The Young Man Who Smokes

Walking

The car wasn't supposed to be there. Not that there was anything unusual about a car in a parking lot, that's what they were there for. The oddity was that it was late. The store was closed, and there were no other cars around it. The officer had investigated the car already, shining his flashlight in the window and finding it empty. except for an odd little dragon statue on the front dash. He was in his car now, watching it as he did some routine work.

Sure enough, the man he thought was owned it was walking up to it now. He was a tall man, dressed in normal street clothes, and smoking a pipe. The officer got out of his car and walked over to the strange vehicle with the strange man next to it.

"That your car?" He asked the man. The man turned to him. He was a young man, not a teenager, probably not a college student either, but still with an air of youth about him, like he hadn't embraced adulthood yet. Despite looking right at him, the officer couldn't get a clear picture in his mind of what the young man looked like.

The young man drew on his pipe and blew a bit of smoke before answering. "Yes it is, sir."

The smoke smelled sweet, it reminded the officer of growing up in the mountains, how the air smelled when the leaves were falling. The young man's voice was calm and confident, with the accent of a stranger to these parts.

"May I see your license, please?" The officer requested. He added the "please" without thinking about it, though he would never usually be so polite when on duty.

"I wish I could, but I forgot it at the house I'm staying at," the young man said. He gestured back up the road. "If you'd like, I can show you the way and get it. It's only about a mile from here."

"Why drive if it was so close?"

"I wanted to go for a walk tonight, and didn't want to walk through the woods to get into town. I thought it safer that way."

The officer found himself nodding. The young man's smoke drifted lazily from the pipe and he caught another small whiff of it. "Understandable. You won't be parked here long, correct?"

"No sir, I'm on my way home now, actually."

"Then I won't need to see your license. But make sure you have it on you."

"Of course, sir. It was an oversight on my part."

The officer nodded. "Good, drive safe." He caught one final smell of the young man's smoke as he turned and walked back to his squad car. Sitting behind the wheel, the officer looked back at the parking lot. And the car was gone. Had it left already...or been there at all?

Dancing

She had met him through a friend. And despite talking with him for over an hour, she couldn't remember his name. Yet she still found herself laughing, telling him about her dreams, and listening to his stories. He looked younger than her, though only a little. They had started walking and were now sitting at a park bench. She didn't like to stay out too late, but right now, the time wasn't important. She would look at her phone occasionally, but forget the time right after.

The young man had asked her permission to smoke. She had said yes. And now there was a pipe in his mouth and the smoke reminded her of the cinnamon rolls her mom would make on Christmas morning before they would open presents. When she was speaking, the young man looked at her, his eyes never leaving hers, smoking occasionally obscuring his face, just a little.

He stands up then, and offers her his hand. She looks up at his smile, pipe still in his mouth. She takes his hand. The young man leads her along the path, he says he has a surprise for her. For some reason, she's excited. She can hear music playing and he leads her to a clearing in the park with a pavilion. The pavilion is wrapped in white lights and there are tables and well dressed people all around.

It's a wedding. The couple is on the dance floor.

"Whose wedding is this?" She asks.

"I don't know." He smiles again as he says this. He leads her by the hand onto the dance floor. No one seems to notice them. Whatever the band is playing slows down. She leans against him and follows as he leads. They dance like they've done it a thousand times before. She can smell the smoke on his clothes and she feels happy.

"I don't know how to dance," she says, not even realizing that her feet are still moving.

"Me neither," he says, and chuckles. She laughs as well.

Minutes or hours, she's not sure, but they dance. She doesn't get tired. At some point, they leave the wedding. She's still holding his hand as he walks her back home.

"I don't remember telling you where I live." She says, her voice sleepy.

"You didn't." He replies. She nods. They sit on her front porch steps and talk. His voice is rhythmic, musical, and she finds herself nodding.

She wakes up to sunlight shining through her window and the smell of coffee in her house. She doesn't remember coming inside last night, but she's still dressed in last nights clothes. In her kitchen is a pot of her favorite coffee, a blend she hasn't had in the house for a few weeks. No one else is there. The place looks a little cleaner than she remembers leaving it the night before. The front door is locked.

She changes into more comfortable clothes, pours a cup of coffee and curls up in the corner of her couch. The coffee is perfect and she's not drowsy at all as she drinks. She thinks back on the night. She remembers meeting someone, talking to him, dancing in the park. She can't remember his name though. She can't remember what he looks like. But she remembers a smell; A smell of smoke, sweet like cinnamon.

She would like to smell it again. She'd like to talk to him again.

Calling

If she had wanted to, she could count down the seconds to when the phone would ring. Just when she had expected it to, after she sat at the kitchen table with a cup of tea, her phone rang. His name was on the ID.

"Hello," she said.

"Hey mom," he replied.

"Where are you now?"

"Maine."

"That's pretty far from where you were last week."

"True."

That was how the conversations always went. She asked questions and he gave a few words as answer. She'd tell him about things at home, how church was going, what his father was up to now in the garage. She always knew he was listening, even if she didn't hear his occasional "Sure" or "right".

Whenever she talked with him, she got the faintest scent of his tobacco, the type he had smoked at home. He never smoked inside the house; he'd go for a walk around the neighborhood and come back with the smell of it on his clothes and in his hair. Now, wherever he was, he always called home.

"You're still staying safe?"

"I am."

"Eating well?"

"Trying to."

"Well remember to drink water. I know you like to eat when you're bored, but drink water instead."

"I will, mom."

"Okay, well that's it from us, anything else you want to say?"

"Not that I can think of."

"Well it's always good to hear your voice, I love you."

"Love you to, mom."

And then he would hang up. Still it was good to talk to him.

She had talked to him, right? Of course, it was listed on her call history. He always called at this time. Of course she had talked with him.

Of course.

Fighting

 He was mad and he didn't care who knew. He was also drunk, and wasn't aware that everyone knew. Things had not been going his way at work that day and he was at the bar to drink it away. Unfortunately the more he drank, the more he thought about it, and the madder he became.

And then there was that kid. Sure he was more of a young man, but when you're this man's age, guys like that are kids. This bar was one of those that still let people smoke in them and what does this kid bring in? A pipe. The men here smoked cigarettes, and this kid lights his pipe inside like some kind of dandy.

"Look at this kid, in my bar," he growled through yellowed teeth.

"Just ignore him, he ain't from around here. We'll probably never see him again anyway." His friend, slightly less intoxicated, tried to reason.

"You're damn right we won't." He snorted. His friend seemed relax a bit at this. "Cause I'm gonna make him disappear." He knocked over his stool as he stood up and half strode, half staggered over to where the young man was sitting. The young man was calmly drinking from a glass with nothing but brown liquid and ice in it. A more rational part of him said he could respect that, but the alcohol fueled anger drowned out any understanding he might have felt.

"Hey, boy." He said, looming over the young man.

The young man calmly looked up from his drink and looked the drunk in his eyes. "Yes?"

"The hell you think you're doin' here?" He leaned close, getting his face very near to the kid's. The young man made no move.

"Having a drink." He replied. He puffed twice on his pipe. The smoke curled up and into the big man's nose. For a moment, the smell of cigarette's and alcohol vanished from his mind and it was replaced with the smell of the perfume his wife would wear when they were still young and dating.

It was almost enough to bring him down from his frenzy. Almost. "Not in my bar you ain't. I want you out of here. And either you're getting out, or I'm taking you out."

"That seems like a lot of wasted energy." The young man replied. "Wouldn't you rather sit back down and have another drink? Seems like that's what we're all here for anyway." He blew another trail of smoke and the man remembered how his wife had wanted that perfume when their first son was born. He'd brought it to the hospital for her. He hadn't been spending as much time with his son lately.

He shook his head and glared at the kid. "You're wastin' your breath. I'm dealin' with you now." He reach a meaty hand down to grab the kid's shirt.

One moment the young man was there, the next, the big man had fallen on the floor and the young man was leaning with his drink on the bar behind him. He puffed casually at his pipe. The drunk tried to pick himself up, but he couldn't.

The young man finished the rest of his drink and tapped his pipe out in the cigarette bowl. He turned to the big man's friend and handed him a few dollars. "Get him some coffee, on me. I think he might do well get back to his family." The friend just nodded as the young man strolled out of the bar.

His friend came over and helped pull the big man up. "Come on, let's get you some coffee."

"Yeah...yeah, coffee sounds good." HE started digging in his pocket. "I've got a few bucks here for it."

"No need, I got some extra cash." His friend said. "I got it from...somebody. Just wanted to help I think."

"Nice of him," he mumbled. "Why was I on the ground again?"

Living

I met him while traveling. I was studying in a new country and learning about a history not my own. It was something I loved and wanted to do more of. But there were always times when it was stressful. Life is just that way.

It was on one of these stressful days that he sat down next to me in the park. I was on a bench by myself with a cup of hot chocolate in hand. He sat and asked if he could smoke. I could only shrug. I didn't feel like talking to the people I liked, let alone a stranger.

When he struck his match and blew smoke it seemed like it purposely drifted over to me, around me. The smell, it was new to me. It wasn't just the smell of tobacco, I was used to that, it was a whole new world. I looked over at him. He was a young man, maybe no older than me. But he held himself in a way that I never thought I could.

"You smoke?" He asked.

"No, had some friends who do. Cigarettes mostly. Doesn't smell nearly as nice as yours."

He nodded. "Not surprising. It's a special blend, this. What's it smell like to you?"

"I can't really describe it. It's like nothing else I've smelled."

He looked at me for a while, then slowly nodded. "Is that right." He took a few more puffs, then wiped the mouth piece off with a handkerchief. The cloth went back into his pocket and from another he took a tin of tobacco. He placed the pipe and the tin in my hands. "I think these'll serve you well, my friend. Pack it carefully, and learn to enjoy the taste." With that, he stood and began to walk away.

"Hey wait, where are you going?" I called after.

"There's a girl that wants to see me, and I think I want to see her again." He said. He waved and disappeared around a corner. That was a few years ago now. I still have the pipe and the tin. And for some reason, that meeting is one of the clearest memories I have.

Weapons

There is fire and poison behind my teeth
It shreds and blazes and corrupts
My mouth is a gateway
It spreads destruction uncontrollably
The wince, the grimace, the turn away
They fuel the fire
They spread the poison
They are my curse

My hands, my pen, are bloodletters
They pierce and rend and sunder
Death by a thousands cuts
Precise
Painful
Purposeful
With them there is a choice
The power behind them can be restrained
Or it can be unleashed
Like a surgeon's blade

In my face there is death
Looks can kill
These eyes are the proof
Behind the smile there is hatred
Anger boils beneath laughter
Pride echoes within teaching words
Give me the chance
And I chose destruction
Even against my better judgement
Because its more fun
To watch things burn

10 N64 Games That Deserve A Reboot

The N64 was an interesting machine in an interesting time. Through it and the Playstation, we began to see the world of gaming change from 2D to 3D. Games were made to test these new limits. Some were colossal failures while others became much loved classics. The N64’s library of titles holds some of gaming's benchmarks, like Mario 64 and Legends of Zelda: Ocarina of Time. Still, with so many well known titles, there are a few that haven’t been so well known. These titles faded away from the public eye. For me, I think it’s time to bring some of them back.

10 Superman 64

Now hear me out. Superman 64 is legendarily awful. On top worst games list this one always makes an appearance. So why does it deserve a reboot? Because we can do it better now. Much like Superman, Batman never had a really solid game until Rocksteady got their hands on it and we were given Arkham Asylum. It’s time to take that same kind of mentality and apply it to the Man of Steel. Imagine an open world where you can fly as high and as far as you want, with appearances by some of Superman’s greatest allies and battles with his most harrowing villains. Who doesn’t want to play the life threatening clash with Doomsday or make their stand against Darkseid and his armies? Superman is known for being incredibly powerful, and getting a chance to play those powers for ourselves would be amazing.

9 Hey You Pikachu

Much like Superman 64, Hey You Pikachu was pretty bad. The voice commands were wonky at best and the game had little in ways of actual gameplay. But the concept was excellent. Who doesn’t want their own pokemon to pal around with, take on adventures, and talk to. Now is the time to return to that dream. With the 3DS, Nintendo is in a perfect spot to bring back a Hey You Pikachu type of game. If it let us import pokemon from our previous games like X and Y or Omega Ruby and Alpha Sapphire, than we could have a portable way to interact with our favorite pokemon whenever we want. The 3DS already has a built in microphone. Pair that with the touch screen and we’re ready for full on pokemon friendship immersion. Add in some more actually involved minigames, and we’re set for a fun pokemon life sim.

8 Blast Corps.

There’s always something cathartic about using big tools to build and destroy. Blast Corps grabbed on to this catharsis and while it met limited success in it’s day, it has become a kind of cult classic. It might seem like a one off kind of game,  but there’s a lot of potential still in the series. Blast Corps is basically a fast paced puzzle game built around clearing routes for the transportation truck. It offers different ways to play with the different vehicles as well as bonus challenges and unlocks. By expanding the concept, the developers could find a lot of new and unique ways to use destruction in their puzzle solving. Add in a level editor and user created content, and a game like that could have a very long life. It would work well as a mobile or downloadable title. Most of the missions in the N64 game can be finished quickly, a great model for gaming on the go.

7 Buck Bumble

Here’s on a lot of people might not know about. Buck Bumble was a third person shooter about a bee defending London’s gardens. It played like both a dogfighting game, with most of the enemies and Buck himself, flying through the level shooting and dodging. A combination of Star Fox and Unreal Tournament, this game’s open arena levels would make for unique gameplay opportunities and exciting combat. While the controls could be a bit dodgy at time, with a modern twist, Buck Bumble would be an excellent new experience.  Pair it with a multiplayer mode, split-screen and online, and a rebooted Buzz Bumble has all the pieces to be a charming and exciting shooter for a younger audience.

6 Star Wars Episode 1: Racer

All right, I think we all know that Star Wars Episode 1: The Phantom Menace was a bit...disappointing. That said, that movie opened the door for one of the coolest Star Wars experiences, pod racing. Screaming through high cliffs and desert wastes while dodging gunfire, slamming into other racers, and scraping along hairpin turns, pod racing was awesome. Despite its tie-in to the movie and painful voice-overs, the sense of speed and danger you got from racing was infectious. With Star Wars again in the limelight, it would be great to see some of the other aspects of the Star Wars universe highlighted. With a new game engine and some of Star Wars’ excellent art design, a new pod racing game would be amazing.

5 Chameleon Twist

When we think of N64 platformers, we think of Super Mario 64, Banjo-Kazooie, and Conker’s Bad Fur Day. These are the famous ones, but some excellent platformers were came out that had less acclaim. Chameleon Twist is one of those. As a chameleon, the platforming made excellent use of the long tongue. It worked as a grappling hook, a pole vault, a pendulum, and more. It gave unique challenges that embrace the nature of the main character. Despite the short length, the levels were tightly designed. Chameleon Twist had a great art style and character that would look great with modern HD design. It would be a platformer offering something new from what we’ve come to expect out of a Mario game or indie title.

4  Vigilante 8

Car combat games are basically a dead genre at this point. There was a new Twisted Metal a few years back, but beyond that, nothing. That’s why I want to see Vigilante 8 make a return. Vigilante 8 was a lot more light-hearted than others at the time. The story involved wacky time travel, aliens, and cyborgs. Levels took you all over the United States and famous landmarks. With the crazy cast like the robot cowboy, disco cop, and space monkey, Vigilante 8 had a tongue in cheek humor that is still entertaining. Combined with the excellent driving and level design, and a return of the series could breath some life into the genre. With updated cars, shiny worlds, and a similarly awesome sounds, a return to Vigilante 8 would be a lot of fun.

3 Pokemon Snap

I don’t know how they managed to do it, but when the first game about taking pictures of pokemon while riding on rails came out, Nintendo made something awesome. It was our first chance to interact with pokemon in what seemed like such a realistic way. As a kid, I always wanted to be in the pokemon world, and this was a small chance for me. Now, with pokemon as the mega franchise that it is, a new generation, as well as the old, is looking to connect with pokemon again. Nintendo is in the perfect position for this one. The 3DS has a built in camera that could allow players to take pictures of pokemon anywhere in the world. And the Wii U’s gamepad allows much the same freedom at home, backed by the HD power in the system. Even if you kept the on-rails system, it is a game beggin for motion control. All this, and the fact that pokemon has well over 700 pokemon now means the game would have hours of content and near endless replay value. To be able to investigate the pokemon world on your own terms, that is the dream.

2 Mischief Makers

In its time, it was easy to overlook Mischief Makers. The N64 was new and powerful, and the fans wanted three dimensions now, not two. So Mischief Makers was lost during the change, never really getting its share of the spotlight. But those who did find it, found a gem. It was a quirky, off-the-wall game about a robot girl trying to save a professor, and her main ability was shaking things to change them into other things. Flowers, weapons, people, she shook them all. The game offered numerous challenges from platforming to racing to puzzle solving boss battles. Mischief Makers was incredibly interesting and still one of the more unique games I’ve played. It crammed personality into levels and characters. Two dimensional side scrollers are still popular and the odd charm of the game would make it a success today.

1 Snowboard Kids

During a time when wacky kart racers were common and Mario Kart and Diddy Kong Racing were vying for dominance, one game slipped in under the radar as one of the most unique racers on the N64. Snowboard Kids was a racing game set on mountain slopes. You controlled one of a number of kids with different styles and boards to change how you race. One of the most interesting additions was the ski lift. To get to the next lap you nad to slide into the little entrance of the lift and ride it back to the top. The small entrance to the lift and the timing of the gate created tense moments at the end of each lap that shaped how the next would start. Fun characters and levels, with  amazing music made Snowboard Kids was one of the best racing games on the N64. Now with whimsical racers a rare breed, with Mario Kart still the only leader in the genre, bringing Snowboard Kids back would be great. The unique levels and gameplay, crazy items and characters, and infectious music combined with modern graphics would let this game shred into many gamers favorites list.

Cinematic

Imagine with me that scene at the end of one of those coming of age movies. We've all seen them, most of them were probably crap, but we saw them anyway. In this movie, we've been following this boy through some harsh troubles in school and the destruction of his relationship with the girl he thought he would marry. Finally, after fighting, graduation, and getting shot down one last time, we have this scene.

It's late at night, or early morning. Either way, it's dark and hazy. He's on the street, leaning against a beat-up old car that his uncle gave him for graduation high school. In front of him is a house, her house. The girl he'd been holding on to. All the lights are dark but he knows she's home.

Standing there, he smokes a cigarette. The music has that somber tone and the flash backs start, in black and white.

The two of them, sitting together in first grade sharing crayons. They smile at each other and laugh like kids do.

He flicks some ash and a few sparks drop, dying before the pavement. He breathes out the smoke.

There's the two of them in eighth grade. Some other kid in class says something to her. She cries and he slugs the other kid. Of course he gets sent to the office and his parents come to take him home. But just before he leaves, she hugs him tightly and says, "thank you."

He crushes the cigarette under his foot, next to the other one and starts to light a third.

The two of them are on her front porch. His mom is in the car by the street. Both of them have a hard time looking each other in the eye and stutter through some words. He doesn't know what to do. The honking horn tells him he needs to leave. As he turns, she pecks his cheek and darts into the house. He smiles, even though he can see his mom chuckling in the driver's seat.

He turns his collar up as the wind shifts. The smoke blows toward the house, disappearing in the dark.

Then a flood of happy memories: the two of them on his front porch swing in the sun, sledding down the town snow hill and laughing, him by her bed side trying to measure out the cold medicine and her having to take it before he spilled. The two of them dancing on the basketball court, the rest of the prom a blurred background.

Then there was the shouting. His college choice, her failing grades, her need for him every hour of the day. Then, he found them. Behind the bleachers at the track meet, her and that same kid he had punched years before, arms around each other, faces inseparable.

He grits his teeth, crushing the filter and breathing out his nose like a bull.

He didn't have words to say. All she said was, "it's time for something new" then left with that guy. He sat there behind the bleachers while the track meet finished, with everyone left, and until the sun was just setting. He walked home.

He finishes the last of his cigarette, drops it with the other two, and sighs. He shakes his head, gets into the car and fires it up. It coughs a bit and with the noise, he sees a light go on in her room. The car rolls forward, gaining speed, and disappears past the street lights in the fog.

Yeah, we've all seen those scenes. We know what they mean to. But that's just a movie. He's just a character. That street is just a set. The cigarettes probably aren't even real either. That's the thing. Life can't be nearly as cinematic.

I know, because here I am. Standing on her street in front of her house, leaning on my parents van. I can't afford a car for myself. These cigarettes are clove since real ones irritate my asthma even worse. I don't have a nice coat on since the weather is still too dang hot for me to wear something like that. And the cigarette butts on the ground are far more numerous.

See, I don't have five to seven minutes at the end to wrap up, give the audience an ending, and let the credits roll. I could stand here all damn night and nothing would change. Real people can't move on so easily. Real people don't get those emotional sound tracks playing, or see their memories in black and white. No, real people like me stand here, trying to emulate what they saw in a movie, all the while being totally unable to get her out of my head.

And when I leave, driving off in a van with the broken radio stuck on some talk show, I know I won't be able to move past her for a long time still.

Think Higher

Jim sat on the stack of iron scraps. He listened to the thump of it behind him. 65 beats, every minute. The average. He'd counted them before. Sometimes they increased, but always came back to that same 65 beats. Jim puffed slowly on his cigar.

"Hey ya, Jim." The voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

"Yo," Jim said, plowing a puff of smoke. "How's it going Jim?"

Jim sat down next to him and fished out a cigarette from his pocket. He lit it and took a few drags before answering. "Not bad. From what I hear, the boss thinks we'll be finished in just a few minutes."

Jim nodded. "Seems about right, We've almost run out of iron anyway, I don't think we could build it up much more." He knocked some ash from the cigar.

"That's what I was thinking. Once they get the top all welded, the gate should be finished." Jim took another pull on his cigarette. "Though I wonder how much good it'll."

"Yeah, but that's not for us to decide." Jim said, trying to blow a smoke ring from the cigar. "We just build the thing."

"Jim, and Jim!" They heard the boss's voice over their radios. "Come on up front. We're just finishing up. I want us all there for it."

"Rodger that," they said in unison. Jim flicked his cigarette behind the scrap. Jim kept his cigar in his teeth and the two walked the short way to where the boss was standing.

"We nearly finished Jim?"

"Sure are." The boss said, smiling. He spoke into his radio again. "You have those welds finished Jim?"

They saw the man up on the structure flip up his mask and reach for his radio. His voice crackled down to them. "Just about Jim. Jim has a few more to do on his side, but we'll be down in a second."

Jim smiled. "Excellent," he said into the radio. Jim puffed quietly on his cigar while Jim reached for another cigarette. The three men stood looking up at the massive iron gate.

"How long have we been working on this thing?" Jim asked, lighting up his cigarette.

Jim tapped the radio against his hand. "Ever since the incident. I don't think it's been too long."

The radio crackled again. "All right, that's it for us. Can you have Jim lower the crane?"

"Rodger that." Jim said into the radio. He switched the dials for frequency and spoke into it again. "They're finished, Jim. Lower 'em down."

"Rodger boss," Jim responded. The crane and the platform that Jim and Jim were on started to move and they were quickly on the ground with the rest of them.

"So, does this mean it's finished?" Jim asked, cigarette now between his fingers.

"Sure does, all that work and we're finally done." Jim said, smiling and tucking the radio into a pocket. "I'd like to see her get past that."

Jim and the others were silent for a bit. They admired the structure. It was massive, a wrought iron gate that stretched up high. The fearsome metal teeth on top shined. It was a menacing structure. Jim was smiling, hand still on his radio.

"Boss?" Jim said, blowing some more cigar smoke.

"Yeah, Jim?"

"One question for you."

"Shoot."

"Isn't a gate supposed to have...yeah know, walls on either side?"

Jim was quiet for a moment, fiddling with his radio. "Jim?"

Jim took another puff of his cigar. "Yeah boss?"

"Shut up."

Lemon Yellow Sun

"The sun's so pretty."

"Yes it is."

"How does it stay so bright?"

"Didn't you pay attention in science class?"

"Yeah, but Ms. Croft is boring, and we're studying plants now anyway."

"Plants need the sun. Maybe she just hasn't covered it yet."

"But you know don't you?"

"I know a little, but not enough to really teach you."

"Aww, c'mon, anything!"

"Well... its burning hydrogen, and doing some nuclear reaction to produce heat and light. It can't remember if its fusion or fission."

"What does that mean?"

"It makes energy. Why not look it up on the computer?"

"Cause then I'd have to get up."

"Yeah, that would be a problem. Then you'd have to let me up."

"And you're my prisoner, so I won't do that."

"Indeed I am."

"..."

"..."

"It's so yellow."

"Yup."

"Like those things mom likes. What are they called?"

"Lemon Heads."

"Right, those, we gave her a whole bag of them on her birthday."

"And you ate half of them, didn't you?"

"Mom said I could!"

"Sure she did."

"..."

"..."

"Have I had an actual lemon before?"

"You get it in your water sometimes at restaurants."

"Oh yeah, plain water is boring."

"That's why we get those fizzy ones."

"That taste like fruit!"

"Otherwise you wouldn't drink them."

"I like fruit."

"If only you liked vegetables as much."

"Gross."

"See?"

"Whatever."

"You'll learn."

"..."

"..."

"Dad liked vegetables, I never understood why."

"He liked the way mom cooked them. And he said it kept him regular."

"What does that mean?"

"I'll tell you when your older."

"Meanie."

"It's not nearly as exciting as you might be thinking."

"When did he string up the hammock."

"Before you were born, I think I was like, eight."

"Why did he do it?"

"He wanted a place to read when the sun was out."

"Like today?"

"Yeah."

"Is that why you were out here?"

"Yeah."

"Can I read out here to?"

"Of course."

"Neat."

"..."

"I miss him."

"I do to."

"..."

"..."

"Kids, time for dinner. Come on in and wash up!"

"But the sun's still out."

"Well, if we go in now, when we're done eating, we can watch the sun set."

"Can we build a fire?"

"Sure, I think we have some marshmallows left anyway."

"Okay!"

"Okay."

H.P. Lovecraft Gets a Summer Job

Beyond this window is a world saner than I. Beyond this window is a world less sane than I. Yes, it is sane because those in it say so. They think they know the world, have seen all that it holds. They hear the speech of one like myself and scoff. They know better, they are the sane ones. Yet they are only sane as the majority says, and the majority are fools.

I am the sane one. So sane that it fills my mind with horrifying images, truths that so many might see if they had the eyes to look. But they all see only the veil that they have created for themselves. My veil has been destroyed; I can not go back to the happy ignorance through which I have viewed life these past sixteen years. No, that has been stolen from me. Stolen by the events that I shall proceed to tell you now.

On that day the sun shone hotter, as if all the bodies now freed from the halls of mechanization and mental programming were drawing its rays more intensely.  Like so many of my kind, I had been banished from my living quarters and tasked with finding some societally acceptable way to waste my time and maybe earn some compensation. After much begging and many rejections, I finally found a place that would accept the likes of me.

Beneath that malicious sun, I stood before the gates of this temple. I had heard of its interior and of the ungodly rituals that were repeated day after day inside its walls. Of the lights that blink with no earthly pattern and the sounds that vainly try to imitate life, but serve only to deaden the minds of those who can hear. The doors on which I gazed were of a hemophilic hue gilded with metal that now was tarnished and haggard. Above it was a heinous mural of their god. It was a rodent deity trying vainly to personify human features, but whose dead eyes and toothsome grin made me shiver in the caustic light of the sun. This temple was surely a place of evil.

Upon entering its doors, I saw the floor, covered in fur. The fur ran black, with unknown heavenly bodies woven into it along with those ghastly geometric figures whose purpose I knew not save to trick the eye and blind the senses. For if one could look past those horrid collections of shapes, you might see the stains of organic matter splashed across the floor. What these nauseating remains were, or from what manner of beast they might have come, I knew not then. More of my happy ignorance.

I was not alone here. Others indentured like myself wandered the rooms in a daze. My entrance was met by one elderly man, his sickly skin pulled back in a smile reminiscent of his rat god. He spoke hollow phrases of greeting, nonsense that meant little but to placate my growing fear of this place. He gestured to other automatons as they lurched past, listing identities which meant little to me. Their dark-eyed stares and slack-jawed expressions spoke only of feeble minds, broken by the tasks set before them. Dread continued to grow as the skeletal man continued to show me about the halls of worship.

As he lead me along, we came to the alter. On it stood an effigy of human proportion, fashioned in likeness to their gods. A terrifying hymn played from an unknown source and these hateful marionettes jerked to life. Their glass eyes looked past my soul as if I was not even there. They spoken in grating sounds, unlike any human voice. The males movements stuttered like muscles fighting the rigamortis that held them. The lone female staggered with a broken licentiousness that burned itself into some reptilian place in my brain and dances there still. Slowly, for fear of incurring their wrath, I backed away from the altar, letting the old man revel in their unceasing stare.

Retreating into the entrance hall, I heard an unsanctimonious growling from beyond the doors. The ghoulish chime of a clock heralded the turn of the hour. One of my uncouth fellows opened the doors.

What poured in can only be described as pure horror.

Into the building they sprinted, tiny legs carrying them, some with shaky, unsteady gait, to the flashing lights and raucous sounds of their digital quarry. They pounded on the devices, screeching for payment. Their mouths agape, filled with misshapen fangs. Some mouths were bound in metal, others were an endless stream of slobber, tongues flailing like another spasmodic limb.  They stampeded past me, bodies barely coming up to my waist. Each had a look in their eye that spoke of desire and mesmerized fanaticism to the gods of this temple. Yet, over the sounds of electronic entertainment and the bark of jerking deities on stage, the most horrid sound arouse. The screaming. These beastly little creatures screamed at such a volume, with such intensity, that it stung my ears and rattled inside my skull like an entire hive of hornets, eagerly seeking escape.

Behind these creatures lurched their matured forms. Adults like I had known, but with something missing inside their souls. Their eyes were dull, listless. They staggered to various tables and chairs, crashing into them with an air of abject defeat. They sat like persecuted prisoners, waiting on their executioners. Those who arrived paired spoke quietly, leaning toward each other to hear the others rasping replies above the ungodly din. They did naught but sit and watch the terrors that had dragged them to this place.

These little demon’s whole world was focused solely on the tatters of paper that bore a printing of that vile deity. Screams would grow in volume to near mind shattering levels as they wrapped their claws around more and more of these paper scraps. Then, whence they believed that had a sufficient number, they brought them to me, dumping them upon the frail glass surface that separated me from them. I tallied their scavenged dregs and somehow managed to translate their incessant chatter to determine what foul trophy they desired in exchange. To some went hollow animal carcasses painted so to hide their rot. To others, small wrapped parcels that the monsters ripped apart and shoved the contents into their dripping jaws; hours of work gone in seconds into maws that stunk of death.

One so trapped in bondage as myself, whose branding suggested his name to be “Keith”, brought to me a staff of a sickly gold color, whose head was adorned with dying grey fibers of serpentine quality. Along with that accursed scepter came  a similarly colored barrel filled with some viscous, murky fluid that spoke once of being water, but whose brown hues could no longer claim that name. This “Keith” directed me toward the temples back doors, ones through which the dwarfish beasts and towering husks had been visiting to make their offerings to thrones and gods of unknown pallor and exterior. He spoke of the gastronomical havoc wrought upon one of these beasts and bade me, no, commanded me, to attend to the creature’s odious remains left behind.

I approached the door, “Keith’s” barely contained mirth oozing through my ear and into my brain. He knew what lay beyond the door I stood before, the door with the hieroglyph bearing the shape of a man trapped in a tomb shaped of the grease-filled refuse that we offered the beings of this place. Dragging the barrel and scepter behind, I opened the door to attend to my orders.

I believe it was then that I truly went mad.

There was one of those cretins, sitting on the floor, liquid bursting from every orifice of its visage. Covering it and the floor was the half-digested remains of the food discs served to them. Its face was red and appeared near bursting. It looked up at me, filth staining it and began to sway towards me, arms stretch like it was seeking to embrace me.

I screamed like the beasts that gathered in that temple. My voice did not lessen in horror as I fled. I tore at the robes that all who were enslaved to that place must be adorned with. Maybe I lost my name then as well, as the metal plaque with my name was left with the discarded cloth, crumpled on the floor near the entrance. Pushing past the elder who had greeted me and tried to induct me into his cult, I sprinted to the doorway, into that glaring sun.

Never would I return to that den of filth.

Now I sit in my room, the only light coming from this lamp upon my desk. Anything much stronger reminds me of those flashing, hypnotic lights that deaw in and enslaved those miniscule wretches. My parents continue to speak ill of my, accusing me of sloth and lacking ambition. They remain happily unaware of the terror I have seen. Their ignorance tries to encourage me to try again, to go forth once more into that seething vortex of depravity. They list other locations where I might lend my service, as if in those hovels of consumerism my experience will be different. No, I refuse. Until the day I die I shall never take on that mantel again. Never will I work in a palace that services those creatures we call “customers.”