldn't be enough of both of them to fill a spittoon. Sheriff Bradley mounted the horse and tried his damnedest to coax it into a gallop. The beast wobbled and stumbled, still shaken from the blast. Scraped, bruised, and with blood running out of his ears, the Sheriff took aim with his three remaining shots. The first went wild and ricocheted off a rock, back at the sheriff. The Sheriff took again took aim and the fleeing criminal, trying as best he could to synchronize his movements with the awkwardly undulating creature under him. He pulled the trigger and completely missed his target. The Sheriff did, however, did manage to inadvertently fell Rico's horse, leaving it in a heap upon the wasteland and it's injured rider crumpled beside it.

Sheriff Bradley came to a stop, lowered his revolver, and gazed at his now stationary target. Rico could still manage to blow the both of them up if an attempt at an arrest was made, no sense in risking that. Instead, the Sheriff was perfectly content with taking shots at his target from a distance. Bradley reached onto his bandoleer, took out five cartridges, and began to reload his revolver. Sheriff Bradley looked down just in time to catch a glimpse of the bullet entering his neck.

Bradley never heard the rifle crack, and never saw the figure duck back behind the Mission's Wall. There was a warm, wet sensation from the fluids rushing out of his body, but strangely, he thought, no pain. His neck severed, the Sheriff fell off of his horse and onto the ground with a crash, his blood staining the parched earth. He was dead to all sensation, and would soon be so in all respects. The Sheriff landed on his face, such that he could see Rico approaching. Part of him which that he'd die before Rico could get his hands on him; all of him still wished to see Rico dead, but, try as he might, the Sheriff could not move. Rico mounted the Sheriff's horse and rode off to the Mission. Rico the Horse Thief stole yet another horse, and this time, the Sheriff caught him red handed. The sheriff exuded bloody laughter at the sight. What's more, the Sheriff thought, the Son of a Bitch didn't even bother to gloat!

The Sheriff had often been told that righteous men like himself would see the light or Jesus as they lay dying, where as scoundrels would see nothing but darkness. That didn't happen. Instead, all of Bradley's thought's turned to his Princess far away. He missed her, he missed her more desperately than he hated Rico or anybody else. The thought that he had abandoned her in her time of need to go on a fool's errand ,and what's more, that she would never know that he was truly dead, was too much to bear. In his pathetic state, he wept. He could feel her last gift to him, a classic, but he couldn't read too good. He wished he could pull it out and read the message she had left him, but he couldn't move. Her name, Sarah, left his lips as though it was an appeal to a vengeful God. No one answered.