When the Muses Speak

"Jack," whispered Alex, his voice shuddering. "What have you done?"

Jack looked up from the table with a weak smile on his face. There was pain etched on his face. His cheeks were streaked with tears.

"It hurt, Alex," he said. "It hurt so much. I had to cut it out."

On the table, covered in blood was Jack's still beating heart.

"Will you take if for me, Alex? Just for awhile?"

Alex looked at his old friend and shuddered. His eyes filled with tears and he shook his head.

"I can't, buddy. I'm sorry."

Anguish covered Jack's face as stood abruptly, knocking his chair to the floor. He rushed toward Alex then fell to his knees. Grasping at his legs he pleaded to him.

"But you're strong! I can't do this anymore," he cried out. "Please, Alex. I can't do this anymore."

Alex looked down at his old friend and tears fell from his eyes. He reached down and gently took Jack's chin, making him look up.

"I'm so sorry, Jack," he said. "I've been trying to help you for so long. But I can't do this for you. I can't."

"Please," cried Jack. "Please help me. I know you can handle it."

"No."

The finality in Alex's voice brought a look of surprise to Jack's face. He fell back onto the floor of the kitchen, staring up at him.

"Why," Jack whispered.

Alex wanted to choose his words carefully. Saying the wrong thing would be like a nail in the coffin. He loved Jack dearly, and didn't want that.

"Jack, your heart is broken. It's weak. If I were to take it into me, it would never heal."

He crouched down beside him and looked into his sad, confused eyes.

"The only way it will heal is with time and care. But you have to do it," he continued with a grin. "I've been there my friend. I know how much it hurts. But you can do this."

Jack immediately began sobbing. He shook his head violently. "No I can't," he screamed. "I'm not as strong as you. I'm not!"

Alex suddenly reached for him, gripping his jaw. It was a firm grip, demanding his attention. There was a fire burning in his eyes that Jack had never before seen on the usually calm face.

"Yes you can," Alex growled. "I wasn't always this strong, and as much as I love you man, I'm not going to risk falling down again."

"You...fell?"

"Yes," said Alex, releasing Jack's face. "A long time ago. But I worked through it. And as impossible as it sounds right now, you will too."

"How?"

Alex's smile was broad. "I'll help you of course! I just can't take it for you."

A little smile was beginning to crack on Jack's pain ridden face. He knew his old friend would have a solution.

"It'll be difficult. But believe me, sport, it'll be worth it."

Alex stood. He reached down for Jack and helped him to his feet, then back to his chair.

Once he was seated, Jack looked up at Alex and asked, "Where do I begin?"

"Well, if it hurts too much to have it in you, then the first thing you need is a cage." He looked around the apartment for a moment, then spotted the old birdcage Jack had kept his parakeet in years ago. "This one will do."

"Now, you place your heart in the cage and lock it up. This will keep it protected. And don't let anyone but you see it for awhile."

Jack was nodding as he made mental notes.

"Your heart is like a bird. Sometimes, it will be scared or sad and just plain old freak out on you. At other times, it will sing," said Alex. "When it's singing, sing with it. And when it's freaking out, reassure it.

"And everyday, every single day, you need to feed it. Start with a little bit at a time, just to give it its strength back. Within a few days or weeks, it should be strong again."

"What do I feed it," asked Jack.

"Love, of course."

Jack slowly nodded his head in comprehension. After everything he'd been through, he had a feeling it would take at least a few weeks just to get some of its strength back. Could he wait that long?

"And yes," said Alex, reading his face. "It might take some time, but you can do it."

"How will I know that it's got its strength back? When do I let it out again?"

Alex smiled and clapped his friend on the shoulder. "That's the best part. You won't know. It will."

"It will?"

"Yes. And when it's time, you won't need to let it out. It'll burst out of the cage, singing, on its own!"

Jack smiled at the way Alex mimicked an explosion of sorts with his arms. The pain that his heart had been giving him was nearly too much to bear. Now he was seeing that his heart just needed strength and proper care.

"When do I start?"

"Right now," said Alex. "Get off your duff, put that thing away. And remember, sing when it sings. And when it's freaking out, calm it down. It won't help if you freak out too."

Jack turned away from him as he carried the heart and the cage over to the counter. He smiled as he placed the little heart inside and locked it up. He hummed quietly to it.

"Alex, I really want to thank you for this," said Jack, turning back toward his friend. "I was at my whit's end and..."

Alex was gone. He did that a lot. Jack just smiled, shook his head. He turned back to the heart.

Quiet as a whisper, it began to sing.

It all started with a phone call.

“Hello?”

The sinister,high pitched voice on the other end sent a chill down Rick Allen’s spine. “Hello, Mr Allen. My name is...the Phlatulator! Ha ha ha ha ha!”

After the initial chill, Rick burst out laughing. “What? Is this Danny? Did Gail in Personal Banking put you up to this?”

“How dare you sir! I am the Phlatulator, and you will do as I demand!”

“Really? And what exactly are your demands, oh great Phlatulator?” The condescension in his voice was tar thick.

Rick looked at his watch. He had about 30 minutes before his meeting and figured there was no harm in talking to this joker. The prank was fantastic, and when he found out who set it up, he would make sure to get them something special for Christmas.

“I don’t appreciate your tone, Mr Allen.” The voice held real menace. Rick was starting to wonder. Either this guy was a great voice actor, or he had something seriously wrong with him

“You will transfer ten million dollars to my offshore account, or face your doom.”

Rick chuckled. It was funny at first, but the joke was already getting kind of old. Besides, he was starting to feel a bit hungry now and if he hurried he could grab some soup at the corner deli before his meeting started.

“Listen, I don’t know who put you up to this, but I appreciate the joke. Now if you don’t mind, I have to attend a meeting in about 25 minutes, so...”

The rage filled voice cut him off. “A MEETING! How dare you! You have a decision to make, Mr Allen. Because if you don’t transfer the money in the next 10 minutes, I’ll be calling on your lovely wife Sissy.”

Now this was odd. Unless whoever filled him in on some pretty personal details, no cut rate hack should have any idea of who his wife was. They were unlisted and on the do not call list.

“Listen guy. Enough is enough.” Rick became all business. “If you want to keep up this charade, feel free. But whoever told you that threatening my wife, even if it’s just for a joke, was a good idea, they were wrong. So fuck off.”

“Wait!” Rick had just pulled the phone away from his ear, but replaced it at the man’s sudden tone of desperation.

“What!”

“Mr Allen, I see that you’ve made your decision.” The voice sounded very understanding. “And you’re right. I should not have threatened your wife.

“After all,” the voice boomed. “You made the choice not to do my bidding! And you’ll be the one to pay for it!”

There was a muffled, shuffling sound. It sounded as though the phone had been stuffed into something. He heard some bumping and rubbing. What the hell?

“Die!” The voice sounded far away.

Rick pushed his ear tight against the receiver. “What did you say?”

Then Rick heard a sound. It started low at first, like someone blowing raspberries through relaxed lips. The sound went from low to high to higher. It almost sounded like someone was ripping a...

Then all was silence for Rick. He was laying on the floor, the blood pouring from is ears formed a pool. Rick was stone dead.

Meanwhile, in an underground lair somewhere off the coast of Washington, DC, the Phlatulator paced, simmering. He cursed and muttered at the unfairness of it all. Why did no one ever take him seriously? He had a bonafide super power, but they all just laughed.

He’d never been able to get a bank president to wire the money. What made him think today would be any different? They always just made fun of him.

No matter. He was a decent looking man who had been able to get by preying on local clubgoers and bar patrons. He could still make a living.

His fist slammed down onto the table. “Ouch! Dammit that hurt!”

He massaged his aching hand, deep in thought and angry at the table. He didn’t want to just make a living. He wanted wealth and power! He wanted an army of slaves, always at his beck and call.

As the pain in his hand began to throb itself away, his mind cleared. An idea formed. One that was so diabolical it couldn’t possibly fail.

If he couldn’t get bank presidents to turn over the cash, perhaps he would just have to go after the real President. The President of the United State. Of course!

Once he had him on the phone, he could hold him hostage. They would have no choice but to wire the money. And if they refused, he would show them.

He would make an example of the President. All the nations of the world would see that no one was safe. Even the most powerful man on the planet would do his bidding. Or die!

There was no time to waste planning out all of the detail. His power to kill would be all he needed. He could waft away the spirit of life with ease.

Moments later, at the White House, the President’s secretary, Ms Walls, is taking a call.

“I demand to speak to the President.”

This guy was pushy and rude. They did not pay her enough to put up with this kind of behavior. “First of all, sir, you will talk to me with respect. And second, I don’t even know you. Why should I put you on with the President?”

There was a brief silence. Clearly, the caller hadn’t expected such assertiveness. But this woman had no idea who she was dealing with. “I...am the Phlatulator!”

Ms Walls laughed. “Excuse me? Did you just say ‘the Phlatulator’? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Silence replied, and then sound of rustling. A maniacal voice, seeming muffled shouted insanely.

“I am the Phlatulator!”

Raspberries, low now but getting higher, louder. And then there was nothing. Ms Walls fell to the floor behind her desk. Blood drained from her eyes and ears.

Meanwhile, back at the secret lair...The Phlatulator pulled at the back of his uniform. That had been a good one. And now there was one less person in the way of his target. He uttered an evil laugh as he dug around in his desk for the box of baby wipes.

In Washington, DC, the President was taking a walk through the halls. He felt like he was forgetting something, but couldn’t put his finger on it.

He knew it wasn’t his wife’s birthday, or any of the children. A meeting was coming up, but that wasn’t for at least a few hours. He was truly stumped.

With a snap of his fingers, he turned down the hall and headed to Ms Walls’ office. She was a wealth of information, keeping track of all his meetings. If he’d forgotten something, she would let him know.

With a spring in his step, the President walked down the hall. He came to the door and knocked 5 times. Shave-and-a-hair-cut!

He smiled and waited for her response. No answer came, and he knocked again in case she hadn’t heard him. He tapped his foot and hummed a tune for a moment. Finally, he opened the door.

Ms Walls was not sitting at her desk. It wasn’t a bother, as the President knew that she kept his daily calender in the top drawer of her desk. He headed toward it and just as he was coming around, he spotted her.

“My God! Ms Walls!”

He knelt down next to the you woman. Judging from the puddle of blood near her head, it was already too late. He reached for her phone to call a paramedic.

Just as his hand touched the receiver, the ringer blared. The President nearly jumped. Talk about coincident.

He picked up the phone and did his best to disguise his voice. “Hello?”

“I must speak with the President!” The voice sounded excited, almost in a panic. “It’s of the utmost concern.”

“Actually,” he said, speaking in his normal voice. “This is the President. But right now I have a medical emergency here and I need...”

“Speak not of what you need, vile creature! I am the Phlatulator, and you will do as I command!”

“Listen, friend. I don’t care who you are.” The President had know Ms Woods since he’d first moved here and she’d been secretary to the previous President as well. She had always been so kind and this man was making jokes. “My secretary has been attacked and I don’t have time for...”

“SILENCE!” The voice was that of a madman. “Your secretary is dead because she refused to put you on the phone. It’s your fault that she’s dead, and unless you want to end up like her you’ll do exactly what I tell you.”

“And what is that?” He spotted a guard passing through the hall, caught his attention with a whistle and motioned him over. “I’m not sure what happened her, but go get us an ambulance or a doctor or something. If we can help her at all, well...we at least have to try.”

There was an evil laugh. “There is no helping her. Once I snuff out a life, it never comes back. Now. Listen to me.”

The President wasn’t sure if this guy really had anything to do with Ms Walls death. Regardless of that, he seemed like trouble. They didn’t need anymore trouble at the White House today.

“You will transfer ten million dollars to my offshore accounts. You will do this within the hour or you’ll end up just like your precious Ms Walls.”

Unimpressed by the bravado, the President replied, “And what, exactly, makes you think you can do anything to me?”

The guard came back with some of the medical staff and a few interns.

“Put one of your interns on the phone.”

Wondering what the gimmick would be, he called over Daniel. He passed him the phone. “This guy says he wants to talk to an intern.”

Daniel was reluctant to place the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

He didn’t hear a response. Just the sound of someone making the raspberries sound. He collapsed in moments.

Now the President had two bodies and a lunatic on the phone. “Listen, Phlatulator,” he said firmly. “I don’t know what you just did, but I won’t be bullied. We don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

The Phlatulator began ranting and raving, but the President covered up phone and motioned over a guard. “Get someone to find out everything they can about a man calling himself the Phlatulator. With a PH, I believe.”

The guard nodded and was off.

When he returned his attention to the phone, the ranting and raving continued. Did this guy ever give it up? No matter.

“Phlatulator, you give me one hour to see to my people here. We’ll talk more after I get these folks taken care of.” He didn’t wait for a response.

Meanwhile, back at the secret lair...”Dammit! How dare that man hang up on me. Doesn’t he know who I am? I am the greatest killer known to man. I can kill anytime, anyplace!” He paced and muttered to himself.

He would play the President’s game for now. He would allow him the hour. After that, it was his money or his life!

And yet again, back in Washington, DC - The President looked over the rather sparse file. It seemed that this Phlatulator, though typically small time, could pose a threat. A string of recent kills, all investment bankers, showed similar postmortem signs as Ms Walls and Daniel.

Whatever he did, he did it while you were on the phone. This bit of information gave the President and idea. He caught one of the guard’s attention. “Head one office over and bring me the phone. There should also be a splitter in there for where it attaches to the fax machine. We’ll need that, too.”

The guard was quick about returning with the phone and the line splitter. The President thanked him, then set about hooking everything up. He placed both telephones next to each other.

It was so simple. Now, he just had to wait for the call. It came faster than expected.

When he went to answer, he picked up the receiver of one phone and pressed speaker mode on the other. He hoped there wasn’t too much feedback.

“Well, fool. What have you decided?”

“Phlatulator, I told you before. I don’t negotiate with terrorists. Especially terrorist with no real teeth.”

“You dare,” screamed. “I’ll destroy you for this!”

The President chuckled. “And how exactly do you think you can do that? I’m the President of the United States, and I’m in my home turf.”

“I’ll show you how I can do that,” said The Phlatulator, his voice dripping menace. “Listen. Listen very carefully.”

The President motioned for everyone to step away from the phones and cover their ears. After make one final adjustment, making sure the phones were perfectly aligned, he stepped away as well.

There was the sound of shuffling and the muffled movement. A voice from far away screamed, “Die!”

There was the sound of raspberries. The sound started low and began to get louder. The President pressed his hands as hard as he could to his ears. He had a theory that at this range they should all be just fine, but he didn’t want to take any chances.

Their was a brief shout of pain or surprise, followed by what sounded like the phone falling to the ground. Then there was silence.

The President had done it.

Later, in an underground lair off the coast of Washington, DC - He accompanied a small group of Secret Service Agents on the investigation. When they arrived, they found the Phlatulator. Rather, they found what was left of him.

The villain was on the floor, slumped up again a desk. His eyes were bloodshot and a thick string of drool ran down his chin. He rocked himself, but the movement nearly imperceptible.

“This was some crazy super villain?”

“Well, I wouldn’t call him super,” said the President. “Especially when you come to truly understand his power.”

“He farted in the phone, right?”

“Well, yes. The thing is, that was the only way for his power to be effective. Had he broken wind with us standing next to him, we might have had to deal with a nasty smell, but it wouldn’t have hurt us at all.

The Service Agent nodded in understanding.

“Something about the frequency modulation on most telephones boosted the power of his blast,” said the President. “And given that nearly everyone has a cell phone, he could have made himself very dangerous indeed.”

“However, when I realized the way that it worked it gave me the idea to hook up the two phones. Because the blast went through two phones it was slightly diluted. It’s the only reason he isn’t dead.”

“Hmm,” said the Service Agent. “Sounds like he got what was coming to him. Man, Mr President. This is a really shitty secret base. One of the worst we must have seen.”

The President looked around. It was very damp, with puddles of water in some areas. Most of the walls were cracked. Mold was growing in many of those cracks.

He absorbed the details of it all, sighed and nodded his head. “Yes. A shitty base for a shitty villain with a shitty super power. It looks about right to me.”

When the Muses Speak

Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Heart in a Cage

1000 photographs

sick

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Lone Wolf

Monday, November 7, 2011

My Miss

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

President vs Super Villian - Excerpt from Sleepless in Sin City: Depressed, Deprived, But Still Alive An Experiment in Sleeplessness and Creative Writing

Tuesday, November 1, 2011

11/01/2011 - Excerpt from "Sleepless in Sin City: Depressed, Deprived, But Still Alive - An Experiment In Sleeplessness and Creative Writing"