Update

I kind of promised myself when I started this blog I wouldn't make any personal statements or endorsements of any kind. That is being broken right now, but for a not entirely despicable reason. I feel like I've let some of my readers down since I haven't been able to write anything in months. I know I only have like 4 people who read it regularly, but still I like to put things out there for the few who do. Recently though I've been extremely busy with school and work so I've had no time to do anything, but with November being National Novel Writing Month I've taken on the challenge so I haven't stopped writing! I'll post excerpts every now and again to keep you people posted. Until then I'm out!

The Tithe of War Part II: Envy

     We entered into my plain and unfinished office together not having spoken a word the entire walk. Even so, through the silence I could feel her eyes fixated on me and a hatred that seemed to heat the air.  She stood at the entrance while I began to pack things. Having Artymexia there made me feel like some fallen animal being circled over by a carrion bird and so to ease the tension I decided it was best to try conversation,
     "Are you able to be ready soon?" I asked in my best attempt to be civil.
     "I'm ready whenever you are Colonel." the last word seemed to grind out with unfiltered aggression.
     I only nodded, perhaps conversation wasn't exactly the best option. I at last hooked my sword onto my sash and headed out, Artymexia close behind. Thankfully my office was close to our stable of wardja, a race of animal that appeared to simply be a larger breed of wolf, which offered us quick access to transportation and a quicker route out to Raulia. As we left I began to fill in my lieutenant in on the details of our venture: the dragonkin had always been a shifty race so any treaty or would-be treaty they made was reason to be cautious, but with what has recently transpired I believe they are aiming to take out the humans as revenge for the War of Barlund centuries ago where the Dragon's first king was killed and their human captives lost. Revenge was always a powerful motive and it's something that stays with you for generations. In any case our story time was over as we began approaching the trade route and next most likely stoppage point for the caravel. 
     We came upon the forest trail, it was only wide enough to fit one carriage at a time so fleeing wasn't much of an option for them still though I felt uneasy. A forest can hide any number of traps and I obviously didn't have the resources on hand to scope out the area for any traps, so I was trusting my instincts that these were in fact just traders. As we heard the wagon train coming I sent Artymexia off into hiding for the sake of an ambush if things went south. I stood in the middle of the trail arms crossed over that noisome brestplate I still had to wear. In a few mere moments I could hear the sound of chatter and thankfully the wagons that had halted before me. The dragonkin were an interesting race, a dilution of the former dragons that came before them, a result of interbreeding with their former human captives. They weren't quite dragon and not quite human, they took the size and shape of humans with somewhat dragon features on their faces and a sickly green pallor that made it appear as if they were nauseous their whole lives. Because of their appearance and nature they were distrusted by most and made shadowy deals handing out their men as mercenaries. My father used to tell me stories of the dragonkin mercenaries, a cunning and ruthless fighter who could emanate enough heat from his body to boil a man's blood.
     "And what right do you think you have in stopping us elf?" the apparent leader stepped forward gritting his teeth making each word hiss out.
     "The Elven have reason to believe that you've been supplying the dwarves against the humans in this war." I stood firmly and felt more comfortable now being able to exercise some of my skills.
     "And just what is it to you? The war will not come to Elven shores unless they themselves bring it." he smirked a bit piquing my suspicion now.
     "It would be in the best interest of your race to retreat now and cease all aid peaceably or we shall simply pry it from those cold scaly hands." I sneered back.
     The dragonkin only laughed in response and before I knew it I was surrounded by the dragonkin who had hid in bushes while I conversed with their leader. The odds certainly weren't in my favor, but I knew I couldn't give up. However, there were worse things hiding in those woods for when I went to draw my blade there was a crippling shot to the back of my knee collapsing me to the ground. I looked up to find the dragonkin encircling me as well as Artymexia in front of them.
     "My, my I think you should turn in a handsome bounty." she grew a wicked smile and knelt down in front of me while a sword was put to the back of my neck.
     "What the hell is the meaning of this?!" I snarled ready to charge but a vicious stomp on my back flattened me to the floor.
     She cackled. "If the Elders dare discredit me for your misguidances then I shall show them who truly deserves that rank. Take him away, you'll have your pay in due time." She waved them off and began a trek back to the city. I thrashed and kicked against my captors, but their combined strength held me back from tearing out her throat. I was tossed in the back of a caravan and knocked out left to await my fate at Forzunder, the dragonkin's citadel.

The Alamo Is No Place For Dancing

     It felt odd driving through the sun-baked landscape in the dead of winter. I was much more accustomed to the frigid air and slick roads in Boston, so the clear roads and high visibility was both relaxing and unnerving at the same time. The few times I had exited my vehicle for gas or food in this area the air seemed to stifle all thoughts the second it hits. It was a dry and heavy heat that sapped any energy you had in your body and made the skin tingle like it was already burning. In the Midwestern and most Northern states you always here people complain about the bitter winters, but after this experience I think I'd rather die freezing to death numbly than burn alive and feel everything. It would seem odd that a Bostonian would travel so far south, or at least it seemed odd to the few gas station attendants who looked at my I.D. when I went to purchase cigarettes, and after awhile the notion began getting to me why was I here? I occasionally had to job my memory with the high school reunion invitation sitting in the passengers seat. Christian Springs High School, the bland high school in the middle of a bland town that I left years ago in my journey to be a journalist. It's hard to be nostalgic for a town that you vaguely remember full of people who vaguely remember you, despite being such a small town. Maybe it's because I didn't play any sports or actually bring the town any fame that they have scorned me in this way, but whatever the case may be I don't care. The closer I got to the town the more I felt this nagging notion in the back of my head that there was something I was leaving out of my mind about this town though. The only reason I really came was because of my mother's nagging and it's hard to ignore her and at 7PM on a Thursday I arrived at her door and smiled at the cheery woman who waddled out of our townhouse and down the driveway to hug her baby boy. I had been driving all day, however, so the tearful embrace was cut short and I took residence in my old room, untouched since the day I left.
     The room was more unsettling than anything. It was like some shrine to a man that had long since perished, everything meticulously put into it's exact space and made into a tomb for my 17 year old self. I set my bag at the end of the bed and changed into some less ratty clothes then laid in bed staring at the ceiling. I tried falling asleep several times, but each time I closed my eyes I was jarred awake by a disturbing vision. I couldn't quite make out any images, it was like watching an old T.V. that had the antennas with a fuzzy picture and no distinct lines, but I could hear screams perfectly clear. There was no harsh humming accompanied with the T.V. image only screams. After the fifth try, I gave it up and shimmied out of my bed to search the house for some sleep aid. I shuffled out into the hallway pulling up my flannel pajama pants and glanced towards each end of the hallway. My head ached a bit as I trudged forward surveying some of the old photos that mom still had hanging on the walls and resting on bookshelves. Again this odd nagging feeling filled my mind as looked over the images, it all seemed to come from a place I'd never known and the longer I stared the more alienated I felt. Was there some sort of memory about Christian Springs that I had locked away? I knew I always detested this place, but maybe there was some sort of subconscious reason for it all. One picture began to stick out though, a simply framed photo from what seemed to be a prom-like event. The person on the right was easily identifiable being myself, but the girl I was with came up as a blank. She was a beautiful girl: fair-skinned, red-haired, pale green dress. It all made me wonder why I couldn't remember her, I assume she was my date to some kind of event. A feeling of self-hate and resentment began to well up at my apparent failing and in my fit my hands had clenched tightly enough around the frame to shatter the glass and I dropped it with a yell as I had cut my hand open.
     "What's all the noise out here?" my mother's voice pierced the silence and worsened my headache with it's pitch.
     "Sorry, I couldn't sleep for some reason." I smiled at her faintly apologetic, trying to hide the wound.
     "Well now I can't either." she sighed and notice the picture frame on the ground, "Oh now don't worry about things like that, frames can be replaced." She plodded over and began picking up the pieces.
     "Hey mom, who was that with me in the picture? I can't remember a name, it's annoying me that I can't."
     Without sound she straightened up and walked off into the kitchen to dispose of the glass. I was just ignored by my own mother, is there some sort of conspiracy going on here that I don't know about? I followed her until I reached the pantry and fished out the first aid kit we had stashed in there and began wrapping up my hand. Whatever was going on here was worse than I thought, maybe my classmates would have some answers for me tomorrow. I ventured back and climbed into bed, finally being able to fall asleep albeit it wasn't a peaceful sleep. I was filled with images of violence and clamorous people screaming and shouting. They say you only dream of people you've met before, but again all the faces were blurry images of unfamiliar origin. I awoke in the morning drenched in a cold sweat and fought the urge to resign back to comfort of my bedding and got up making my way towards the shower. After the morning clean-up routine and getting dressed it was only 10:30 A.M. and the reunion didn't start until 5 P.M. Mom insisted I stick around and meet up with family before I had to leave again, but the thought of staying in that mausoleum any longer scared me more than anything that happened last night.
     There wasn't much to do in town as I exited the car I realized this. It was a small enough town that you could walk it in a few minutes and only contained a few shops. Even so, just being out in the fresh air was enough to at least ease some of the discomfort. Since it really was the only option I really I had, I finished up the cigarette I had started when I left the house and began walking along the town feeling somewhat nostalgic for a change. I guess it was a nice change from the loud and crowded Boston, but I felt the hate I had for the town softly melt away. I had yet to see a single face that I could truly remember, but the vagueness of it all gave me good writing inspiration for when I went back home. The scene was somewhat peaceful and actually pleasant until I began to hear the sound of music in the background. It started with the low humming notes of violins and was soon joined by the rest of the orchestra, but there was no musician or conductor to be had when I turned around to investigate. For a reason I can't explain to this day, I simply began walking towards the sounds without any conscious thought about where my steps led me. After my short bout with delirium I found myself inside the High School Auditorium fully aware of myself now. The music has stopped and let every footstep into that dark hall echo endlessly as I went towards the center of the room glancing around as I went. What had led me here? Where did that music come from? I looked down and reached up to scratch my head, but had to stop my hand just in front of my eyes. There was a faded, but still visible, tan line from were a ring once was. I can't recall ever wearing a ring and I wasn't engaged yet the mysterious band didn't dissipate only burned into my eyes as I stared at it.
     "So you finally came for our dance?" a soft voice called out behind me, but no face accompanied when I turned around.
     I was about to reply to the empty air when everything started to come back. Even if it was only bits and pieces of a single event, their collective impact was staggering and I finally began to realize everything I had been feeling since I arrived: the nagging feeling, mom ignoring the photo, the reason everything was kept in such a sterile order in that room, the girl in the photo. Most people are moved to tears when overwhelmed with memories and feelings, but all I could feel was nothing. The sordid memories only began to re-solidify every reason I had for leaving this place. The faded band around my finger once held the place of a ring that was given to me by Amy, the girl in the photo. It was only high school, but we had dated for three years before we were to graduate and had made a promise to be married after that. The photo was taken at prom, but the photo couldn't contain the excitement in her eyes that so vividly penetrated my mind now. She had always loved dancing and bothered me to go with her, but I lack the proper coordination and never did. So, prom was the perfect excuse for her to force me into the endeavor. Unfortunately for the young couple the fates didn't like the idea so much and their prom was infiltrated by a group of escaped fugitives who thought a group of young high school kids would be the perfect hostage situation. Everyone was instantly frozen in fear and I was too until one decided to advance upon Amy. Then in a display of overwhelming stupidity I tried to stop them myself and in the scuffle, I was shot twice and knocked out which explains some previously unidentified scars. What I later learned in the hospital was that however brief my moment of valor was it allowed a few to escape and contact authorities, but not before lives were taken. Without her first dance Amy died alone, scared I was dead as well, and even in death I could not comfort her any longer because I had the unforeseen luck to survive. I hated myself after hearing the news that I began my plans of leaving immediately and wanted to never come back to this place. The self-hate began to fill me again, if I had only stayed put then maybe we'd have survived, maybe this would have only been a dark spot in the fairy tale you know that dark part that all fairy tales contain, but are left out for the kids sake. It came to a boiling point where my only reaction to all of this pain and anguish was...to dance. I had taken some lessons since then, never knowing why, and the music began to fill the room again.
     "See? It's not that hard is it?" Amy's voice came out again and I began to see her in front of me, hands intertwined with mine. Once again, I could feel her skin against mine and hear her voice so pure and light.
     "But this...this isn't real" I stammered struggling for words.
     "Sure, I'm not real," she looked up at me with a faint smile on her pale lips, "But this feeling is."
     "All I can feel is hate and pain, Amy I'm so sorry." I stopped dancing and looked down at the floor.
     "Shhh," she cooed and I could feel her embrace me, "Just be quiet and dance. It's my turn to comfort you."
     And so I returned to dancing with her, "If I had just stayed put we'd still be together."
    She smiled again, "I never left, I've been with you locked away until you could remember everything...and forgive yourself. Because of you many others were saved."
     I could feel her hand cupping my check and I sighed, "And yet somehow that only feels like a small consolation compared to what I lost."
     "You only lost the physical me, now that you've accepted what happened I'll be in your memories, it'll be like all the cheesy love stories you used to write." she said.
     I laughed a bit, unable to help myself, "You always said you loved them though."
     "I do and I'll always love you. It's about time you did the same." she said in a more serious tone.
     I smiled a bit then nodded and with that all the music and dancing stopped simultaneously. I was alone again and sighed wondering if I had just snapped and gone insane. I walked back outside slowly and hoped Amy would return again, as much of an illusion as it was the scenario still felt all to real. I stepped outside into the fitting weather of wind and rain. The drive back home seemed to take longer this time knowing it would definitely be the last time I came back down. Amy's spirit would always be here and I didn't want to face it ever again, after all I'm really not that much of a dancer anyway.

Coffee and Cynicism

     They are few and far between, but everyone once and a while a person is born unto this earth that has the power to change everything. These people led nations and change cultures and are admired throughout the ages, Harold Herschim was not one of these people. Harold was a 42 year old beaten down man who had grown tired of the world, but was never one to jump off buildings or the likes so he calmly drank his coffee every morning and wondered what the hell happened to the world? Harold had quit his job with the local news station after getting sick of covering murders and rapes. He in turn took a job at the high school teaching English and hoped the fresh, young faces would rekindle his hope for the world, but unfortunately it was hard to see their inquisitive faces when they were constantly buried in their fancy doo-hickeys. Two years later and the song remains the same and Harold has quietly resigned himself to this life of annoyance and complacence. So, with this lifestyle a mundane routine was set up for Mr. Herschim's life that made the pain of disillusionment at least bearable: arrive only twenty minutes early as the students arrived at the last minute anyways so why rush, drink his coffee and stoically stare at the large poster of Mark Twain in the back of the class. It was a simple routine that was never easy to get through, who wants to teach a dying subject anyways? With the rise of texting and, God forbid, tweeting there seemed to be no point in teaching juxtaposition and the soliloquies of a Shakespearean play because those can't fit in 140 characters. He often wondered what Twain, with all his sarcasm and wit, would respond to this situation with. He would probably have more of a fiery disdain for this than Harold's subordination to it. Whatever the case may be, Twain was dead and there wasn't much Harold could do to stem the tide of social media, so he listlessly sifted through the papers in his home on Sundays, grading as he went. The only joy on these days was the afternoon visits from his son Eric, who was finishing up his last year at business school.

     "I tell ya Eric, it's hard to believe half of these kids made it this far." Harold said, shaking the papers in his hands then letting them softly thud back onto his coffee table.

     "It can't be that bad, things were pretty decent when I went to school pops." his son replied, sitting down on the sofa sinking in a bit.

     "Yeah, but you didn't have these damn phones that do everything for you too!" Harold retorted pouring himself some coffee.

     Eric only replied with a small chuckle as he relaxed a bit back into the couch. Eric was far more optimistic about the future of the world which was only because he didn't have to interact with the future of the world according to Harold that is. Harold also said that was a big part of his mother in him, both of them dreamers as he called it. He and his ex-wife, Helen, came from two separate school of though, the cynics and the optimist. Harold was constantly the rain on her parade which is what most likely led to their eventual split. It all seemed for the better at first, but the details of how everything transpired only fueled Harold's cynicism and drove his family even further way. In fact he had no contact with his son from ages four till nineteen. It was actually Eric's own choice that he reunite with his father, but it still took a few years after he moved out from under Helen's watch. She had refused to allow Harold any sort of visitation rights or joint custody fearing her son would be corrupted by Harold's world view. So, for over a decade Harold had no contact with anyone except for superficial exchanges of pleasantries at work and the occasional bum at the bar. It would be assumed that the visits from Eric would improve his life which they do to some point, but he also worried Eric wasn't prepared for what the world was. 

     "So what have you been up to Dad?" Eric finally broke the silence.

     "Ahh the same old crap" he grumbled shifting through his papers again.

     The conversation trailed off there as usual. The meetings were always a variation of the same thing, Harold complaining about his students and the sorry state of the world and Eric trying to assure him that it really wasn't that bad. The only honest reason Eric even bothered anymore was a vague sense of familial obligation and a guilty conscience over what his over-bearing mother had decreed. He sat there quietly with his father as he graded papers only occasionally engaging in conversation when Harold would snort at an essay. Business as usual it seemed until Harold cracked an uncharacteristic smile and began laughing, actual genuine laughing. Eric shifted a bit wondering if this meant it was a new kind of low-point his father had hit or if it was a simple joke a student had made. Harold studied the paper, smiling still.

     "Well Eric I think it's time for me to retire from all of this." he set the paper down, smile fading.

     "You're in your early forties, really think you can retire?" Eric was taken aback.

     "It's uh...It's just time Eric there's nothing left I can do for them." he shook his head and got up walking to the bay window in his living room and rested against the ledge.

     "That bad huh?" he watched his father pad away to the window.

     "Read it for yourself." he gestured towards the paper and watched the birds outside his window.

     Eric picked it up and read over it. The paper was titled The Death of Words and as far as Eric could tell there was nothing incredibly astounding about it. He set it down with a simple sigh and glanced up at his father searching for an answer. Harold nodded his head slightly and turned around to face his son's confused face.

     "You see?' he smiled as Eric shook his head, "Despite what your mother said I've been proven right, there is no hope. If kids their age already realize their own decline, yet are doing nothing to change it then what more can I teach them? It'd be like trying to teach a wolf how to make a salad, it's not going to learn so you don't try teaching it."

     "But that paper was pretty well written I thought." Eric replied sheepishly.
     "All right for a Midwestern public school 10th grader." He smiled stirring his coffee, "These kids are worse cynics than me, recognizing and identifying the problem yet so sure that no one will do anything to change it that they might as well conform."

     "I guess I just don't get it then Dad." Eric said.

     "The point is there is no point....no one cares about anything anymore so why should we?"

Unwoven

     Most of us live life fading in and out between moments, never taking time to examine the details of each little microcosm. We like to pretend we are defined by our bigger moments and grander actions, but those spectacles are few and far between and others pick up on the minutia of our own lives that we fail to see. The inner workings of each living and breathing moment of our lives and souls are like the threads of a tapestry, woven together to make a beautiful piece of work at a surface level, but the closer we examine the more flaws we find and loose strings we need to patch. We ignore one torn thread and it could all come apart before we have a chance to sew it back together. The unfortunate facts are that these tears and gashes are inevitable as a necessary part of the process. No one likes to show their worn down spirits, but even less want to put in the effort to repair that brokenness. Instead we simply put a patch on it and hope to God that it stays that way until our last breath. The few who decide to sit down and careful restitch our fabric often find the task difficult as their clumsy hands try and cling to anything that might help them heal. The calluses on the palms of these few are badges of courage for a person who can say they truly tried, and hopefully succeeded, in fixing that which was once broken...but those people are almost more worn down than those who seek a quick-fix. There are the few extremities that don't bother to do anything about their tattered life and display each rip and tear in boldface. Those are the heroes and martyrs of the world, the ones willing to offer up there sins and missteps for the world to learn from. Each patch and repair has a story behind it and the stories are never easy, but a patch shows that a person has closed up that wound and no longer needs to acknowledge it. The scars that are left open reveal a much greater story of trial, sorrow, and triumph over that sorrow. We think it's important to move past the tears, but if you keep them as a reminder of what happened and never allow yourself to forget then you allow it to never happen again because even though the scars may be ugly to look at and still hurt from time to time they mean something to everyone. These wounds are never easy to see, but everybody puts up a wall at first to hide themselves. The more you try and force yourself through that wall the stronger it becomes and you're fighting a losing battle. And before you try to fix someone else, make sure your own soul is prepared for it because more often than not the more you repair another the more your own soul is beaten and bruised. Those who sacrifice their own selves for that purpose are the same who refuse to patch it. It's up to us as friends, brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers, human beings to pick up those people offering themselves as sacrifices. Not because they can change the world or to keep them around to save more lives, but because it is those people who often feel the most on the outside despite helping so many. They are the ones who pride themselves on helping others, but refuse help for themselves. They are the ones who fade away silently into history without so much as a footnote in the books. I am one of them and I will refuse and refute those who offer help to me after reading those. All you need to know about the people like us is...do not worry, we choose this path and are set on living it. We will be the first to greet you on the other side of the Gates with a pleasant smile.

Pride Goeth Before a Fall

     Alexander was a fairly well off kid, good grades, handsome and charming, basically any good quality you'd want in a person. However, because of this and the constant praise he received Alexander became quite conceited. He enjoyed history quite a bit and believed himself to be a reincarnation of Alexander the Great, a naive and asinine belief we know but strange things happen when you become full of yourself. Those bold enough to look past his outward traits were repulsed by this selfish and cocky nature, but the others he surrounded himself with were shameless yuppies latching on hoping some of the greatness might rub off on them. This however is not another publication to pump up his already swelled ego, no this a warning for Alexander and others like him.
     The details of his life are rather droll and standard for a man of his stature; popular in high school, all-American sports star, so on and so forth. This isn't about the glory in his life, this is about the downfall and turnaround of said life because thankfully there is such a thing as poetic justice and people really can change. Alexander developed a sense of invincibility which led to some poor decisions, none poorer than his recent decision to challenge God. Alexander didn't believe in anything, but himself and squandered his talents on petty parlor tricks and clinging onto high school glory. He wasn't a proclaimed atheist, but by no means was he a Christian. At 23 Alexander was stumbling his way through college and slowly grasping the fact that good looks isn't everything, which led to his breakdown and disappointment in everything. It was at this lowest point though, Alexander learned one of his greatest life lessons...drunkenly wandering the streets and highways isn't safe you might get hit by a car which is exactly what happened to him.
     He woke up not in a hospital nor his home, but in a space of completely white. It didn't feel he was dead or alive, the feeling was indescribable it was just nothing. There was no taste, smell, touch, or sound yet. Alexander wandered around the area and hearing no sound of footsteps despite his running he began to panic frantically searching for answers. It was in this panic that Alexander suddenly felt a presence and a hand on his shoulder accompanied by a voice telling him to be still. He wheeled around ready to confront this person, but found no one and nothing still. Sighing dejectedly he sat down contemplating his situation when the voice came back to him.
     "Have you found the answers you seek yet?"
     "Of course not! I'm the only one here how am I supposed to find answers to anything?"
     "Have you stopped to ask anything though?"
     "Well..." he looked down at his feet, "No, I figured I'd find out on my own."
     "You were never alone Alexander, I've been with you the entire time."
     "Then why the hell didn't you help me?"
     "Because you never asked."
     Alexander was about to respond, but withdrew it and began fuming. Whatever this place was he was going to get out of it with or without the voices help.
     "Without Me, it will only make your journey that much harder Alexander."
     "Yeah how so?...Wait how did you read my thoughts?"
     There was a soft chuckle that echoed in the nothing before the voice responded, "I know more than you can imagine child."
     "Hmph...So what you're like God or something?"
     "A very keen observation, finally using that intelligence I gave you." There was another chuckle.
     "OK Great...Am I dead then and this is some sort of listing of my sins or what's the point here?"
     "Based on your actions if you were dead we wouldn't be talking, this is just a concerned Father having a talk with one of his sons."
     "That's...that's uh something I guess, but how do I know you're not just some apparition of my guilty conscious trying to atone?
     "Does that matter?"
     "Of course, it's a question of your existence, if you're not real then why bother listening to you?"
     "If you have already rejected my existence don't you think I would be gone now?"
     "I guess....but still prove you're God then."
     "Now now Alexander Luke 4:12 'Jesus answered, "It says: 'Do not put the Lord your God to the test.'"
     "Yeah yeah, of course you pull the bible excuse."
     "Well it is my word, only fair I would say."
     "Fine then...what's my purpose here? Some life changing epiphany?"
     "If it comes to that. I'm just concerned as to why you are selfishly wasting yourself Alexander?"
     "What do you mean by that?"
     "Instead of using the things I gave you for a better purpose, you manipulate and use them to glorify yourself."
     "OK so I'll do more volunteer work does that mean I get to go now?" Alexander's tone and posture had become more defensive.
     "It's not as simple as giving a weekend or two to the soup kitchen Alexander, this issue goes deeper than that."
     "Then what do you want from me?"
     "I want peace for you my son."
     "Oh yeah? Then why wait until I have this apparent accident to give me my big epiphany?"
     "I cannot help those who do not seek me."
     "Tch...what a cop out."
     "If it is such a cop out then tell me Alexander, do you blindly help those who do not ask? Would you help someone who tossed aside the gifts you gave him and turned his back to you?"
     "N...No but you abandoned me!"
     "When? On the nights of drunk driving? Alexander I have always been guiding you despite your scornful attitude."
     "So am I supposed to go to church every Sunday, join some support groups?"
     "Live your life as I intended for you."
     "What does that mean?"
     Alexander's question went unanswered as it lingered in the air and he felt the presence leave the area. He sat in silence for a few moments before he then felt himself fading out of the area. Expecting to hear the sounds of beeps and rhythmic rushing of feet as nurses hustle down hallways, but all he heard was the car horns outside and Maury on his TV. He sat up in a violent and wild flail expecting soreness and stitches, but again found nothing out of the ordinary. Alexander got up searching for some calendar, the last he remember it was June 22 and today was....June 23 only a night had passed? He shook his head getting a headache from the pounding ideas swirling in his head. Was any of that real? What happened last night, was he hit by a car or not? Maybe this was just some sort of premonition or something crazy like that, but enough of the ideas he thought and with that decision he headed outside expecting the air to calm him down. He trotted down the stairs finding a much better surprise than just air, his neighbor Hannah. Hannah was a pleasant girl of no outstanding features who also happened to have a crush on Alexander. She would invite him to things like bowling or church just to be near him, but Alexander always had a crafty response to wriggle out of it. I mean how could Alexander let himself be seen with such a girl, but he certainly wasn't mean enough to reject. But as fate would have it, today was Sunday and Hannah had her usual offer, persistent girl she was. He almost declined her again, but couldn't think of a pretty little lie. With his pride gone and ego humbled Alexander was able to see her for her and life as it really was. It's not a perfect ending as we all still have our flaws and quirks but it's certainly a step towards the positive.

    

What Dreams Are Made Of

     He walked down the street a bit sullenly kicking a pebble along as he went. It was in that weird transition period of weather between Spring and Winter where it wasn't quite cold, but it wasn't warm enough for people enjoy making Cody and his pebble the only ones on the street. Cody was a bland 20-something that blended in with the background pretty well and in a description given about him from a former friend 'Cody is a manilla envelope tacked onto a beige wall'. With such glowing reviews as this, it makes sense that Cody preferred to keep to himself which made this time of year especially nice for him. He could peruse the park freely with out having to bother with the niceties. The only downside to all of this is that Cody hit a bit of a rough patch the past few months and was living in and out of different places be it, cars, hotels, or streets, as he struggled to find a job and some stability. Cody was too stubborn to willingly accept help which made things harder and his only break from it all were these walks.
     Today Cody wandered into the park and unwittingly into the solution for his problems. He sat down on one of the benches by the river and idly watched the water. Cody had a million thoughts racing through his head: where was he going to sleep next, could he actually find a job, etcetera. That is until an unassuming old man came in an interrupted came in and broke the silence. Now this old man was a simple guy, a fashionable oak cane, argyle sweater vest, and simple brown shoes. What was peculiar about the man wasn't anything physical, it was the offer that he had for Cody. Mr. Cooper, as he identified himself, apparently had the solution to all of Cody's problems; house, money, and job. He was handing the keys to his lonely estate to Cody as he had no successors of his own and didn't want his house to end up sad and dilapidated like most homes do. When asked why he didn't just sell it Mr. Cooper explained that it can't just be handed to anyone, there were secrets inside that not just anyone could find even if they tried. Reluctantly Cody took the keys and bid farewell to the man.
     Cody had no intentions of running to this house though, as the whole thing just seemed to strange and surreal to be an actual option. After a few days though, curiosity got the best of him and he traveled to the country where this house was. It was an old log cabin style home, but already looked like it had been abandoned for years. He sighed brokenheartedly and meandered over to the house. Was the man even real he thought, was it just a delusion? It couldn't be, how could he get a specific address to a place he's never seen from his own head? In any case it provided a home, shambles or otherwise, it was better than nothing. Cody exited his vehicle and walked up to the house awaiting a Scooby-Doo villain to pop out of the door at any moment. However, that never happened and the walk up to the sickly peeled doors was boring and quite but when he entered he did get to see the movie cliche of old houses. It had that pale green dusty atmosphere that made the place seem out of time. Cody glanced around as  he wandered the foyer, idly picking up musty pictures and old relics. The home held a lot of the same furniture and architecture of older pioneer homes and seemed to be untouched since Lincoln's era. The only oddity of the house was when Cody entered the master bedroom and found a large, tattered parachute amongst the refuse. They obviously didn't have airmail when this was built. so maybe it was just an antique that old man left behind. The more Cody dug though, the more nothing turned up and he eventually let out a sigh and dusted off one of the chairs sitting down. Why did he ever listen to this old man and go on this goose chase? He shifted uncomfortably in the chair whilst thinking and getting fed up quickly he stood and removed the cushion to check for loose springs.
     There were no springs to be found underneath just a wad of old cash. Was this the big secret the man was giving to him? A few hundred dollars while helpful seemed a bit of a waste of time, Mr. Cooper could have just given this to him. He tossed it back on the chair and walked into the kitchen hopelessly looking for food, but was again surprised to find more literally cold, hard cash inside. Now it began to click in Cody's head. He had his suspicions confirmed when stumbling upon a drawer full of news clippings when looking for a bag to store the cash. Each and every clipping was about the infamous D.B. Cooper. Now the parachute and hidden cash made sense, but as to the why it was all given to him still eluded Cody. It was through more rummaging that Cody found his answers. There was a small hand-written note  under the parachute and Cody had sat down to read it.
     "Dear son,
              I don't know your name for sure, but I think it's Cody. I'm sorry to unload all of this on you at once but I am your father, sorry for never being there kid. But now that you know who I am you can guess why. I know this is pretty awful of me, I just couldn't risk being caught in public meeting you and have your small fortune taken away. I know it's not much by today's standards, but it should be more than enough to get you back on your feet. And I know it's not the cleanest of money, but I figure you will put it to an honest effort. Anyways, by the time you read this I will have disappeared again I have no choice son I really am sorry, but it was good to finally see you.
                                                                                                                      Love,
                                                                                                                               Dad"
     Cody sat there stoically for a moment before silently folding up the note and tucking it in his back pocket. As much as he wanted to believe it. he simply assumed the old man made a mistake and left it at that. Out of all the people his dad could have been he wasn't D.B. Cooper, or so Cody thought. He did take the money however out of necessity, it sure is a shame to waste money like that. So ends a bittersweet tale, a boys dreams of finally righting the wrongs in his life is no more than a bittersweet afternoon.

Jake and Ralphy: The Girl

     They say you see a lot of weird things in the big cities and that's somewhat true I guess. My name is Jake Allograth and I live in a fairly standard apartment in Brooklyn. I work as one of those dorky delivery guys on bicycles and have seen my fair share of the creeps and crawlers that inhabit this town. I've seen a guy get his order while dressed as a clown and another lady pull the cash from her what I hope were originally brown panties. Still none of that compares to the everyday weirdness I encounter. You ever feel like something weird is going on around you but you're the only one who notices? That's kind of my situation. Anyways it's the end of a long day so I hop on the elevator hearing the faint call of a woman pleading me to hold the door. I almost didn't until I saw that it was Ashlyn and seized the opportunity to be next to her. I've had a crush on her since she moved in, but I've been to scared to say anything real.
     "Phew, Thanks Jake!" she smiled, exhausted but happy.
     "Oh pfft that? It was nothing" I smiled back awkwardly trying to be nonchalant and just looking idiotic.
     Well that went...tragically. The rest of the trip up, to the 8th floor, was painfully quiet. We departed sharing another awkward exchange as I entered my apartment and she continued to hers 4 doors down. I sighed tossing my bag on the floor by the entrance. The only good part about being back in this cramped apartment was Ralphy being somewhat excited to see me. Ralphy is my little Jack Russel that I've had since he was a little pup.
     "Soo how'd things go?" he asked jumping back onto the couch as I went to the fridge for a beer.
     Yeah, that's right Ralphy can talk and why you ask? Hell if I know, he just sorta can I don't quite get it either but I'm used to it. He can be a sarcastic little prick sometimes though, but that might just be the New Yorker in him.
     "They went, another awkward exchange with Ashlyn in the elevator though." I responded walking back into the living room.
     He wheeled around raising up putting his front paws on the back of the couch, "Dude when are you going to man up and ask her out?"
     "It's not that easy Ralphy, I'm not like you," I said cracking open the can, "I mean I can't just go up and sniffer her ass and say how's your morning?"
     "Well why the hell not?"
     I laughed a bit, "People just don't work that way man. You have to take them out and spend money on them." I walked around sitting down on the couch, "Money I don't have."
     "Then can't humans just get new jobs?" he said facing me again.
     "Again, not that easy," I sighed heavily "I've been submitting stuff to publications all the time but it's hard."
     I turned on the TV after that not really wanting to carry on the conversation, it's one thing to talk about it but it's a whole other thing to talk about it with your dog. I hated my job and this crappy little life, but it's what I was stuck to for now at least. The hardest part about wanting to be a wirter in the NY area is that another thousand people are thinking the same thing so I slumped down in the cushion and surfed the channels resigning to mediocrity.
     "Come on buddy let's get a walk in!" Ralphy began insisting after a bit of pawing at my arm. He may only be a dog but there is something to be said about the thought that animals can pick up on emotions because he's pretty good at it. I got up and grabbed his leash, hooking him up, and headed out the door.
     "Oh boy a walk a walk a walk!!" he was like a kid waking up on Christmas but I noticed he got a lot quieter when he heard a door open so I looked over to investigate. Ashlyn had walked out of the door, dressed up for something. Ralphy began asking who it was but I nudged him to shut up quickly. I still wasn't quite sure if others heard him but I didn't want to seem crazy talking to a dog.
     "Oh hey! Is that your dog?" Ashlyn asked as she approached noticing Ralphy before me, how lucky, and the smug SOB wagged his tail when she patted him and smirked up at me.
     "Uhh yeah Ralphy, he's about 3 years old." I smiled watching her. "So uh what are you all dressed up for?"
     "It's nothing," she giggled blushing a bit, "just a silly date."
     My heart sank and Ralphy lost that smug little grin as we both knew how much this sucked for me. We exchanged a few more pleasantries before she rushed off and we stood there in silence.
     "I'm sorry man...betcha the guys a douche anyways." Ralphy finally spoke up to break the ice.
     "Yeah that seems to be how it goes." I smiled half-heartedly before my hand was tugged, "What are you doing?"
     "Well just cause you're pissy doesn't mean we aren't having a walk come on!" he pulled me towards the elevator and we left. I may not have the girl or the job yet but for now at least I have Ralphy.
  

Screaming Bloody Murder

     Months of meticulous and precise practice and implementation I think I've finally figured out a way to capture and kill the killer known as 'Herco'. Now my methods may not have been all that ethical or wise, in that I've become somewhat of a serial killer myself, but it is through this method acting and investigation that I know all of his tendencies and all the clever little quirks that make him tick. You see he likes to toy with victims first, but he is prone to pragmatic and over-the-top speeches straight out of a has-been's acting career. For him it wasn't about the kill, it was about the theatrics and I planned on exploiting this window by baiting him. It was quite difficult to get someone willing to try this but through what I like to call innocuous omission, since lying is such a harsh word, I will have a 'friend' abducted except they have no idea that I'm leading them straight to Herco. The thing is that like Herco I want the show to be perfect and if the person gives any inkling of being a mere set up then the whole thing is screwed up. Let's get going though, tonight's the night and while I'm not particularly proud of the preceding events sometimes you just gotta break a few eggs to get an omelet ya know?
     "And Welcome to!...the theater!" Herco bellows out like a cartoon villain, this guy is such a hack, pardon the phrase. His 'lair' is an old abandoned theater downtown that was vacated in the twenties. He has done some renovations over the years now seeing as it has a full lighting and everything. Herco straps his victims down in the front row while he parades across the stage doing a monologue of how he is helping the theater and people aren't ready for his art yet. I've carefully positioned myself atop the scaffolding where the curtains are hung and awaited the perfect time to launch. It was easy to tell when he began to near the end though, his breaths were shortened and his gestures more grand. With the amount of time all of his prep work took he might as well just kill his victims with boredom, damn near killed me that way tonight but now is not the time for whimsical jokes I'm closing in on the opportunity. However, in a move I didn't prepare for as he went to the side of the stage he pulled hard on the curtain bring down the railing and me with it. I coughed heavily trying to catch my breath, damned shoddy construction, and soon he was towering above me.
     "You really thought you could catch and kill Herco?" he smiled, I never noticed how thick his Russian accent was until I really heard him talk. He then muttered something about me not being ready for his work and thankfully because of research I knew his plan was to mercilessly beat my face in. Herco liked to doll out punishment based on their quality as an "audience" better people got a more artsy finish...others were simply pummeled. So, when he drew an arm back to deliver the blow I rolled back getting to my feet pulling out the knife I had brought, so much for a simple kill. Herco was surprisingly mobile even being slighter larger and a bit older than I he kept up well. Unfortunately our battle turned into a tiring back and forth as we both bobbed and weaved appropriately and I was quickly losing interest. At one point I called a quick stop and tried to call a truce, I was answered with a quick jab to the temple and a even quicker fall to the floor. Well, it was over for me and I awoke a few hours later strapped in with a few new victims and pain in my legs and arms. I looked at my legs and arms, Herco had turned me and the others into marionettes and the tendons were slashed preventing us from moving. However there was no pain, each of us had gotten a pretty good dose of morphine because you can't have your puppets screaming bloody murder during the show after all. It looks like I'm now worthy of the artsy kill after all, which meant the surprisingly strong Herco would dance us around weapons super-glued into our hands reenacting famous death scenes. I get to be Claudius from Hamlet, lucky me.

The River Runs Black

     The clock is flashing 2 A.M. Everything feels...numb. I can feel my head throb, but it doesn't hurt it just pulsates in a slow melodic rhythm. I flexed my hands staring at them...so close to me yet it seemed as though I was looking at them backwards through a pair of binoculars. Soon I noticed flecks of red on my hands and then the pain rushed in and I was flooded with flashes of color and fast-paced images running past my eyes. None of these pictures made any sense and the accompanying screams only further muddied my fractured psyche. I need coffee or basically anything to try and clear my head but when I went to stand up my foot slipped in what appeared to be blood. I caught myself before hitting the floor and still went down onto one new to investigate this fluid. It didn't take long to figure out it was in fact blood and it was all over my room, walls and all. The strange thing was that some of it seemed dry and coagulated meaning it was old, but other spots were more fresh. My real question was to whom this blood belonged, it didn't seem to be mine or at least not all of it. There were no apparent cuts or scrapes on my body so just what the hell had happened?
     Flashback to this morning, maybe I can recall something if I retrace my steps. Think...Think. I awoke like any other morning, today is...is..Saturday so that means... Dammit think! Rene was cooking breakfast that's right! Something seemed off though she...she didn't have the same spark in her blue-grey eyes. The shine was gone, she seemed so cold and distant. I clutched my head as another surge of pain hit and I remembered holding her cold body in my arms...my God what happened? Back to the morning, nothing unusual except for her attitude. And her hand...something about her hand. I stumbled into the kitchen hoping to spur more memories. When I entered the kitchen it seemed in order, blood free except for the faint footprint trail. I scanned the area peering into the living room. The living room there was...something that happened. It was loud, was it our movie? No, it was another romantic comedy she had picked out. So, why was it so loud?
     I slowly made my way over to the living room tracing my finger along the marble counter-tops. That's when I cam across the ring, her engagement ring that's what was missing from her finger this morning. Now there were more flashes, but no images this time just flashes of red and white with sounds of smashing glass and vases mixed in intermittently. Were we robbed or assaulted at something? Why can't I remember?! I'm not getting any inklings of an attack...did I fight with Rene? Maybe that's why she was cold this morning, we had a fight last night about...about something inane and pointless. But we still shared the same bed, it couldn't have been that bad. I still remember  how well her body felt curled up next to mine, how soft her hair felt...I thought we had made up...I thought everything was OK that night. Why isn't everything right tonight? Why is she apparently dead? I couldn't stand being inside anymore everything inside of it began to repulse me and I ran outside inhaling deeply as if I had just surfaced from water. Water...water..the river outside our home there was something there. The walk wasn't that far, but the staggered steps hindered me quite a bit as more pictures violated my eyes.
     The pictures began to piece together what had happened to Rene. There were walls splashed with phrases and blood "She's mine" and "Never leave" painted the rooms...all written in blood. Was that me? Or...was it maybe a jealous ex or spurned lover? It couldn't have been me...I loved her, I was set to marry her. She was so beautiful and perfect I couldn't have done this. Or at least so I thought until I reached the river and fell to my knees. There she was face down in the river, cold and blue and her hair was dirtied and dampened clinging to her pale skin. I crawled over to her and stopped beside Rene able to do nothing but weep. I rolled her over and pulled her onto my lap, cradling her head in my arms. Her mouth was open and her face distorted, all her blood drained out. I wanted to scream but no sound came out and I simply looked up at the sky pleading the I be taken next. I started to feel weak again, the breath escaping out of my lungs as I collapsed over and my vision began fading again. Before I was gone completely, the river beside us began to shift and churn changing to a dark, sinister black and a form beside me appeared. This creature looked like...like myself but dark...maybe...maybe it was me all along.

Paradise

     The red ember from a burning cigarette and the pale illumination it gave off was the only source of color in the surrounding grey backdrop. The city was trapped in this sickly grey shade. People had grown so used to it by now most forgot what the sun actually looked like. It was a city of tall grey buildings and inescapable walls of smoke from the factories, the buildings as well seemed to cut off any form of escape as they towered over the horizon. By this point people had resigned to their meager apartments and gave up thoughts about the outside world, I wish I could say I was different but I'm just the same as everyone else. Tonight I sat in my usual spot on the bridge, legs through the metal structure of the railings and my arms up on the concrete topping. I didn't have enough money or ambition to actually escape this God forsaken place, so I went to the next best thing and smoked at the best available quiet area. For some reason this bridge was more or less abandoned, maybe cause of it's proximity to the city limits which is also probably why I like the spot. It's just close enough to freedom without having to man up and go through with it. I can tell myself everyday that I could just walk out one day while knowing that I never will. It's usually at this point I push myself up and begin to head back to work, flicking the cigarette away. Today however I was greeted by a younger woman who came up to me smiling with her bouncing black hair and emerald eyes. On the days I saw her it was probably the most color I'd get from this town seeing as even the cars and clothes on your average dweller were a shade of grey. Everything about her defied the city, from her eyes to her bubbly personality she was the exact opposite of everything I hated about this town, yet I still hated her more. Maybe I'd grown to cynical over the years, but a girl that innocent and naive can be just annoying.
     "Hey there!" she smiled and waved as she approached me.
     I only nodded in return and kept walking past her as she wheeled around to follow me, clearly only coming out here to find me which sounds sweet but only makes me suspicious. Of course she would follow after me like a lost puppy, I wish she wouldn't smile like that while following me as well it was too unsettling. As much as I despised her though, I could never yell at her to go away it would destroy that innocence of hers...maybe I haven't grown completely numb to the world yet. I may be a miserable human being, but there's no sense in bringing others down to my level. This town will do the job for me soon enough I don't need to do anything to speed it along. There's no place for emotions any more, it's simple become a business world whether it's your personal or professional life and it consumes everyone eventually.
     "Well your as talkative as usual." she stated, smiling a bit.
     "I could say the same for you." I meant to say sarcastically, but she took it as a compliment somehow and brightened up even more. She took a hurried step forward and slide her arm in between mine and my side and smiled up at me. I wanted to pull away a bit and keep the distance but the brushing sensation was like feeling velvet...I didn't want to lose that sensation just yet.
     "I was uh wondering," she bit her lip looking down for a second before looking back to me, "if you'd want to come to my play tonight."
     I had completely forgotten she was an actress and had to take a few moments to process the request. I looked forward as I thought, as not to be swayed by those flickering green eyes. The plays in this town had become a travesty of lifeless actors and barely passed as entertainment, but there was no longer the allure of reaching Hollywood to push people to their limits. There was only this town and its inhabitants, no one came in and no one got out. When I finally glanced down at her the nervousness in her eyes made me feel bad for the girl, she was honestly reaching out to me and I was being cold. At this point it was a bit late to say no without being a complete jerk and I was more or less forced to agree. The exuberance of her smile had moved me enough to crack a smile myself, something I hadn't done in years.
     Days passed without seeing her again, she insisted she was just busy with rehearsals and kept calling and apologizing despite my insisting it was OK. We weren't dating, it's not like she had to report back to me every day or I'd lost interest. The fact that someone could be so unavoidably cheery in this city was more than enough to keep me interested. The show finally came around Friday night and was a double rare occurrence for me as I actually had something to do and I was actually happy. I guess after awhile a girl like that just sort of grows on you, so much that I was dopey enough to arrive at the theater with flowers for he. I can't exactly explain why, but I swear I saw it in a movie once so it seemed appropriate. She was of course overjoyed at the sentiment and gave me a much stronger hug than you'd expect from a 110 pound woman. We exchanged small talk which basically consisted of her telling my details about the show and her part and me awkwardly fumbling for something important or meaningful to say, but I never found anything. Eventually it was time to separate and I headed for my seat while she headed for the stage.
     The next few hours could've lasted years in my opinion. The way she moved across the stage was too poetic for words and brought a vision of life I hadn't seen in years. It sounds cliched, but her performance was alive more than anybody, more than myself even and at that moment I couldn't help but love her. When the show was over I waited patiently outside for her looking even dopier than when I arrived with flowers. The time passed by agonizingly slow as I waited to finally return her affections, give her that big hug she deserved and the kiss she had been waiting for. It wasn't until about an hour later she popped out and again began apologizing profusely as I told her to stop and smiled at her which did quiet her down. I think the smile caught her off-guard for a moment, she probably didn't think it was possible. We spent the rest of that night back at my house talking, actually enjoying ourselves, and by the end of the night we ended up in bed together.
     Those hours in bed were the most peaceful I had in years. I sleep fitfully and comfortably finally having someone by my side. I felt her move a bit in the morning and squeeze my hand asking me to wake up. For some reason those words began ringing like bells in my head and I had to clutch my temples. Despite being separate from her I could still feel her touch as things began to flash white and I could hear a rhythmic and  hollow beeping in the background. I began to feel like I was being drawn out of this world slowly. The pulses of light and throbbing only intensified as time progressed. Before I knew it my eyes had fluttered open to the soft, sanitized light of a hospital bed with a woman beside me. She leaned in and smiled faintly, 'You're finally awake' she muttered with choked tears. It was fuzzy at first, but this woman was much older than the woman I had known while still looking almost exactly like her except...hollow. Years seemed to have taken their toll and it looked as if 20 years had passed. As it cleared up though I slowly picked up the truth...this was the same woman I had known and I began to feel dizzy again trying to peace things together. She tried to calm me down and explain things, that there was a car accident that put me in a coma and 20 years had really passed. Everything began to slowly make sense, I couldn't escape that town because it was all I could recollect and the reason things felt so lifeless is because I was virtually lifeless. The only sign of life was my apparent wife and was my door back into reality, I just had to overcome the feelings of lifelessness. I hated her at first because I must have felt hopeless subconsciously and after years of wearing down life seemed more worth it. And that's all it's about, finding the meaning in life despite it's uncertainties and absurdities.

Living it Up

     It's 10 AM and the alarm clock won't stop with it's incessant cry. Craig is still sleeping like a brick through the horrendous noise. His roommate, Trent, shuts it off for him and flings the curtains open instantly waking Craig as the screeching sounded like nails on chalkboard and the light burnt his eyes so bad he swore he went blind. It's Saturday morning, but this is a fairly common exchange between the two whether it be weekend or day. Craig is a twenty-something college statistic while Trent is the same age and demographic, but actually puts time into his studies. They became roommates through random selection and despite being opposites in most areas, they were both too lazy to put in the effort to change roommates plus Trent thought Craig would drop out half-way through the semester. Unfortunately for Trent he didn't and now he was stuck with the college drunk as a roommate.
     They got along for the most part, Craig had yet to throw up in the room but did come back to the dorm a little belligerent and wild more than once. Trent got his revenge in small ways like the rude awakenings and loud noises when Craig is hungover. He didn't mind that his roommate drank and smoked, he just didn't want that stuff near him in any manner. So other than these brief skirmishes the pair generally separated and went their own ways only to converge at night.
     "You awake now Sleeping Beauty?" Trent smirked.
     "Haha funny..." he grumbled rolling out of bed and beginning the search for clothes.
     Trent shook his head holding back a laugh as he grabbed his back pack and left for the library. Craig did his usual schtick and called Trent an "ass" or some other equivalent word in passing as he muttered to himself. He put up with these types of things because Craig thought he was better off, he may have had worse grades but he certainly had more friends and in Craig's mind that meant more. More friends equals more networking which equals more opportunities right? The point is instead of hitting the books Craig hit the bars and the drugs, making life just one big party. The last few weekends have been kind of hazy, but nothing bad has come out of it so far or at least that's what he thought. You only live once, or YOLO, had become the mantra of many of Craig's friends so he readily adopted himself.
     Craig had finished getting dressed when his phone began going off. It was some number he couldn't recognize, but was sure he knew. The phone was slipped back into his pocket and ignored as Craig headed out on his way to meet up with some friends. They were all planning a huge graduation party for one of the guys and wanted to make it bigger than anything their campus had ever seen. The group was borrowing the friends house and began working on setting up decorations and stuff all over the house. The house needed to be finished before their friend got back from classes and work which was about 11PM. Craig's phone kept ringing throughout the day and it was always the same obscure number, a few voice-mails had been left but they went unchecked.
     All the planning payed off and was complete in plenty of time. When his friend got back, Craig was the first to greet him with a big, frat-guy smile and man hug. They were both after the same major and bonded pretty well after finding that out. After that the party was on, just like a typical Friday night. Craig burned through beer after beer and despite his lack of book smarts Craig certainly knew how to work a room and that was a big part of what made him popular. He could keep his speech together after a couple rounds and although his judgement was skewed, he still managed to land any girl he wanted. Drinks, drugs, and sex were all that concerned Craig and this night continued in this pattern. The party lasted well until 3 AM like usual and Craig had hung around a bit longer than usual. He wanted to personally say goodbye to his friend and then part ways. Craig shuffled out to his car and began pulling out of the driveway. He didn't check behind him though and was T-boned by a semi making a late night run. The neighbors heard the crash and quickly notified ambulances and the police. One student who lived nearby and recognized Craig's car also called Trent. He and Craig didn't live too far away from campus and Trent actually arrived on the scene before the authorities. The truck driver was sitting on the curb on the verge of a break-down as Trent rushed over to help a bystander try and pry open the door to get at Craig. They may have been opposites, but Trent and Craig were friends somewhat and this is what drove Trent to desperately attack the door. He didn't even register that ambulances had arrived and asked him to step back. Eventually two EMT's had to move in and pull Trent back as they worked opening the door with their tools. He walked away from the car shaking and headed up the porch of the friends house.
     The guy stepped out and handed Trent a phone, "It's Craig's...he uh..he..he left on the counter I saw some voice-mails on there and figured..well uh....you lived with him you might want to deliver the uh..the news I guess..." the guy turned around dejected and went back into his house.
     "Yeah, thanks." Trent said in hushed tones as he looked at the number.
     He recognized it instantly, it was a girl from one of his classes Samantha who had asked about Craig one time. They traded numbers and it was then passed onto Craig who had hooked up with at a party a few weeks later. Not knowing the real protocol on the situation Trent pulled up the voice-mails and began listening. His face grew paler and he set the phone down gingerly when the last one finished playing as he trotted down the stairs and over to the officers.
     "Is uh...Is he gonna be ok? I'm his roommate." Trent stuttered out, still shaken.
     The cop let out a long sigh, "I'm sorry son, he was dead on impact."
     The words rung hollow in Trent's head as he stood there dumbfounded. The cop gave him a sympathetic, patronizing pat on the shoulder before turning and leaving. This whole situation was the epitome of bad timing and Trent couldn't believe it. The hardest fact wasn't that his roommate was dead, but that his roommate was supposed to be a father. The voice-mails were from a shaken and scared Samantha who had recently found out the news and need validation from Craig that he'd be there for he. How was Trent supposed to tell her this? He didn't know what Craig's true feelings would have been and there was no way Craig could be there for her now. His poor life choices have now harmed two lives in Samantha's and the child's.


Author's note: Yeah this is a bit deep, but I'm hoping it's a reality check for some people. YOLO is good in principle, originally meaning to live life to the fullest and try things you haven't and just make life an adventure but as with most good things the youth have twisted and perverted it into an excuse to party and do drugs. It's now all about how much sex you can get and how many beers you can drink. Kids use it as an excuse to be stupid and selfish. Don't be stupid it's fine to have fun every once in awhile, but stop using YOLO as a crutch.

The Man in the Mirror

                Sometimes the person we see in the mirror looks nothing like us…and in a lot of cases that person is more like us than the jaded and fake masks we wear. I wake up every morning and have to stare down that creature and more often than not it felt like I had become Dorian Gray in some twisted way. I’ve heard people say that a broken heart can only make you stronger, but that’s a lie it can do two things: actually make you stronger or turn you into a cynical outcast. The more you believe yourself to be that putrid reflection in the mirror, the more you begin to lose your grip on reality. It’s that strive to go back to normalcy and our complacent spots in life that often end up alienating us even further from that spot. I’m neither a saint nor a cynic; I’m simply an outcast trying to figure out which side I really am on. It’s a constant battle looking into the mirror, is that reflection just a manifestation of my sins and transgressions or is it what’s hiding behind my walls and masks? It often feels like the physical me isn’t the real me, but the man in the mirror is. The more I brood the more it seems that way and that leads me to be often immature in social situations, I want to distance myself from the portrait and burn it away forever. The flipside is that in smaller social situations I end up being that cynical person and judging others based off how I was in those same situations, even though I’m the worst possible comparison there is. I have asked myself recently to look in the mirror and really figure out who I am: saint or cynic? I stared into that mirror and clenched my fists, I clenched them so tight that my palms bled. It was in that pain that I made my decision and I pulled back a hand hitting that mirror as hard as I could. The shattered glass mixed with blood pattered against the ground as nothing was left but shattered pieces desperately clinging to the board. I am neither a saint nor a cynic, I am a person…a person riddled with regrets, pain, and torture, but also filled with love, compassion, and kindness. I walk the double edged sword between those worlds and tilt between them.  Whether that’s a good thing or not I’ve yet to decide, but one thing is for sure I am not the man in the mirror.

Forged

     All right, let me start off by explaining why I have these two videos here. These are two videos I would like you to listen to as you sit and read this. They are two of my absolute favorite songs in the world and this will be a story about my life, so their themes and lyrics fit. The first video is Blackbird by The Beatles for a secular touch and Amazing Grace because it is my favorite hymn ever and I honestly wish we sang it every time at His House, I will never tire of that song ever. I intentionally chose a secular and Christian song because that's how my life is I've dedicated my self to the Lord Jesus Christ, but I still have roots in the secular world, however; I have worked relentlessly to cut myself off from anything that I shouldn't be doing, like swearing or adult things(you know what I mean don't make me say it). 

     With the introduction aside, I'll get into the good or bad part of the story and that is the story of my life. Like many of you who will actually read this I was born and raised in Wisconsin and I'm wholeheartedly proud of that fact. I wasn't born into a very Christian family though and that's the cause of a lot of my troubles, the separation from God. Most of my family believed in God and Jesus, but we didn't go to church regularly and when we did I had to be dragged in kicking and screaming, albeit that's still true for me but that's because I'm lazy and don't want to have to wake up at 6 AM to get ready for church. So, with this life I was familiar with God and believed in him but it was far FAR from a part of my life. I discovered swearing at a young age and thought it was pretty darn awesome because I was 6 and doing things you weren't supposed ruled. This swearing business was as rebellious as I got though, thankfully. I was always a very behaved child, discrediting a few occasions where I'd get a bit rowdy but in my defense I'm a boy so I should get a pass on that.
     To go with this good boy attitude I was always gifted and very intelligent, I'll apologize for sounding conceited and narcissistic, and did well in school. I can't say I worked hard in school honestly because I'm consistently lazy. You may be wondering how I did so well in school then and the answer is that I was blessed with that gift of intelligence and didn't have to study very hard because I retained information very well and this is a gift and curse that has persisted into my college years. My dad insists that these habits will change eventually as college gets harder and I simply tell him whatever because it's not going to matter I'm way too rooted into these ways now to simply change it. Anyways, the real reason I bring up this topic of natural gifts and stuff is because I used to take these kinds of things for granted and actually was conceited and narcissistic. I know some of you are thinking I still am now with all the talk of how handsome I am and stuff like that, but I really hope you believe me when I tell you it's all in joking and that I don't mean a single word of it. Outwardly I may seem that way, but on the inside I'm very self-deprecating but that's a topic for later. All these gifts I had started to get to my head though and I started to stray away from God's path that he had set for me. I was never fully Atheist, but there was a stretch of years where God was the absolute last thing I ever thought of and looking back it was a very dark time and I was only 12-15.
     The problem with my intelligence and lack of Christian foundation is that I ended up in my own head a lot and only seeing mistakes and regrets. I was, and still am, painfully shy, socially awkward, and average looking is a compliment(as you can see self-deprecating I still do it). I felt like a horrible person and a waste of space and began just going through the motions of everyday life. I found myself a nice little routine, nestled in, and stayed there for awhile. Like before, I never got into much trouble or acted out, but that's only because I always internalized my problems and forced a smile so my friends wouldn't have to worry about me. I've always been told I have a kind heart, and the palm reader I've gone to says I have healing hands and eyes as well which fits, and that heart has led me to always be supportive of people and always extend a hand to help others, but I never used to have someone to support and extend a hand to, me. It's not because I didn't have friends, I've always had plenty, but because I am still way too stubborn to admit I need help and go seek it. Now I have God to turn to, but I still can't ask someone physically in front of me because I hate for people to be concerned about me. It's probably part of the reason I behave so much, I don't want anyone to be thinking about me or my personal well being because I can take care of it, I'm the one who needs to be worried about you. I have a horrible habit of pushing my problems to the side and not addressing them because if I do then people might know I'm not a Superman or that I'm not good enough to help them out, it's still a fear I have today.
     The worst part about all this internalization is the intense amount of self-deprecation it's created. I constantly belittle myself, some may say it's just being humble in some contexts but it's not I really believe myself to be worthless sometimes. Even as I write this the thoughts racing through my head are: no one will read this, if anyone does they'll think it's stupid, nobody cares about what you write, etc. I could go on for awhile and I end up doing that a lot. With the last part I wrote a lot of people said that I was a strong and stronger man for having done that, but I certainly didn't feel like that. You guys may see a strong man on the outside, but on the inside I still feel like that 6 year old kid who thinks swearing is fun even though I swear a whole lot less now. I don't really know why I see myself this way because I can identify how much I've matured and how far I've come along, but even so it's still the same feeling. The last day of the Winter Retreat I went on we had communion and as everybody got up and took their piece and cup, I sat in my chair and didn't go up because I didn't see myself as worthy of taking that. I know it sounds silly and I'm really glad no one noticed I didn't move, but on a personal level I didn't feel like I had done enough and become a person worthy of taking communion with Christ because I'm still so far away from that.
     But I think the root of all this self-loathing is one of the older brothers I grew up with. My second oldest brother, Robert, was an incredible asshole to me throughout my entire life and still is to this day. He constantly insults and demeans me thinking he's being funny, but instead he's just being an ass. Somehow no one else in the family really sees this and nothing has been done about it ever. Even my own dad has never said anything to stop anything, he's made occasional remarks that they(including Jason but he only does it when Rob starts) never stop the insults but just lets them continue. I don't know if he's for some reason jealous that I did good in school or something but that's all Rob's fault for always being an ass. I've been very close a few times to just exploding on him and calling him out on all his shit. I did the next best thing though and limit any time I speak or do anything with him because I'm not exaggerating, it really is like that every single time and I can no longer stand it. I just hate the fact that nobody else ever says anything though, my family knows I'm quiet and reserved when it comes to stuff like that and it amazes me that no one has ever said a single thing to him, he just gets to do what he wants. This isn't just insults either, he used to get physically aggressive as well and I was literally scared of him. It's amazing I survived because I was terrified every time he was around and would never know what he was going to do to mess with me next. He likes to say he was building character, but there is a fine line between occasional jokes and such so you're not so sensitive to them but the constant berating isn't building anything but walls because I will now never in my life respect him or do anything for him because he doesn't deserve that from me. That's also another thing I hate about some family members, mainly Rob and my dad because they are practically the same thing, and that's expecting my respect when I get none in return. I'm proud of the fact that every once of respect I have I earned and didn't just expect people to give it to me.
     I say my brother is a lot like dad and the flip-side of that is that I am a lot like my mother because she primarily raised me. It should be stated that my dad was always around, but only physically around never emotionally. I'm very attached to my mother and love her dearly because she reciprocates that feeling, but dad doesn't. If he reads this, he'll insist he does and always has, but it's hard to believe. He'll also claim my mom has been telling me lies about him which is also very insulting because it's insinuating I'm not smart enough to form my own opinions on people. I was always left behind by my dad in a lot of things, which only adds to my self-loathing. Rob was always dad's favorite and as such I got a lot of hand me downs and left overs. I could list stories, but I feel you already get a good picture of the family dynamic.
     This lack of a real emotional father left me to seek someone else to fill that gap and that man was, ironically, my grandfather on dad's side(my dad's dad). After I talk about him you'll think it's weird because him and his son are nothing alike other than blood, so as I list qualities just think of the opposite in my dad. My grandpa was always so caring and generous, two things that really rubbed off on me. The most amazing quality was how much energy he always seemed to have. Dad dropped us off with him and grandma a lot and I'm sure once we left they were exhausted, but the entire time we were there(and the we is 3 young boys) they seemed to have all the energy to play and horse around. The strangest part of all was that my grandpa had a heart transplant years before and usually after that people kind of slow down, but I didn't know anything was wrong with him until I was told that he had the surgery. I should've known since I helped him often with medication, not because he couldn't do it but because I could and I wanted to help, but it never clicked that he was that anything less than a superhero. The interesting part about our relationship is that the year I was born was the same year he had the operation and the funny part is at the party the family had for him coming out of the hospital was the SAME EXACT night that my mom found out she was pregnant with me. I don't believe in coincidences at all, everything happens for a reason, and that night is the reason for why I feel so close to my grandpa.
     Those last few paragraphs were hard to write because I've never explicitly said that stuff out loud to them and if my Dad really does read it it's going to be a surprise. I don't like to create conflict, but that might. The hardest part was writing about my grandpa though because he passed away 3 years ago and I was devastated. The night I found out, I had never felt so numb and alone before in my entire life. I knew everyone dies and all that but for him it just didn't seem real and I still cling childishly to the notion that maybe one day I'll wake up and it'll be false, just so I can talk with him and hear how proud he is of me again. However, it is through that trial that we can get to the fun stuff and that is my rediscovered faith in Jesus. Obviously, after a death you need answers and nothing seemed to give me any but the occasional FCA, Fellowship of Christian Athletes, things I went to. I used to only go because I need a ride home and my friend went plus free pizza is awesome. Suddenly though, after grandpa's deaths the teachings began to make more and more sense and I suddenly began to understand what they meant by these things. I remember the first meeting of my junior year was the worst and the best. I had begun to reaffirm myself in the Lord, but hadn't done it full yet and that night it hit me that I needed to. I was fine throughout the entire message but when we stood up to sing, my knees began shaking wildly and I couldn't stand and for some reason I was crying. I had bottled things up for so long and hardly ever cried, but for some reason I was bawling and knew something was changing.
     I still wasn't perfect yet and still strayed a time or two though, but the worst time of all my friend and one of the main reasons I'm still around Jake Cottrell made sure I'd never want to do anything like that ever again. A few friends decided to throw a party and I went because I needed something to do and was bored. And so, as with any high school party, I smoked pot and engaged in less than savory actions with a girl. The only vice I didn't succumb to was alcohol and that's because I refuse to drink anything, and any of the other stuff now. When it came back to Monday of course everybody heard about it...including Jake. Now, Jake's a pretty buff kid so his punching me in the arm repeatedly in the same spot felt horrible and rightly so. I needed that physical manifestation of his disappointment to really appreciate how much he cared about me and the standard he held people to. It's now the same standard I hold myself to because it pushes me to be a better person and because I fear that if I do fall off again, somehow Jake will find me and literally punch my arm off in anger.
     The His House'ers who read this have now seen my growth in the past months and understand what kind of person I am now. If you know me or can imagine the old me then you know I'm really the same kid, just living a more wholesome life. I will be the first to tell you I love being incredibly immature because I used to try and be an adult, but that's just depressing and boring so I decided not to do it. I can be mature and help when the situation arises, but why be boring when there's so much fun to be had? I'm consistently the same kind of person and I've stopped living that double life of trying to be Christian, but keep my secular friends and have simply aligned with more faith-based friends. I feel now I've been refined and forged into the person God wants me to be now. I still don't feel all that worthy of anything He gives me, but I know I'm on the right path to get there. I know the career God wants me to go through with and where my lot in life is, which is a lot more than I could've said 4 years ago. So, if you read all the way I thank you and hopefully you have a better feel for how I am and all that jazz..

A Shinobi's Life

                 (The two pictures at the bottom are to give a visual reference for what the adult Toboe looks like the left one being just normal and the right one being his formal attire which is what he enters the council room with)

              The rain softly fell creating a light pit-pat sound against the window pane at the hospital. Despite the dreary conditions outside, the family inside couldn’t be happier as their first son had just been born. The mother held a small child in her arms softly cooing to him as the child cried relentlessly. The father sat down in a chair beside them and smiled, marveling at his wife and newborn son.

                “Well Atoli, what should we name him?” the father asked gently touching his child’s cheek.

                She smiled at the child, “How about Toboe?” she let out a small laugh, “It fits with the way he’s crying.”

                The father smiled and nodded, “Toboe Hibamoro…I like the sound of it.”

                The couple relaxed back as Toboe began to doze off. “I can’t believe you’re even awake after that. It sounded pretty bad in there.” The father said, finally having some time to talk with his wife.

                “Oh Tsumori, you know us Nadeshiko women are a lot stronger than you give us credit for.” Atoli smiled in response.

                “I give you plenty of credit Atoli,” he said laughing, “I find it more unbelievable you thought I was strong enough for you.”

                She laid back cradling Toboe in her arms, “Narrowly or not you did win fair and square, traditions said I had to marry you and it helps that you’re not bad looking either.” She gave a soft laugh.

                Tsumori laughed in return and exchanged a quick kiss with her before sitting back down as Atoli laid back drifting off to sleep. After a day of rest Atoli and Tsumori took their son home and began settling in for the next chapter of their lives. They proceeded along happily as the next few months and years passed by with no major events to speak of. Toboe learned to walk and talk, his first word was water which was no surprise since they lived on an island and had a beachfront house, and went through all the progressions a normal child would. Their family couldn’t be happier, but things drastically changed when Toboe was around 4 years old and civil war broke out amongst his country.

                Toboe was pulled roughly along by his mother as they ran from their home. Atoli and Tsumori were devastated as they watched their house burn down. The strife wasn’t supposed to reach Nadeshiko Village, they were only outliers and had no sentiment invested in either side. No one was even all that sure how it rose to violence, but both Atoli and Tsumori knew this was no place to raise their son anymore. They boarded a nearby merchant ship headed for the Land of Fire. 

                It took a few days for the ship to arrive in harbor and they slowly disembarked, scared and afraid of where to go. The first priority was food, they hadn’t eaten since leaving Nadeshiko and Toboe couldn’t last much longer. Tsumori ventured further into the town as Atoli and Toboe sat down at a nearby well, bringing up the pail in hopes there was some water. Unfortunately there was none, the well was as bone dry as the cracked and peeling earth beneath them.

                “Mom…where are we going?” Toboe managed in a soft whisper as he leaned against his mother, snuggling up close to her.

                She sighed and put an arm around him, “I don’t know Toboe…”

                “Why can’t we go home?” he looked up at her.

                “Because those bad people are all around and your father and I want to keep you safe.” She smiled kissing his forehead as Tsumori came back.

                “There’s a caravan headed to Konohagakure, but we have to hurry.” Tsumori said as he helped Atoli up.

                She nodded as she picked Toboe up, who had fallen asleep. They trudged along and snuck into the back of one wagon, quietly watching out the back and took in their new surroundings. Konoha was large enough that they would be able to find a job, but still things wouldn’t be easy for them. They arrived at their new home a few hours later and stood at the gates, in awe of the size of Konohagakure. It was a rough assimilation at first, but they eventually settled in and Toboe was enrolled at the Ninja Academy once he turned 5 and both Atoli and Tsumori had gotten multiple jobs to support themselves.

                The few months passed by very stressfully for Atoli and Tsumori. Their residual tensions began to rise as the toll of their jobs and raising a child had begun to reach their boiling points. The stress was made worse as they constantly hid their rage up in front of Toboe, not wanting to upset him or distract from his studies. He had quickly become a quite proficient ninja and received special recognition from the Hokage himself.. Toboe was truly happy once again because he didn’t know about the coming storm.

                On Toboe’s 6^th birthday he went to class as usual, playing and celebrating with his friends, and his mother took the day off to decorate. Tsumori, his father, had said he was going out to collect supplies but he never came back. The only notice she ever got was a note delivered to her a few hours later stating that Tsumori was leaving for a better job to help out the family. The hidden truth, however; was that Tsumori was never coming back and when that realization hit Atoli she lost the will to live. She forced herself to smile through Toboe’s party, but it all rapidly deteriorated from there.

                “Mom…where’d Dad go? He wasn’t at my party.” Toboe asked as he helped his mother clean up.

                “He had to work an extra shift Boe,” she said taking some plates from him, “Go out and play you shouldn’t be cleaning on your birthday.

                He smiled brightly continuing to help, “You’re the one that needs to play Mom, you look tired. I can do it.”

                She began to protest again before being interrupted by Toboe, “It’s fine really. I’m a big kid now!”

                Atoli laughed a full and real laugh too, as she patted his head, “You’re going to make a great husband someday.”

                Toboe smiled some more as the finished cleaning. The rest of the day came and went and ended with Toboe opening his present, a brand new set of training clothes for the Ninja Academy. The next morning he donned his new clothes and set off for the Academy as his mother stood in the door way waving him off. Atoli walked back into her home and sat down on the couch, her breathing slow and labored. The exhaustion had caught up with her and, in contrast, she couldn’t catch her breath. She slowly drifted off, “…got to get to…work for…To...Tobo-“were the last hushed words spoken before her eyes closed and her breath was slowly stopped.

                Her death went unnoticed for the majority of the day and subsequently, Toboe remained oblivious to it as he made his way back home. When he entered she appeared just to be sleeping in her chair, so he let her be and sat down beginning to read a book he had borrowed. He kicked his legs back and forth, tapping his heels against the base of the chair, occasionally glancing up at his mother to check on her. After an hour or so he got up and set his book aside then gently tapped his mother and waited for a response. A few seconds passed before he utilized a more forceful gesture and audibly asked his mother to wake up.

                “Mom…are you playing a game or something?” he asked innocently tilting his head as the door opened behind him.

                “Atoli wh-“said the man who was cut off by Toboe’s shushing.

                “Sorry Mister, Mom’s sleeping we have to be quiet.” Toboe stated firmly.

                The man took a second to collect himself, as he was a little startled at child hushing him, and looked at the pair. After a brief moment he let out a gasp as his eyes realized what he was looking at, Atoli was dead. Being older he noticed the lack of movement and the fact that her chest wasn’t moving…which meant she wasn’t moving at all. The man did all he could to fight back the tears for the fact that Atoli was dead and that Toboe was so young and innocent he had been watching his mother for these past hours without even realizing it. Looking down into Toboe’s pure blue eyes the man was shaken to his core at the scene and kneeled down trying his best to explain this situation to the child.

                “I…I’m sorry but she’s dead.” He said looking away.

                “What?” he asked laughing a bit, “That can’t be, she’s just tired that’s all.”

                “Come on son…I’ll find someone for you to stay with.” The man said reaching for Toboe’s hand.

                “No, that’s ok. I’m sure Mom will wake up soon.” Toboe said walking away from the man and sitting down.

                The man quietly left after that, finding it better to let the kid enjoy his fantasy for a little while longer. It only became real to Toboe when the man came back that night with a few other adults to help begin the preparation for her funeral. He sat in his chair and watched them collect her body and try to explain it all to him again. The words fell to the ground, never quite reaching Toboe; he sat in a stoic silence staring at the floor. The men were a bit unsettled at Toboe’s reaction, the lack of tears and crying, there didn’t seem to be any sort of sadness on his face, it looked more along the lines of someone who had known that death was coming and was merely waiting on its arrival. When the actual day of the funeral came he took his chair in the front row and maintained that same sullen demeanor.

                After that day more than a few of the adults around the town came and offered to take Toboe in as a foster child, but each time he politely refused them and remained on his own. The teachers as well began taking it easier on Toboe and in response he worked even harder and demanded he be treated harsher, that he didn’t deserve anything special. For the rest of his student years he continued to strive towards perfection and began to quickly progress through the ranks. He graduated from the academy a year later at age 6 to become a Genin and a mere 2 years later becoming a chuunin.

                Toboe began to receive high accolades and special attention from the Hokage. He even began to scare some of his comrades as he was noted for his ruthless nature and cold-hearted nature. A lot of the others began to suspect him of being mentally unstable because he took a little bit too much joy in eliminating his targets. The hidden truth was that Toboe actually hated having to do it, but always reverted back to that stoic and unhinged state to make himself less vulnerable. Toboe was highly gifted as a shinobi as shown by his constant promotions and honors.  He was even appointed, personally, to become the personal bodyguard of Shodai Hokage, Akihiro Teruyoshi.

                Once appointed the position everything began to slow down a little bit. Toboe  had begun settling down into his own home for once, moving past living transiently throughout apartments. He had even started tinkering with technology, creating random little inventions. Outside of being with the Hokage, Toboe spent a lot of his time holed up in his workshop.

                “So what is it again you do in that home son?” the Hokage asked one day as he and Toboe traversed the town.

                “Oh just random things Hokage…nothing major” Toboe responded.

                Akihiro laughed, “Well it sounds major with all the noise you make and the fact you’re covered in dust every morning.”

                “Hah, I just don’t clean up after myself Hokage.”

                “That’s why you need a woman son.” He laughed, patting Toboe’s shoulder as he began coughing softly.

                “You feeling okay? We can head back to the office if you’d like.”

                “Heh,’ Akihiro said smiling, “I know those cold-hearted rumors about you aren’t true, you have quite the soft spot for older folk.”

                “Just taking care of the only man that took care of me.” Toboe said as he smiled and helped the Hokage on his walk.

                Toboe spent the next years months like that; daily conversations and walks with the Hokage as Akihiro’s health slowly deteriorated. He was almost always at Akihiro’s side and the Hokage even began calling Toboe “son” more and more often, giving Toboe a stable father figure. Townsfolk’s opinion of Toboe began to change as the softening of his personality showed drastically. The best showing of this was when a few of the children came to him with an injured wolf pup. They hoped, since Toboe was the village’s only medical ninja, that he could heal the pup and save it. And that he did, of course, and adopted the pet as his own, naming him Akihiro after the Hokage. Toboe suddenly had what felt like a real family and the support of others around him. This new reputation was founded by Akihiro and his illness had set up Toboe for another devastating tragedy at Akihrio’s death. However, when the Hokage eventually did pass, at the age of 74, things progressed quite differently.            

                The funeral came and went with Toboe adorning his stoic nature again, even as he gave the eulogy. The elder council was beginning the search for the Nidaime Hokage and Toboe took his chance to seize power. He knew it was a bold and risky move since he was only 19, but no one else was suited to take over the position.

                “I’ve heard some rumors about a prominent ninja from the Grass country.” the council woman stated, “Maybe we can get him to take over.”

                “Is it really best to get an outsider to do this? What about some of our senior shinobi?” the council man returned.

                “None of them are interested, too big of shoes to fill the said.” She said sighing distastefully.

                “Well neither one of us wants to say it but what about-“ he began before Toboe entered and cut him off.

                “Appoint me as the Nidaime Hokage…you know it’s right.” He stated boldly and firmly.

                “But you’re so unkempt boy!” the council woman stated rather rudely.

                She was referring to the fact that Toboe rarely cut his hair, ending up with long hair past his shoulders, but that’s the only unkempt part of his appearance. The rest of him was actually very well put-together; he wore very fine and elegant clothing, lent to him by the former Hokage, and was generally well mannered. These were all traits the Shodai Hokage had taught him, but his current formal look was for this occasion only.

                “Listen! I was the personal student of Shodai Hokage, Akihiro Teruyoshi! That makes me the most sensible candidate for Nidaime Hokage.” Toboe said approaching them, “I’m sure the Hokage left something about this in his will.”

                “Well that’s the thing,” the council man began, “We can’t find the will.”

                “Then until then I’ll assume the role of Hokage and if the will states otherwise I will step down!” Toboe stated as the council man and woman agreed.

                Nothing was ever found to overturn his ascension to power and Toboe remained Hokage until the present day. He became a quick favorite among his people as he was kind and gentle-hearted and takes good care of his students, often going to extremes for them. However, the few people close to him, as in the few servants he keeps and mandatory guards, claim it's only an act and say Toboe is a bit unhinged and insane due to finding his mother dead, along with being so close to the first Hokage then having to watch him die as well. The villagers disbelieve the rumors as Toboe chooses to continue the traditions and standards set by Shodai Hokage, whose name meant Bright and Shining Justice, and Toboe hopes to make Konohagakure a beacon of that very nature. A goal that will certainly prove difficult with his love for explosions and conflict, but all things he does is in the name of good.