Mortis

Saddam Hussein Abd al-Majid al-Tikriti,

1937-2006
One of the United States' greatest allies in the Middle East.

He will be missed.

Celebrate the Hatching of the Paleo-Christ!

Imagine yourself sitting in the most comfortable seat in your house. You are watching your favorite television show, drinking the best mug of hot chocolate you can remember. You are wearing what could possibly be the softest pair of flannel lined pants in existence. Suffice it to say you are comfortable. At the time, you are having the best Saura-Christmas ever.

Now imagine that you are me.

Now, I bet you are pretty bummed. I'm use to being me though, also I'm not wearing undershorts and these are extraordinarily soft pants, so I'm still having a pretty good Dinomas.

I hope you are too.

Love you all. Except for those of you I don't.

Sigh...

Is it just me, or does this whole "the new blog" thing just suck?

Real Poetry (Why Not?)

Fate they say, is like the wind,
Before which we must stand.
And when it blows, it’s nice to know,
That you can hold her hand.

Because it’s a short, hard life that we must live,
And without someone special to give,
Your self, your heart, your love,
Life’s a damn hard thing to rise above.

So cherish what you have found,
And celebrate it on every single day.
Because too soon the wind will blow,
And we’ll all be swept away.

-

It’s a single cephalopodan eye,
Glistening, yet dull, devoid of life,
Its thoughtless gaze burns and tears through flesh.
It’s the color purple,
The color of beaten skin now bruised,
And of royalty, the oppressors.
It’s the stench of rotting corpses,
Of a meaningless and reasonless end.
Seen fair by the blind.
Proclaimed just by the mute.
With a final plea heard only by the deaf.
It’s a shrill cacophony,
The flautist unseen,
That grinds like the rough, wet tongue of the wolf as it devours the innocent lamb,
Its guardian, its savior, its shepherd unseen.

The jester’s verdict now law.

-

There once was a man from Nantucket,
And there was a hole in his bucket.
Although he did try,
The hole stayed awry,
So he decided to fuck it.

Couldn't help myself.

All For Naught

There once was a bat,
The night flying rat,
Nobody liked him it seems.

Though he had a heart,
He lived in the dark,
Without love or the light that it brings.

He then saw a girl,
His wings did unfurl,
He flew to pluck her heartstrings.

But away she did run,
So out came his gun,
And he ended his little bat dreams.

Poetry Session

After having conjured up the poem for Naught during my American Literature survey, I held onto my momentum and wrote some more crap too.

Haiku

Winter sorrows come,
Frozen flowers felled by frost,
Hey, I just farted.

(It alliterates)

Women in the crowd,
Do their titties see my stare?
I await the slap.

Some girls must love me,
But their lying lips say, "No!"
Restraining Order.

Beer makes the girls say,
"Patrick looks handsome tonight."
I am a bad man.

Free Form Poetry

Sometimes I feel like a nut,
Sometimes I don't,
Almond Joy's got nuts,
Mound's don't.
Sometimes I question the wisdom of writing poetry while watching TV.
Usually I don't.

Poetry is a sham,
Just another stupid scam,
For the men who want some pussy,
They just act sensitive and wussy.
So young women I emplore thee!
Please, oh please do not ignore me!
Find a doctor, lawyer, or a banker boy.
You can treat them like a toy,
They will buy you happiness,
And when you are bored there's always the pool boy's penis.

I'm a lot more fun when I've had coffee.

Sermon

Loyalty is the first virtue.

To be loyal is to put another first for no other reason than the fact that they exist, without the expectation of personal gain. It is constant and unrestrained charity that ends only in death. It is the willingness the sacrifice the self for the salvation of another. Loyalty is greater than love.

Loyalty is the first virtue, which you owe to another.

Justice is the second virtue.

To be just is to be infinitely fair in all one’s decisions. It is the preservation of balance in the pursuit of truth. If one is just then he will never do what he knows in his heart to be wrong and will be unassailable by those who would lead him to sin. Justice is greater than temperance.

Loyalty is the first virtue, which you owe to another.
Justice is the second virtue, which you owe to the world.

Determination is the third virtue.

To be determined is pit oneself against any opposition. It is to refute anything that denies the self and it is the denial of the possible death of the self. If one is determined then defeat is impossible, only the absence of victory. Determination is greater than courage.

Loyalty is the first virtue, which you owe to another.
Justice is the second virtue, which you owe to the world.
Determination is the third virtue, which you owe to yourself.

Perfection is the fourth virtue.

To be perfect is to not err in any facility. It is to always do the right thing. It is to succeed whenever possible, and to only fail when the world conspires to prevent your victory. Everyone is with fault, but if one aspires to be perfect then they set the most worthy goal of all. Perfection is greater than excellence.

Loyalty is the first virtue, which you owe to another.
Justice is the second virtue, which you owe to the world.
Determination is the third virtue, which you owe to yourself.
Perfection is the fourth virtue, which you cannot be.

Self-awareness is the fifth virtue.

To be self-aware is to understand that one exists. It is to understand the price of one’s actions, and the worth of one’s acts. If one is self-aware then one knows their faults and their strengths, and will be able to act appropriately. Self-awareness is the source from which all other virtues come.

Loyalty is the first virtue, which you owe to another.
Justice is the second virtue, which you owe to the world.
Determination is the third virtue, which you owe to yourself.
Perfection is the fourth virtue, which you cannot be.
Self-awareness is the fifth virtue, which you must be.

Surrounding and opposing the five virtues are twenty three vices.

The first order of vices is those which show the weakness of spirit.

Hopelessness, for it is the admission of defeat before one tries.
Failure, for one has not failed if he has done everything they could to succeed.
Tolerance, for one who accepts a fault allows it to grow.
Passivity, for one who does not take a stand he cannot succeed.
Mercy, for one will always be in conflict as long as one’s enemies exist.
Dishonesty, for one who is unwilling to reveal the truth is a coward.
Hate, for hating something denies it the ability to change for the better.

The second order of vices is those which show failure to serve diligence.

Accident, for everything one does should be with intent.
Irrationality, for everything one does should be considered.
Ignorance, for ignorance only serves to facilitate failure.
Impatience, for it prevents one from considering all options.
Recklessness, for it leads to one disregarding the proper path.
Sloth, for if one does not act when they know what is right they deserve to fail.
Venality, for anyone with a price will fail to do what is right.

The third order of vices is those which show that one loves himself most.

Vanity, for the excessive love of one’s appearance makes the world ugly.
Lust, for the excessive love of carnality only leads only to causing others pain.
Envy, for the hate of that which is greater than oneself leads only to destruction.
Greed, for the love of objects leads only causes others loss.
Wrath, for the love of vengeance leads one to forget their duty.
Hypocrisy, for it only reveals love for the self and hate for all others.
Betrayal, for those who deserve one’s love most are those who trust you.

The fourth order of vices is those which cause all other vices.

Pride, for when everyone is beneath you they have no value.
Dogmatism, for no absolute captures the complexity of life.

To live with all virtues and without any vices is the path to Raptor Jesus' love, and that is the truth.

Why Do You Come To This Place?

I was bored, so I looked around on my sitemeter for odd google searches my blog showed up as. They are all from the U.S. except where marked.

brad coulombe -Canada
Big Pizza Porno -Netherlands
barrett jesus
"They don't like themselves"
Invincible Wheel spell
"Where to be happy?"
"axe of gork"
"i hate new yorkers"
is the nickelodeon show unfabulous quitting
"love validates all"

Шрапнель

K-235 was lost during classified exploration of the Antarctic coastline. A detachment was sent from the main fleet to attempt to find the wayward vessel or its wreckage, but found neither. What they didn’t know was that they couldn’t find the submarine because K-235 was no longer on the coastline of the Antarctic, or anywhere else that could be found on a chart or map for that matter. What was generally believed, as the crew was finding out to be true, was that the vessel would never return home.

-

The hidden whirlpool that had unexpectedly dropped the K-235 into an inland sea and careening to the shore thundered behind Starshina First Class Pyotr Vadimovich as he disembarked from the stricken vessel. The dark black sand of the shore whuffed underneath his boot. He tightened his jacket against the cold wind that blew from the hole the submarine had fallen through. Men solemnly moved among the boxes that were strewn along the ebony beach, taking stock of everything that had been salvaged from the vessel.

Meanwhile Commissar Ivanovich gave a speech from the K-235’s prow saluting the bravery and courage of the crew who have managed to do what Hitler could not. Russia would be the first country to lay claim to Agartha, the mythical land inside of Earth, and use its resources to further the cause of Communism on conventional top-side Earth. His passionate cries echoed across the barren black sand.

Pyotr thought that it didn’t matter anymore, because no one would know that they had done anything more spectacular than dying. He looked up and down the empty shore. There was nothing spectacular about this place, no magic. It looked just like anywhere else. Except the sun, Pyotr realized, it was rotating slowly and only half of it seemed to be on fire. It looked like it was permanently eclipsing. Abram, Pyotr’s subordinate, put a meaty hand on his shoulder and broke his chain of thought. Pyotr greeted him with a grim smile.

“I am pleased that the Navy made it to Agartha before the cosmonauts landed on Nibiru, comrade, my only regret is that it was us who made this discovery and not some other misfortunate ship,” Abram said. “Also, at this point I regret that no women were brought on this expedition, because I doubt we will see another woman for a long time.”

“I agree,” Pyotr replied, “but I am more concerned that your sister will become lonely without me to visit her.”

“No,” Abram winked as he said, “I don’t think that will happen. In fact, now she can make father some money again since you don’t waste all of her time at the discounted rate- that whore.”

Pyotr feigned a chuckle, and then looked up at the sun again. It was beginning to darken along the edge like the moon changing phase. Soon, Pyotr imagined, it would wink out entirely and the sky would light up with forests, mountains, and rivers instead of constellations.

“Do you think we will sleep in the boat tonight?” He mused.

“I doubt it,” Abram answered, “The current is already taking that poor bitch to its grave.”

The Commissar stated that today was a great day for the people, and Captain Konstantinovich whispered in his ear. They spoke quietly and heatedly for a few minutes, and then Ivanovich sulked his way back into the ship. The Captain shouted to the crew milling about in the sand that they would camp along the shore that night, and set out tomorrow to explore the surrounding land.

“Told you,” Abram muttered to Pyotr as they worked their way to a pile of damp bedrolls and tents.

By half sun the K-235 had been torn from the sandy beach and into the depths of the sea along with the beds, the kitchen, and the toilets that the crew was already beginning to miss. And as the sun winked out the crew laid down to sleep.

-

“SHWAAAAAAAAK!”

Pyotr struggled to stand and defend himself before he realized he was trapped inside his sleeping bag. Something stood on his chest, and unfalteringly rode his squirming form.

“Shwaaak!” It cried.

Pyotr laid back and tried to see his assailant in the darkness. From his right a light blasted him, and once his vision cleared the tube of light illuminated a squat animal on his chest. It looked like a penguin, only it was white and red instead of the usual coloration. The animal’s soft blue eyes peered down at him.

“You looked like a sausage trying to escape a fat man, comrade.” He heard Senior Matrose Mikhail Borisovich’s high pitched voice from beyond the light. “You want me to kill this bird for you?” A pistol cocked.

“No, no, that is not needed Meeky. I don’t want my first memory of the Fabled Land to be shooting a stupid bird. Besides, he is cute, yes?”

“Shwaaaaaaaak!” The penguin stamped its webbed foot down on Pyotr’s chest, and something glinted in the light.

Pyotr craned his neck to look closer, and saw that some fragment of the K-235 had become lodged in its ankle. He pulled his arms out of the sleeping bag and caressed the animal’s head. Then, cooing, he snatched the bit of metal out of its leg. The bird fluttered its stumpy wings briefly, and then settled down- never moving from Pyotr’s chest. He sighed and moved the bird onto the inky sand between himself and Mikhail. The light gave the penguin a halo briefly before Mikhail switched it off with an audible click.

“Thank you for saving me from this beast Meeky, now go to sleep, there is much to do tomorrow,” Pyotr said, then drifted back to sleep as Mikhail’s footsteps retreated into the darkness.

-

That morning Pyotr awoke to a blood-red penguin staring him down. Pyotr blinked, the penguin blinked. Pyotr wondered to himself if penguins were supposed to be able to blink, but he put that thought aside as the least of his worries at the moment. He shooed the penguin away, but it would not budge from his side. Pyotr shrugged and stood up, smoothing down the wrinkles in his slept-in uniform.

A thin mist had formed along the shore, and it obscured much of the crew and supplies. A few figures shuffled along the sand, given away by the dim glow of their cigarettes.

“Shwaak!”

Pyotr ignored the bird as he looked around for Abram and Mikhail. When he found Abram he administered a swift kick which was met with some half-muttered curses that he ignored. He merely nudged Mikhail with the toe of his boot, because he had a much slighter build than Abram and he was afraid he might injure Mikhail. He had no such compunction towards Abram, however, because the man was build like a bear and, perhaps more importantly, Abram usually deserved such treatment.

They assembled in a half circle with the rest of the crew around the Captain who was assigning survey groups and issuing orders. The Commissar stood behind him and inspected the crew, presumably looking for signs of dissidence now that they were so far from the rallying force of the motherland. A number of unfamiliar crew members lined up beside the Captain and were paired off with the groups. They carried with them various pieces of unusual equipment that Pyotr could only assume was for charting the new continent.

Behind him he heard Abram say, “How did I not see these people before?”

“They are scientists, they would not mingle with the common crew,” Mikhail replied, “Now shut up and pay attention.”

When the Captain was done with assignments the crew collected their gear and went off with their commanding officer and their scientist. Pyotr, Abram, and Mikhail answered to Captain Lieutenant Boris Borisovich the third who explained that their mission was to march straight ahead until the sand ended or the sun set, whichever came first. He then introduced their scientist, Lenka Victorovna, and explained that they were to find samples of local plants and animals for her to catalogue and study.

“Hooray, a woman! And an attractive one at that!” Abram cheered under his breath, causing Mikhail to chuckle.

“She is too good for you, be quiet now,” Mikhail muttered.

Abram attempted to reply, but Boris was alerted to their exchange. He strode confidently over to the two men. “Do you have something to add to the briefing?” He asked in the angriest tone he could muster.

Mikhail opened his mouth to apologize, but all they heard was, “SHWAAAK!” The small man jumped.

Boris looked down at the penguin. “This is what?”

Pyotr said, “It is some sort of bird; his name is, um, Shrapnel. He has followed me wherever I go. I cannot rid myself of him.”

Boris looked at the scientist, “Lenka will need to see it, but since it follows you we will march first. We have ground to cover.” She nodded in agreement, and Boris began to lead the group across the sand.

“Lucky break for you, Meecky.” Pyotr said as they began to march.

“True,” Mikhail replied. Then asked, “Why do you call me Meeky?”

Pyotr smiled, “Because you are short, and your voice is high, and it works with your name to call you Meeky. You know, like Meeky Mouse? But mostly, it pleases me to do so.”

“Who is this mouse?”

“Hmm… I suppose you would not know. A long time ago a neighbor managed to pirate American television broadcasts, and he let me watch a show where ugly American children worshipped this mouse character. When I was a child it seemed harmless and fun. Then this neighbor disappeared and I was questioned by men. I told them that it only reaffirmed for me that American children were weak and being brainwashed, and because I was a child I was not required to be reeducated. My family was watched for some time though.”

“And you would associate me with this?”

“You are both weak-minded and like a mouse. Also, I outrank you, so I can do what I want to you.”

Mikhail prepared to say something in his defense, but Abram cut into their conversation. “Why are you two so hot for each other? It is Lenka you should focus on, not some capitalist rodent! It is shameful that you can even think of such things with a fine woman like her around! More importantly, what do you think my chances are of having her?”

Pyotr sighed. “Ask yourself this: Was any of the captain’s liquor saved from the boat, and can I get it? My no-culture friend, I think you are without luck.”

“That is unfair! What woman could resist a man like me?” Abram said, flexing his muscles. “And with a cute face like mine, she will turn to butter.”

The three men laughed, and Mikhail commented that Abram should probably work on getting the liquor, and both Pyotr and Abram told him to be quiet. He glared at them, but complied.

The sun burned full over the beach, and the group began to see trees along the horizon.



“SHWAAAAK!”

“Damn bird…”

Hello, My Name is Cee... Maybe...

So, apparently it is my civic duty to vote, there are a great many people who are terribly concerned with my votingness. I mostly say something grumpy as I hang up the phone.

So far I have received five calls (2 automated, 2 from the same guy) attempting to increase my resolve to vote. Also, many of them think I am a Mr. See (Sea, Cee, C?) Yung (Young, Jung, Bob?). At first I thought they had some sort of magic nickname for Chris, but that is not the case. Either way I hang up angrily or act extremely offended that they might not know my actual name.

For example, "See, See? Who is See? TRY AGAIN!" (click)

Because the name sounds Asiatic, I consider firing off a random stream of horrible, bigoted racial slurs and how offended that I am that they would even consider that a fine Aryan such as myself might have ancestry on the so-called "other continent," and that if their candidate would even consider asking for the vote of such a person I would be forced to vote for their opponent due to my extreme disgust until they feel so awkward from having called me that they wet their pants or something.

Then I realize I'm lazy and just hang up.

Oh well.

I wonder to myself if the reason they have these calling things is that old people like to have someone to talk to, and thus are easily swayed votewise.

I've also felt pressure from teachers, friends, and fellow students ("peers," bleh) to go vote. If I feel special I give them some lunatic response about hating the government or not having my soul stolen.

If not I politely respond that I'm a SoDak and have no right voting for their elected official in any way, shape, or form.

Personally, I think that as a person who doesn't pay taxes or hold permanent residence within the state, I should not have the right to vote on issues directly pertinent to the lives of those who do match those criteria.

I guess I'm old fashioned like that.

Errata: Also, for anyone who might care, I do realize that traditionally Aryans do come from the "other continent." That's totally not the point and if you thought that to yourself while reading the tirade then you should apologize in a comment below.

Fucked if I Know...

Wayward Hymn

Fire and brimstone be fallin' down on me.
Time ta' hide, time ta' hide!
God's yellow eye be lookin' for me.
He knows I lied, he knows I lied.

Under rocks, in a cave, and a'hind a stump,
I use ta' hide, I use ta' hide.
Now I be wearin' me a grinnin' mask.
How it lies. Oh how it lies!

'cause I be the sinner man,
Not the preacher man,
Not your lover man,
Just a wander man who can never find a home.

When the snow be comin',
He still be here, but I won't be here.
Rest of me flown so far away,
And gotta stop runnin' soon.

Iron shirt I be wearing now,
Ready ta' fight, ready ta' fight.
Little baby joke just got born here,
Cause I know I'm wrong, I know He's right.

Guess it don't matter much no more,
'cause I done leave you here.

Minnesota

Things I hate about Minnesota (Hereby referred to as, "your stupid state"):

1. Laws, your stupid state has them.

Things I like about your stupid state:

1. Everything that makes it not South Dakota, excluding the aforementioned laws.

Can't Sleep

Gee, it sure has been a while since I last posted here. My life gets progressively more boring as time advances.

I thought about just grabbing some of my old junk off of the computer, but then I realize I have already posted everything that was worth noticing. This was quite a bit of stuff in upon itself, mind you, but it ran out like everything else.

Lately I have been considering death, and I have realized that it scares the shit out of me. In my youth I imagined two things, that it wouldn't happen for a long time and that it wouldn't matter because, to be fair, it's not like I would be around to miss myself.

It's that last part that has begun to frighten me. The thought of simply not existing anymore. To no longer experience, no more thought, not even the dim consciousness of my own existence that I have during sleep. Forever.

I thought about what it would be like and my mind recoiled in pain, it is such an alien thought. I don't know what not existing would be like, it is an unfathomable idea... like a color that has never been seen by humans before.

(Think of a color that has never been seen before... I'll wait.
...
...
...
I bet you thought of some sort of brown-purple, and everyone already knows what blurple looks like you stupid fuck.)

But, because there is nothing I can really do about dieing, I'll just ignore it like everything else for now.

It's almost enough to make me wanna become a Christian.

Evan is So Dumb

Because Evan didn't know what this was, I decided to do a work of public service.

"What's Opera, Doc?"





MAGIC HELMET!!!

New Link to Check Out

Go to Meatspin.

...

Actually, on second thought, you are better off not looking at it. Just, just don't.

Really. Don't look.

Oh God it is awful.

I Feel Ripped Off

Muse has recently (or at some point, I don't know when) made a music video which is clearly an homage to "The World's Greatest Cowboy, Part 6."

It is pretty cool, watch it here!

Running Out of Words!!!

Thought should type something unable gather adequite verbage.

Lethargy has zenithed.

Remix

I created a new mix cd of my music, and the thought came to me that I should take lyrics to make a poem.

(read: I was bored...)

To the first person who can find the artist/song for each lyric gets a steak or something, to be awarded when I feel like it. I would say no internet, but really much of this is pretty obscure and almost none of them are major lyrics from the songs.

Do your demons, do they ever let you go?
I don't know how I got this way, I know it's not alright.
Never did I want to be here again, and I don't remember why I came.
I will hope my soul will fly and I will live forever!

Back in my day son, a man had to pay for the wicked he done.
Finally someone let me out of my cage.
Not a prisoner, I'm a free man, and my blood is my own now.
So raise the banner, take back your bones.

I'm the new cancer, never looked better.
If you're wonderin' what it look like look at me!
I will stand my ground, won't be turned around.
And I will remain a soldier, 'till the war is won.

The wind will whisper the way it is, I'm going to happen.
I don't think you trust in my self-rightous suicide.
Take second best, put me to the test.
In the name of God my father I'll fly!

Come and make me holy again.

One-Upmanship

Subject:
Many Thanks & May Allah blessing remain with you.
Date:
3Jul06 6:58am
Attn: Director / C.e.o,
I am contacting you for an urgent assistance to mobilize a business
transaction and further to have explicit investment information about your
country from you. I got your information from my incarcerated husband's
file.
I am Princess Fayad W. Bolkiah, the wife of Prince Jefri Bolkiah, former
Finance Minister of Brunei, the tiny oil-rich sultanate on the Gulf Island.
I will save your time by not amplifying my extended royal family history,
which has already been disseminated by the international media during the
controversial dispute that erupted between my husband and his stepbrother,
the sultan of Brunei Sheik Muda Hassanal Bolkiah.
As you may know from the international media, the sultan had accused my
husband of financial mismanagement and impropriety of US$14.8 Billion
dollars. This was as a result of the Asian financial crisis that made my
husband's company Amedeo Development Company and government owned Brunei
Investment Company to be declared bank-rupt during his tenure in office.
However my husband is in jail now, his bank accounts and private properties
including a crude oil export refinery have been confiscated by the
sultanate.
Furthermore, during this unfortunate period I was advised to evacuate my
immediate family outside the sultanate to avoid further prosecution from
the sultan and his security operatives, but luck ran against me on my
attempt to escape. I am now kept under house arrest by the Sultan and I
have no access to a phone but I have a Palm V hand-held computer from which
I am sending you this mail.
Before my In-castration, I went ahead to dispatch the sum
of US$20,500,000,00 (Twenty Million Five Houndred Thausand United States
Dollars) in cash
under special arrangement into the custody of different Private security
and Trustee Company for safe keeping abroad. This action was on the orders
of my husband to me to enable us start a new life. The money was insured
and deposited in the custody of the security firm in ERUOPE.
Hence I seek your good assistance to invest these funds into profitable
investment in your country to facilitate future survival for my
family abroad. I have decided to offer 20% of these funds to you as
compensation for your strong cooperation.
Please I count on your absolute confidentiality, transparency and trust
while looking forward to your prompt reply towards a swift conclusion of
this business transaction. If you write back, I will then give you the
details of whom to meet in EUROPE, for the completion of
the transaction in confidence.
Many Thanks & May Allah blessing remain with you.
I remain yours sincerely,
Princess Fayad .W. Bolkiah.
N.B: Always reply me through my alternative address:fayadbolkiah28@yahoo.co.uk

(Surpringly well written, still faker than shit. Also, 20% of the funds? Usually they at least give 40... oh well, what do you expect from a princess...)

Also, what the hell is "in-castration?" It sounds painful.

Idle Thoughts

Did you know that old men with cowboy hats have an insatiable desire to comment on how large I am? Mostly it is a "no shit" sort of comment. The one where they look at me and say something to the effect of "Gee, you are tall!"

Here are some of the other things they have said:
"You are as big as a horse!"
"I bet you had a hard time at school. People like to pick on the big guy, because when a little guy starts something with the big guy he is a hero... but more often then not the big guy wins and nobody cares."
I have been called, "Mongo Jr."

And my favorite, "You don't look like a forklift, but you are definitely big enough!"

All of this has been consistently from older men (40-60 years old, rough estimate) wearing cowboy hats. It is significantly less likely that I will receive a comment about my size from someone who does not meet those two criteria.

I am currently taking suggestions on why this may be (please leave as comments, serious ideas need not apply). My best guess is that they are rodeo/ranch folk, so people my size are a valued commodity and they probably wish their sons were as big as I am.

I'm just glad there are people around to make sure I remember I'm big, because I can't remember things like that on my own.

What else...

Oh yea, one of my "deep" (lol) thoughts for the month has been, "if I had three wishes, what would I wish for." A long time ago in my high school creative writing class we had to write out what we would wish for and why. At the time I wrote that I would wish for a really good dog or a magic AK-47 that never ran out of bullets, things that are useful and hard/impossible to find.

I filled the rest of the page with a rant about people who wish for money, love, etc. (the usual wishes I knew the rest of my class would write about). Basically, I felt that if you had any sense you would (a) wish for the means to attain those things so if they ever ran out you have the ability to get more and (b) were cheating if you actually wished for that sort of thing.

I mean, really, money isn't worth half as much if you don't earn it. That doesn't mean I won't buy lotto tickets, but wish for something meaningful and you can get money through it. "I wish I was a great inventor," for example. At least then you are doing good for the world at the same time. This goes quadruple for the 'love' wishes, and many wish-based television shows have even acknowledged that wishing to force people to love you is just plain bullshit and is against the rules.

World Peace is a bullshit wish. Much of the progression of mankind will depend on how we work out this sort of thing, so wishing away such a huge problem like that is probably a bad idea in the long run. Also, war has its uses...

I still consider the immortality wish. I'm not sure if I would want it or not... But that is a discussion I don't feel like typing out now...

I've considered what I would want to wish for now, and haven't progressed much from when I was a teen.

1. I wish that I had a magical rifle that never ran out of bullets. (I no longer want an AK, but haven't thought up a new breed to replace it.)
2. I wish that I had a really good dog who would last as long as I do.

But here's the new one.

3. I wish that I will always have as much strength as I need.

This one is actually a magic power my brother gave to a character in one of his stories, and I thought it was a really cool idea. It's not, "I wish I were really strong," or even " I wish I was the strongest entity on earth." I would just have an inner reserve so there is always a little more.

Now you see why these two thoughts are connected.

Assuming you had to wish by the rules I laid out (things that were either normally impossible or extremely rare, none of that "Get Out of Effort Free!" cheating!) what would you wish for?

Consumer Whore

Hello gentle reader,

Today I bring to you a music recommendation so that Downtown Records might grow corpulent upon your hard earned money.

The album in question is St. Elsewhere by a mysterious pseudonym "Gnarls Barkley" which hides Danger Mouse and some guy named Cee-Lo. Some of you might recognize Danger Mouse's name from the Danger Doom album much plugged by my fellow whores, Adult Swim.

I really enjoyed most of the songs on this album, and you should at least give it a glance through a downloading service or the music samples available at the above Amazon.com link, I think you'll enjoy him to.

My favorite songs are probably "Go Go Gadget Gospel" and "Crazy." And my favorite line is, "I can do a dance that will make the sky cry blood!" Which comes from "Storm Coming."

Check it out.

(Links stolen blatantly from Amazon.com's samples.)

Daydreams

I often catch myself daydreaming during long periods of boredom. The eight hour drive to or from school often leaves me open to think.

Usually my daydreams are horrifically violent, often involving me heroically killing a small army of assailants. Things like, "What would I do if armed gunmen attacked the student center if I were in ."

My most recent one is what I would do if a number of gunmen (terrorists with a bomb, counterstrike-style) attacked Lowes, and I had to defend it using only the resources available to me in my department.

Generally this means using the gardening tools to ambush a lone gunman or small group and scavenge their weapons. "Gardening tools" meaning a variety of axes and sledgehammers, or possibly a fouchard. I wonder what I could do with a rake...

In the end it just makes me wish we had gasoline in my department so I could use a chainsaw (or even the super cool Chainsaw-on-a-stick!).




God I'm bored.

Hooray For Nigeria

For some reason the UMM website has died horribly. Before that happened, I got this
peice of email, which I saved because, well, it was special.


GREETINGS TO YOU
MAY THE BLESSINGS
OF GOD BE WITH YOU
AS YOU READTHIS MAIL.
EMAIL:motherhannah111@yahoo.com
I am mother HANNAH, a widow to late ANDREW GABRIEL, I am 60 yrs
old, I am now a newchristian convert, suffering from long time cancer
of the breast, fromall indication my condition is really deteriorating
and it's quiteobvious that I won't live more than ten months,
According
to mydoctors. This is because the cancer stage has gotten to a very
bad
stage .My late husband killed during the U.S raid againstterrorism in
Afghanistan, and during the period of our marriage we hada 23 yrs old
son
who died in an auto crash three years ago.
My latehusband was very wealthy and after his death i inherited all
hisbusiness and wealth. The doctor has advice me that I may not live
formore than then months, so i now decided to devide the part ofthis
wealth, to contribute to the development of the chruchin
africa,America,Asia and also in europe.
I prayed over it. I amwilling to donate the sum of Fifteen million
United State Dollars(USD$15,000,000) to the less privileged. Please I
want you to note thatthis fund is lying in a security company and upon
my instruction, myattorney who presently is in NIGERIA where the fund
is
deposited,will file in an
application for the transfer of the money in yourname.
Lastly, I honestly pray that this money when transfered will beused
for the said purpose, because I have come to find out thatwealth
acquisition without christ is vanity. May the Grace of our LordJesus
the
love of God and the fellowship of God be with you and yourfamily. I
await
your urgent reply.
Yours In Christ.
MOTHER HANNAH GABRIEL


Just brings you to tears, doesn't it? I mean, this poor woman is dieing of cancer, is a devout christian, and has a
huge sum of money that needs to be transferred from nigeria.
I think the pun that the fund was 'lying' in a security fund was unintentional...
This letter raises so many questions because they try to hit every heartstring of the individual it was intended to scam.
1. This lady is dieing. Hah! Take that!
2. This ladies' husband was killed in the war on terror. Her son in a tragic auto accident.
3. This woman is a Christian.
Now, what the fuck is an millionaire doing fighting in the armed services?
How old are these people that one is dieing of cancer and they have a 23 year old son? She says 60! Now, unless she was robbing the cradle with her millionaire soldier husband, that means that the military sent a 60ish year old man into combat...
At first I thought, huh, this is odd. Then "Nigeria" suddenly appeared to put all the info into context.
Even without knowing the Nigerian scam deal, what the fuck would her lawyer (and the savings of an honest American soldier) be doing in Nigeria of all places?

How stupid are people?

I think the worst part of this one is that it is an offer to have the money donated in your name to charity, which I assume involves my bank account info. Now, the other Nigerians at least have the decency to offer a cut which I probably won't receive. Fucking my name on a charity to build churces for Nigerians! WOO!

Besides, why doesn't she want her name on the donation? Or even why not give an anonymous donation?

Also, "I have come to find out thatwealthacquisition without christ is vanity."

What the fuck does that even mean? Do I need Jesus as my business partner? I already let Jesus into my heart and his cat ruined the place, I don't think I want him in my office.

(I didn't think the Jews were that vain, btw...)

I get a lot of Nigeria-themed emails, anyway.

This got me thinking, I want a job that uses my major, right? These Nigerians need help with their English language usage and the believability of their terrible lies... you see where this is going.

From a moral standpoint, the true victims of these types of scams are stupid people. I, on the other hand, very much hate stupid people. Often I find that stupid people are cause of grief in my life. Because of this, I think that scamming them would actually be compensation for this grief. Really, I am only getting what is fair to me.

Anyone know where they take applications?


p.s. Even if I all of this were real, there are enough churches named after some guy named Patrick.

In Other News

Turns out I had left comment moderation on. Not sure when I had turned it on to begin with... probably trying to find some way to remove spam...

Oh well.

I will start work in the "lawn and garden" department, doing something. Probably sales rep and something that involves a forklift.

The more time I spend thumb-twiddling at home the more I wish I were back at school.
The more time I spend doing homework at school the more I wish I were back at home.
Go figure.

Um... what else...

I dunno... more to come.

Hooray!

Well, barring the occurrance that I turn out to be a criminal or a drug addict I have a job with Lowes, which means I will very suddenly be much less fun.

Of course, it will take them another week and a half to run all the checks...

Oh well.

I Think This Is Cool

Lordi!

This is a link to the Finnish heavy metal band "Lordi" who recently won the Eurovision Song Contest. It was fairly surprising due to the fact that they are fairly similar to GWAR, only with musical talent. Lots of bizarre costume involved.

Here are links to music videos of some of their better songs.
Hard Rock Hallelujah
Would you Love a Monsterman?
Blood Red Sandman

My favorite is "Blood Red Sandman." I think. "Monsterman" was pretty good too... deciding things is hard.

Check them out.

Segment One of a Really Long Story I Won't Get Done

1

He was in the house again. He was alone, but he was not really alone. It was there too, somewhere, hiding in a womb of shadow. Everything in the house seemed old and reeked of mildew. Each step he took chased the inch thick dust to take flight from the floor. In the darkness something skittered across the floor. Claws clicked against the ancient wooden boards of the floor.
“It always begins this way,” He thought to himself sadly as he stared at the room’s bare walls. “A gentle noise, then I go look behind the old torn up couch.”
From somewhere a couch came into being in the center of the room. Like everything else in the house it radiated an aged aura. A slight figure was lying on the ground on the other side of the cracked green vinyl, only a dark-skinned back showed from behind the sofa.
Something in the back of his mind told him, “I am for looking at,” as though it was a museum curator labeling a piece of art.
Events were going as they always did in his dream, but something seemed different. Everything seemed more real, as though someone had gone through the house and filled in the empty spaces with matter. He could feel the wood clicking underneath his heels and his nose burned from the dust filling the air. A heavy musk permeated the air. It was the creature’s strange perfume. The stench peaked as he rounded the corner. He didn’t want to, but the siren’s call of the beast pulled him on. His feet marched to a slow, pulsing rhythm of the monster’s death-call.
Every part of him knew this was in fact a dream, yet every piece of his being screamed in terror of the thing. His stomach clenched painfully and he was nearly crying as he rounded the final part of the green wall that shielded him from the thing. He murmured a final plea for help and for an end to the echoing walls of the house, but there was no one there to hear it.
Behind the couch the beast sat, doglike. It seemed to be made of congealed shadows, an ectoplasmic horror of darkness and sin. It gibbered and bubbled a lunatic giggle as it slowly grew fangs and a pair of shining ochre eyes for which to stair at him. Bits of its inky skin fell off in quivering lumps as it grew spines from its hide. He knew he knew he should be running now, before it could chase him, but his dream held him in place.
The tarry black mastiff stood up and stared at him, but again the dream had changed. It did not lunge towards him and begin their nightly chase; instead it merely glared at him and smirked with gelatinous jowls.
Its heavy black lips curled back and began to speak. Its horrible mouth moved without the consent of the rest of its face, twisting and curling upon the thing like a pile of worms. It stated, “Tonight this ends. Come to me childe.”
The hidden hand of the dream unclenched from his legs as he stood back from it. He stared for a moment, struck. It does not speak. It never speaks. He glanced at the door he had run to many times before. He wanted to scream as he charged at the old oak door. He flung it wide and ran to the next door he saw. The handle refused to move as he frantically clawed at the door. This was the part he hated the most. He hated the helplessness of nowhere to run and no one to help him. All he could do was run down an infinite hallway of unopening doors. Each door was the portal to salvation, and every door refused him. Every knob that refused to turn was another step the thing gained on him. He could feel its slick breath run down his neck.
He shrieked at the doors to let him pass. He begged for someone to open them to him. No one would save him. He looked behind him as he ran down the endless corridor, ignoring the hateful doors. The creature was slowly prowling behind him. It seemed to effortlessly trot behind him, always gaining and in no rush to catch him. It panted sticky foam from its face as it began to rush after him, it was scared now.
The old wood of the house creaked as a door folded out in front of him. Light blazed from behind it. Somewhere far off he was sure he could hear the slow voice of a woman singing. He lunged at the door, barely catching silver form of a lily etched upon it in his peripheral vision. The creature leapt through the door in pursuit.
They were in a room of light. Cool white marble had replaced the old wood of the house, and the monsters oily feet skittered on the smooth floor. The bright light emanated from a sword resting in the middle of the room. It was not just any sword, it was the sword, and it was every sword. It was Excalibur, it was Durandal, Naegling, Kusanagi, and Balmung. He ran to the blade and lifted it, and the beast stopped.
Somewhere he could hear the soft hush of running water as he hefted the axiomatic sword. Now he could see the fear in its eyes, and he felt a rush of hate within himself. He screeched and lunged at the thing. Every muscle tensed with the pain and rage of the continual fear the thing had trapped him in with their nightly ritual as he brought the weapon down into its filthy body. The creature vomited black blood-pulp of its innards from its abomination mouth and the man’s lips grew into a smile of spite.
“I win you bastard.” He grunted as he brought the sword down upon its body over and over. Each stroke came faster and harder as the thing’s bile stained deep into the immaculate marble of the room. Then it was done, and he felt dizzy from the exertion.
He looked down as the creature melted away. Its pitchy skin slid away to reveal a human figure underneath. It was a naked man, covered with deep wounds. He realized that the man on the floor was himself.
The man on the floor looked up and told him, “I am a portent.” Then he faded to dust.
Again, he was alone. He looked around the bright room, and now it seemed to have a layer of unclean matter beneath it. It was lurking underneath the suddenly dingy marble. He dropped the sword, and its luminescent blade bit deep into the rock. Somewhere the woman’s voice still sang and the thin stream still murmured. But there were no doors to this room, and he wondered how he would get out.
The alarm screeched at him and he awoke confused and drenched with sweat. Far away the woman still sang in his head, slowly growing dimmer as the dream faded away from his consciousness.
“Today is not gonna be a good day.” Hazen said to himself as he put on his faded jeans.

2

His corgi rushed into the room, its short bob of a tail wiggling furiously as it jumped around him. As Hazen put on a t-shirt the dog sat down behind him. Hazen smiled ignored the shuff-shuff of its tail on the carpeting. Eventually the dog began to lick the back of his leg, and he turned around.
“Who’s down there?” He asked playfully. The dog barked back. “Oh, is that Jaeger? And I bet you want something to eat, don’t you.” A pair of brown eyes stared back at him.
Hazen walked down the stairs of his small house with his small dog following close at his heels. The pair went to the kitchen. Jaeger’s claws clicked against the white tile floor as he scurried in front of Hazen to the cabinet where the dog food was kept.
There was a slight grinding noise as the can opener cut away at the tin lid of the food. Hazen grimaced at the slurping plop noise of the dog food dropping into Jaeger’s little red dish. The dog poked its head through his legs and began eating. Hazen looked over at the clock on the wall. He had an hour and a half left to get to work. He looked back down at the little orange dog that was greedily eating some sort of red-brown mush. Hazen looked at the container which said, “Hearty Beef Chunks in Gravy,” but by the look of the mush quickly entering the dog’s gullet Hazen thought it was something vile. He stuck his tongue out at it.
Hazen let the dog out into the yard and took a quick shower. When he was finished dressing he heard a faint scratching noise on the door, signaling that Jaeger was ready to come back inside. Hazen opened the door obediently and the dog ran in, rubbing damp hair against his leg. Hazen brushed the hair off and patted the dog on its head.
“Must be easy for you boy,” he said. “You get to do whatever you want to do in a day.” Hazen stopped for a moment and thought about what he had just said. “Well, except doing anything involving thumbs.”
The dog yipped at him as he walked out the door of his house, locking it behind him in one practiced movement. The sun shone down on the grimy, dew-wetted pavement leading through his lawn and to the street. The air was still slightly chilled from the night, but pleasantly so. Hazen followed the same path he always took to work. It had a few unnecessary twists and turns to avoid the dark spots in the city, but he had managed to get to the library on time every day.
He walked down the sidewalk, passing white house after white house in a seemingly endless procession of similarity. A lawn flamingo flared up at his side. Its black, vacant plastic eye stared at him wetly, glistening in the light. A small shudder ran through Hazen.
“The block council will have that gone in under a week.” He muttered to himself.
He crossed a road and made his way through the playground that marked the end of his neighborhood. Hazen made a faint shuff-shuff noise in the deep sand surrounding the multicolored plastic playthings that loomed out of the ground. Hazen had to imagine the looming himself, when he was a child they only had monstrosities made out of welded aluminum tubing, and even by then the paint was largely flaked off of them. But Hazen thought that, were he to be a five year old, the whole works would have been quite impressive.
When he got out of the playground into the park proper he noticed a man in a dark suit and sunglasses sitting on a bench along his route. The man watched him pass. Hazen thought about waving or saying hello, but the man didn’t seem terribly friendly and Hazen didn’t want to bother himself with it. Instead he awkwardly stared straight ahead as he passed the man who stared straight at him through a pair of black as pitch sunglasses.
“What is that guy doing here?” Hazen asked as he turned away from the largely deserted section of town. It was scheduled to be demolished and rebuilt as a mega-mall or something. Hazen had seen the protest on the news. A group wanted to save the historical architecture in the district. It was broken up when some of the drifters living in the abandoned buildings came out and scared off the yuppies. Hazen laughed at the time; now he watched the alleys on the other side of the street cautiously as he made his way down the street, and the alleys watched him back.
The old business district always seemed darker than the rest of the city when Hazen looked at it. He had asked Alyssa about it, and she guessed that it was because the bigger skyscrapers of the new business district cast a shadow over the old business district for half of the day. At the time Hazen had said that it was because Alyssa wasn’t there to make it brighter, but Alyssa just laughed.
Eventually Hazen broke off of 3rd street onto Pelletier. There were more people around, but they didn’t say anything to Hazen and Hazen didn’t say anything to them. “It is an unspoken agreement that people had once they got into the city,” Hazen thought to himself. High above pigeons circled with beady black eyes staring down at the people walking below.
He passed a man yelling at a young woman on the street. Hazen wasn’t sure why he was mad at her, but he was being quite vulgar and she was crying. People walked by them as if nothing was happening. Hazen strode up to him.
“Sir, calm down and leave her alone.” Hazen said with his fist clenched tightly.
“What the fuck are you going to do about it?” The man shouted at Hazen, a few small bits of spittle dropped on Hazen’s shirt.
Hazen hadn’t thought that far ahead. His struggle for a comeback was ended when the man struck him in the face and the man and the woman left quickly in different directions. The pigeons circled him as he stood up.
“Actually, I probably should have just done that first,” Hazen thought to himself as he rubbed his jaw. There was a dull throb working its way up his cheek. Still nobody gave him a second glance.
Had Hazen paid attention to it, he would have noticed that the streets in the new business district were just as dark as the old business district because of the skyscrapers’ shadow, but he didn’t. He turned off of Pelletier onto 8th street, past the bookstore that had made him obsolete to any of the clientele that he might have wanted to service at the library to the library itself. He wondered if the bookstore was meant as some sort of perverse joke, but Alyssa liked the coffee they had there so he ended up in the bookstore for his lunch break anyway.
The clock over the main desk told Hazen that he had five minutes left before he had to clock in. Hazen would have been record time if he hadn’t talked to the angry man. Hazen had averaged that it took him an hour and six minutes to walk to work along his vaguely question mark shaped route. Sometimes he would try to set a record time, which was currently one hour, two minutes, and thirty three seconds, but shortly after that his dog ate his stopwatch and he never got around to buying a new one.
Hazen never did figure out why the dog wanted to eat his stopwatch. This single act of charity was merely punished halfheartedly and then forgotten.
Eddy was at the desk. He was a large, bald man who seemed to perpetually sweat. The library itself was empty. Hazen walked into the back room and filled out his slot in the timesheet. Alyssa’s signature and times were missing.
“Hey, Eddy!” Hazen called out behind him.
“Yea?” Eddy replied. It was as much of a word as it was a grunt.
“Where is Alyssa?”
“Who?” Eddy called back. Hazen could never remember that Eddy was half deaf.
“Alyssa. Where?” Hazen shouted loudly, minimizing the number of words Eddy would have to decipher.
“Oh, she called in sick. Something about one of her friends having a problem or something. I’m not sure. She was real vague about it…” Eddy continued to explain in exact detail everything she had said but in no particular order, and Hazen stopped listening and began to sort out the pile of returns.
Hazen spent most of his day wandering around the library restocking the books and occasionally coming to the main desk to save Eddie from a patron who spoke broken English or thought it was the library’s fault that a book wasn’t where it was supposed to be. Eddie would just sweat worse and miss half of what they said, which often made things worse for him. By the time Hazen arrived he would practically be in a puddle of his own sweat. Unlike Eddie, Hazen knew the right lies to tell the patrons to get them off of his back, or the right pleasantries to give to diffuse a situation.
“The computer must have a minor record error; ‘my’ computer says that has in fact been checked out, I’m so sorry.” As though they were different computers somehow. “This is a public library; someone’s children must have moved it on us. I’m sure that book will turn up soon.” It might even beat Jesus here, if you are lucky. “No, I’m sure your children are too well behaved to be the ones who did it ma’am.” Although that doesn’t mean I don’t wish to strangle them… and so on. Hazen always wished that he could get away with saying the snappy little comebacks in his mind, or even hitting someone with the Unabridged Oxford English Dictionary that sat on a pedestal in front of the reference section. Once he made a list and hung it in the back room, but it disappeared when the Chief librarian came in.
Towards the end of the day Hazen turned into the section dedicated to world religions, myths, and folklore only to find Alyssa standing there, looking through a book. He couldn’t see the title nor was he looking for it. Alyssa had the most amazing blonde hair; it reminded Hazen of spun gold. He stared at her for a minute, unsure if he should greet her or make a comment about her missing work. Deciding on the former, he walked over to her with a book dedicated to Hercules so it would look like he was just over there to stock the shelf. Which he was, really, but with Alyssa he felt that he needed some other justification so he didn’t seem creepy.
Sometimes Hazen wondered if he thought too much about it.
“Hey Alyssa,” He said, smiling. He slid the book into its place on the shelf.
She didn’t look up from the book. Hazen frowned.
“Hey, Alyssa,” he repeated. “Ah-lih-ssah!”
She startled and darted her head around to all sides of her. When she saw it was just Hazen she adjusted her thin glasses and smiled. “Oh, hi Hazen. Didn’t see you there.”
“I could see that. I’m glad to you’ve recovered. What are you reading?”
“Oh, this is nothing,” she said, hiding the book under her hands. “A friend of mine just had a bit of an emergency, turned out it wasn’t terribly important. I figured I’d just come down here to the library and pick up a book or two then get some coffee and go home. No point in wasting a ‘sick’ day.”
“I suppose,” Hazen said. He stood there for a minute, trying to think of something to add to the conversation. Nothing presented itself that wasn’t inane work chatter.
“Well, I should go,” Alyssa said. She smiled at Hazen and walked to the main desk; patted Eddy on the shoulder after he checked out her books, and left. Her hair gracefully flowed through the light draft from the door on the way out.
“MOVE FAGGOT YOU’RE IN MY WAY!”
Hazen jumped as a small child shrieked at him, its finger deep within its nose. He moved to the side as the child ran down the isle aimlessly. For a brief moment Hazen mused to himself what child tasted like, decided it was terrible, and then returned to shelving the books with a sigh.
Eventually Hazen managed leave work and return to the dot of the question mark trail that led to his home. He re-fed his dog, and microwaved a canned pasta for himself. He noted the similarities between the two meals as he ate. He watched the television for a while. Nothing interesting was on. The news mentioned that the police were currently clearing out the old business district for the construction to begin and that some new pop psychologist was studying a trend among his patients that seemed to be getting worse for the last decade. Hazen turned the channel to cartoons before the anchor explained what exactly that trend was. An ugly yellow squirrel was beating an orange cat with a frying pan.
Eventually Hazen gave up and went to sleep.

3

He was surrounded by tall frames of old, rusting steel. They twisted and turned at various angles, intersecting at odd points and stopping suddenly at others. Hazen couldn’t decide if it they reminded him more of skeletons or webs. They shifted and creaked uneasily in the breeze. Chains rattled in the distance.
Hazen felt heaviness in his hand. He looked down and the sword as there, shining bright white and almost blue against the dun colored wasteland. He hefted it gingerly. It was fairly light and well balanced, although it seemed much too large for its weight. Hazen swung the sword in front of him a few times, feeling the blade slice the air. He imagined an enemy before him being cut down by the blade.
Something old and sweet wafted in on the breeze. The network of steel that surrounded him creaked louder, and flakes of rust fell around him like snow. The light closed in around him, leaving only a spot shining down on him from the sky. He felt like a spotlight had just illuminated him on a stage. There was something crawling out in the darkness. He could hear it circling around him. With the sword held in front of him he swept out areas of the darkness. Its pure light pierced the veil, but only revealed dirt and metal.
Something long and black shot out of the darkness and slashed his arm with a powerful talon. Blood ran down his hand as he cried out in pain. There was nothing but darkness and the creaking of metal in the wind. Hazen gripped the gash in his arm with his free hand and slowly spun in place, watching for the next attack. The wind stopped. There was perfect silence for a moment. Then Hazen could hear it moving. It was a light pitter-patter, almost like rain, but not quite. It was behind him. Before Hazen could turn it slid its talon along his back, tearing at his skin. Hazen grunted and watched as an oily limb retreated into the darkness.
He ran. Hard and fast. The sword gave him enough light to avoid the bars of corroded steel that made the creature’s lair. He could not hear it over his own panting breath and clumsy footfalls in the soft dust-like sand, but he knew he was being chased. It had his blood now.
“Got to find some light out here, then I can make a stand against that thing,” he breathed to himself as he frantically waved the sword in front of him.
Far in the distance the spotlight from the sky refocused itself, and growing in the dirt was a white flower. A radiant, pure light emanated from it, unfolding like petals. He ran towards it as fast as he could, weaving between the poles that randomly jutted from the ground. He didn’t hear the creature speed up any, or make some frantic shriek as though it were about to lose its prey. It remained silent.
Hazen ran, each step bringing him closer to the relative safety of the light. It called out to him in a beautiful voice. He could hear Her humming gently, like a lullaby, beckoning him to rest. He felt his legs slowing down as he charged towards the light, he felt at peace.
Then something changed, and he realized that he wasn’t getting any closer to the light. The ground in the darkness was infinite between him and the flower. He could hear the creature snicker behind him and take a swipe at his thigh. Hot blood poured down his leg. It panted in his ear. He felt a long, sticky-slick tongue slide along the back of his neck.
Hazen lashed out with his sword as he spun around, but the blade only swirled the rust flakes as they drifted down through the air. A claw raked across his back a second time. The pain began to overwhelm Hazen, sapping his will against the hopelessness of the situation. He fell to one knee. The pain forced tears from his eyes, blurring his vision. Everything became a fuzzy cloud of light and dark.
Something giggled in the shadows.
Hazen tightened his grip on the sword and blinked hard, clearing his vision. His face contorted with anger. He felt hate for the monster, for the pain, and most of all for his own personal weakness. “Not fucking giving up now!” He exclaimed. He sunk his sword deep into the dusty ground, and pulled. The space in between Hazen and the flower of light lurched and contracted, cracking the ground and causing the steel framework to shudder and collapse. There was no sound, only motion. Then Hazen could hear Her singing. It was a slow song, calming, healing, but he could not make out the words.
He pulled the sword out of the ground and looked around. Metal pipes and thick brown dust surrounded him in a churned heap. In the middle of it was a meaty black creature slowly accumulating dust and rust. It was long and gaunt with dozens of black, chitinous arms sticking out of its back. It had three sticklike legs with too many joints. It stood, still in the light, glaring at Hazen. It let out a slow hiss that made Her song swell louder.
It charged Hazen, but he stood firm against it and swung, cleaving off two of its legs and its head in a single blow. Light poured from the blade as it bit deep into the thing’s ichor spewing body which shuddered then fell to the ground, its blood turning to smoke. Its head turned to look at Hazen. It smiled.
“I was once Hope.” It whispered, then dissipated.
Hazen stared at the vapor trails rising from the dirt for a moment, and then looked around. He was alone in the wasteland again. The flower sang Her song louder, more persuasively. He relaxed, allowing his arms to drop from fatigue. He dropped the sword in the ground. It bit deep in the soil.
An outline grew in the dirt, forming a golden rectangle. It became a door made of stone, with the flower as the knob. Her voice was clearer than ever. He desperately pulled at the flower, trying to twist it to open the door, but it refused to open. The beguiling song pounded in his head, making him tear at the door desperately. He pulled the sword from the ground and hacked at it, but the door disappeared when the sword was removed.
A woman appeared before him, pulling herself from the flower. She drifted over to Hazen, and gently pushed him onto the ground. He could feel her body lay down upon him, her warm body pressed against him. He put his arm around her.
And Jaeger barked, waking Hazen. The corgi had lain on his chest as he slept, staring into the depths of his nose. Hazen cursed.
2

His corgi rushed into the room, its short bob of a tail wiggling furiously as it jumped around him. As Hazen put on a t-shirt the dog sat down behind him. Hazen smiled and ignored the shuff-shuff of its tail on the carpeting. Eventually the dog began to lick the back of his leg, and he turned around.
“Who’s down there?” He asked playfully. The dog barked back. “Oh, is that Jaeger? And I bet you want something to eat, don’t you?” A pair of brown eyes stared back at him.
Hazen walked down the stairs of his small house with his small dog following close at his heels. The pair went to the kitchen. Jaeger’s claws clicked against the white tile floor as he scurried in front of Hazen to the wooden cabinet where the dog food was kept.
There was a slight grinding noise as the can opener cut away at the tin lid of the food. Hazen grimaced at the slurping plop noise of the dog food dropping into Jaeger’s little red dish. The dog poked its head through his legs and began eating. Hazen looked over at the clock on the wall. He had an hour and a half left to get to work. He looked back down at the little orange dog that was greedily eating some sort of red-brown mush. Hazen looked at the container which said, “Hearty Beef Chunks in Gravy,” but by the look of the mush quickly entering the dog’s gullet Hazen thought it was something much viler. He stuck his tongue out at it.
Hazen let the dog out into the yard and took a quick shower. When he was finished dressing he heard a faint scratching noise on the door, signaling that Jaeger was ready to come back inside. Hazen opened the door obediently and the dog ran in, rubbing damp hair against his leg. Hazen brushed the hair off and patted the dog on its head.
“Must be easy for you, boy,” he said. “You get to do whatever you want to do in a day.” Hazen stopped for a moment and thought about what he had just said. “Well, except doing anything involving thumbs.”
The dog yipped at him as he walked out the door of his house, locking it behind him in one practiced movement. The sun shone down on the grimy, dew-wetted pavement leading through his lawn and to the street. The air was still slightly chilled from the night, but pleasantly so. Hazen followed the same path he always took to work. It had a few unnecessary twists and turns to avoid the dark spots in the city, but he had managed to get to the library on time every day.
He walked down the sidewalk, passing white house after white house in a seemingly endless procession of similarity. A lawn flamingo flared up at his side. Its black, vacant plastic eye stared at him wetly, glistening in the light. A small shudder ran through Hazen.
“The block council will have that gone in under a week.” He muttered to himself.
He crossed a road and made his way through the playground that marked the end of his neighborhood. Hazen made a faint shuff-shuff noise in the deep sand surrounding the multicolored plastic playthings that loomed out of the ground. Hazen had to imagine the looming himself, when he was a child they only had monstrosities made out of welded aluminum tubing, and even by then the paint was largely flaked off of them. But Hazen thought that, were he to be a five year old, the whole works would have been quite impressive.
When he got out of the playground into the park proper he noticed a man in a dark suit and sunglasses sitting on a bench along his route. The man watched him pass. Hazen thought about waving or saying hello, but the man didn’t seem terribly friendly and Hazen didn’t want to bother himself with it. Instead he awkwardly stared straight ahead as he passed the man, who stared straight at him through a pair of black as pitch sunglasses.
“What is that guy doing here?” Hazen asked as he turned away from the largely deserted section of town. It was scheduled to be demolished and rebuilt as a mega-mall or something. Hazen had seen the protest on the news. A group wanted to save the historical architecture in the district. It was broken up when some of the drifters living in the abandoned buildings came out and scared off the yuppies. Hazen laughed at the time, now he watched the alleys on the other side of the street cautiously as he made his way down the street, and the alleys watched him back.
The old business district always seemed darker than the rest of the city when Hazen looked at it. He had asked Alyssa about it, and she guessed that it was because the bigger skyscrapers of the new business district cast a shadow over the old business district for half of the day. At the time Hazen had said that it was because Alyssa wasn’t there to make it brighter, but Alyssa just laughed.
Eventually Hazen broke off of 3rd street onto Pelletier Avenue. There were more people around, but they didn’t say anything to Hazen and Hazen didn’t say anything to them. “It is an unspoken agreement that people had once they got into the city,” Hazen thought to himself, thinking that his pun was clever. High above pigeons circled with beady black eyes staring down at the people walking below.
He passed a man yelling at a young woman on the street. Hazen wasn’t sure why he was mad at her, but he was being quite vulgar and she was crying. People walked by them as if nothing was happening. Hazen strode up to him.
“Sir, calm down and leave her alone.” Hazen said with his fist clenched tightly.
“What the fuck are you going to do about it?” The man shouted at Hazen, a few small bits of spittle dropped on Hazen’s shirt.
Hazen hadn’t thought that far ahead. His struggle for a comeback was ended when the man struck him in the face and the man and the woman left quickly in different directions. The pigeons circled him as he stood up.
“Actually, I probably should have just done that first,” Hazen thought to himself as he rubbed his jaw. There was a dull throb working its way up his cheek. Still nobody gave him a second glance.
Had Hazen paid attention to it, he would have noticed that the streets in the new business district were just as dark as the old business district because of the skyscrapers’ shadow, but he didn’t. He turned off of Pelletier onto 8th street, past the bookstore that had made him obsolete to any of the clientele that he might have wanted to service at the library to the library itself. He wondered if the bookstore was meant as some sort of perverse joke, but Alyssa liked the coffee they had there so he ended up in the bookstore for his lunch break anyway.
The clock over the main desk told Hazen that he had five minutes left before he had to clock in. Hazen would have been record time if he hadn’t talked to the angry man. Hazen had averaged that it took him an hour and six minutes to walk to work along his vaguely question mark shaped route. Sometimes he would try to set a record time, which was currently one hour, two minutes, and thirty three seconds, but shortly after that his dog chewed up his stopwatch and he never got around to buying a new one.
Hazen never did figure out why the dog wanted to eat his stopwatch. This single act of charity was merely punished halfheartedly and then forgotten.
Eddy was at the desk. He was a large, bald man who seemed to perpetually sweat. The library itself was empty. Hazen walked into the back room and filled out his slot in the timesheet. Alyssa’s signature and times were missing.
“Hey, Eddy!” Hazen called out behind him.
“Yea?” Eddy replied. It was as much of a word as it was a grunt.
“Where is Alyssa?”
“Who?” Eddy called back. Hazen could never remember that Eddy was half deaf.
“Alyssa. Where?” Hazen shouted loudly, minimizing the number of words Eddy would have to decipher.
“Oh, she called in sick. Something about one of her friends having a problem or something. I’m not sure. She was real vague about it…” Eddy continued to explain in exact detail everything she had said but in no particular order, and Hazen stopped listening and began to sort out the pile of returns.
Hazen spent most of his day wandering around the library restocking the books and occasionally coming to the main desk to save Eddie from a patron who spoke broken English or thought it was the library’s fault that a book wasn’t where it was supposed to be. Eddie would just sweat worse and miss half of what they said, which often made things worse for him. By the time Hazen arrived he would practically be in a puddle of his own sweat. Unlike Eddie, Hazen knew the right lies to tell the patrons to get them off of his back, or the right pleasantries to give to diffuse a situation.
Really, he just wanted to hit the patrons with the Unabridged Oxford English Dictionary.
Towards the end of the day Hazen turned into the section dedicated to world religions, myths, and folklore only to find Alyssa standing there, looking through a book. He couldn’t see the title nor was he looking for it. Alyssa had the most amazing blonde hair; it reminded Hazen of spun gold. He stared at her for a minute, unsure if he should greet her or make a comment about her missing work. Deciding on the former, he walked over to her with a book dedicated to Hercules so it would look like he was just over there to stock the shelf. Which he was, really, but with Alyssa he felt that he needed some other justification so he didn’t seem creepy.
Sometimes Hazen wondered if he thought too much about it.
“Hey Alyssa,” He said, smiling. He slid the book into its place on the shelf.
She didn’t look up from the book. Hazen frowned.
“Hey, Alyssa,” he repeated. “Ah-lih-ssah!”
She startled and darted her head around to all sides of her. When she saw it was just Hazen she adjusted her thin glasses and smiled. “Oh, hi Hazen. Didn’t see you there.”
“I could see that. I’m glad to you’ve recovered. What are you reading?”
“Oh, this is nothing,” she said, hiding the book under her hands. “A friend of mine just had a bit of an emergency, turned out it wasn’t terribly important. I figured I’d just come down here to the library and pick up a book or two then get some coffee and go home. No point in wasting a ‘sick’ day.”
“I suppose,” Hazen said. He stood there for a minute, trying to think of something to add to the conversation. Nothing presented itself that wasn’t inane work chatter.
“Well, I should go,” Alyssa said. She smiled at Hazen and walked to the main desk; patted Eddy on the shoulder after he checked out her books, and left. Her hair gracefully flowed through the light draft from the door on the way out.
“MOVE FAGGOT YOU’RE IN MY WAY!”
Hazen jumped as a small child shrieked at him, its finger deep within its nose. He moved to the side as the child ran down the isle aimlessly. For a brief moment Hazen mused to himself what child tasted like, decided it was terrible, and then returned to shelving the books with a sigh.
Eventually Hazen managed to leave work and return to the dot of the question mark trail that led to his home. He re-fed his dog, and microwaved a canned pasta for himself. He noted the similarities between the two meals as he ate. He watched the television for a while. Nothing interesting was on. The news mentioned that the police were currently clearing out the old business district for the construction to begin and that some new pop psychologist was studying a trend among his patients that seemed to be getting worse for the last decade. Hazen turned the channel to cartoons before the anchor explained what exactly that trend was. An ugly yellow squirrel was beating an orange cat with a frying pan.
Eventually Hazen gave up and went to sleep.

3

He was surrounded by tall frames of old, rusting steel. They twisted and turned at various angles, intersecting at odd points and stopping suddenly at others. Hazen couldn’t decide if it they reminded him more of skeletons or webs. They shifted and creaked uneasily in the breeze. Chains rattled in the distance.
Hazen felt heaviness in his hand. He looked down and the sword as there, shining bright white and almost blue against the dun colored wasteland. He hefted it gingerly. It was fairly light and well balanced, although it seemed much too large for its weight. Hazen swung the sword in front of him a few times, feeling the blade slice the air. He imagined an enemy before him being cut down by the blade.
Something old and sweet wafted in on the breeze. The network of steel that surrounded him creaked louder, and flakes of rust fell around him like snow. The light closed in around him, leaving only a spot shining down on him from the sky. He felt like a spotlight had just illuminated him on a stage. There was something crawling out in the darkness. He could hear it circling around him. With the sword held in front of him he swept out areas of the darkness. Its pure light pierced the veil, but only revealed dirt and metal.
Something long and black shot out of the darkness and slashed his arm with a powerful talon. Blood ran down his hand as he cried out in pain. There was nothing but darkness and the creaking of metal in the wind. Hazen gripped the gash in his arm with his free hand and slowly spun in place, watching for the next attack. The wind stopped. There was perfect silence for a moment. Then Hazen could hear it moving. It was a light pitter-patter, almost like rain, but not quite. It was behind him. Before Hazen could turn it slid its talon along his back, tearing at his skin. Hazen grunted and watched as an oily limb retreated into the darkness.
He ran. Hard and fast. The sword gave him enough light to avoid the bars of corroded steel that made the creature’s lair. He could not hear it over his own panting breath and clumsy footfalls in the soft dust-like sand, but he knew he was being chased. It had his blood now.
“Got to find some light out here, then I can make a stand against that thing,” he breathed to himself as he frantically waved the sword in front of him.
Far in the distance the spotlight from the sky refocused itself, and growing in the dirt was a white flower. A radiant, pure light emanated from it, unfolding like petals. He ran towards it as fast as he could, weaving between the poles that randomly jutted from the ground. He didn’t hear the creature speed up any, or make some frantic shriek as though it were about to lose its prey. It remained silent.
Hazen ran, each step bringing him closer to the relative safety of the light. It called out to him in a beautiful voice. He could hear Her humming gently, like a lullaby, beckoning him to rest. He felt his legs slowing down as he charged towards the light, he felt at peace.
Then something changed, and he realized that he wasn’t getting any closer to the light. The ground in the darkness was infinite between him and the flower. He could hear the creature snicker behind him and take a swipe at his thigh. Hot blood poured down his leg. It panted in his ear. He felt a long, sticky-slick tongue slide along the back of his neck.
Hazen lashed out with his sword as he spun around, but the blade only swirled the rust flakes as they drifted down through the air. A claw raked across his back a second time. The pain began to overwhelm Hazen, sapping his will against the hopelessness of the situation. He fell to one knee. The pain forced tears from his eyes, blurring his vision. Everything became a fuzzy cloud of light and dark.
Something giggled in the shadows.
Hazen tightened his grip on the sword and blinked hard, clearing his vision. His face contorted with anger. He felt hate for the monster, for the pain, and most of all for his own personal weakness. “Not fucking giving up now!” He exclaimed. He sunk his sword deep into the dusty ground, and pulled. The space in between Hazen and the flower of light lurched and contracted, cracking the ground and causing the steel framework to shudder and collapse. There was no sound, only motion. Then Hazen could hear Her singing. It was a slow song, calming, healing, but he could not make out the words.
He pulled the sword out of the ground and looked around. Metal pipes and thick brown dust surrounded him in a churned heap. In the middle of it was a meaty black creature slowly accumulating dust and rust. It was long and gaunt with dozens of black, chitinous arms sticking out of its back. It had three sticklike legs with too many joints. It stood, still in the light, glaring at Hazen. It let out a slow hiss that made Her song swell louder.
It charged Hazen, but he stood firm against it and swung, cleaving off two of its legs and its head in a single blow. Light poured from the blade as it bit deep into the thing’s ichor spewing body. Its body shuddered then fell to the ground, its blood turning to smoke. Its head turned to look at Hazen. It smiled.
“I was once Hope.” It whispered, and then dissipated.
Hazen stared at the vapor trails rising from the dirt for a moment, and then looked around. He was alone in the wasteland again. The flower sang Her song louder, more persuasively. He relaxed, allowing his arms to drop from fatigue. He dropped the sword in the ground. It bit deep in the soil.
An outline grew in the dirt, forming a golden rectangle. It became a door made of stone, with the flower as the knob. Her voice was clearer than ever. He desperately pulled at the flower, trying to twist it to open the door, but it refused to open. The beguiling song pounded in his head, making him tear at the door desperately. He pulled the sword from the ground and hacked at it, but the door disappeared when the sword was removed.
A woman appeared before him, pulling herself from the flower. She drifted over to Hazen, and gently pushed him onto the ground. He could feel her body lay down upon him, her warm body pressed against him. He put his arm around her.
And Jaeger barked, waking Hazen. The corgi had lain on his chest as he slept, staring into the depths of his nose. Hazen cursed.

4

Jaeger’s short bob of a tail wiggled furiously as it lay upon him. As Hazen pushed him off and put on a t-shirt. The dog sat down behind him. Hazen smiled and ignored the shuff-shuff of its tail on the carpeting. Eventually the dog began to lick the back of his leg, and he turned around.
“Who’s down there?” He asked playfully. The dog barked back. “Oh, is that Jaeger? And I bet you want something to eat, don’t you?” A pair of brown eyes stared back at him.
Hazen walked down the stairs of his small house with his small dog following close at his heels. The pair went to the kitchen. Jaeger’s claws clicked against the white tile floor as he scurried in front of Hazen to the wooden cabinet where the dog food was kept.
There was a slight grinding noise as the can opener cut away at the tin lid of the food. Hazen grimaced at the slurping plop noise of the dog food dropping into Jaeger’s little red dish. The dog poked its head through his legs and began eating. Hazen looked over at the clock on the wall. He had an hour and a half left to get to work. He looked back down at the little orange dog that was greedily eating some sort of red-brown mush. Hazen looked at the container which said, “Lamb and Rice,” but by the look of the mush quickly entering the dog’s gullet Hazen. It looked like play-doh and baby food mixed together. He stuck his tongue out at it.
Hazen let the dog out into the yard and took a quick shower. When he was finished dressing he heard a faint scratching noise on the door, signaling that Jaeger was ready to come back inside. Hazen opened the door obediently and the dog ran in, rubbing damp hair against his leg. Hazen brushed the hair off and patted the dog on its head.
“Must be easy for you, boy,” he said. “You get to do whatever you want to do in a day. Except, of course, leave.”
The dog yipped at him as he walked out the door of his house, locking it behind him in one practiced movement. The sky was dark with clouds, it looked like there was going to be rain later that day. Hazen followed sidewalk that led to the playground.
He walked down the sidewalk, passing white house after white house in procession. The garish flamingo was already removed from the lawn. Hazen was surprised how quickly it had been taken away.
He crossed the road and made his way through the playground that marked the end of his neighborhood, listening to the familiar noise his feet made in the soft sand. He stood still for a moment, staring at the playground equipment. He thought about turning back and going around it, but then he saw Jessi and her dog out in the park. She waved at him, so he decided to continue on. He avoided making eye contact with the play-palace.
Jessi skated over to Hazen, Spark half-dragging her towards Hazen. “Hey big man!” She called out to him. Spark licked at his knees. Hazen patted the rottweiler on the head.
“How have you been Jessi?” He asked.
“I’m ok, do you mind if I follow you through the park?” She asked. Her dark brown eyes followed him as he began to walk along the pavement once more. He didn’t notice. Spark trotted along ahead of her, bobbing from side to side. Occasionally he would stop to smell or eat something along the way. Hazen watched him with a smile.
“So… Hazen, still working at the library?” Jessi asked.
“Yup. Not much changes about me. I’m boring I suppose.” He replied.
“Oh, you’re not boring,” Jessi consoled him, “And besides, some women like stable men.”
“My immense stability hasn’t seemed to work out so far.” Hazen replied, Alyssa’s indifference flashing through him mind.
“I dunno, I don’t mind it.” Jessi smiled at him.
“Then you must be as boring as I am,” Hazen said as he turned onto 3rd street. “Well, I’ll see you later then.” He left Jessi behind in the park as he walked along the street that formed the border between the green foliage of the park and the crumbling brick of the old business district. He walked to work down the same empty road, past the same mute people, while being stared at by the same black-eyed birds.
When Hazen got to work he filled out his timesheet, noting that Alyssa was in the library as well. He looked around briefly, but he could only find Eddy. He decided that Alyssa was off in the archives or somewhere else keeping her busy, and went about his regular daily tasks of stocking and customer deflection.
Eventually a man came to the desk. He was fat with a curly black beard. It was clumpy and dirty, and his clothes were old and torn. “Can’t find the book.” He half-grunted at Hazen as he shifted from foot to foot, his head twitched around as though he thought something was behind him.
“What book, sir?” Hazen sighed, already dreading what was to come.
“The book! The one I’m supposed to be looking for. It was here. Now it is not here. Where is it?” The man badgered Hazen. Hazen caught an unusual glint in his eye, it was almost a highlight, but it seemed more like a darkening. Hazen couldn’t quite figure it out, and the man’s erratic movements made it impossible for Hazen to be sure what he saw.
“What book, sir?” Hazen repeated as he backed away slightly from the desk.
The man ran out of the building, clearly distraught. He knocked over a woman who was entering at the same time as he charged past her. Hazen simply shrugged and looked over to Eddy.
“So, um…. What the hell was that?” Eddy asked, sweating.
“No clue.”
“Should we… um… call the cops?”
“I would have been upset too if I couldn’t find ‘the book’.” Hazen laughed and shook his head. “No, no point in bothering. He didn’t do anything wrong, really… he’s just a little off is all.”
“Ok Hazen, if you think that is ok…”
“I do. Now get back to not working.”
Hazen began to roam the shelves to check for misplaced books. He didn’t find any that were out of order except a few in the children’s section. He slowly made his way to the back of the stacks, when suddenly Alyssa appeared next to him holding an old, red, leather bound book..
“Hi, Hazen!” She cheerfully exclaimed from behind, causing Hazen to jump.
“Don’t do that!” He protested.
“Ok. Hey, what are you up to back here?”
“I’m just checking the stacks for misplaced books. One of our ‘guests’ was very upset that he couldn’t find something. Strangest thing.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Hey, what book is that? I don’t think I’ve seen it before.”
“Oh, it’s an old book about dreams. Nothing important really, I was just going to take it home with me.”
“Dreams? Tell you what, I’ve had some of the strangest ones lately. I always end up fighting monsters with some big magic sword thing. Very vivid.”
“Really?” Alyssa asked, her brow wrinkled slightly as though she was worried. She crinkled her nose a little as well. Hazen always thought that was cute.
“Yea.” Hazen replied.
“Oh,” She asked, “Anything else weird happen in them?”
“Well, there was always some sort of singing in the background, and flowers show up for some reason. I have no idea. They were so weird that I can’t even begin to enumerate all the strange stuff in them.”
“Oh. Hm… Ok… Sounds creepy. Well, my shift is over, so I’ll see you later!” Alyssa quickly exited the building, only stopping to take a quick, worried look back at Hazen.
Eddy came up behind him and breathed heavily against his neck. “So, what was ‘that’ all about?” He asked.
“I have no idea…” Hazen replied, then returned to the desk.
Eventually Hazen left work and returned home. He re-fed his dog, and boiled some ramen noodles for himself. He tried to watch the television for a while, but nothing interesting was on. Hazen preempted the depressing news by turning the channel to cartoons before the anchor explained what the new problems of the day were. A little purple dog was trying to save its masters from some sort of horrible monster.
Eventually Hazen gave up and went to sleep.

5

Hazen looked around; he was in the desert of twisted metal again. The sun was up, but it emanated a soft blue light that covered everything, swirling up in the corners of the rubble and banishing all the darkness. The flower was gone, but Hazen could hear Her. Her voice was clearer now. She seemed closer to where he was, although Hazen felt that “closer” was a fairly meaningless term in the endless desert.
A slight wind blew, swirling the ruddy dust around his feet. Hazen sat down on a pole, causing the skeleton of metal it jutted from to shudder and groan. It slowly bent to the side, until the pole he sat on touched the ground. The tower leaned over him, causing flakes of rust to snow down upon him.
Hazen sighed and shifted his weight on the beam. He considered moving over to a different pole in the endless field of metal, but he figured that no good would really come of it, so he remained where he sat and watched the swirl of blue-tinted dirt and rust as it powdered his shoes.
Hazen stared off into the distance, which eventually blurred to an indistinguishable grey-orange smear along the horizon. He stayed there for what he felt like was an hour, and nothing changed except for the dirt that lazily danced around his feet. The sun slowly circled his location in the sky, hovering on him like a shining blue vulture. He stared at its soft light and listened to the woman singing.
“So,” Hazen muttered to himself, “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”
The metal that surrounded him groaned in the wind. Hazen sighed and began to draw in the dust with his toes. First a little stick man, then a little stick woman. He briefly thought to himself that it was an amazingly bad idea to be barefoot with all the rotting metal around him, and a pair of mismatching boots appeared on his feet. One was tall and made of slick black leather, like he had seen the bad guy of an old movie about World War Two. The other was a dirty brown hiking boot that was missing part of the toe, which appeared to be chewed off by some sort of goat like in an old cartoon he had once seen. Hazen frowned, and the tall black boot disappeared, replaced by another hiking boot. The torn toe began to seal up, and Hazen watched the stitching loop itself into place.
Hazen grunted and went back to drawing a little stick house. The lines were thicker and darker because of the boots, to the point where little shadows formed in the bottom. He gave the house a little chimney and a pair of windows that leered out like eyes. Then he drew a door.
“You can make better doors than that, can’t you?” A voice said. It was far away, but it felt like someone was whispering it close in his ear. The voice sounded like his father’s. Hazen startled, kicking up sand which rubbed out the door and half of the house. The little stick man’s head caved in under a pile of dirt.
“Who’s there?” He shouted. It echoed against the groaning poles. Then there was only the low sound of the metal and the wind. “Dad?” He shouted again. No reply.
Hazen shrugged and went back to drawing in the sand. He replaced the little man’s head, only the lines were thick so he redrew the whole body to match. Then he redrew the little woman to match the rest of the picture. His boot remade the roof and the chimney of the house, and replaced one of its windows. He gave it a smile instead of a door, so the voice wouldn’t bother him again.
He looked at the house, and the faceless man and woman. Something was missing. He scrubbed out the arms in between the man and the woman and redrew them so they were holding stick hands. He smiled, but only the house smiled back. The sword appeared in his hand, and the house smiled wider. Hazen startled and looked at the sword. It glowed brightly in his hand.
Hazen looked around, and all he saw was a forest of rusted metal. He circled his drawings with his sword in front of him, ready to fight. Nothing presented itself. Metal groaned in the wind, causing Hazen to jump back. There was only the wind and the stillness of the blue-lit desert.
Hazen looked down at the sword, “Well? What the fuck are you here for then?” He asked it. He looked around, but nothing moved in the wasteland. Underneath his feet a small black speck crawled onto the stick house and poured into its lines like ink. The little stick man and woman recoiled from the darkness, pulling themselves from the sand. The little stick people ran through his legs, causing him to jump in surprise. They wove their way through the towers of rusted metal.
Hazen shrugged and began to follow them as wind began to pick up, causing more dust and rust to blow around him. One of the structures fell down in front of him in one slow, graceful motion, sending up even more dust. Hazen picked his way through the twisted poles, occasionally bending them out of his way to pass through.
Once he was out of the first pile of fallen metal another he heard a sliding noise. He thought it sounded like a snake crawling through thick sand. Then there was another groan as a second tower fell in his way. The sword throbbed in his hand. He still couldn’t see anything but the twisting metal.
As Hazen found his way through the second fallen tower he heard two more fall along his path. He grabbed hold of one of the bars over his head, and then pulled himself over the top of the rubble. He saw twin dust clouds rising up from a tangled mess of rusted metal. He cursed quietly to himself. Before he could lower himself back down the bar underneath his feet gave out, causing him to fall. Dust filled his nostrils and eyes. He coughed and sneezed as he rolled on the ground.
When he settled down he opened his watering eyes, and saw a little stick man standing in front of him. It waved, then fell to the ground and slithered away like a wave in the sand.
“Wha?” Hazen half-coughed before another crash indicated a fallen tower. He stood up and sneezed as the dust coating his body entered the windy air. In the distance he made out the little stick man waving at him from the top of a pole, and then diving back into the dirt.
Hazen began to push a pole that blocked his way, but it only bent out of his way slowly. In the distance another structure on the path to the light fell in his way. Hazen let go of the pole he was working on moving, hefted his sword, and struck down on the pole. It cut cleanly in two with barely any resistance.
“Better,” he said as it hit the ground with a small puff of dust.
He started to hack away at the poles in front of them as though his sword was a machete in a jungle, dropping all of the poles in his way as though they were vines. Occasionally the little stick man would appear far along his path and happily wave or dance or cheer at him. Hazen smiled.
When he felt that he was halfway through the debris that blocked his way to the pillar of light the little stick man appeared again. It hopped up on the side of a pole and waved like a flag in the wind. Its little stick arm pumped back and forth frantically, then a tendril of darkness shot up from the rubble and wrapped around him. It silently dragged the little stick man into the pile of metal.
“Poor little bastard,” Hazen muttered to himself, “But I really don’t want to deal with this.”
“There is a way out.” The voice boomed out to him.
“Where?” Hazen asked.
A pillar of light appeared in the distance. “Come and see,” the voice said.
Hazen heard the snake-crawl noise follow him as he cut his way to the light, and constantly looked behind him, certain that a tendril would soon drag him down as well. At first nothing happened, but eventually he could hear a growing discord of screeching metal coming from his right. He watched, but could see nothing except for metal poles twisting and falling as though something large was lumbering through them. He started to move faster towards the light.
He slashed through the metal, ducking and jumping through the metal poles. The disturbance to his right followed him, staying parallel to his path. It didn’t speed up and he never got away from it, it just stayed with him. Hazen grimaced as his head struck against a pole. He could feel a trickle of blood work its way down his forehead. He wiped it with his arm and continued to slash at the poles. He could the light grow stronger in front of him, which spurred him on. He pushed his legs harder to get to whatever lay at the light.
He broke into a clearing and the little stick woman stood in his way. He skidded to a stop in front of her, spraying the little figure with dirt. She waved at him mutely.
“Um… Hi…” He said to it uncertainly, and it ran to his leg and began tugging on him. It silently urged him to keep running. He started towards the next pile of rubble. Before he made it to the pile he looked back, and saw a gigantic chitenous leg step down hard on the little stick woman.
He kept running. He could hear whatever it was gaining on him now, shattering the metal in its path as he wriggled through the maze of poles. Suddenly he heard a roar, and there was a gust of wind from behind him. A shockwave struck him as a giant black figure landed in front of him, collapsing the twisting network of poles in a circle around it.
It looked like a giant crab with four long black legs extending from a boxlike torso. Two leering, bulbous eyes stuck out of its front from above a drooling smile. Smoke billowed out of its top. Behind it was the pillar of light.
“I was wondering where you were, Mr. House,” Hazen said. The monster just lowered its face to his level and opened its smiling maw wide. He could see the little stick people beating on its teeth as though they were bars of a prison.
Hazen brandished his sword at the monster, but it stared at him blankly. Hazen ran towards it as it brought one of its legs down upon him. Dust blew past him. It began to pummel the ground where he ran, each stomp hitting just below him as he ran.
Hazen spun, swinging his sword behind him as another leg fell down upon him. The blade cut through it cleanly, causing the man-sized tip of it to fall off, vomiting ichor out of the limb. The house-daemon lifted its leg and looked at it. Its vacant eyes stared stupidly at the oozing appendage. It made a sticky slurping noise as the tip grew back.
Hazen used the time it spent staring at its regrowing limb to get behind it and cut off its back leg, causing it to flail clumsily and fall over on its side. He then ran under it and cut along its belly, causing more black blood to gush from it. The little stick man and the little stick woman fell out of its wound and clung to Hazen’s leg.
The monster made a moaning-gurgling noise and then fell still. Hazen let out a sigh of relief and looked down at the stick people on his legs. They shivered and held on to his jeans. He shrugged and walked into the light, oblivious to the healing house behind him.
Inside the light there was a blank slab roughly six feet in height formed out of blank white marble. It hovered an inch off of the ground, bobbing slightly as though it were floating in water. It had a single spiraling rune carved on its surface, with “Think!” written on it in bold letters underneath. Hazen stared at it.
Her voice was louder now. He could almost make out what She was singing. Hazen felt that She was somewhere in the beam of light with him.
The little stick man jumped off of his leg and walked over to it, tentatively touching the smooth marble with his stick hand. It made a soft hoot noise, and then tried to climb up onto the slab. It managed to climb up a few inches on the smooth surface, but it struggled and slid back down. The little stick woman held onto his leg and watched.
“What do I think about?” He asked, but the voice said nothing. He watched the little stick man run around the slab in circles. “I think I’ll call you Stupid,” He said to the little stick man. It looked up at him briefly, and then shrugged. It began running around in circles again. “And what to call you?” He asked the little stick woman. She shrugged. “Not very decisive are you?” He asked her playfully. She shrugged again.
“You should hurry,” The voice said. The little stick people bolted to his legs and hugged him again.
“Hurry doing what?” Hazen shouted up at the light.
There was no answer. The “Think!” on the slab flashed bright red, catching Hazen’s eye. He stared at it.
“What am I supposed to ‘Think!’ here?” He muttered to himself. The little stick woman climbed up his body and sat on his shoulder. He thought of his old childhood dog which, at the time, was big enough to put its paws on his shoulders and stand on him. “I’m calling you Lucy, by the way,” He said to her.
Hazen blinked, and the slab had become a marble statue of his Labrador with “Think!” etched in bold letters across its forehead. Hazen blinked hard. From behind him something slithered. Lucy watched it move. Stupid climbed up onto the back of the Labrador and pantomimed riding it.
Hazen stared at the dog statue and pondered to himself what had just happened. “I must have done that,” he muttered to himself, “By thinking. I wonder what else I can do…”
The statue became a flamingo, then a book, then a miniature Eiffel tower, then the weather girl from channel 13, then Jaeger, then a can of dog food. Stupid struggled to stay on top of the shifting mass of amorphous marble. Any form it took had the word “Think!” carved boldly somewhere on its form. For a moment Hazen thought about turning it to Alyssa, but he decided that would be crossing the line.
“Try thinking of a way out,” the voice suggested.
Hazen thought of a door. It was the door of his house. He turned the knob and opened t he door. There was nothing but the same deserted wasteland on the other side.
“Lot of good that did me,” Hazen grumbled.
Lucy started to poke Hazen in the side of the head, but he brushed her little stick hand aside. He made a tank out of the slab, then a lily. Lucy poked his head more frantically. Hazen looked at her, and she poked him in the nose.
“What?” He asked, and she pointed behind him. The monster stood there, its sagging gut flexing back into its original form. Its legs had regrown, and it had formed several rows of gnashing teeth.
“Oh shit!” Hazen exclaimed as he backed away from the monster. It stomped its foot down, barely missing him. Several more legs peeled out from its sides, ready to swing down upon him.
“Hurry!” The voice bellowed at him.
“Okay! Okay! I need a door!” Hazen shouted to himself. The door slammed shut and became the clear glass door of the library. Hazen glared at the door. “I need a door that goes somewhere!” The door deepened, Hazen could feel that it changed into something different. The glass panes showed the empty wasteland. Hazen shrugged and opened the door to reveal darkness. The little stick people pushed him in.
Hazen was falling. He didn’t know where he was, or where he was falling to. The world around him was blank space. Her voice was clear now, Her song filled everything.

I’m finding a tear on an ocean of dreams.
I’m finding the one that I lost
Come to me, watch the world fly.

I’m finding the one who will make me complete.
I’m finding the one who will fight off the dark.
Come with me, or watch us die.

Hazen thought to himself, “Am I that one?” Followed by, “Wait, what does that all even mean?”
Before he could contemplate everything he landed in a field of soft grass. The ground under him flexed and buckled, softening the blow. He sat up for a moment, and then Stupid landed on his head. Lucy had held tight to his shoulder, and relaxed her grip. She climbed down and began to frolic in the grass. The song was already dying out from Hazen’s mind.
He looked up, and a swarm of giant black crab legs tried to cram themselves through a door that was suspended high in the air. Drops of black ooze fell from them, burning the grass where they fell. Hazen scooped up the two little stick people and cleared the area he thought the monster would rain on.
Someone tapped him on the shoulder from behind, startling him. A tall woman stood behind him with thick black hair, golden eyes, and a tan.
“Um… Hi?” He said to her.
6

“Hey there wolf man, are you lost?” She asked.
“Yes…” He said, “But why do you call me wolf man?”
“You must be new here.” She said, and pulled a small mirror out of a pocket. She pointed it at him, revealing the long furry snout of a canine.
Hazen grunted with surprise. “Do you mind explaining what is going on?”
“You really are new here!” She exclaimed. “Welcome to the Greater Dreaming! I’m Frey.” She stuck out her hand, and he shook it with a human hand, albeit a hairy one. “You see, in the Greater Dreaming you look like what you want yourself to! It takes some practice to really control; newbies usually just look like something they associate themselves with. So you must really like dogs or something!”
“Or something…” Hazen muttered while he wondered why she exclaimed every other sentence.
“Anyway, Mr. Woof, I was waiting for someone who is probably you. Do you have the sword?”
“Apparently,” Hazen said. The sword appeared in his hand.
“Good! Good!” She squeaked. “I hope you didn’t have too much trouble getting here, come on, let’s go to the city!”
Hazen looked around. He appeared to be in an open meadow in the mountains, surrounded by pine forest in every direction. The monster was still frantically trying to get through the door, which suddenly snapped shut on its legs, severing them in a spray of hot gore.
“And where is this city supposed to be?” He asked.
“Oh, not far, a few days walk at the most.” She replied cheerfully.
“Got a car?”
“No cars here. Also, don’t mention cars too much, there are a lot of people who won’t know what you are talking about.”
“Why do you know what a car is then?’
“Because I’m from the other side, silly. But there are more dreamings than dreamers, and they don’t know half of the stuff that exists in the real world.”
For a moment Hazen considered asking her what she was talking about, but he decided he’d find out sooner than he’d like anyway. Instead he asked, “So, this ‘is’ a dream?”
“Mostly,” She replied.
“Uh-huh,” Hazen said, “So, um… lead on to the city then.”
“Okays!” She said cheerfully, and then began walking away from the mountains with Stupid hot on her heels. Lucy climbed back on his shoulder as he followed Frey.
“So, what is your name?” Frey asked Hazen as she walked in front of him.
“Um… Hazen.”
“Umhazen? What a funny name!” She said.
“No, it is just Hazen.”
She looked at him sternly for a moment. She stared deep into his eyes, which made him feel uncomfortable. Then she went back to walking. “Is that your real name?” She asked.
“Yes.”
“Think of a different one!” She ordered.
“Why?”
“Because you don’t want people finding out who you really are in the real world!”
“Is that important?” Hazen asked.
“Of course it is! Trust me!”
“Ok, I’ll work on something. Give me until the city to think of something.”
“Fine.”
“How about Tannhauser?”
“Taken.” She said.
“So?”
“That matters too. Pick a unique name.”
“Ok…”
Then a question occurred to Hazen. “So, who had you waiting here for me?”
“You’ll find that out.” She said.
“That is why I asked.” He replied.
She turned to him and said, “Oh shit. Not now!”
Hazen woke up in his bed with his alarm clock screaming in his ear. Jaeger was laid out on his feet, belly up in the air, oblivious to the noise. For a moment Hazen wondered if he should just go back to sleep and try to find the dream woman again, but by the time he decided to try to sleep Jaeger had noticed he was awake and had began to pull on his leg, beckoning Hazen to feed him.
7

There was darkness, only shadows half-lit by the ambient glow of the city that filtered through the cracked window above him. Evan sat in a pile of old clothes he had accumulated in an abandoned building of the old business district. He slept in the basement; in the place he first heard the voices. They were stronger now, as though they were singing somewhere close. They reminded him of the recording of the Red Army Choir his father played for him one time. Their voices were deep and seemed to vibrate the air around him.
Evan brought a bottle of cheap whiskey to his mouth and drank deep, spilling some out across his filthy beard. The voices became quieter, more distant. The voices scared Evan, but they promised him good things so he stayed. The whiskey burned in his empty stomach, but it helped him forget the emptiness too. Eventually the voices lulled him to sleep.
He arrived in a place of redness and darkness. The voices rang out inarticulately, like thunder. He crawled on the ground, covering his ears to deaden the noise. Things flew around his head and he shrieked and crawled away from them. He could feel them crawling on his back with their thousands of clicking legs. Evan rolled around on the ground to try to dislodge them. Then, suddenly, the voices stopped and the crawling-flying things disappeared.
Evan sat up, clawing at his back and his hair until the sensation was gone. When he looked up there was a single figure in front of him. It was long and gaunt and beautiful. It stared down at him with the chiseled face of a supermodel Evan had seen in an old magazine, and it smiled. Its skin seemed to be moving as though there was something or some things underneath it, which made it hard for Evan to look at it. Its gaunt form filled out, growing curving hips and an ample bosom. It had cool blue eyes that pierced the dull red light in the darkness.
The thing slowly walked over to him, swaying its hips with each step. It touched his face with a soft, squirming hand. The voices blared in his ears, causing his head to throb.
“Do you want to be safe?” It asked with a delicate feminine voice.
“Yes.”
“Do you want to be strong?” It asked. Its voice fluctuated, as though several women were talking at once. The thing’s slender hand gripped his chin and forced Evan to look up into its face.
“Yes.”
“Do you want my love?” It asked, its voice growing louder and more numerous with each word.
“Yes.” Evan stared deep within its eyes.
“Will you do something for me?” It asked with the voice of a thousand women.
“Yes,” Evan replied.
The thing released its grip on Evan and disappeared. A small child walked up to Evan, only it had long ears and red-blue skin. There was a small dot on its chest, and the voices shouted at Evan stupidly. They roared incoherent encouragement at him in a sort of rhythmic chant.
“Find it!” Her voice commanded him.
Evan thrust his hand into the dot on the child’s chest, causing luminescent blood to trail off into the darkness. There was something hard inside and Evan grabbed hold of it and pulled with all his strength. The child moaned as it was torn in half, giving birth to a bright red sword. Evan stood in a glowing field with the dripping blade held in front of him.
“It is your weapon, Harrier,” Her voice explained to him. “You will go now, for there are some people who you need to stop. They want to hurt me, you know.”
Evan could feel her hand slowly slide along his back and onto his hip.
“And you don’t want them to hurt me, do you?” It asked pleadingly. Evan shook his head.
A slab of black stone appeared before Evan with a single word written on it.
“This is your door, my champion, all you have to do is ‘think!’ hard enough and you’ll find it.”
Evan nodded grimly and walked through.

8

Grind-Grind-Click-Shloop. The mushy food went into the dog’s bowl. Hazen stared at the clock on the wall, then down on his small dog. It finished its food and ran to the door. Hazen stared at the knob. He knew he was supposed to do something. Jaeger whimpered. Hazen shook his head, clearing his mind briefly. He opened the door and stared out at the harsh light of day as the dog darted between his legs into his lawn.
Hazen stared vacantly across the street at his neighbor’s house. It was white, like every other house on the block, and nothing remarkable to behold. Hazen had the vague feeling that it might eat him, so he closed the door. A short bark followed the click of the latch. Hazen half-opened the door for Jaeger to run back into the house between his legs.
Hazen sat down on his couch and scratched himself. Jaeger jumped up on the cushion next to him, nuzzling its head against his leg. Hazen turned on the television and stared at the moving blobs of colors it produced. He looked down at Jaeger.
“I have to go to work, don’t I?” He asked the dog. It stared at the television. He walked over to the cheap cordless phone he kept in the kitchen and called the library. Eddy answered the phone with a sweaty sounding hello.
“Hey, this is Hazen. I can’t go to work today. I’m sick or something. I don’t think anyone is going to notice.” Hazen said loudly, then hung up the phone and lay down on the couch again. He rested his head on Jaeger, who protested briefly before grunting and going back to watching the television. A man with in a top hat and cloak with a long, curling black moustache grinned evilly as he tied a young woman to a set of train tracks. A cloud of smoke rose in the distance accompanied by the lonely hoot of a train.
Hazen waited for the dashing young hero to come save the woman and deliver a knockout punch to the evildoer before changing the channel. He muttered something about the lack of quality in the show to the dog.
Eventually he began to blankly watch some children’s show. Time passed and the shows slowly changed from one program to the next. Hazen wasn’t really watching them as much as he appreciated the noise and the moving colors which eventually lulled him back to sleep.
The door was still suspended high in the sky above him, although now it was shut and the ground was littered with black chitenous legs which drooled acid onto the dying grass.
Jaeger crawled out from under his head and began to watch out the window as a woman with a baby carriage walked past. Hazen watched as a pair of sock puppets argued violently with one another with sticks, and then changed the channel to the news. They were doing a special report on the rapidly increasing crime rate throughout the city. Jaeger barked as a man with a dark suit and sunglasses walked down the sidewalk. Hazen ignored them both.
A wind blew through the forest, causing the fresh green leaves on the trees to rustle gently. The legs began to stink. Hazen looked around and saw nothing but the open mountains and the dense forest. He shrugged and began to walk towards the forest. Two figures scurried behind him.
The phone rang. Hazen stood up and staggered over to it. He answered the phone with a slurred, “Hello?”
“Hey-ya Hazen!” Alyssa said cheerfully on the other end of the phone.
“Hi…” Hazen grumbled, then perked up, “Hey, Alyssa! What are you calling me about?”
“I think we need to talk sometime. Just you and me. Can I come over to your place later?”
Hazen scanned his living room and kitchen. Dirty plates were piled everywhere. A pyramid of empty dog food cans stood next to the full trash can. Hazen sniffed and couldn’t tell if the smell was the house, the dog, or himself.
“No, how about we go to the coffee place or something?” Hazen replied, “I’d need to get dressed.”
“Oh… are you naked?” Alyssa asked. Hazen jumped.
“No, no no!” Hazen stammered and blushed, “I’m just. I’m just in my pajamas. You know, sick days don’t encourage me to care about that sort of thing.”
“Right. How does six-ish sound?”
“Great! I mean, that’s fine. I’ll see you then.”
“Take care!”
“You too!”
The phone clicked over to static. Hazen held the phone mutely for a moment, then hung up. Jaeger stared at him. Hazen smiled at the dog. The television showed a plane dropping bombs over a desert and then cut to an angry politician giving a speech.
Hazen hurried to take a bath and get dressed. Afterwards he made some frozen waffles, which drew his dog away from its perch at the window. He fed it a few pieces and tried to keep it from drooling on his leg.
He looked down at the dog. “So, Alyssa wants to talk to me!” He said excitedly. The dog cocked its head and stared back at him. There was a brief pause. “I wonder what she wants to talk to me about?” He asked himself.
He had a brief fantasy of Alyssa asking him to go out with her, to a nice restaurant. She would laugh at his jokes and he would not embarrass himself. In his mind everything faded to black and white and she was tied to the train tracks. He punched out the manager of the library and the rode off on his horse.
There was another pause. “So…” He said to himself, “What does she actually want to talk to me about?”
He contemplated the question the rest of the day as he waited for the fated hour to arrive, his dream forgotten. Eventually he found his way to the coffee shop on the second floor of the bookstore. He saw Alyssa sitting at a table towards the back of the café, sipping a cappuccino. He smiled. Then he saw that there was a man sitting next to her. He looked much older than her, maybe in his late fifties. He was pale with long, black hair and thick glasses. He said something and she laughed. Hazen frowned and stopped, hidden behind a magazine rack.
Hazen sighed. “What did you expect would happen, really?” He asked himself, then began walking again. He moved over to Alyssa’s table and sat down.
“Hey-hey-Hazen!” Alyssa said, “How are you?”
“I’m doing just fine.” Hazen said, staring that the other man, “Who’s this?”
“Oh, right. This is Alex.” She said. “Alex is an old friend of mine.”
Alex nodded at Hazen. Hazen tried not to glare at him.
“So… what was it you wanted to talk to me about?” Hazen asked.
Alyssa looked around and then moved close to Hazen and whispered “Dreams…”
Alex sighed and said, “Look, Hazen, I assume you’ve been having some pretty messed up dreams. This is because you are capable of reaching out to the Greater Dreaming. It is a nexus point where all dreams have coalesced into a single place. Regular dreams are an intermediate place along the path to the Greater Dreaming, and thus they remain personal and temporary. The Dreaming is much more than that, it is a continuous and self-consistent world where the dreamer might travel to. You, Hazen, have advanced through the door to the Greater Dreaming, and now you can begin to explore it at will. We want you to join us, so that we can guide you through it.”
Hazen blinked. “You’re kidding me.”
“No, we are quite serious.”
“Bullshit.”
Alyssa leaned over to Hazen. “He’s serious,” she said. “There really is a new world waiting you if you are willing to travel it.”
“Ok, assuming that I believe you,” Hazen said, “why can I just now get there?”
“Some people can and some people can’t, but we don’t know exactly why some people can or cannot get there,” Alex said. “I think it has something to do with the power of their imagination.”
“Mmm-kay,” Hazen grunted skeptically. “So, people can magically travel to some far off world of their dreams. How come nobody has heard of it?”
“It isn’t a matter of it not being told,” Alex said. “It is merely a matter of nobody listening. It is a similar phenomenon to U.F.O abductions or Cryptozoological phenomena. Nobody listens except the people who have experienced it, and even they can be skeptical.”
“So,” Hazen said, “How do I get back there? Assuming of course that I even believe you.”
“Just sleep, Hazen.”

9



Hazen was back in the forest. Frey was waiting for him with the little stick people. She waved at him. There was a dark skinned man standing with her. Hazen assumed it was Alex. Hazen stepped towards the small group waiting for him.
“I am Deltassius,” He told them. Hazen thought the name sounded good, like the name of a Roman or a knight or an Angel.
“I am Bizen,” Alex’s persona replied, “and I know you’ve met Frey. We need to go to the Silver Hold, it is a city not far from here.”
“Why?” Deltassius asked.
“To find out why you have the sword.”
“Is it important?”
“Unfortunately, yes,” Bizen said as he rolled his eyes. “Now hold on, this can be disorienting if you have never done it before.” He seemed to be concentrating very hard.
“What is?” Deltassius asked.
Then the world became a swirling purple miasma without depth. Deltassius felt as though he were spinning around, and became nauseous. As quickly as it started it stopped, and the purple faded away to reveal a bustling city. People bustled everywhere, contained within tall marble walls. There were no shadows in the city, and a soft light seemed to penetrate everything.
“That was teleportation,” Bizen said as he began to walk into the crowd. The little stick people leapt onto his shoulders and Frey began to follow him. Deltassius groaned and lurched after them. He looked up briefly to see that they were heading towards a tall tower that seemed to be in the center of the town, and was met with the twisting sensation of dizziness.
He kept his head down as they progressed through the crowd of people to avoid feeling any worse, and navigated by watching where Frey’s boots landed on the white cobblestone walkways amongst the forest of legs. He could tell that quite a few of the people he passed were not human, and some did not even begin to resemble human. The throbbing sensation in his head prevented him from indulging his curiosity. He looked up to see what appeared to be a man with a bird’s head and wings, but he regretted it instantly and put his hands firmly on his temple.
Eventually they made it to the tower. Deltassius stared at the cool tiles and hoped that he would not vomit. “Remind me to never, ever, teleport again,” He muttered at Bizen, who merely chuckled.
Bizen led the group into a small chamber within the tower populated only by a small, grey-haired man in a robe. They exchanged pleasantries briefly before the small man scurried over to Deltassius and looked up into his eyes.
“Allo, I am Gershvin,” The little man said. “You are ze von who has ze zvord? Yez?”
“Sure, anything you want,” Deltassius replied.
“Can you sho’ me ziz zing?” He asked excitedly.
Deltassius shrugged and pointed his right arm at the little man. Nothing was in his hand. He thought hard about having the sword with him and it burst into existence. It started as a small glimmer in his hand, but quickly grew to its full length.
Gershvin looked the blade up and down, then produced a small hammer and struck the blade. He listened intently to the ringing noise the metal made. He then rushed over to a stack of manuscripts and began reading intently.
“So, is this the sword we have been looking for?” Bizen asked.
Gershvin shushed him and continued reading, then spun around excitedly and asked, “Do you hear ze voice of a voman and have you zeen the zign of ze flover?”
Deltassius stared at the little man, taking time to figure out what he had said. “Um, yes. And do you have to talk like that?”
“No, I just like to,” the little man replied. This is clearly a fragment of the Prime Dreamer’s consciousness that has manifested itself in a demi-material way to serve some obvious purpose in this time of peril.”
Deltassius merely cocked his head to the side and pretended that he understood. He looked over at Frey, and he could tell by the look on her face that she understood about as much. He noticed that she now had a faint shadow underneath her.
“You see,” Gershvin continued, “There are those who would like to see this realm destroyed, or perhaps more accurately, they would like to see the Greater Dreaming be replaced by a realm of horrors and nightmares. This sword was created to stop them.”
“Then why was it given to me?” Deltassius asked. The marble walls were beginning to turn vaguely grey.
“That is something that only you and the Prime know,” Gershvin said.
“But I don’t know!”
“Maybe you do, you just don’t know you do.”
“That is just stupid.”
Screams could be heard outside the temple as shadows began to deepen and darken all around then.
“Stop blathering!” Bizen said, “Now hurry, tell us where we are supposed to go with the sword!”
“To the Core.” Gershvin replied as a long black arm melted its way through the wall and penetrated his chest. He slowly dissolved into dark slime. Bizen cursed and Frey screamed. They began to run out of the building.
“What is going on?” Deltassius called out from behind them.
“Nightmares have attacked the city.”
“Ok. I can just stop them here with the magic sword, right?”
Before Bizen could answer a small child that looked like it was made out of pitch fell through the ceiling and stood in their path. Deltassius swung wildly at it with the sword, but it felt heavy and awkward. He missed wide and the blade bit deep into the floor. The creature giggled obscenely as Deltassius pulled the blade out and cut the monster in two with the backswing.
“That was harder than I expected.” Deltassius said.
“You haven’t had much experience with the sword,” Bizen replied.
“Yea, but I killed much bigger monsters earlier no sweat. Something feels wrong with the sword.”
“Well, of course you were a great swordsman in your dreams!” Frey shouted as they ran out of the tower, “But here nobody else is going to believe it, so you will have to train.”
The streets of the town were in chaos. People ran in all different directions as tarry creatures cut them down with black talons and teeth and various other mutated appendages. The street were overrun with monstrosities.
“Time for me to learn then!” Deltassius shouted and grinned is he hefted the now heavy blade.
“No!” Bizen said, “There are too many of them!”
“But these people need our help!”
“Too bad,” Bizen replied as he pulled the two back into the relative safety of the tower. “This is like a dream, but death here represents the death of your psyche. These creatures will turn you into a vegetable if they can. You aren’t capable of handling this yet, I have to get you to safety!”
Everything turned purple, and Hazen found himself in a cottage and then his bedroom.
“What the hell?”