Max's Message

I have a passion for writing. I love to write my thoughts and I hope that others will like to read them. Maybe my thoughts, ranting and opinions will get you thinking and start a dialogue among you and others, or maybe it'll just get you to say "Huh". I love music, books and movies and sharing my opinions about them because sometimes I want the world to know how amazing something is or I want to understand how others could like something I wasn't the biggest fan of. Finally and maybe what I'm most passionate about is I love stories, hearing them, reading them and especially writing them, which I do everyday and will be posting often. Each of my passions and writing exploits can be found labeled below. Pick one, get a little lost, maybe a little excited and hopefully always entertained.

Wednesday, June 10, 2009

Wrong Man, Right Job- Ch. 2

As they do in the movies it seemed my husband and his crew were highly aware of prying ears and spoke of cargo and packages in very general terms. With every passing conversation I gathered more details about his activities and the people he worked and dealt with. Finally, 6 months later, I discovered what kind of cargo they were dealing with.

He had gone to the mansion bringing a box that I had seen so often down at the shipping yard. Inside the house, the leader of the gang, or so I assumed, said “Johnny, let’s see the goods. Are these the first of the new line?”

“You bet, JD. Check it out.” I heard the sound of a box being ripped open and clinking plastic or metal. When I heard what sounded like a shot being fired, a man screaming wildly and saw some someone come running out of the house clawing at himself before falling to the ground motionless I realized things were worse than I feared.

I finally confronted Johnny about his extracurricular activities, feigning the belief that he was having an affair. Johnny was always kind. A great, kindly liar. He assured me he was in no way having an affair; that he was usually out running, clearing his head; that the cool night air, mixed with the impenetrable silence of the middle of the night was his favorite running time. You’ll soon be doing a whole lot of running, away from the law, I thought. Johnny wasn’t a terrible guy. He was just terribly drawn to trouble.

The following week my boss called me into his office to inform me that all my hard work had paid off.

“Given all your work we’re putting you on another part of this venture.” He handed me a file. Opening it I wasn’t surprised. Everything I had done for my job was leading up to this. I was, however a little stunned at how I felt. Guilt? Shame? “Think you can handle it?” he asked.

“Definitely, Boss.”

That was the night I killed my husband. It was easy actually. Poisoning his favorite dish, lasagna, which brought on a coronary embolism was as easy as convincing him to come to the house for a rarely made home cooked meal. What I didn’t realize would be so difficult is dealing with it. He had to go, I know that. I didn’t realize that a part of me would actually miss him. That is when I turned to the vodka in the pantry and the drugs Johnny had hidden in his closet.

My work phone rings. I need to pretend I’m sober. I pick it up after a few seconds of concentrated breathing.

“Hawson, here”

“Secure line.” There are a few beeps and clicks then an automated voice replies “Line Secure.”

“Agent Hawson.”

“Chief”

I wanted to commend you on an excellent job. I heard the clean up crew came and everything went without a hitch.”

“Yes sir.”

“I just want to applaud you on the excellent work you’ve done for this agency the past 6 years. Your dedication, information and perseverance to this case has shown me what you’re capable of. With your husband out of the way we can fully infiltrate the Skiferlli gang. Can’t wait to see you back in the office Monday for your next role in this assignment.”

“Thank you sir.” I hung up the phone and downed two more pills.

Tuesday, June 9, 2009

Wrong Man, Right Job- Ch. 1

I have been in a drug induced stupor for two days now. And it’s not helping one bit. I can’t erase his face from my brain. His final look before…before the end. Two days ago I killed my husband.

Did he deserve it? I keep asking myself that. One part of me swears that not only wasn’t he the man for me but he was a down right living hell. The other part, well the other part isn’t so sure. When we first met I knew he was going to be a big influence in my life. While my meeting him was in no way coincidental (a colleague of mine put us together) our life as we knew it would change considerably in the coming years.

The day we got married there were a few suspicious characters there that he would intermittently speak with in a very secretive manner. When I looked over at him and he noticed me he waved casually. I waved back and though “So this is how it will be.” When he stepped out in the middle of that night to “get some fresh air” I noted the time, wondering if this was going to become a habit.

A habit it became as throughout the years I still found him making those midnight excuses, still talking to truly conspicuous characters at a table near ours at dinner or outside of a theater after a movie. By our 5th year of marriage I was comfortable with this strange behavior and a willing observer. It was about this time that I got my promotion at work and life, my life, my plans went into overdrive. I would come home very late and to no surprise find that my husband wasn’t in our bed.

One might think that he would ask where I had been or I would question what he had been doing. That wasn’t the nature of our relationship. We were both closed off people, something we had discovered about each other very quickly. Besides, it wasn’t allowed by my job to discuss what I worked on. I don’t remember when it was exactly that I began following my husband and my suspicions but I do remember that it was around the time I had received new information about a project I was working on at my job. I would return from work a few minutes before I knew he would “sneak out”, parking down the street from our house and tailing him.

On some nights he was at the shipping yard going to an office building and staying for hours as boxes came and left. On other days he was at a very large, run down mansion in a bad part of town. After a few weeks I found what he believed was his secret cell phone, (though I had seen him use it on occasion, noting that it was a different color from his “regular” cell) which he used during these excursions. Having purchased a very tiny microphone (which was surprisingly easy- radio shack has everything these days) and placed it under the casing of the phone, I was able to listen in on everything he did during these nightly sessions. Deciphering what he was talking about was another matter entirely.

Monday, June 8, 2009

A Power filled Relationship

So much to do in such a short time. I need to stay awake. Nine cups of coffee, 5 red bulls and a few sodas. Only 6 more hours to go. And then this all disappears. With all this caffeine I may trigger something or hit a button too early.

They deserve what they are getting. They have tortured, raped and destroyed women around this place and now they are going to be served justice. With every ticking second their fate becomes more sealed. They should have known better, she told me. Fuck with us in this life and you’ll be entering hell in the next and very soon.

Some would say my actions reek of feminism and to that I say “What’s your point?” Women have been pushed down and oppressed for so long that it’s time we took matters into our own hands. It seems odd to me that this government would put all men with similar crimes in the same facility but then again maybe they too are making a stand. Maybe they want action to be taken, a step they can’t take but we sure as hell can.

This wire goes in here. That canister is emptied into there. I was just a lonely student studying literature when my current associate spouting the common mantra of equal rights, liberty and justice above all approached me. At first I wasn’t interested but the more she ranted the more rooted I became to that spot. Our relationship started out casually: coffee one day, dinner and drinks the next. We first became leaders of the World Equality for Women Organization. But spending all those long nights together things heated up quickly. I became drunk off my lust for her, which soon turned into strong feelings of love.

Two years later while living together with an international following of self-righteous women, she broached the idea of a very public display of women’s power. The moment she said those last two words I agreed. It wasn’t until a week later and our friend the chemical engineer from UCLA was documenting how to assemble and detonate a bomb that I began to be scared. Not of what we were going to do since the bastards deserve it but of her. With each passing second, as the bomb was assembled right before our eyes her smile increased. But there was no light behind them. It wasn’t a smile of happiness. It was a smile of greed, hunger. She seemed bent on more than equality. She wanted domination. World spread power.

Shoving me under the fence of the facility earlier this evening she seemed calm, like she knew it was only an upward rise from here. I on the other hand was terrified. Was this how she would deal with any naysayer who stood in her way, killing them without even batting an eye? Killing them and…enjoying it? What if I decided this wasn’t the path for me? Or worse if I thought she wasn’t the woman for me? What would she say then? What might she do?

Putting the final touches on the chemical creation I wipe my hands, take one last look and walk out to her sitting on a wood table out front. “Everything set?” She has a a smirk on her face.

“Set.” I have to end this now or the rest of my will be lived in fear. As we slide through the gate and walk to the rest of our crew a ½ mile away I hand her the detonator. She takes it and looks at it, an appetite in her eyes. It’s like she’s a vampire fiending for blood. We stop in the woods in clear sight of the building. She inhales slowly and hits the red button. As the explosion moves from the west wing to the east destroying everything in it and around it we walk to the car. In the almost silencing sound of destruction I say, “I want out.”

“Out of what?” Her smirk has turned into a full cold grin.

“Everything. This organization.” I pause. “And this relationship.”

“You’re breaking up with me? I knew it. I knew you didn’t have the gall to fight till the end. Well,” she sighs, “good thing I plan ahead.” She puts her hand up signaling to someone and I hear a rush of footsteps come towards me.

I'm back!

Mad Max Here:
I've used the excuse before but I have returned from my somewhat lengthy hiatus. While I haven't been posting my tales as I should have I have still been writing. There are plenty of tales to come. It wasn't that I was lazy this time or that I wasn't interested in my blog. I was recently told by someone very close to me (*cough cough- my father) that I shouldn't be posting things on my blog in such "rough form". For a while I agreed with him.

Now however I have begun to realize that he is not my only critic. There are others out there who do read my stories every now and then and enjoy them for what they are. Yes they may be a little rough around the edges but that doesn't mean they aren't worth merit if they aren't perfect, right? So in an effort to keep up a readership with those who like my stories I am posting more of them starting again today.