"I love you," said Alex. He spoke to the picture as if she were there. The pain in the pit of his stomach, the ache of emptiness was a reminder of what he'd lost.
He thought about her now, at 4 AM, and thought about what the future would bring. He remembered, with a smile, when he had spoken to her on the phone late at night, many years ago.
He had told her the story of the Princess and the Goblin.
*****
Once upon a time, there was a princess who was pledged to be married to a prince. The prince was not a bad man, but he didn't love her the way she wanted him to. He was often cold, often didn't pay her any mind. It made the princess sad.
One day, she went for a walk in the woods and thought about the prince. When she thought of being forced to marry him, she began to cry. She felt lost.
And as she looked around, she realized that she was lost. She didn't recognize anything, but saw a small cabin. There was smoke coming from the chimney.
As she approached the cabin, looking for help, the occupant came around from the back. She was startled and then afraid. It was a goblin. He hadn't seen her yet, and she thought she might sneak away. But then, she heard a growl.
She turned and saw a huge beast. It's eyes glowed red and they were looking at her. Before she could even think, she was running. The beast gave chase and was gaining on her.
She tripped on a tree root and bumped her head. In a daze, she thought she was done for, when a green blur suddenly flew past her. It crashed into the beast sending it sprawling.
There, between her and the great monster, stood the goblin. He held an axe in his hand and was crouched low, prepared to do battle. As she watched, her vision blurring, the beast gained its feet and roared. She passed out.
When she came to, she looked around. She stared up at a wooded ceiling. It was a simple place, with a table, chair and a rug on the floor. A few pots and pans hung from hooks near a small fireplace. There was an axe on the wall.
She remembered an axe and became nervous. When she turned her head again, she was staring into the face of the goblin. She was afraid, but there seemed to be a look of concern on his face.
"Please, don't be afraid," he said. "I won't hurt you. You hit your head when you fell."
"What of the beast," asked the Princess.
"The beast is dead. I brought you in here where it is safe," replied the goblin. "Once you're feeling better, I can show you back to the castle."
"You know who I am?"
"Of course I do," said the goblin. "But enough of that. How do you feel?"
The princess thought for the briefest time. Her head was still swimming a bit. "Not great," she said.
"Then stay here and rest. We can talk if you'd like."
The princess and the goblin spoke for the rest of the night. He told her how it was that he came to live in the woods. She told him how she came to be lost in them.
By the time they were done talking the sun was coming up. They had talked all night.
It would not be the last time they would do so.
"Will I see you again," asked the princess.
"If you would like."
"Yes, I would," she replied.
"Then I would be happy to see you."
The goblin showed her the way back to the castle. He showed her the trees that she could use to guide her back to the cabin. She used the trees to find her way many times, until she no longer needed them.
The princess and the goblin spent a lot of time together, and she was often away from the castle. The prince she was promised to noticed these absences, and one day he decided to follow her.
When she reached her destination and the prince saw this, he flew into a rage. He drew his sword and attacked! The princess tried to stop him, but he knocked her aside. He swung at the goblin and battle ensued.
The prince was very good with a sword and nearly had the goblin beaten, when there was a loud crack. The prince's eyes rolled into his head and he dropped to the ground. The princess was standing there over him, a large tree branch in her hands.
"Are you okay," asked the goblin.
"Me," she replied. "What about you? I was so worried he would hurt you. Is he dead?"
"It sure looks like it," said the goblin. "I'll take care of him."
A few hours later, the goblin returned.
"He wasn't dead," said the goblin. "But he'll have quite a headache."
"What did you do with him," asked the princess.
"He had a horse. I put him on it and told him to never step foot in these woods again. I made him swear to it."
"I...I was so worried about you," cried the princess. She threw her arms around him and sobbed.
The goblin held her for awhile, then gently pushed her back. He held her at arms length and looked into her eyes.
"Princess," he said. "I know that I'm a goblin and that I don't have much. But I also know that I love you."
The princess was speechless. She hadn't expected this from him.
"I know that you could have countless wealth, but if you were to stay with me, you would always have my love. I'll always do my best to treat you right. I know I won't always be perfect, and I'm sure we'll have our good and bad days. But I'll always love you. No matter what."
A tear ran down the princess' cheek. A smile slowly crept onto her face and she threw her arms around him. "I love you, too."
They held each other then. And while you may think that a princess and a goblin would never belong together, you would be wrong. They lived the rest of their lives together.
The goblin was right. They had there ups and downs. Sometimes they argued. Sometimes, they even went away from each other after an especially tough fight. At one point, they even split up for over a year. But it was only temporary.
Together, they traveled the world. They lived and loved and had beautiful children. They grew old together.
They did many, many things together, but there was one thing that they never did. They never stopped loving one another.
The End
*****
Alex smiled at the memory as a tear ran down his face; it had been such a silly, poorly worded tale. But they were young. He was much older now. He had been with her, and loved her, for over 25 years. He placed the picture of her back onto the table, next to a clipping from the newspaper which he looked at.
The picture for her obituary had been recent. He had wanted to use one from when they had first met. He wanted to use it because that was how he had always seen her.
Even when the first few greys started to show. Even when she had gone on a cruise with her family for a week and had gained some weight. Even after their first child, when she had stretch marks, it hadn't mattered to him. He hadn't seemed to notice. In his eyes, she was always the same, beautiful girl that he had met so long ago.
It had been over five years since she had passed. Friends and family, even the children, said that maybe he should try to move on. They said they knew that he loved her and knew how hard it was for him.
But they didn't know.
Sometimes it hurt. Sometimes, when he lay in bed at night, he would put his arm where she should have been, almost as though he expected her to be there. Sometimes he would wake up at night because he thought he had heard her calling to him.
But she was gone. He would only hear her voice in his head. And while it would sometimes bring tears to his eyes, when he thought of her, he was happy.
There were plenty of fish in the sea, but his was the catch of a lifetime. He didn't want to keep fishing. He didn't need to.
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Best Buds
"I hate this part, Homer," said Alex. "Waiting for videos to convert from one format to another blows."
Homer looked at him and sighed. "I know you do buddy. That's probably the only reason you're conversing with me."
Alex looked offended. He had known Homer for a few months and the two of them got along pretty well. He considered him a friend.
"That's nonsense and you know it," Alex replied. "I talk to you all the time. When I go outside to smoke, when I'm watching tv. All the time."
"I guess, but the way you talk to me seems a bit impersonal sometimes."
Alex couldn't believe they were having this conversation. "How can you say that dude? I would say that at least 90 percent of the time I'm talking to you, I'm looking right in the eye. And hell, a lot of those times I'm running my fingers through your hair or massaging your back."
"I suppose that's true."
"You suppose? Dude, what about the times when I'm rubbing your stomach," Alex asked. "Do you consider that impersonal?"
Homer just looked away with a huff. Alex couldn't believe that he was talking to him like this. After everything he'd done for him in the last few months, he thought Homer was being pretty ungrateful.
"What the hell is your problem?"
"I don't have a problem," said Homer. "You're the one with a problem."
"What the HELL are you talking about? What did I do," Alex yelled. He was getting seriously frustrated with the way Homer was behaving. "How do I have a problem? I'm always nice to you and I do talk to you. You're practically my best friend!"
"And you don't think that might be unhealthy," Homer questioned.
Alex looked incredulous. He was offended and hurt that this was even coming out of Homer's mouth. He thought they were friends.
"Why would I think that talking to my friend is a problem, or unhealthy?"
"Dude," said Homer, nonchalantly. "I'm a fucking dog."
Homer looked at him and sighed. "I know you do buddy. That's probably the only reason you're conversing with me."
Alex looked offended. He had known Homer for a few months and the two of them got along pretty well. He considered him a friend.
"That's nonsense and you know it," Alex replied. "I talk to you all the time. When I go outside to smoke, when I'm watching tv. All the time."
"I guess, but the way you talk to me seems a bit impersonal sometimes."
Alex couldn't believe they were having this conversation. "How can you say that dude? I would say that at least 90 percent of the time I'm talking to you, I'm looking right in the eye. And hell, a lot of those times I'm running my fingers through your hair or massaging your back."
"I suppose that's true."
"You suppose? Dude, what about the times when I'm rubbing your stomach," Alex asked. "Do you consider that impersonal?"
Homer just looked away with a huff. Alex couldn't believe that he was talking to him like this. After everything he'd done for him in the last few months, he thought Homer was being pretty ungrateful.
"What the hell is your problem?"
"I don't have a problem," said Homer. "You're the one with a problem."
"What the HELL are you talking about? What did I do," Alex yelled. He was getting seriously frustrated with the way Homer was behaving. "How do I have a problem? I'm always nice to you and I do talk to you. You're practically my best friend!"
"And you don't think that might be unhealthy," Homer questioned.
Alex looked incredulous. He was offended and hurt that this was even coming out of Homer's mouth. He thought they were friends.
"Why would I think that talking to my friend is a problem, or unhealthy?"
"Dude," said Homer, nonchalantly. "I'm a fucking dog."
Sunday, July 24, 2011
Because I Know
I love to be in love with you
Though I know it hurts me so
You ask me how I know I do
I say, "Because, I know."
I know that you are trying
To move on with your life
But when you are alone at night
You think of being my wife
I love you enough to listen
When you said to walk away
But don't doubt me for one moment
I'll prove my love to you one day
And when I soon come back to you
and when you come back to me
We'll hold each close until
mountains fall into the seas
I love to be in love with you
Though right now it brings me pain
I'll bear the hurt until the time
I can hold you close again
Though I know it hurts me so
You ask me how I know I do
I say, "Because, I know."
I know that you are trying
To move on with your life
But when you are alone at night
You think of being my wife
I love you enough to listen
When you said to walk away
But don't doubt me for one moment
I'll prove my love to you one day
And when I soon come back to you
and when you come back to me
We'll hold each close until
mountains fall into the seas
I love to be in love with you
Though right now it brings me pain
I'll bear the hurt until the time
I can hold you close again
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
I Want To
I want to scream "I love you"
But you already know I do.
I want to be beside you there
But I know that you don't care
I want to but I won't
Because I know that you don't
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
The End, My Friend
Jack stared down the barrel of the .40 caliber Colt Python. Its black, polished steel offered the promise of a quick death to anyone or anything on receiving end. Unfortunately for Jack, he was on the wrong end.
"Is this really necessary," he ask impatiently.
"Trust me," said Allen. "This isn't going to hurt you one bit."
Jack thought about that statement. Of course it wouldn't hurt him. Hell, at this range he didn't think he'd even hear the damn thing go off.
"That's a given," he spat. "You got hollow points in that sucker?"
"Yup."
Sighing, Jack thought about what had led up to this moment. He'd been riding the People Mover through Detroit, on his way from Grand Circus Park Station to Joe Louis Arena where he'd parked. After a short lunch at the Hockey Town Cafe, he'd made his way to the station.
The walk wouldn't have been too taxing, but after the Tigers' game, he was worn out. Plus, he hadn't ridden the People Mover since he was a kid and thought it would be nice to see the city from its vantage point.
It was pretty crowded because of the game, but he managed to get a good seat with a view. The Mover lurched to a start and he was looking outside, enjoying the sight of the city as the sun began to set.
He was lost in though, when there was a sudden rumble. The sound of an explosion not far in the distance was the precursor to the deafening screech as the Mover's brakes locked up.
People jarred forward. Briefcases were dropped, drinks spilled and cell phones went flying. As soon as that had begun, there was the feeling of weightlessness. The Mover was falling.
It didn't last long, he was sure of that. But it seemed to happen in slow motion. People were thrown against the ceiling, glass was breaking and there was screaming.
The impact was the last thing he recalled. The next thing he knew, he was sitting in a chair looking down the barrel of a gun.
"You know, I'm not sure what you're trying to accomplish," said Jack. "But there has to be another way."
Allen just laughed. "No, I need to prove this to you. You need to know what you're capable of."
"I already know," Jack said with a smirk. "And wasting a round from that handgun isn't going to make it more or less true."
Allen was taken aback. He stared at Jack with a mixture of curiosity and anger.
"You knew and you never did anything?"
"I've known my whole life," said Jack. "How would feel, knowing you're different?"
His anger began to build up. His muscles began to tense.
"Do you think I like being like this? Do you think for one second I like being different from everyone else?"
Allen stared at him for awhile. "But why hide it? Why not use is for good?"
For a moment there was silence. It wasn't that Jack hadn't thought about it, about what he would be capable of. But what he wanted most of all was to just fit in. It'd taken over 400 years for someone to figure it out. It'd taken his best friend for the last 20 of them. But what he'd done to prove it was an atrocity. It was sick and wrong.
"Allen," said Jack. "You're like a brother to me. But if you want to go down this road, there is no good that will come from it."
Anger, like a black cloud, crossed Allen's face. "How dare you!"
He cocked the gun and pressed it against Jack's temple. Jack started to laugh.
"Who the hell do you think you are," he demanded. "You have a gun to my head, claiming to know what I am, and yet you still think you'll walk away from this?"
Anger was replaced by fear. Allen took a step back.
"You don't really know what I am, do you," asked Jack. "What? You think I'm some kind of superhero? Or maybe an immortal being from space, huh?"
"Well if you aren't that," said Allen, again shoving the gun into Jack's face. "Then what the hell are you?"
Jack chuckled quietly. "Allen," he said. "Have you ever heard of the Nephilim?"
Allen's eyes went wide at the word. "What? You mean the earthly children of angels?"
"Yeah," said Jack. "You know, over the years we've gotten a bad rap. But what you might not realize is that us younger ones were actually sent here to protect you."
Allen thought about this for a moment. "No. Nephilim are supposed to be giants and you're barely five six. Plus, from everything I've read they raped and pillaged. I mean hell, aren't Nephilim half the reason there was a great flood in the first place?"
"Yes. That's true, but..."
"Forget it," shouted Allen. "I don't believe you. Your kind brought ruin to the world."
Jack smiled at that. "You don't believe me, and yet you just said 'your kind'."
"Well the kind that you're referring to, my ancestors, did bring ruin to the world. That's why most of them were wiped out," he said, looking off into nothing. "However, those of us who came later were sent with the purpose of protecting God's people during the end of days."
"That doesn't make sense," screamed Allen. "Why..."
"Because you need us! Because you humans, God's image or no, are like copies of a copy," Jack retaliated. "Spiritually, you're barely a blip on the radar. Like after images of what was supposed to be...perfection. But you blew it. And now we, the rightful heirs to the Kingdom, have to look out for you."
Allen was silent. Unsure of what to say or do, his fears took hold and he pushed the Colt against Jack's forehead again.
"You are God's children," said Jack, calmly. "There is no doubt about it. He loves you."
"But then again," a smirk crossed Jack's face. "Parents always love their children. Even if they have mental flaws."
"Mental flaws?"
"Basically," said Jack staring straight into Allen's eyes. "You're His retarded offspring. It's the only way to explain His favoritism."
"What?"
"Look. You humans are physically and mentally inferior to us. You always were," said Jack. "Which is why we're here to look after you."
This last part he said with a great big smile. Allen was furious.
"I don't believe it," he scream, pressing the gun harder Jack's forehead. "Your kind are evil!"
"No. We didn't ruin this planet. We didn't cut down the forests, burn the land and hill off more species that you can count," Jack scolded. "We didn't kill millions, billions in pointless wars or ruin entire ecosystems so that we could build a new shopping mall. Your kind did that."
"Well if we're so bad," said Allen. "Then what do we need your protection for. You said it yourself - we bent this world to our will."
Jack smiled an unpleasant smile. "And you sound so proud of that," he said. "You really are too stupid to understand it, aren't you? We were sent here to protect you from yourselves."
Allen, a look of confusion on his face, stepped back again. Thoughts poured through his mind, and for a moment he was at a loss for words. Then, with a shake of his head, he found his resolve again.
"None of this makes sense," he stammered. "What's to stop me from just killing you?"
Jack burst out laughing. He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help it. He had just survived a train crash and this idiot was threatening to kill him. From his time living with them, he knew humans could be stupid, but he had no idea they were this stupid.
"Allen," said Jack, calming his laughter. "You can shoot me if you'd like. But you need to know something."
Allen didn't trust him, but he went for the bait. "What?"
"If you shoot me, it's all over."
"What do you mean?"
"The Nephilim came here to protect you from yourselves during the end times," he said. "We're here as sort of a sleeper cell, for lack of a better term."
"Like terrorists?"
"Yes, but no," Jack continued. "Yes, because we're waiting to go active. No, because we can actually do some real damage."
"Oh, and because terrorists are human," said Allen, offended. "They don't do real damage, right? Well what about the thousands they've killed?"
Jack noticed the smugness in his tone and it infuriated him. It was as though Allen was boasting because humans could kill each other off so easily. What a fool.
"Thousands," asked Jack. "I alone could kill millions of you."
Allen's mouth hung open. It took him a moment to realize this before spoke. "Millions?"
"Millions," said Jack. "And all it will take to activate me or one of the others is a direct, knowledgeable act of violence. And once we go active, we're in apocalypse mode. We don't have total control anymore."
Jack smiled. "Basically, you try to kill me, and the shit hits the fan."
Silence followed that statement. Allen, deep in though, was having a hard time believing him. Still, he couldn't be sure. There was a lot he wasn't sure of.
Originally, he'd thought that Jack was like something out of science fiction. A being from another world. Someone with super powers or...something.
As far fetched as that sounded to his own ears, the idea that he was some kind of Nephilim was even more bizarre. He wasn't buying it at all.
"Bull," said Allen. "You're just trying to cover up your origins. But you're the one who doesn't get it. Earth needs heroes. We need a Superman or the Avengers."
Raising the gun toward Jack's head he said, "You're just trying to shirk your responsibilities. You just want to hide behind the guise of a normal human. It isn't right."
"Don't," said Jack.
He'd been right. He didn't hear the gun go off. He didn't even see the muzzle flash because it'd been so close. All he felt was a brief thump on his head. Then there was darkness. It didn't last long.
When he opened his eyes, he saw Allen cowering. His pants were soaked in urine and the smell of fear permeated the air.
There was a burning sensation coursing through Jack's body, and he was glowing as bright as a sun. The ripping, wrenching sounds as his wings began to manifest themselves on his back was nothing compared to pain that accompanied them. He screamed. It was long and loud.
Allen dropped the gun and clasped his hands to his head. It would do him no good. Blood began to pour from his ears. A crimson stream flowed from his nose and eyes. He looked, terrified, at Jack until his eyes went white and then liquified.
And Jack spoke to him. The last voice Allen would ever hear. His was the voice of many, made one. And it was loud.
"Way to go, retard."
It was the last thing he heard before his head exploded.
"Is this really necessary," he ask impatiently.
"Trust me," said Allen. "This isn't going to hurt you one bit."
Jack thought about that statement. Of course it wouldn't hurt him. Hell, at this range he didn't think he'd even hear the damn thing go off.
"That's a given," he spat. "You got hollow points in that sucker?"
"Yup."
Sighing, Jack thought about what had led up to this moment. He'd been riding the People Mover through Detroit, on his way from Grand Circus Park Station to Joe Louis Arena where he'd parked. After a short lunch at the Hockey Town Cafe, he'd made his way to the station.
The walk wouldn't have been too taxing, but after the Tigers' game, he was worn out. Plus, he hadn't ridden the People Mover since he was a kid and thought it would be nice to see the city from its vantage point.
It was pretty crowded because of the game, but he managed to get a good seat with a view. The Mover lurched to a start and he was looking outside, enjoying the sight of the city as the sun began to set.
He was lost in though, when there was a sudden rumble. The sound of an explosion not far in the distance was the precursor to the deafening screech as the Mover's brakes locked up.
People jarred forward. Briefcases were dropped, drinks spilled and cell phones went flying. As soon as that had begun, there was the feeling of weightlessness. The Mover was falling.
It didn't last long, he was sure of that. But it seemed to happen in slow motion. People were thrown against the ceiling, glass was breaking and there was screaming.
The impact was the last thing he recalled. The next thing he knew, he was sitting in a chair looking down the barrel of a gun.
"You know, I'm not sure what you're trying to accomplish," said Jack. "But there has to be another way."
Allen just laughed. "No, I need to prove this to you. You need to know what you're capable of."
"I already know," Jack said with a smirk. "And wasting a round from that handgun isn't going to make it more or less true."
Allen was taken aback. He stared at Jack with a mixture of curiosity and anger.
"You knew and you never did anything?"
"I've known my whole life," said Jack. "How would feel, knowing you're different?"
His anger began to build up. His muscles began to tense.
"Do you think I like being like this? Do you think for one second I like being different from everyone else?"
Allen stared at him for awhile. "But why hide it? Why not use is for good?"
For a moment there was silence. It wasn't that Jack hadn't thought about it, about what he would be capable of. But what he wanted most of all was to just fit in. It'd taken over 400 years for someone to figure it out. It'd taken his best friend for the last 20 of them. But what he'd done to prove it was an atrocity. It was sick and wrong.
"Allen," said Jack. "You're like a brother to me. But if you want to go down this road, there is no good that will come from it."
Anger, like a black cloud, crossed Allen's face. "How dare you!"
He cocked the gun and pressed it against Jack's temple. Jack started to laugh.
"Who the hell do you think you are," he demanded. "You have a gun to my head, claiming to know what I am, and yet you still think you'll walk away from this?"
Anger was replaced by fear. Allen took a step back.
"You don't really know what I am, do you," asked Jack. "What? You think I'm some kind of superhero? Or maybe an immortal being from space, huh?"
"Well if you aren't that," said Allen, again shoving the gun into Jack's face. "Then what the hell are you?"
Jack chuckled quietly. "Allen," he said. "Have you ever heard of the Nephilim?"
Allen's eyes went wide at the word. "What? You mean the earthly children of angels?"
"Yeah," said Jack. "You know, over the years we've gotten a bad rap. But what you might not realize is that us younger ones were actually sent here to protect you."
Allen thought about this for a moment. "No. Nephilim are supposed to be giants and you're barely five six. Plus, from everything I've read they raped and pillaged. I mean hell, aren't Nephilim half the reason there was a great flood in the first place?"
"Yes. That's true, but..."
"Forget it," shouted Allen. "I don't believe you. Your kind brought ruin to the world."
Jack smiled at that. "You don't believe me, and yet you just said 'your kind'."
"Well the kind that you're referring to, my ancestors, did bring ruin to the world. That's why most of them were wiped out," he said, looking off into nothing. "However, those of us who came later were sent with the purpose of protecting God's people during the end of days."
"That doesn't make sense," screamed Allen. "Why..."
"Because you need us! Because you humans, God's image or no, are like copies of a copy," Jack retaliated. "Spiritually, you're barely a blip on the radar. Like after images of what was supposed to be...perfection. But you blew it. And now we, the rightful heirs to the Kingdom, have to look out for you."
Allen was silent. Unsure of what to say or do, his fears took hold and he pushed the Colt against Jack's forehead again.
"You are God's children," said Jack, calmly. "There is no doubt about it. He loves you."
"But then again," a smirk crossed Jack's face. "Parents always love their children. Even if they have mental flaws."
"Mental flaws?"
"Basically," said Jack staring straight into Allen's eyes. "You're His retarded offspring. It's the only way to explain His favoritism."
"What?"
"Look. You humans are physically and mentally inferior to us. You always were," said Jack. "Which is why we're here to look after you."
This last part he said with a great big smile. Allen was furious.
"I don't believe it," he scream, pressing the gun harder Jack's forehead. "Your kind are evil!"
"No. We didn't ruin this planet. We didn't cut down the forests, burn the land and hill off more species that you can count," Jack scolded. "We didn't kill millions, billions in pointless wars or ruin entire ecosystems so that we could build a new shopping mall. Your kind did that."
"Well if we're so bad," said Allen. "Then what do we need your protection for. You said it yourself - we bent this world to our will."
Jack smiled an unpleasant smile. "And you sound so proud of that," he said. "You really are too stupid to understand it, aren't you? We were sent here to protect you from yourselves."
Allen, a look of confusion on his face, stepped back again. Thoughts poured through his mind, and for a moment he was at a loss for words. Then, with a shake of his head, he found his resolve again.
"None of this makes sense," he stammered. "What's to stop me from just killing you?"
Jack burst out laughing. He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't help it. He had just survived a train crash and this idiot was threatening to kill him. From his time living with them, he knew humans could be stupid, but he had no idea they were this stupid.
"Allen," said Jack, calming his laughter. "You can shoot me if you'd like. But you need to know something."
Allen didn't trust him, but he went for the bait. "What?"
"If you shoot me, it's all over."
"What do you mean?"
"The Nephilim came here to protect you from yourselves during the end times," he said. "We're here as sort of a sleeper cell, for lack of a better term."
"Like terrorists?"
"Yes, but no," Jack continued. "Yes, because we're waiting to go active. No, because we can actually do some real damage."
"Oh, and because terrorists are human," said Allen, offended. "They don't do real damage, right? Well what about the thousands they've killed?"
Jack noticed the smugness in his tone and it infuriated him. It was as though Allen was boasting because humans could kill each other off so easily. What a fool.
"Thousands," asked Jack. "I alone could kill millions of you."
Allen's mouth hung open. It took him a moment to realize this before spoke. "Millions?"
"Millions," said Jack. "And all it will take to activate me or one of the others is a direct, knowledgeable act of violence. And once we go active, we're in apocalypse mode. We don't have total control anymore."
Jack smiled. "Basically, you try to kill me, and the shit hits the fan."
Silence followed that statement. Allen, deep in though, was having a hard time believing him. Still, he couldn't be sure. There was a lot he wasn't sure of.
Originally, he'd thought that Jack was like something out of science fiction. A being from another world. Someone with super powers or...something.
As far fetched as that sounded to his own ears, the idea that he was some kind of Nephilim was even more bizarre. He wasn't buying it at all.
"Bull," said Allen. "You're just trying to cover up your origins. But you're the one who doesn't get it. Earth needs heroes. We need a Superman or the Avengers."
Raising the gun toward Jack's head he said, "You're just trying to shirk your responsibilities. You just want to hide behind the guise of a normal human. It isn't right."
"Don't," said Jack.
He'd been right. He didn't hear the gun go off. He didn't even see the muzzle flash because it'd been so close. All he felt was a brief thump on his head. Then there was darkness. It didn't last long.
When he opened his eyes, he saw Allen cowering. His pants were soaked in urine and the smell of fear permeated the air.
There was a burning sensation coursing through Jack's body, and he was glowing as bright as a sun. The ripping, wrenching sounds as his wings began to manifest themselves on his back was nothing compared to pain that accompanied them. He screamed. It was long and loud.
Allen dropped the gun and clasped his hands to his head. It would do him no good. Blood began to pour from his ears. A crimson stream flowed from his nose and eyes. He looked, terrified, at Jack until his eyes went white and then liquified.
And Jack spoke to him. The last voice Allen would ever hear. His was the voice of many, made one. And it was loud.
"Way to go, retard."
It was the last thing he heard before his head exploded.
Monday, July 4, 2011
Voices
"Oh hell. What's the harm," said Jack to no one in particular. He picked up his phone and dialed the number. All he wanted was to hear a familiar voice.
No. That wasn't true. He wanted to hear her voice. Just her voice. Even if it was only for second. Even if it was just her voicemail message. He needed to hear her voice.
It rang three times before she answered.
"Hello?"
"Lindsay? Hey, it's Jack. How are you?"
"I'm good. Just doing my thing," she said. "So what's up?"
"Honestly? I was just feeling a little home sick. I wanted to hear a friendly voice."
"Oh. Well, if anything, I do have that," said Lindsay, a nervous giggle in her voice.
There was a brief pause. It was weird, he knew. Maybe he shouldn't have called.
"Yeah," he said. "I don't know. Maybe it's weird that I called you, but when I hear your voice...I dunno."
"Oh," she said. "Well, how have things been out there for you?"
"It's been good. I've got a few job offers and I should be working within a week or so. That's about it. Nothing major."
"Well that's good."
Boy, this was awkward. He had so much that he wanted to say to her. He wanted to tell her how much he missed her, even though he wasn't sure why exactly. He wanted to tell her how much he thought about her everyday. Maybe, he even wanted to tell her that he was in love with her.
But he wouldn't. He couldn't say any of those things to her. Not yet. He wasn't ready. And for her, he wanted to be ready.
"Well, look, you're probably busy or something. I should let you go for now."
"Oh," she said. "Okay"
There was a hint of disappointment in her voice, like she had expected something more. He could hear it in the silence that followed. There was more on the tip of his tongue, but he pushed it away.
"Well, I hope you have a great night."
"Yeah. You, too," she said.
"Bye."
"Bye."
Jack hung up the phone and held it in his hand. He looked down at it for a few moments, then pocketed it with a sigh.
He looked out of his window and thought about Lindsay. He could see her face and he could still hear her voice in his head. He sat down, resignedly, on his couch and looked down at the floor shaking his head.
And when he looked up, he glanced at the empty space next to him on the couch. He imagined her next to him.
"I love you," he said, to no one in particular.
No. That wasn't true. He wanted to hear her voice. Just her voice. Even if it was only for second. Even if it was just her voicemail message. He needed to hear her voice.
It rang three times before she answered.
"Hello?"
"Lindsay? Hey, it's Jack. How are you?"
"I'm good. Just doing my thing," she said. "So what's up?"
"Honestly? I was just feeling a little home sick. I wanted to hear a friendly voice."
"Oh. Well, if anything, I do have that," said Lindsay, a nervous giggle in her voice.
There was a brief pause. It was weird, he knew. Maybe he shouldn't have called.
"Yeah," he said. "I don't know. Maybe it's weird that I called you, but when I hear your voice...I dunno."
"Oh," she said. "Well, how have things been out there for you?"
"It's been good. I've got a few job offers and I should be working within a week or so. That's about it. Nothing major."
"Well that's good."
Boy, this was awkward. He had so much that he wanted to say to her. He wanted to tell her how much he missed her, even though he wasn't sure why exactly. He wanted to tell her how much he thought about her everyday. Maybe, he even wanted to tell her that he was in love with her.
But he wouldn't. He couldn't say any of those things to her. Not yet. He wasn't ready. And for her, he wanted to be ready.
"Well, look, you're probably busy or something. I should let you go for now."
"Oh," she said. "Okay"
There was a hint of disappointment in her voice, like she had expected something more. He could hear it in the silence that followed. There was more on the tip of his tongue, but he pushed it away.
"Well, I hope you have a great night."
"Yeah. You, too," she said.
"Bye."
"Bye."
Jack hung up the phone and held it in his hand. He looked down at it for a few moments, then pocketed it with a sigh.
He looked out of his window and thought about Lindsay. He could see her face and he could still hear her voice in his head. He sat down, resignedly, on his couch and looked down at the floor shaking his head.
And when he looked up, he glanced at the empty space next to him on the couch. He imagined her next to him.
"I love you," he said, to no one in particular.
Smile
Jack loved Anna with all of his heart. And though she didn't say it as often, he knew that she loved him, too. As an old movie played in the background, Anna looked at him. He turned his attention toward her and smiled.
Looking at her face always made him smile. In all the years he'd known her, only once had her charms not caused him to smile. In thinking of this, his smile grew larger.
"What is it," Anna asked. "What's so funny?"
"Nothing funny," he replied. "I was just thinking about you and how much you mean to me. I love you."
At this matter of fact response, Anna's smile grew. "Well, what is it about me that you love so much?"
Jack was quiet for a moment. The smile never left his face, but he was thinking.
"I'm not sure how to phrase it all, but I'll do my best," he said. "I guess that in some fashion, I've always loved you. Even before I was ready to admit it."
"From the first time that I saw you, the way you were smiling made your eyes seem to shine. Maybe sparkle is the better word."
"Anyway," he continued, "when you ran your fingers through my hair that day, it was like nothing I'd felt before. No one had ever touched me with such tenderness, gentleness."
Anna giggled at this. "Well, it was my job to take care of you and make sure that you went away happy. But I understand what you mean. It was a bit different for me, too. For some reason, I didn't just think of you as another client. And I could see the way you looked at me."
"Well, you're beautiful. I know that plenty of guys look at you like that."
"No," she said. "It wasn't the same. When most guys would look at me, they'd be looking me up and down, checking me out. But you didn't. You just looked into my eyes."
"What can say? I was captivated. And I loved your smile, from the moment I saw it. There was something...wonderful about it. It was the most sincere smile I've ever seen and I knew that you were someone that was very caring and loving."
She laughed. "All that from a smile?"
"That, and more," he said. "Your smile is part of your beauty. And it's always there, if only hinted at. You're a happy person. I love that about you."
"And that's why you love me?"
"In part, yes. You aren't fake, and you're confident in who you are. I think that's part of why you're so happy all the time. You know you aren't perfect, but you are perfectly you. When I close my eyes and think of your face, I see that smile of your. A tiny bit crooked on the left, but with perfectly white little teeth. And your adorable, baby round cheeks are highlighted by that little mole of yours."
"You have a cute little nose and big, smiling eyes."
"Back to the smiles again," she asked with a giggle.
"Always with your smile. I love it and I love you."
Anna thought for a moment on this. "So, am I just a pretty smile to you then?"
"No. Not at all," said Jack, looking into her eyes. "Your smile is just a part of it. I can't put it all into words, but if it's true that home is where the heart is, then my home is with you. No matter where I was in the world, no matter what I was doing at the time, if you're there with me, I'll always be home."
With that, he leaned over and wrapped his arms around her. Closing his eyes, he kissed her cheeks, her nose, her forehead. Finally, he kissed her lips. He held her tightly and breathed in her scent. He lost himself in the moment. It could have been 10 seconds or 10 years.
When he opened his eyes again, he looked at Anna's face. Her smile matched his own. They had spent a lifetime together, nearly 50 years.
A tear ran down Anna's face but the smile never faded. "I love you too, Jack."
And as the light began to fade from her eyes, tears began to trickle from Jack's. Her breathing slowed, became shallow. "I'll always be with you," she said, placing a hand on his heart.
Quietly, her hand slipped away from his chest and fell gently on to the hospital bed. Jack held her for a long moment before slowly lowering her head to the pillow. Still holding her close, he whispered into her ear.
"And I will always love you."
Looking at her face always made him smile. In all the years he'd known her, only once had her charms not caused him to smile. In thinking of this, his smile grew larger.
"What is it," Anna asked. "What's so funny?"
"Nothing funny," he replied. "I was just thinking about you and how much you mean to me. I love you."
At this matter of fact response, Anna's smile grew. "Well, what is it about me that you love so much?"
Jack was quiet for a moment. The smile never left his face, but he was thinking.
"I'm not sure how to phrase it all, but I'll do my best," he said. "I guess that in some fashion, I've always loved you. Even before I was ready to admit it."
"From the first time that I saw you, the way you were smiling made your eyes seem to shine. Maybe sparkle is the better word."
"Anyway," he continued, "when you ran your fingers through my hair that day, it was like nothing I'd felt before. No one had ever touched me with such tenderness, gentleness."
Anna giggled at this. "Well, it was my job to take care of you and make sure that you went away happy. But I understand what you mean. It was a bit different for me, too. For some reason, I didn't just think of you as another client. And I could see the way you looked at me."
"Well, you're beautiful. I know that plenty of guys look at you like that."
"No," she said. "It wasn't the same. When most guys would look at me, they'd be looking me up and down, checking me out. But you didn't. You just looked into my eyes."
"What can say? I was captivated. And I loved your smile, from the moment I saw it. There was something...wonderful about it. It was the most sincere smile I've ever seen and I knew that you were someone that was very caring and loving."
She laughed. "All that from a smile?"
"That, and more," he said. "Your smile is part of your beauty. And it's always there, if only hinted at. You're a happy person. I love that about you."
"And that's why you love me?"
"In part, yes. You aren't fake, and you're confident in who you are. I think that's part of why you're so happy all the time. You know you aren't perfect, but you are perfectly you. When I close my eyes and think of your face, I see that smile of your. A tiny bit crooked on the left, but with perfectly white little teeth. And your adorable, baby round cheeks are highlighted by that little mole of yours."
"You have a cute little nose and big, smiling eyes."
"Back to the smiles again," she asked with a giggle.
"Always with your smile. I love it and I love you."
Anna thought for a moment on this. "So, am I just a pretty smile to you then?"
"No. Not at all," said Jack, looking into her eyes. "Your smile is just a part of it. I can't put it all into words, but if it's true that home is where the heart is, then my home is with you. No matter where I was in the world, no matter what I was doing at the time, if you're there with me, I'll always be home."
With that, he leaned over and wrapped his arms around her. Closing his eyes, he kissed her cheeks, her nose, her forehead. Finally, he kissed her lips. He held her tightly and breathed in her scent. He lost himself in the moment. It could have been 10 seconds or 10 years.
When he opened his eyes again, he looked at Anna's face. Her smile matched his own. They had spent a lifetime together, nearly 50 years.
A tear ran down Anna's face but the smile never faded. "I love you too, Jack."
And as the light began to fade from her eyes, tears began to trickle from Jack's. Her breathing slowed, became shallow. "I'll always be with you," she said, placing a hand on his heart.
Quietly, her hand slipped away from his chest and fell gently on to the hospital bed. Jack held her for a long moment before slowly lowering her head to the pillow. Still holding her close, he whispered into her ear.
"And I will always love you."
It just is
Jack looked out of his open window at the street below as a cool wind blew through the house. He didn't feel anything that he could put a finger on, but whatever it was that bothered him was there. He was lost in his thoughts, and his thoughts were on nothing.
Frequently, his mind was a blank. And when it wasn't blank, there was only pain of some sort. He never knew why it was there, only that it was. He had spent most of his life trying to put a finger on what exactly troubled his mind, but when he thought on it, he became empty and no thoughts came.
But today, there was something different. Today, he had a plan for learning what distressed him, once and for all. Because Jack read books, and all of the books he had ever read told him that when you're near death, your life flashes before your eyes.
It seemed to be the most logical way to pinpoint his problem; a life or death situation would bring up all of his memories and allow his hopes and dreams, if he had any, to flash before his eyes. And as this thought entered his mind, he acted on it.
Many would say that Jack was impulsive. Once an idea came he acted on it with little thought on the possible outcomes. Typically, when he met with resistance to his ideas, he would give up on them. But not today.
Today, there would be no going back. And with a determined nod to himself, he stepped onto the window ledge.
The wind rushed against his face and blew through his hair as he fell. With seventy-nine stories to drop, it would be a long fall. Plenty of time for his life to flash before his eyes.
His childhood came first. His earliest memory was of a small boy fishing. There was a smile on his face and laughter in the air. He had just caught a rather large bass and his older brother was helping him bring it in. He could feel the excitement and knew that he had done well.
Next his mind flashed to another child, who sat alone in the yard and cried as he played with all of his toys. No one was there to play with him. He was alone.
He was older now, and looking into a girls eyes. He was telling her how wonderful he thought she was and she was smiling. He felt good. Like the part of him that was missing was finally found.
He was alone again. The girl had gone and his heart was broken. The emptiness he felt reminded him of something, but he wasn't sure what it was yet.
He snapped out of the thoughts for a moment. He was falling again and figured that he had only fallen a few floors. There were tears in his eyes, though it could have simply been due to the wind. He closed his eyes and became lost in his thoughts again.
Now he saw a boy that everyone loved. He got on well with everyone, the girls and boys liked him and wanted to play with him. He was the oldest at his school now. It was a small school and there were only a few girls there, but they loved him. At least, he thought they did.
And what was love anyway? His mind latched on to the notion and faces began to appear in his mind. All of the ones who had said "I love you" but didn't mean it. He thought about the Bible and what it said about love being patient (check), kind (check). It didn't envy (hmm) or boast (well, not quite), and it wasn't prideful (definitely no). Rude, self-seeking, not easily angered and kept no record of wrongs (nope).
The more he thought about love, the more he realized that this was the problem. He didn't love. Anything or anyone, and no one loved him (not in the Biblical sense). Love had failed him. Or, perhaps, he had failed love. Did he love? Anyone? Himself?
No.
His eyes popped open at the realization. He needed to learn what it meant to really love. And to not love just anyone, but himself. But what was to love? He closed his eyes.
What had he done that would make him deserving of love, and why had all of the people who loved him eventually failed or given up? He did plenty that was deserving of love. He went out of his way to help others. He gave to charity in the hopes that his actions could help someone. He was kind and caring, wasn't he?
Was he?
New thoughts sprang into his mind. Thought of him screaming at someone. A hand around a throat, a fist smashing through a door. That wasn't love. That was anger. That was pain. That was him.
And now he realized. All of the kindness that he exuded and caring he showed was just a mask for what was inside of him. Pain and anger. And no matter how hard he tried to cover it up, it was always there, on the edge of his conscience. Like a tiger, stalking its prey it waited for victims to feel safe and then it sprung.
But he was the victim. He was his own victim and every time he felt secure, that pain and anger would jump on him and ruin it all.
Where did it come from? The good that he did, did it count for nothing? It didn't. Not to him. What was the purpose of all that he tried to accomplish? A shiny veneer, purely cosmetic. It didn't matter. Nothing did.
He opened his eyes again and saw the ground getting so much closer. But it didn't matter. Now he knew what the problem was. He thought about what it meant to be alive. It meant to have life, to exist. But was existence really life? Rocks existed, but were they alive? No.
And neither was he. He was just a rock. You can paint a rock and make it pretty. You can draw hearts on a rock, but it didn't really love. You can paint a smile on a rock, but it isn't really happy. You can paint tears on a rock, but it doesn't feel sadness. It's just a rock. And he had been nothing but a rock for his whole life.
Life was the wrong word for it. It wasn't a life, it was an existence. And now he knew what his problem was. He knew why his mind was empty, as was his heart. Because it wasn't really a life.
He closed his eyes for the final time and hit the pavement.
Jack had watched the pebble fall as long as he could. He had excellent eyesight, but frankly, seventy-nine stories was a pretty good drop and he lost site of it fairly quickly. But something about looking at the little rock falling to the street below awoke something inside of him and his mind plummeted with it.
He wondered how fast it must have been going when it hit the ground and hoped that it didn't hit anyone. He'd feel terrible if it had.
With a final shake of his head, he wondered if it bounced when it landed, then stepped away from the window ledge. He wiped the tears from his eyes and smiled a bit. He didn't need to jump out of a building to figure out his life. He just needed a quiet place to think, free from distractions and the rest of the world. Closing his window, he decided that his apartment would do just fine.
And as for being deserving of love, wasn't that the whole point of it? No one DID anything to deserve love, anymore than we did anything to deserve air. It just was. And that was a nice thought.
Frequently, his mind was a blank. And when it wasn't blank, there was only pain of some sort. He never knew why it was there, only that it was. He had spent most of his life trying to put a finger on what exactly troubled his mind, but when he thought on it, he became empty and no thoughts came.
But today, there was something different. Today, he had a plan for learning what distressed him, once and for all. Because Jack read books, and all of the books he had ever read told him that when you're near death, your life flashes before your eyes.
It seemed to be the most logical way to pinpoint his problem; a life or death situation would bring up all of his memories and allow his hopes and dreams, if he had any, to flash before his eyes. And as this thought entered his mind, he acted on it.
Many would say that Jack was impulsive. Once an idea came he acted on it with little thought on the possible outcomes. Typically, when he met with resistance to his ideas, he would give up on them. But not today.
Today, there would be no going back. And with a determined nod to himself, he stepped onto the window ledge.
The wind rushed against his face and blew through his hair as he fell. With seventy-nine stories to drop, it would be a long fall. Plenty of time for his life to flash before his eyes.
His childhood came first. His earliest memory was of a small boy fishing. There was a smile on his face and laughter in the air. He had just caught a rather large bass and his older brother was helping him bring it in. He could feel the excitement and knew that he had done well.
Next his mind flashed to another child, who sat alone in the yard and cried as he played with all of his toys. No one was there to play with him. He was alone.
He was older now, and looking into a girls eyes. He was telling her how wonderful he thought she was and she was smiling. He felt good. Like the part of him that was missing was finally found.
He was alone again. The girl had gone and his heart was broken. The emptiness he felt reminded him of something, but he wasn't sure what it was yet.
He snapped out of the thoughts for a moment. He was falling again and figured that he had only fallen a few floors. There were tears in his eyes, though it could have simply been due to the wind. He closed his eyes and became lost in his thoughts again.
Now he saw a boy that everyone loved. He got on well with everyone, the girls and boys liked him and wanted to play with him. He was the oldest at his school now. It was a small school and there were only a few girls there, but they loved him. At least, he thought they did.
And what was love anyway? His mind latched on to the notion and faces began to appear in his mind. All of the ones who had said "I love you" but didn't mean it. He thought about the Bible and what it said about love being patient (check), kind (check). It didn't envy (hmm) or boast (well, not quite), and it wasn't prideful (definitely no). Rude, self-seeking, not easily angered and kept no record of wrongs (nope).
The more he thought about love, the more he realized that this was the problem. He didn't love. Anything or anyone, and no one loved him (not in the Biblical sense). Love had failed him. Or, perhaps, he had failed love. Did he love? Anyone? Himself?
No.
His eyes popped open at the realization. He needed to learn what it meant to really love. And to not love just anyone, but himself. But what was to love? He closed his eyes.
What had he done that would make him deserving of love, and why had all of the people who loved him eventually failed or given up? He did plenty that was deserving of love. He went out of his way to help others. He gave to charity in the hopes that his actions could help someone. He was kind and caring, wasn't he?
Was he?
New thoughts sprang into his mind. Thought of him screaming at someone. A hand around a throat, a fist smashing through a door. That wasn't love. That was anger. That was pain. That was him.
And now he realized. All of the kindness that he exuded and caring he showed was just a mask for what was inside of him. Pain and anger. And no matter how hard he tried to cover it up, it was always there, on the edge of his conscience. Like a tiger, stalking its prey it waited for victims to feel safe and then it sprung.
But he was the victim. He was his own victim and every time he felt secure, that pain and anger would jump on him and ruin it all.
Where did it come from? The good that he did, did it count for nothing? It didn't. Not to him. What was the purpose of all that he tried to accomplish? A shiny veneer, purely cosmetic. It didn't matter. Nothing did.
He opened his eyes again and saw the ground getting so much closer. But it didn't matter. Now he knew what the problem was. He thought about what it meant to be alive. It meant to have life, to exist. But was existence really life? Rocks existed, but were they alive? No.
And neither was he. He was just a rock. You can paint a rock and make it pretty. You can draw hearts on a rock, but it didn't really love. You can paint a smile on a rock, but it isn't really happy. You can paint tears on a rock, but it doesn't feel sadness. It's just a rock. And he had been nothing but a rock for his whole life.
Life was the wrong word for it. It wasn't a life, it was an existence. And now he knew what his problem was. He knew why his mind was empty, as was his heart. Because it wasn't really a life.
He closed his eyes for the final time and hit the pavement.
Jack had watched the pebble fall as long as he could. He had excellent eyesight, but frankly, seventy-nine stories was a pretty good drop and he lost site of it fairly quickly. But something about looking at the little rock falling to the street below awoke something inside of him and his mind plummeted with it.
He wondered how fast it must have been going when it hit the ground and hoped that it didn't hit anyone. He'd feel terrible if it had.
With a final shake of his head, he wondered if it bounced when it landed, then stepped away from the window ledge. He wiped the tears from his eyes and smiled a bit. He didn't need to jump out of a building to figure out his life. He just needed a quiet place to think, free from distractions and the rest of the world. Closing his window, he decided that his apartment would do just fine.
And as for being deserving of love, wasn't that the whole point of it? No one DID anything to deserve love, anymore than we did anything to deserve air. It just was. And that was a nice thought.
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