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.
Monday, June 8, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Consider It
I feel like I’m dying. My stomach is tying itself into knots so tight I might never be able to get food in there. The walls of this place feel disturbingly close.
“Alfred can you hear me, snap out of it!” My mother. As a 40 year old man many would say it’s high time I start relying less on my mother and more on thoughts of marriage and family. My mother has always been there for me. There go the walls again, moving closer to my bed with every ticking second.
“Alfred, breathe,” she says without looking up from her knitting. She always knows best. She stops knitting and looks over at me, picking up the towel by my bed and wiping my face. I guess I’ve been drooling. She puts the towel back and goes back to her knitting. It’s been a while since I’ve seen the outside of these 4 walls. Been awhile since I’ve seen anyone of real importance besides my mother.
It happened about 6 months ago. I had just closed a huge case landing my firm another big one, prosecuting the same mob organization. The partners were ecstatic and any day I was hoping to become one of them. My boss had come up after the verdict to shake my hand. It was a monumental moment in my career and my life. Packing up my things his words still echoed in my head. “Keep this up and you’ll be seeing my office from behind my desk very soon.”
Walking into the hallway of the court house I began mentally preparing everything I needed for the new case. That’s when she walked briskly up next to me. “Dara, what are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here.”
“I shouldn’t be here?!” She had tears in her eyes and an angry look on her face. “You used me, Alfred. You made me believe that you loved me just so you could get information.”
“It wasn’t a lie. My feelings were real. But your father is not a good man, baby. He runs a lot of crime in this town.”
“Don’t you baby me, you arrogant son of a-“
“Dara, listen I know you love your father but his line of work is no place for you to be in. Come with me. We can be together. I can protect you.”
“My father says you’re the one I need protection from.” With a swift movement she stabbed me on the right side, twice. I crumpled to my knees where I saw her steel toed boot come to my head. Then everything went black.
Here in this room my mind replays that scene over and over. My mom continues knitting. I can hear the needles constant clicking. Then I hear someone come into the room. “Hello, doctor.”
“Hello, Ms. Pembridge. How are you today?”
“Oh, just fine. How’s my Alfie doing?”
“Ms. Pembridge, I think it’s time we start discussing your options. He’s been in a vegetative state for over 6 months.”
“Options?”
“Yes, you may want to consider taking him off life support and letting him go.”
“Alfred can you hear me, snap out of it!” My mother. As a 40 year old man many would say it’s high time I start relying less on my mother and more on thoughts of marriage and family. My mother has always been there for me. There go the walls again, moving closer to my bed with every ticking second.
“Alfred, breathe,” she says without looking up from her knitting. She always knows best. She stops knitting and looks over at me, picking up the towel by my bed and wiping my face. I guess I’ve been drooling. She puts the towel back and goes back to her knitting. It’s been a while since I’ve seen the outside of these 4 walls. Been awhile since I’ve seen anyone of real importance besides my mother.
It happened about 6 months ago. I had just closed a huge case landing my firm another big one, prosecuting the same mob organization. The partners were ecstatic and any day I was hoping to become one of them. My boss had come up after the verdict to shake my hand. It was a monumental moment in my career and my life. Packing up my things his words still echoed in my head. “Keep this up and you’ll be seeing my office from behind my desk very soon.”
Walking into the hallway of the court house I began mentally preparing everything I needed for the new case. That’s when she walked briskly up next to me. “Dara, what are you doing here? You shouldn’t be here.”
“I shouldn’t be here?!” She had tears in her eyes and an angry look on her face. “You used me, Alfred. You made me believe that you loved me just so you could get information.”
“It wasn’t a lie. My feelings were real. But your father is not a good man, baby. He runs a lot of crime in this town.”
“Don’t you baby me, you arrogant son of a-“
“Dara, listen I know you love your father but his line of work is no place for you to be in. Come with me. We can be together. I can protect you.”
“My father says you’re the one I need protection from.” With a swift movement she stabbed me on the right side, twice. I crumpled to my knees where I saw her steel toed boot come to my head. Then everything went black.
Here in this room my mind replays that scene over and over. My mom continues knitting. I can hear the needles constant clicking. Then I hear someone come into the room. “Hello, doctor.”
“Hello, Ms. Pembridge. How are you today?”
“Oh, just fine. How’s my Alfie doing?”
“Ms. Pembridge, I think it’s time we start discussing your options. He’s been in a vegetative state for over 6 months.”
“Options?”
“Yes, you may want to consider taking him off life support and letting him go.”
Tuesday, April 28, 2009
Commotion- Ch. 4- The Final Installment
There’s a noise outside the door of my holding room. Two men arguing but I can’t tell about what. Then suddenly the camera’s red light goes off and the over head light is extinguished leaving only the circle of light from the table lamp. I know what’s coming next. I breathe in and out. Must not smile at their good cop, bad cop routine. Don’t want to insult them. I hear the door open and two sets of feet walk through the door. The light outside is blinding and I can only see shapes. When they shut the door one pair of shoes walks to the table and into my circle of light. My jaw drops.
“Hello, darling.” Charles is smiling and wearing a suit. I can’t speak. My eyes feel like they are bugging out of my head. “I couldn’t tell you. There’s a lot going on under the table here. But I was asked to bring you in as a favor.”
“A favor to whom?” I can’t rip away my gaze.
“Someone who wanted to see you. Someone you haven’t seen in a while. Lieutenant?”
“Thank you agent Swanton.” I know that voice. As Charles steps out of the light and stands beside me, another man steps forward into my line of vision. With his gray hair and grey eyes piercing me I feel tears well up in my throat. “Dad?”
“Hiya Kiddo,” he squeezes my hand. “I heard your Mom’s painting was causing quite a commotion.”
“Hello, darling.” Charles is smiling and wearing a suit. I can’t speak. My eyes feel like they are bugging out of my head. “I couldn’t tell you. There’s a lot going on under the table here. But I was asked to bring you in as a favor.”
“A favor to whom?” I can’t rip away my gaze.
“Someone who wanted to see you. Someone you haven’t seen in a while. Lieutenant?”
“Thank you agent Swanton.” I know that voice. As Charles steps out of the light and stands beside me, another man steps forward into my line of vision. With his gray hair and grey eyes piercing me I feel tears well up in my throat. “Dad?”
“Hiya Kiddo,” he squeezes my hand. “I heard your Mom’s painting was causing quite a commotion.”
Monday, April 27, 2009
Commotion- Ch. 3
On the day of we arrived at the museum dressed and pressed. In my stilettos and pant suit I jumped the line and stated “I’m the curator from the Museum of Modern Art in New York,” flashing my forged ID quickly to the guards. “I believe I’m expected.” They conversed with each other, checked their books, looked me up and down, then made a call on their walkie talkie. The real curator had of course been knocked out in the cab ride from the Rome airport to our house. Finally we were ushered in with a wave of the guard’s hand, Charles on my left acting as a translator. With the boys in line as eager tourist to see the artist latest highly anticipated piece the plan was in full swing.
As Charles and I sat in the office waiting for the head of the Museum and their curator to arrive the boys were making their way to the exhibit. As the curator and Museum director arrived we got the vibrating signal. They were in sight of the exhibit which gave us 45 seconds to distract the men in front of us. In his perfect Italian Charles laid on the pre-scripted bullshit we had worked up. “This piece should be in our museum. What gives you the right to show it before us, blah blah blah.”
On cue a guard burst in the office mid sentence of the Italian curator yelling right back at Charles. We all stopped and looked at the man panting heavily as he said something in Italian to the museum director. Without another word the two men from the museum rushed past us and the guard. We immediately followed curious to see what had interrupted our meeting.
As we got to the main floor of the museum we could hear loud shouting. A crowd had gathered blocking the way from the main entrance of the big hall to the prized piece of art. After a lot of yelling and pushing we managed to get to the center of the commotion to see Sam and Ted had started a brawl with a bunch of Irishmen. The size of the Irishmen and the fight itself seemed to have deterred any staff intervention. However being the biggest exhibit of the season the museum director and curator immediately tried to break it up. We joined in, pretending to be the Americans trying to save the art they know belongs to them and that is when we took our moment. Slipping the copy from under his pant leg Charles handed it to me as I edged over to the painting. In one swift movement I unrolled the forgery, slipped it into the casing and felt it catch under the clip. I pulled the real one out and rolled it tossing it to Charles who quickly slipped it under his pant leg, then slipped out of the crowd. I pushed back through the crowd. By this time the police had been called and were making their way through out the museum, the crowd quietly parting for them. The Irishmen and our boys, however, were unaware of the impending hand of the law and so continued beating each other mercilessly, dragging me in and causing me to start throwing punches.
When the police got in they managed to pull everyone apart with their shields and sticks putting me in with the others as an inciter. Sam had made his escape to Charles in the get away car during the police intervention (seeing that I had been captured and was supposed to drive the car) leaving only me, Ted and the Irishmen cuffed and tagged for questioning. Not part of the plan but I went with it.
As Charles and I sat in the office waiting for the head of the Museum and their curator to arrive the boys were making their way to the exhibit. As the curator and Museum director arrived we got the vibrating signal. They were in sight of the exhibit which gave us 45 seconds to distract the men in front of us. In his perfect Italian Charles laid on the pre-scripted bullshit we had worked up. “This piece should be in our museum. What gives you the right to show it before us, blah blah blah.”
On cue a guard burst in the office mid sentence of the Italian curator yelling right back at Charles. We all stopped and looked at the man panting heavily as he said something in Italian to the museum director. Without another word the two men from the museum rushed past us and the guard. We immediately followed curious to see what had interrupted our meeting.
As we got to the main floor of the museum we could hear loud shouting. A crowd had gathered blocking the way from the main entrance of the big hall to the prized piece of art. After a lot of yelling and pushing we managed to get to the center of the commotion to see Sam and Ted had started a brawl with a bunch of Irishmen. The size of the Irishmen and the fight itself seemed to have deterred any staff intervention. However being the biggest exhibit of the season the museum director and curator immediately tried to break it up. We joined in, pretending to be the Americans trying to save the art they know belongs to them and that is when we took our moment. Slipping the copy from under his pant leg Charles handed it to me as I edged over to the painting. In one swift movement I unrolled the forgery, slipped it into the casing and felt it catch under the clip. I pulled the real one out and rolled it tossing it to Charles who quickly slipped it under his pant leg, then slipped out of the crowd. I pushed back through the crowd. By this time the police had been called and were making their way through out the museum, the crowd quietly parting for them. The Irishmen and our boys, however, were unaware of the impending hand of the law and so continued beating each other mercilessly, dragging me in and causing me to start throwing punches.
When the police got in they managed to pull everyone apart with their shields and sticks putting me in with the others as an inciter. Sam had made his escape to Charles in the get away car during the police intervention (seeing that I had been captured and was supposed to drive the car) leaving only me, Ted and the Irishmen cuffed and tagged for questioning. Not part of the plan but I went with it.
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