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onebatch2batch · 5 years ago

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kastle + “Do you even own a shirt?” please!!

Thank you so much for the prompt, this was really fun to write!!

–

The worst part about finding a new roommate, Karen finds, is the staggering amount of bullshit to wade through just to find someone who isn’t going to kill her. Or smell her hair in her sleep. Or something equally as horrifying. The first person to answer her ad in the newspaper had been a small, mousy girl that wore cat ears and cried when Karen asked about it. The second person had been a man a few years her junior who reeked of weed and waggled his eyebrows when he asked if they’d be sharing the room and the rent. The next blunty told her he was only interested in the room as a rendezvous point for his mistress.

And so on.

Karen likes to think she’s not picky. She’s honestly, truly not picky. She’d been living with Foggy for three years before he and Marcie got engaged, prompting them to get a place together uptown. Foggy had been a good roommate—never late on rent, easy to spend time with, non combative about sharing a bathroom and chores. He also never took out the trash and was a serial dish-breaker. But everyone has their quirks, and she’s prepared for some level of weird. Just not as weird as the people she’s met with today.

So when the sixth person knocks on her door, Karen is less than optimistic. According to their brief phone call earlier in the day, his name is Frank Castle. He’s an ex-Marine, fresh out of service in need of a place in the city. He’d been polite and cursory on the phone, giving nothing else away–so when she opens the door to a handsome man with a clean shaven face and a charming smile, she’s a little shocked. And when he takes off his jacket during the tour to reveal thick, corded arms and a shirt drawn tight across his chest, she very nearly gives him the room on eye candy potential alone.

Common sense overrules her–if she really does give Frank the room, it would be a living nightmare to hook up with him. What if they sleep together and then have a falling out? She would still have to see him every day. She’ll have to vet him just like everyone else and make a decision fairly. Part of her hopes that he has a pet tarantula or something. Any reason to turn him down.

Unfortunately, the universe doesn’t work that way.

“I’m clean,” he tells her as he casts an eye over the vacant room. She watches the back of his head, enraptured by the low timbre of his voice. “And I’m quiet–I do play guitar sometimes. If that’s alright.”

Because of course the stupidly hot, charming man asking to live with her plays guitar. Of course.

“Do you work?” she asks him, leaning on the doorframe as he opens the closet door to look inside.

“Uh huh. I work construction. Sometimes I work odd jobs on the weekends.” He flashes her a quick smile. “And I promise to keep the parties down to a minimum.”

She offers him the room.

–

Two months after Frank moves in, they’ve settled into a rhythm. Admittedly, not the kind of rhythm that Karen thinks about when she’s alone at night and with him just across the hall but–

–yeah, they have a rhythm.

After a brief period of awkwardness and some time spent learning each other’s little quirks, Karen finds that she really enjoys Frank’s company. He’s funny in a very subtle, deadpan kind of way. He’s respectful of her space and privacy, and just like he said before–he’s quiet. Most nights find them at separate ends of the couch, Karen typing up an article for the paper she works at while he reads or strums his guitar. Sometimes he’ll cook them both dinner, pulling some old family italian recipe out of nowhere, table set by the time she gets home. She’s pleased to find he’s as clean as he claimed, and that sharing a bathroom isn’t as terrible as it could be. It seems neither of them have a very active social life, which suits her (and her growing crush) just fine.

Four months in, Karen decides that Frank is trying to kill her. She knows that he is a disciplined man; he starts every day the same way. He wakes up long before her. She knows this because the coffee pot is always nearly done brewing by the time she drags herself out of bed around 6am. In fact by the time she’s done pouring them both a cup–his black, hers with cream–his keys jingle in the door like clockwork. Frank spends every morning, seven days a week, running five miles before the sun even decides it’s going to rise. And then he walks in like it’s nothing, and Karen sits in her bathrobe and makes small talk and pretends not to notice the sweat glistening on his skin.

It really sinks in that Frank’s trying to kill her on a humid June morning. Even in the apartment with the AC circulating she feels the wetness of the air, and she lounges at the kitchen island with her coffee and watches the door. Frank’s keys sound a moment later, and then he walks in and nearly has her falling out of her chair.

Of course she’s seen him shirtless once or twice, but it’s always a brief flash between the bathroom and his bedroom door after a shower. It still leaves her wholly unprepared for the sight of Frank Castle’s chiseled abs, sculpted chest and thick, sinewy arms at half past six in the morning. She’s suddenly very awake.

“Mornin’,” Frank tells her easily, picking up his mug with a quick nod of thanks. He heads down the hall towards the bathroom and Karen takes a sip of her coffee, heart thundering in her chest. The image of him half naked, sweating for a whole different reason, fills her head. She thinks about him balanced above her, moisture beading on his forehead as he bruises her hips with his own. She thinks of what would happen if she made his heart race without even leaving the apartment–and if she even could.

The shower turns on and Karen groans, snapping out of her daydreams. She’s fucked.

–

She suffers through this newest form of torture in silent agony. Day after day, morning after morning, she considers staying in her bed until the shower switches on. And then day after day she pulls herself out of bed, far too eager for someone who can’t afford to have this big a crush on someone she’ll be splitting rent with indefinitely.

It’s seventeen shirtless morning later–not that she’s counting–when she finally cracks.

Frank strolls in before she can even take her first sip of coffee. As soon as she sees him, a flush rises on her cheeks. He’s got a nice, even tan over his skin that seems to glow under the lights of her kitchen. His hair is a little shaggier than normal, which means it’s about time for a trim. It gives him a softer look. There’s a sheen of sweat on him that she’s not embarrassed to say she finds ridiculously hot. When he directs one warm, wide, post-exercise smile at her she feels her insides turn to mush.

“Mornin’, Karen,” he greets, picking up his mug.

“Good morning.” By some small miracle, she only sounds a little strained.

Regardless, Frank raises a brow at her, leaning against the counter. “You alright?”

“Mhm.” She searches for a safe topic, one that will steer him away from looking at her like that when she knows she must be flushed red. All she can come up with is: “Do you even own a shirt?”

Frank blinks once. And then once more, for good measure. He glances down and then back up at her with a sudden clarity. The slow, shit-eatening grin that spreads across his face makes her palms sweat.

“Am I makin’ you uncomfortable?” he asks with a lilt in his voice that tells her he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Not at all,” Karen mumbles, watching through lowered lashes as he makes his way around the kitchen island. “Just…you know. Um. It’s not really fair.”

“Yeah? What’s not?”

Frank’s close now. He smells of sweat and sunshine, and he should smell gross so why she’s suddenly getting poetic about it gives her pause. Enough of a pause for him to huff out a laugh.

Karen’s eyes lower unwittingly to the sharp jut of his jaw and the slopes of his collarbone. She traces it down, over nipples pebbled in the cool apartment air, past the uneven ridges of his abs, and then back up into his amused gaze. She panics. “I can’t walk around without a shirt,” she tries, grappling at something–anything–other than it’s not fair because I want to see you take your shirt off after you take off mine. And then I want it to stay off, and I want to–

“You could take your shirt off.”

Karen gapes at him. “What?”

“I wouldn’t be complainin’.” Frank fixes her with a wide eyed look that she thinks is supposed to mimic innocence.

This is it. This is how I die. Frank Castle is the world hottest roommate and we shouldn’t be flirting. But we definitely are. I think. And he’s–he’s–

–he’s walking away.

“I’ll put a shirt on after my shower,” he tells her, tossing her a grin over his shoulder. The bathroom door closes softly.

—

Now…now he’s just doing it on purpose.

One day Karen sits on the couch and types an article. At soft footsteps she glances up only to meet the wide plane of Frank’s bare chest as he casually traverses the carpet towards the kitchen.

Or another day, late afternoon on a Sunday, she walks into the apartment and he’s doing shirtless push ups in the middle of the living room.

Or another day she comes home from work and he’s cooking dinner in gray sweatpants and her apron—the one that says “whisk it real good” that she got for her birthday from Foggy last year–is far too small on him. Karen stares as her face flames, knowing how the next time she wears it she’ll only think of him.

And then the day that she snaps:

Karen comes home late. It’s nearly eight o clock by the time she manages to get her key in the lock, and she can think of nothing but bed, wine and food. And not particularly in that order.

“Frank,” she calls. “I’m home.”

There’s a scuffle from his room, and then the closing of a door before he appears in the hall. He has a guilty look on his face that almost distracts her from his shirtlessness. Almost.

“What?”

“i got somethin’ to show ya.” He pauses. “Don’t be mad.”

Karen sets her bag down, eyeing him with trepidation. “O…kay…”

With a gesture, Frank leads her back to his bedroom. She’s only been inside it once or twice–she knows it’s sparsely decorated, neatly kept, and the bed is always made. In any other instance she’d be excited that he’s bringing her into his space. Now, with the tautness of his shoulders and stiff, awkward smile–she’s just nervous. He puts a hand on the doorknob and then pauses, looking back at her.

“It’s nothing bad,” he starts, and then opens the door before she can reply.

A large ball of fur comes barrelling towards her and careens into her legs. Karen yelps, stumbling forward into the room. Her hip bumps his dresser but she doesn’t pay it any heed.

“Frank–”

“Aw, come on, Kare–” Frank leans down to scoop the excitable, yipping puppy into his arms. It’s young with that blueish grey sheen of a pitbull and wide blue eyes. It wiggles in his arms in an attempt to escape, snout sniffing in her direction.

Karen crosses her arms, trying and failing miserably to be upset with this new development. She certainly doesn’t have time to take care of a puppy, but if Frank wants to she knows she’ll be unable to say no. He takes in her failing stern expression as he wrestles with the writhing mass of fur in his arms.

“She’s just a puppy,” he says in a rush. “I found her out behind the buildin’. She was diggin’ through trash, Karen. I figured I would bring her in and get her cleaned up and then if you don’t want her in the apartment then I’d–…”

He doesn’t finish, trailing off. It’s obvious he didn’t have a plan for her rejecting the dog. Frank peers at her over the puppy’s head, and the image is too much for her to handle. The puppy, the imploring stare he is directing at her, his half-naked state, being in his room with his masculine, earthy smell in the air–Karen huffs and smiles in defeat. “What’s her name?”

Frank’s eyes widen, and then his grin nearly knocks her over. He steps closer and hoists the puppy up, holding her so that Karen can pet her. The dog nearly falls out of his arms with excitement when Karen starts to stroke her soft fur. Karen laughs. Frank watches her, smile gentling.

“I liked Blue.” He meets her gaze with a touch of shyness. “Unless you can think of somethin’ better.”

He’s standing close enough that she can feel the heat of him on her skin. At this distance, she sees the five o'clock shadow across his face. He smells of laundry and cologne and a little bit of wet dog, but that doesn’t stop her from stepping close. “I like Blue. We can keep her.”

His expression perks up, and then quickly shifts to cautious hope. He ducks his head slightly, hiding a smile. “We?”

Something tells her that if she were to inch closer, lean close and brush her lips over his, he wouldn’t mind. That instinct is right because before she can muster up the courage, Frank beats her to it. His kiss is brief and chaste. He pulls away to gauge her reaction but Karen pulls him back impatiently, slotting her mouth over his in a kiss that he reciprocates gladly. It would almost be perfect except for–

“Blue,” Karen sighs, pulling away as the dog clambors out of Frank’s arms into her own. The puppy whines excitedly, licking at Karen’s cheek until she laughs and pulls away. “Okay, okay. You’re lucky you’re cute–I’ve been waiting on that forever.”

Frank chuckles, reaching over to scratch under Blue’s chin. When Karen meets his gaze, it’s warm and pleased. She feels it all the way to her toes.

“She’s not sleeping in the bed with us,” she tells him, fighting a smile.

Frank’s eyebrows raise. He huffs. “Try tellin’ her that.”

But she wont–she’ll let the dog sleep in the bed every night as long as Frank’s there too.

#frank-kastle #kastle #kastle fic #mine #kastle ff #my writing

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baltimorehorsescycling · 4 years ago

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Bali Tours And Activities

When traveling to Bali for a holiday, it's never a case of what are you going to find to do in your vacation, but fairly how many weeks vacation can you take to take pleasure in all that Bali has to supply. Many people consider beaches and white sand when thinking of Bali and affiliate is a being mainly a seashore holiday. Though there are many resorts alongside the beachfront to relax at, that is only a small a part of all the Bali tours and activities out there. There are only a few motels and resorts in Bali that will not have both in home excursions of Bali or be capable to organize some tour by way of an unbiased tour firm for you to take pleasure in.

With so many activities accessible it's tough to select the best to suggest, however based mostly on the recognition of the following these seem to be the most exciting issues to do when considering one of the many Bali excursions out there.

Well known Water Activities in Bali

Bali Marine Stroll

Have you ever always wished to experience the ocean flooring, the backyard underneath water that's teaming with marine life full of vivid colors and gorgeous fish, but have been afraid to dive or aren't a very great swimmer? Then it is a must so that you can check out whenever you visit Bali. This is a revolutionary diving system that you would be able to experience even should you can’t swim; all you need to have the ability to do is stroll. The concept behind it is extremely simple; an open ended helmet allows the wearer to stroll on the sea mattress by just placing it over their head. There's an inbuilt defogging mechanism that prevents the front “window” from turning into steamed up. There's a hose which is linked to the scuba tanks permitting free motion while enjoying with the fish and feeding them from your hand. This is truly a must do activity when visiting Bali. Marine walk have their very own boat that will take you to Lembongan Island where you'll be able to enjoy a day exploring the depths of the ocean.

White Water Rafting

Bali Adventure Rafting affords a 5 star service that is famend because the safest household rafting firm in Bali. Age is not an element with this firm, children from as younger as 5 have been rafting down the Ayung River. The experience is exhilarating and the views are breathtaking. The tour is on a stretch of river 8 kilometers lengthy and includes 27 class II and class III rapids wandering by way of unspoiled rain forests, towering gorges and sculptured rice fields. All the guides are professionally skilled and have tons of experience to pilot the rafts by means of some dramatic drops, waterfalls and rivers making your white water experience secure however superior.

The whole trip will final approximately one and a half hours, depending on how briskly the river is flowing. On the finish of the journey there are hot showers and altering rooms so that you can refresh in, followed by a sizzling connoisseur buffet at a non-public restaurant with views of majestic mountains and rice fields. The distinctive facilities and having the longest course on the island has attracted Hollywood celebrities like Claudia Schiffer, Jean-Claude Van Damme and David Copperfield. Access is fairly easy, solely an hour’s drive from the majority of the resorts in the south of Bali.

Waterbom Park

Waterbom Park is situated in the resort village of Kuta; it is a massive 4 hectares in size with tropical vegetation making up the amazing panorama. World class water slides are situated all around the park and are clearly the main attraction, but are many different recreational services situated throughout the massive grounds. You've gotten the choice of dong some wall climbing, water volley ball, bungee leaping, and getting blasted with the water blaster. For the more stress-free tourist, the park presents a spa, many swimming swimming pools to loosen up in, the Wantilan Restaurant has a swim up bar facility, or just watching the children enjoy the Kiddies Park. This park is run by an Australian concern and the safety requirements are exceptionally high. There is a strict maintenance regime as well as supervision from certified lifeguards which might be continually on duty allowing mother and father to let their children splash away with none worries.

Inland Activities

Bali Quad Discovery Tours

One of many oldest mountain villages of Bali, Payangan, is house to Bali Quad and buggy discovery tours. The facilities are solely 15 kilometers south of Kintamani on the slopes of mount Batur close to Ayung river valley. The tour is through very remoted countryside, where you will not come across other tourists whereas driving your own 4 wheel quad bike. The teams are limited to six to be able to not make an excessive amount of of a disruption to the locals and to make sure that guides are able to give personal assistance. Groups are divided in line with talent stage, not necessarily age, however if you wish to have your own group composed of people of all skill ranges then that may be arranged. The only requirement that's needed is that you just be in good bodily form as the terrain can be very demanding.

Kintamani Volcano Tour

This is a very popular tour in Bali as it wanders by way of many alternative areas of the Bali countryside allowing you to expertise the variety of Balinese tradition and finally ends up with you standing on the edge of the crater of mount Batur. Among the locations and actions which might be visited and experienced on the best way is the well-known Barong Dance located in Batubulan, the village of Celuk famend for its silver and goldsmiths, the talented village of Mas with their beautiful wood carvings, the cultural capital of Bali, Ubud that is overflowing with cultural actions and beautiful paintings.

Elephant Safari Park Tour

The Elephant Safari Park located in Taro, Tegallalang is a must do for all visitors that come to Bali as it's the solely complete elephant safari expertise in the world. The unique park is the home to the only Mammoth Skeleton in South East Asia and is acclaimed as the world’s finest elephant park that's set in a picturesque tropical setting. In between using, sightseeing, hand feeding, touching them, taking photos with them, you possibly can study their ancestry and variety at the huge historic and graphic shows that the park has. The parks facilities additionally include a reception and information heart, a complete museum with many elephant memorabilia.

Overlooking an impressive lake is the restaurant that is able to hold over 200 folks and has a improbable international menu making it ideally suited not only for a visit, but is a perfect location to carry a wedding or different occasion. The gift store has an unimaginable array of elephant themed objects that embrace paintings, ivory (be careful when shopping for this, make it possible for it is not going to be confiscated at your individual nations airport), wooden and carvings, clothing and plenty of other souvenirs.

Though the park could be very tourist orientated the primary purpose of the park is the protection of those elephants which have all been rescued because of the deforestation that is happening in Southern and Central Sumatra and this park has grow to be a sanctuary for this endangered and guarded species. Elephants are very intelligent creatures and at certain instances of the day there are displays of the elephant’s capabilities together with portray. The park is great for every type of vacationers and will be a spotlight of your Bali excursions.

As a customer you will be able to the touch and hand feed the elephants, watch as they playfully bathtub within the massive lakes, have private photographs taken with you driving on the elephants, witness the intelligence of those large however gentle creatures and study their historical past, information about them and the considerations for their future. The park also gives mini rides for the children.

Bali Paragliding Journey

Bali has a mountain chain that stretches throughout the island giving paragliding lovers spectacular views and a wide range of different locations to launch from. The preferred locations are , Timbis, Gunung Payung, Mount Batur and Candi Dasa.

Timbis

Bali’s hottest flight zone and coaching middle is located right here, near the spectacular Bali Cliff resort. The rugged cliffs, white seashores, clear blue seas, Hindu temples and crashing waves over the coral reefs make this the perfect spot to discover ways to paraglide. There are facilities for meals and drinks when you prefer just to loosen up and watch the extra adventurous tourists soar off the cliffs. After your flight there are Balinese staff who will pack your cover away simply as you need it.

Gunung Payung

East of Timbis, possibly 15 minutes drive, Gunung Payung affords a launch area for the extra skilled para-glider as at high tide there is no such thing as a bottom touchdown and you'll have to soar and steer your means eastward to keep away from crashing in the water. Mount Batur. Mount Batur is an active smoldering volcano with four craters at an elevation of 1,717m which last erupted in 2000. There is no higher place to get your heart pumping earlier than takeoff, and if you're lucky enough to not get bombarded with showering lava, the view is breathtaking. Mount Batur is positioned in Kintamani, north of Ubud.

Candi Dasa

Candi Dasa has a small take off area and subsequently high landing isn't doable, the location is a 250m high ridge. The thermals are awesome here and it's typically possible to succeed in cloud base, 600-750 meters. The walk to take off from the black sand backside touchdown seashore is 20-30 minutes relying on how fit you are. There are Balinese porters for those who want assistance.

There are lots of trusted Bali car rental with driver as well as tour service who will in a position to drive visitors or vacationers to those attention-grabbing spots.

#bali tour #bali tourism activities #bali vacation #holiday in Bali

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all-hail-the-witcher · 6 years ago

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save your strength and stay alive

so so so

today is,,,fizz’s birthday !!!

yeah my two internet friends have birthdays one day apart what were the heckin odds

anyway so forever ago I wrote this au where Albert was this weird low key villain and now heres part three

part 1

part 2

_____

ship: I honestly dont even know, failed ralbert, platonic sprace ??

genre: the phattest angst

warnings: character death, car accidents, bleeding, lots of blood, abuse mentions, sex mentions, mentions of low key cheating, sorta panic attack, major guilt, sad stuff, rain, thunder storms, cursing, be careful kids

editing: m e h

words: 2030

_____

Spot squinted into the rain, flinching every time a boom of thunder banged in the sky above him. The wind was howling, almost drowning out the pounding of his heart that sounded in his ears with every breath. The dirt road was thick with mud and he knew that he could get stuck at any moment.

But getting stuck wasn’t an option. He had to find Race.

Hopefully there was still a Race left to find.

The rain was coming down in sheets so thick that even with his headlights on high he could hardly see a foot in front of the car. It didn’t help that he was on one of the back roads of the Blue Ridge Mountains and was, hence, surrounded by trees.

But, this was Race’s thinking spot. There was a clearing about another mile or so down this road that Race would go to when he was overwhelmed and needed to clear his head. Spot couldn’t imagine that there was any other place he could have gone, but he had made Romeo stay at home just in case Race decided to come back.

“Fucking hell,” Spot cursed as a crack of lightning pierced the sky. He hated the thought of Race being out in this weather: alone, miserable, and suffering. They wouldn’t even be in this predicament if it weren’t for Albert Fucking DaSilva.

Spot still couldn’t believe that Albert had intentionally hit Race. It didn’t matter what someone’s past was, any person should have the decency and the sense alone not to hit someone.

And then there was the fact that he had made out with someone mere minutes after hooking up with Race. Spot understood that one night stands came with their own set of rules and were not for those, like himself, who had standards, but it seemed odd to him that Albert had decided to make out with Finch when Race was standing in the same room and then have the audacity to ask for a round two.

But then again, what did his virgin ass know?

The bottom line still remained though: Albert had hurt Race worse than anyone had in years, and, once Spot found Race, they were not allowed near each other again. There was no one in the entire world that Spot cared about more than Race and Romeo. At this point the both of them practically lived with Spot and his mom since Race’s dad was never around and when he was he was always drunk and both of Romeo’s parents spent weeks on end in DC where they worked with the Secret Service.

The three of them had grown up together and vowed to always protect each other. He and Race had wreaked havoc on a few of Romeo’s particularly nasty exes. Spot was certain that he and Romeo would be doing the same to Albert. No one messed with their family.

There was a piercing BOOM! and Spot jumped, losing control of the wheel for a second. His tires slid across the slick mud and he struggled to regain control of the car.

“Fuck come on!” Spot tensed his arm muscles as he turned the wheel as hard as he could into the skid. His foot fumbled for the brake pedal and he put all his weight into slamming it into the ground. He held his breath, waiting for the car to stop and hopefully not skid into the tree line, but, just when he thought he was safe, he felt his car smack into something very, very solid.

Spot’s eyes flew open - when had he closed them? - and was met with the sight of the bed of Race’s unmistakably totaled pickup truck smashed into the front of his car.

For one second Spot sat paralyzed with fear, a million scenarios running through his head: he had just killed his best friend, no, Race wasn’t in the car, no he had to be in the car, but, since he had hit the bed of his truck maybe he was okay, Spot’s airbag hadn’t gone off so maybe it wasn’t that bad but he could be bleeding out or dead or dying or severely injured or dead he could be dead he could be dead what the hell was he doing he could have just killed his best friend-

Spot wrestled with his seatbelt and pushed open his door, not even feeling the rain as it soaked him through. The drivers door of Race’s car was smashed in -which later Spot would realize meant that the accident was not his fault because he had hit the bed of the truck, not the side- and after struggling with the handle for a minute Spot gave up and went around the passenger’s side. Thankfully, the door was fully intact on this side and Spot pulled it open.

The first thing he registered was Race leaning against the wrecked drivers side door and he breathed a deep sigh of relief. Then he saw the blood.

It was everywhere. On the seats, the door, the dashboard, the floor the shards of broken glass, and Race’s clothes, face and hair. Spot had never seen so much blood.

He pulled out his phone, praying that there was service out here in the middle of nowhere in a rainstorm, and dialed 911 - better to do that now than when he was choked up and overwhelmed by his actions later.

Then he ducked into the passenger seat and pulled the door shut behind him. If he was going to die, he might as well be a little less soaked.

“Race?” Spot called over the rain. “You with me?”

There was no response.

Spot’s stomach clenched and he scooted closer, extremely mindful of the broken glass scattered around him. He reached out to touch Race’s shoulder, but stopped short when he remembered the earlier interaction with Albert.

“Fucking DaSilva,” Spot muttered, opting to instead lean closer to his best friend. “Antonio,” he said firmly. “Can you hear me?”

Please respond, please respond, please respondpleaserespondpleasepleaseplease-

“S-sean?”

And just like that, everything was okay again.

“Yeah, I’m here, it’s okay.” Spot tried to sound soothing despite his nerves and the terrible looming thought that he was the one responsible for the accident. But, he needed to hear it from Race. “What happened kid?”

“Seanie, you’re-” Race coughed painfully and Spot winced, “uh, bleein’. Wha’ ‘appened?’”

“What?” Spot was confused and looked down at himself briefly before remembering that he was not the primary concern. “That doesn’t matter right now, kid. Can you tell me what hurts?”

“M’ ‘ead,” Race mumbled, closing his eyes again. “An’ m’ leg is stuck.”

“Okay.” Spot surveyed the wreck and saw that Race’s left leg was, in fact, pinned between the seat and the crushed door. Spot then noticed with alarm that there was a bloody stain on both the driver’s window and the steering wheel that matched with the injuries on Race’s head. At first, Spot wondered why the airbags hadn’t gone off, but then he remembered that Race had taken his airbags out to replace them with better ones because when he had bought his truck there had been a recall on them, but had never gotten around to it.

Spot put his head in his hands. He had insisted that Race reinstall the airbags in his truck, but clearly he hadn’t tried hard enough. Maybe if he had tried harder this wouldn’t have happened. Like maybe if he hadn’t agreed to let Race go to that party he wouldn’t be bleeding out right now. Maybe if he had just put in a little more effort, cared a little more this wouldn’t have-

“S’potti’?” Race’s weak voice pierced through Spot’s thoughts. “Wha’s wron’?”

There were so many things he could have said. I’m sorry I let Albert hit you? I’m sorry I let you go to that party? I’m sorry I didn’t force you to put those new fucking aribags in your truck? I’m sorry we’re sitting here right now? But Spot instead blurted out: “I’m sorry I hit your truck and hurt you like this, I skidded on some mud and it was dark and raining, and I didn’t see you until after I had already hit you and I’m just-I’m so sorry Tony.”

“‘ean, no, i’ wasn’ you- i-” Race’s words started to run together more, but there was a firmness behind them. “I’ wasn’ you. I’ ‘as som’ guy, he ‘it me ‘n drove away, an’ I go’ pushed int’ ‘he door, ‘n then a few mi’ut’s ago somethin’ ‘it th’ back o’ my truck ‘n my ‘ead jus’ bump’d th’ ‘teerin’ wheel, ‘n-”

“That was me Tony,” Spot whispered, cutting him off. “I hit the back of your car. God, I’m so sorry I really didn’t mean to, you must be in so much pain, I-”

“No, no,” Race mumbled. “‘topp’d bein’ able t’ feel mucha anytin’ afta th’ firs’ few minutes o’ so.”

This comment did absolutely nothing to calm Spot’s fears.

“‘re you okay tho’?” Race asked, cracking open his eyes again to look at Spot. “‘f your ‘urt you needa take care’o yourself.”

“No, I’m fine kid. Don’t worry about me. The ambulance should be here for you soon anyhow and if they decide I need help, I’ll let them help me.”

Race shot him a sideways look that almost made Spot laugh before his eyes fluttered shut again. For a few painful seconds the silence between them was filled by just the rain pounding on the roof.

“I wish I never let you go to that party,” Spot whispered, toeing at the worn carpet with his boots. “Then none of this would have happened.”

“Don’ be sorry,” Race muttered, barely audible over the rain. “‘s betta this way. I was neva gonna ge’ betta anyway ‘n I was gonna de’troy m’self at somepoin’, betta now than latah, ya know? I’ve fough’ so ‘ard already anyway. There’s no poin’. Least I gotta ‘ave sex wit’ a hot guy on’ las’ time befo’ I died.”

Spot’s head snapped up. Why was Race acting so self destructive? He had probably just had a panic attack and that combined with whatever injuries he had sustained had sucked the last bit of energy out of him. Spot knew that that wasn’t good, Race always gave up in some sense after a panic attack, and he couldn;t have him doing that now, especially not now. He needed Race to keep breathing and survive this.

“Tony? No, hey, I need you, a lot of people need you, and you're gonna be fine anyway. The ambulance is gonna be here soon and they’re going to help you. It’s all going to be okay. Save your strength, okay?” Most of those words were for Spot’s own sake. He knew it was a very real possibility that Race would not make it, and Race’s own calmness toward the situation was not helping. Whenever Race had previously been injured, he had been freaking out and his state of calm was only adding to Spot’s nerves.

“Sean,” There was a sadness to Race’s voice that Spot had never heard before, “Everythin’s not goin’ t’ be okay, ‘n tha’s alrigh’. You’ll be fine, Ro will be fine, ‘s gonna be okay. I’ve ‘ad som’ time t’ think abou’ it. Jus’ know ‘s not your faul’ alrigh’?”

“Antonio, no, stop that,” Spot felt tears spring up behind his eyes. This was it, he was losing his best friend, and there was nothing he could do about it. What did you say to someone who had already accepted their death? What were you supposed to say? Did it even matter anymore?

“‘s okay Sean,” Race whispered. “I-” He coughed again and Spot felt his heart clench. “I love you.”

“I love you too, kid,” Spot whispered.

“‘ell Ro I lov’ ‘im too.”

“I will,” Spot promised. “I promise.”

“Thank you fir everythin’,” Race struggled to keep his eyes open. “I couldn’ ‘ave ask’d fir a betta frien’.”

“Of course Antonio,” Spot whispered, watching powerlessly as Race’s eyes fell shut and didn’t open again. “Of course.”

_____

and thats that

there will be one more installment and hopefully you wont have to wait 6 months oops

hbd fizz

feedback is always appreciated hmu to be on the taglist

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#saphie scribbles #ralbert #sprace #oof #this ones rough #newsies #fic #all the angst #im sorry #newsies fic #Albert dasilva #racetrack higgins #spot conlon

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turuses-blog · 5 years ago

Text

Space Suede

Space~Suede

}}}}

UUUNNNN

taste

Without spectacle or speculation To disprove either, why this contrite act Of order - wrought twice over now - with patience Is an obedience foreign to lapse… Within perfect solitude and solace that To rend an addict’s said, dictatorship… Oh! in bellows, battling always, lapsed Steering clear of crystals from any hip… Oh! trapped for good in ambient control A wave formation, phalanx, to peruse Notwithstanding ministry! to unfurl Freedom, from nothing in essence. Peruse A’ some chapters’ few, and connect To an indeterminable static.

sallow / pallor

it must be the burnt lemon tree fall upon us solid-crysallids of almondine kiss and please, never let go of this almond fists’ criss-cross lisp to hold boiling fugue it is that the dusky forever’s took a tan gentle shrub enough of a lover’s hug wild at first yet plunging into cupid’s burning lungs o, that sweet passion, to be thy mouth of windless notion… promontory, flora where to end thy’s pursed-when, or begin, what fond of recoil and jettison-nonplus we’ve bout begged to dine at its smouldering tartine plagued with ragged snakes and flame to please for the sakes of this lonely burnt lemon tree I’ll assail all with what the burnt lemon takes to consume

breakneck

the ivy has pigment on the crux of the arch. the sagging arch of ivy’s pass. it used to be a pasture for silent matters and setting an eye-on and detach. i fear yet the ivy grows me down to this domicile. in the atrium for tea. oh i hate making flavored drinks for such a characteristic ship, sewn together by and by leaves. dare i yank it dare i pull, double-dare i uproot it; and tassle with it’s finland barbs… wait does it flower? does it own this home? where does it retreat at night when the lamp post posits chrome * no this ivy has a freedom. almost sent from thy heaven’s aftermath… calculating cold evenings alone, and sunny days for scaffolding craft… *it has the right to my door I guess, yet, I must depart tonight… I wish it wasn’t that easy to spot the lamplight’s goneth out tight a splaying, praying, hinge!, yet amorous as pups, that gild by day, and sleep by night… ’just where to go, least infected, so and so, I had for breakfast… as yet, to, I follow the light trodden path out of this dwarve’s town quite, all the while pretty sure - with baggage, light - I may endure a night made up for sleep, not just the itch of playful ivy. and which it’s poison is though soft, maest expedia is complicated as if gazing on twilling willows, accord perpindicular armed these pillows made by man, i completely can’t understand how it got there, or if it’s coming down, whether or not storm of protest, or friendly nether… I’ve tide us together… with a silent jag… the keystone pocketed by horse… to ride out until yet

serious settlement issue

“oh its just an odd-knocker, this storm.” Praytell forsooth not for teeth clenching prone to roarish brethren. the typeset that abhors onlookers and grave shade yet, whet for grass movements in an erroneous of swivel-floods and tourist. oh and Percival protecting the glass sass root, cellar with ornament and scone (already on hand) “oh it is quite an odd-knocker, this storm.” grassroots do tell of its aberration, the middle of fall. When and where a witch could scold up a cauldron of cabbage and sugar… to melt your eyes, she switches the lever on… yet no flying, nor sabbotage, in the old bottom-smith, glass loot, cellar for pause. “oh its dying down. this storm, what an odd knock.” as I was in teem, miserable-mind-sleeping… the middle of this seeping womb - the steady creaking of antiquated quaking - without cause. and till the water breaks I shall whisper twas an odd-knocking, as if nothing at all. nothing devoid of a forecast for glasses to toss shadows on the floor which soon shall bind all my fastest convex as storm!

peti teach

if it weren’t as bad as it was the shelter would have taken scorned crops to this hearth but snowfall brawn on the spruce young guns - find the children-chimerical toast points everywhere… green pea pods appear! everywhere, just for a few seconds from way up here…looks toyish, wonda’ if it id be a boy’s-wish!I

‘lest ye revolve around a stick! (once again) a kernel of hope! a bravish…with wits, rope and vhs tapes as these oils, and balsamic vinegarette! my choose, you,

the scalding hot crouton, bouillin outside like noodle… the exposures almost ready….! ‘spooky’-A.R. battle for the prestige of having a show to perform, the second night… the sun is a baffling cradle, lullaby magnets to master for when rapheal posee’s

tittilage

a truck stop south of the horizon… three perfect miles tilled in tile and daily tallied, the lapse being ticket to a calm shout-out…I’m ’talkin max shout out

too many at the table...

shelter… pass it around, At least floridian-meritous, pass the dish… thanksgiving gobbs, out his final mouth. “what is this? a poet convention? I’ve heard the cooking from the fridge. “strange postulate…mmm” Jason takes a sweet friccasi… pass the dish… the moon lost its directions, sitting clock-wise, to floridian-merit boasts! lucky guise… pass that dish… and someone reignite this/that candle, oh yet…” the braille-felt ham tasted too-full, aux musing at last “is that ham from the fridge Jason? is already cooked? shelter, why, I will get it…

oh, it has to… bottom of the jar stuck in pretzal’s sobriety… it has to so it can reach the others! the end of the bag, I do say! inquisitive little grasshopper… oh, it has to last… past the two twilights we caught… develop sobriety like a hawk’s bitten chalk… screeching out the taffy just to feel how hops oh, it has to last shorter? why are we backwards like arks? why do we persevere on this quest for the arts? sobriety teams with the green, forensics will catch sight… of a drunkard, with wallabees stationed peruvial at night…. but, might, this door, be friendly? be friendly this door? how can i call my licensure insured? sobriety oh it has to last longer, take a look at this fjord, theres room for candy, Now, I wonder, it’s make! high fortutious exhibition that three some odd twilights i see on television… all requited and paid trick fore, “i keep mine in elastic bands twirling orange fashioned melt-corn-caramel-candy…’ ‘where did i put my sword…’ ‘in fact next year I’ll get the hang of this and cut the corn out’ “bags of melt-caramel-candy” which is what i would frau, to peaceable elements of the nightgown i see crown…” “oh, the door,” “can this last any longer?” the fastest way to sink a tooth into something, valued like sales!, when the aliens embody us, do they where costumes… pouring ale? ‘i sent a message to an alien once, now in closest procedure, it said, nothing like servicing the eccentric and the outfit’s they where, colloquial as procedure!…’ that’s enough flapping your lonely gums, man, the candles are out…yours?

jump

the snowy peat piques under our feet a week to bend around the corner till cumbersome cleets - may! - be whittlin the trees and run, ran, tepid in a gauzy defeat all along the terrace, yet not where whet marks’ from… oh the dance of fall, trance-like snow and inward expansion, that is, from a handsome dole of ears on farmer’s land some mottled and took shape to swindle ransomed territorial foot jerks, root/root-marm type glances - a lot of this would happen the peckish birds in order the final cloud stops to talk the defunkt plough hits its rhythm when they crash into Noah’s Arc

block-q

liquid frozen cherry hearts

“used to plunder, here, pitch” “nitrogen in the gun, a black shark” appointed toward with the pistol ridge. sequential ultra-violet lights hearken

now, aiming at perfect concentric circles a miracle to miss, a martyr scorned at every outer or other disc a lively ancestral adagio of bank clutching triggers affronting notions of hands with gifts on cigarettes, alleviating the end of this type of pistols’ training measure, arriving behind, now, through doors, a field of ace-cards, to score, Since, as all alive, they arrive via assault rifles brought by forklift to the mire

january in code

although they do know hospitality, and efficiency among the dreary… well, since the nurse left, it was sweltering inside the cabin. which forsook the season came early, Good Heavens and when we couldn’t take it at all, we issued out into the ramps of snow as blockade and like beforehand spotted the of tufts tobacco far off, gunfire outlets and discoed merrily gauging, yet gouging our gait…

we still had the ridge around this necropolis half-faced, and as we spread, like butter on a skillet, we lost contact, our breathe no longer visible, plodding on into the flurries laying in graves

possibly still warm, we had moved out earlier than as expected… the extra flattering isometric movements we made were cantankerous. at mortar - we lay along the ridges - a fresh footsteps’ walkway past the trekked banks, still with us. , digging now back, surrounded by snow, towards the cabin, which this bearing clod and snow curtain imposes in testimony to a feverish loan, …before we start freezing, submachine guns on our postuler comprisals’ with whoady-demons hiding in the banks… whoa… I had strong, black coffee in a flask, which acted fast, yet put me at a loss with the frostbite of that cabin drought…

etc

As he gaze past the blinds, blinded by sun and shade, he pulls the chord aperture, at an angle and walks away to the study… Now as some say he makes beautiful sonnets… he to turn on the light to dawn it - these unbelievable inexplicably structured poems, which, in delight - glaze as he flips through; and raise the top right hand corner at the dancing wick to see the roman numeral to expedient light… Waiting to shop for milk and cheese, just to go ‘home… …and count [his] poems.’ again - replete, with pen names and invisible device, catalouge and camoflauge - jagged jarring shadow mare, bleached-Marrakesh, displaying their centre of weight. - just to eventually feed the perishable… Yet so - conceited, fashion to vague response and acquisitions, sometimes wrought - not just with his abundance of makes and modellas - conceited to the even very first time he ridiculously took time to stray from couplets and into: haikus, tankas, couplets, stanzas, coupons, colored leaves, radio jazz limericks, sonnets and shoes, just you-bet that until you read his work, that’s all you hear about, etc…

spot spice

i trot alien to the moon, passive and plausible to make the rise soon… its still early - while she ties her frown in thoughts, laying down - for her. mirth married to tarrier, wincing fairy-gilded to answer the wrought specs ‘in step with the window - the next possible contact swoon so certain and so far away the curtains of fall and May destined to be some other day - the dry champagne - co-ordinates slow - and the clamor, cauterized by locks of snow… until, ray upon ray of thy whetted smile - the merry festoon parlay as he gestures in a hard place… ‘I shall climb this tower, and rescue thee, not since Aesop, hath I believed, that there, a way to contest in speech, win and render this read heir besmirched your fate-meet, to a tender of every mention of my search… to seek. if I don’t climb to Luna, I may not resolve A pageantry for my waking ours’ and roses, in which to impeach.’

sandy welts

I went through there a while ago… it was fun crouching and dodging the trees… pressed to be, at war with the cite pleading-seething, not early enough to sneeze, yet being and in the beating pulse fleer of a rich,slow, (atomized) culture… in a way it felt untouched, I author… yet as i went on it seemed the way was receding towards an uncomfortable nature. First: the crickets’; sharp territorial lacerations, and the grass; against my calves, the smells of raw dirt; sobbing & the static-firecracker chlorophyll, all dashing ample pressure without building moisture, nonplus- with a bark of tree-like controlled temperature, ready as the rain and sun… it was cool, like an artic-submarine, as i wilted my holder’s keep then yet the thinning sun through the vertices’ expenditures clearly dipped to keep what expedience eye to eye… - I had trekked in a straight line so I took an about-face and marched back through…

‘talk about a red forest; passchendale spread dirt worked crescendo in quiet anticipation… scene from fantasies with a clumsy flourist…(stocked to the teeth) possibly enroute to explore the extra toxic mycological experiential plummets of the sport, known around here as half-plums - down-the-road, flash-back driven to protect snails…that’s all to say about it… yet I know they left trails… all waiting beside, an unevenly undulating mossy-short-fringed-shore…

The forrest sweat with me. It was on fire, the sun reached the luminescence cast from mark… on this relief of a march (more a thoroughfare) I couldn’t remember sites or paths or anything except the cyphered boughs… I dare say the leaves (in control) had me trapped, or lesser-oblong, blinded a gigantic swirling record of historians…! twas, more a terrestrian color brigade’s way of choosing way; and off to the sides: hay and what have you on one side, and a hedge high as high buildings envisioned from the fence ‘far off feudal. ‘all it needs is a fashionable mortuary on this plot to clear the woods I say… ‘next to congregational fences therefore, for they say the woods ain’t no normal woods…could be… I don’t frequent forrests too much, but maybe

the cedar incarcerated graveyard to last past wroughten fig draws

the screech of an antique drawer… the ‘screams at night to be extra visible, in the swift wind. almanac worthy, sale-item, pearl-obelisks of miniature mince through acumen fro-whistling. thats it with the fields, yet a myriad of several more super-imposed ghastly victims float through the dying leaves, kicking up dusts and leaf-coupons… I hear the roof belongs to the moon, and the smallest matters’ seek the light…

partridge

a twisted piece of grass in his responsible thumbs. he takes in, and lets out and some crickets jump in. had he known, grass-gowns for licorice, he’d had not blown his cover, oh so covetted as a tomb ground nearby, so surly, metamorphic reprise done under. what with a sandal stepping on top of small hills. ants and moth and flower and soil… best if he heads home the sun seems to be toiling

may weather

the bulbous’ businesses bias is of this hyacinth park - next to a frequency-trip rhododendron mention -parched my upper and hidden tensions of sinuses on a timeprint trip toward the sun. blocking the way a few feverish violets graying on the task ‘afront. ‘ i uncontrollably thought of sneezing, i know just the one… with a muddy print flurring off into the grassiest patches of hatchwork passes… chastised with practices of cold mashed potatoes and born of bread in sandwhiches…just to get past this…

she wore along with a song of the ancients - some climactic recession - that of butterflies and their swift tangential progressions; more than half - by a bit - past suspension… yet hammer’s smith smith moat, floating - to say - and blinking infinitely on a saucer of dismay… what several willows’ pillows at thought to bade, arrays of colorific centrepieces no more than just a bit clay… yet cloisters holsters sprays and sprays… while indeed the worthiest longlash fashions the gray. running away takes more time… i guess

rest

it was like destiny’s letters… cheavauh brawten… myriadical faucet (on) break-up patents, loose jean, palindromatic headdress on the lap of conclave…

‘just building, destroying miracles.. sorry worry-issue, razing glass tubes with the fictitious friction, how so~ felicitous at mention… rented a co-op back to baccyus (too) painted leisurical

praytell

an oriented cat figured its way across my lap and sat ‘correction, with articulation… and that, these

witchy-cat’s-eyes did stare at my frozen-folded slacks of worrisome pseudo turmoil - contingent on witches-cats’ body prompting hyphenetic enfolding upon, yet may not capture, the riding - crumpled - as i got up. and, yet let the yarn of her fretful sorcery fold mercurially into a snow man’s legs…which happened backwards…accidente’ ‘thought i might snatch my in-hand-done papers; plucked like a c string…out and on this same diaspora singular-editions… of which might defribulate a countenance leaving hooks cards’ on door knobs…quo now and forever, and with thinning trim as, whispering spurs dropped that witchy cat into the time-signature of my noumenal greeting prepositions to date, and all anti-slack band fashion - to temper to hands off and on… for instance I grasped the gnomon that i construed out of wrought natural materials, including but not limited to mangoes, caramel and magnesium… shaving the time…~ it wears like glue I had forth created the sheathing effect of its width set, scent, and scoal that is that time and time again cat’s are proven to exist forever… the scary-witch-cat caught up with me at the door harboring a big, black, bubbly cauldron-stir… with a peacemeal glance back at the forth chapter and muttered, just a bit, whetted. the air quickly jetted to phenomenal… what time was it, was it? i left my apothecary, things were looking up! soon to spread the time ah the settlling slug, the maniacal ant reserves the bald men selling rugs and the pills that people deserve… - always awake yet - and feverishly asleep; sleeping all the time away my undulations and motion-derivatives tart in series and sets complexed the fluish tenders of the herrendous heat tarp to act art contradictory veritas minutely and breathe hearty of the daze chalk if thats what is entailed - the job was simple yet met with some combattant like.

- perhaps outside where the cigarettes burn; platonic mnemonic, reindeer begged for antlers cash spent enroute to the spot, most of it traditional cat’s telephone machine… who knows?

a semi-efficient compromise of plexiglass scratch flat - the vivid pock marks of the projector, which’s capacity was quite muddled. and the cat had it (either way) yet the cat call worked the cat, santa claus, some other big names… kicked a freestyle session, pretty dope stuff. for instance… “i bring you presence” that guy has way too much time on his hands.

Houndstooth is soundproof

1. quay

1.tell everyone, the basement’s done flooding…

1.my house, a crumb within a flute sharps of embankments

1.patients testing lesser things for flooding or dried fish

1.“you’ll have yours”

1.“its windy outside”

1.the basement is whetted while i rinse through blades and shower my facial

1.while spirits sink from the comforter - morse code balancing, with this art

1.blinking, blinking, blinking…

1.stridents

1.0

1.kneedeep

1.‘back in the day, when i was young, i’m not a kid anymore’

1.bliss crystals sift through stealth, miss you ‘xoxox’

1.plagarize dexterity for another half-surmised

1.blur of the edges insofar fit for a fistful of life, twitch, came short and sought wife-

1.Those, curious pledges to deltoids, the -esiuz of the ledger

1.blasting surfeit in two lasting past the forth, fortnight eclipse…

1.you get to fight; aside a private glass of modern man’s ant-hill

1.some tvo granted chain of command through the grass blades,

1.sit, fantasy, break, elven toxicology…speak worldly through a spasm i once had…

1.no doubt it would wash away in mineral deposits, so accursedly shallow…

1.pressur

1.patches, on delt’s quay -

1.milk and chips…

1.chocolate on the mint press procedural stress

1.need so many…

1.tell me about it,

1.abdicate

deltoid

i fell into a double-pronged - gift - marriot of song. play flacons fillial fish bladed oblong…merro sketched on sever audacity (semblance) with a crew-dillitant - as if fading hair to a nightmare of irrevocable capacity, to grow there…

poppin off, lots of toss, to the clouds though, the floss (ignoring bliss?) which topped my chart, on my single hit-or-miss mark… flakes of gentle seabass, of which it wash… bark bark!

seriously took a reel in to exist…

chalk melted and bladed the number’s drawn on a pheonix,

of which was sent to bring her flowers? can you believe that, ‘girls in the shower’

metabolizing her voice, rainy day style opaque sky? cast me a derivative - oh ‘that.

coy, built, fahrenheit height, instant passion

the bastings

it truly is beautiful,

which does not

for some instance, at insinuating loss

most of all, the givance-

of tectonic call & calf

which tends to break ocean’s in full yet in half…

mildly tending an impish flame,

the fire texture, fixed-ie-feeling pane

and a flame, for all - yet the forth!

a myriad of haggus or something borne

blurring ant mimic in god’s resin - like an earthworm

a notable fishhook… scraggled into my salmon… my salmon; port.

in don quiote’s fashion he swam on land, like a sailor; port.

a wednesday never came faster in the history’s of monday; though I don’t calm thence…

and an umbrella-spider taut, taught me spider-lingo: i was like, one cheese order…

a peacable reason to deal with whilst vacant… perhaps a book caught the fish, caught the grip, caught the sights, hit the port

2. waltz

2.oh willow, play me crazy, breeze by my censorship on your trip up to a bird’s eye-spicate-spies-especially-willow in my eyes…

2.with each farther and ruse planted to ferment the lurch of dues, of perfect clot and tie, why don’t you turn to the appeasement of the highest skies in you

2.they say

2.be forth written and climactic, aimed at with telephones, tilled derision, still precision, still precision and make marks sifting shifting sniffling, to , to mother, to bride bring down your own centre and break the sky… ive been there, many times

2.what will open the dice face, for miser, in fact, ive never seen a bead of it’s echo the perpetration of a perpindicular tie.

2.start first and end where you began in fact, delineate between a restitution that each petal will latch; yet closest, the fountain needs tract, spritz and follow ornate heaven’s grasp…

2.blasphemy bounded and gave you a match!

2.… pluck a further moment with the lass, who brought sew… she writes, willow, oh you breezy, easy going, so-so.

2.response edition 2

2.s’matter o’dillitant to the number 2

2.catoring brevity points for instant revery’ dilute with two thirds hair and rose…

2.i spose i could check the bars again,

2.mine would be “diaspora co-lect’ my favorite make to model, yet i have one lingering rose point, stemming off and finding water in …well

2.i just walked from here to tim hortons three times in 3 hours, thats prosaic dystolic for a fortress made of forgotten lure…

2.tho’ yo’ spoiler, which stands accrued such as more luke warm cadmium.

2.playin safe here, the number, the winter, you forgot about me… iced percentages, that may melt

2.no edit

2.‘past the point of g hosts’, a dendria lantern for my soul *i press the tip of clasp-broken oration to extend my thumb like a chapter, in the book of yet to put down (robert frost, selected poems) it moved my lighter into a rolled lighter, and right now i was ignorant of the place, where I watched, and what i’ve got. blink

2.20 fast minutes clocked a wall of brick to assail my placard heart, hearing art - and arabic insinuendoes… mesmerized by chalk…when? my knee placed my whole shoe, yet built with the shock, destitute rhythms i misused… i did not want to die, fore my word, lifts strong, then or now a peacable remission into what i thought cool lingo for was ‘friction’… and i stuffed my pecan dish with egyptian ecstacy bliss crystals’ remarks… plark, quarked down and through the nicest police car parlor with talk of being stopped. and there i was for 3minutes i was responsible for, divining my belief in stop…so awake… so awake… the ghosts sought a magistrate… i told my sister of mummy-eating practises in Egypt.. what saved me was television’s widest spectrumx2 tv… on TVO…. i i, and today, more subtle it was Ron Burgundy 2…

2.for the record, i prefer articulation to humour 4 times out of 5

2.double minks

2.the pharoah decreed: we shall not stop, till, there is a top… and with lightening fast reflexes Albert Camus later recites loop and/or ladder building as a mechanism distributed by mountains and rocks… that lead to an uphill battle, all around - yet more importantly - he with the thalidomide predominantly scare out the bliss that’s inside of us, mark, he felt the only logically question is…

2.the pharoah walkled up to the ledge of his honour and a hissing snake caught his attention - waltzing primarily in its unyarned crinkle, and shushed it with great calamity… oh what a great calamity it was. and so, he, was, rejoiced~

2.the outsider l’etranger, excites a little snake into the forces of egyptian solitude, at a reasonable price…

a list of treason

a single wrinkle on the rose petal, arose such suspicion, roses’ thorn’d build failed to permeate…

a paschendale of artifact magic cards crinkled in the pack age… in jumps a soldat- of basketball-talent!

left remission for the hard-wood floors,

a list of treason

—-bleek bloom

watching the 9:10pm its darker than most, clouded thou drought. thought-catching

a misty 9:30pm, conceptualized way far for enough backings baccus flow like foam,

a wooded section of way back.

attaching to too petals, square like a orchid-skin-electric game-docket…

3. russians

3.braille she dots furtive longeurs parting…

3.into a frosted flute

3.braking and entering into the fury of a jazzman’s jazzhand

3.which came with a breathe of fury…. wasn’t, chapped-so

3.quite why i had a myriad of worry

3.so surly to surely moresal-piece wear and tear the lury,

3.whilst penury from pencil tip equitable myriads of lury… into

3.questing for a stop-end bureau or bearer… to bust open the dirty, six-piece cylinder making shift shift shift shaft and lury…

3.and spin

3.a sizeable gap of educative dually provocative slurry, of a book!

3.and rampart the ignitable fruition of a head(strong) blasphemy out of order..

3.departed… roman,

3.arrived… prosaic,

3.middleman… Proxy,

3.-to the cause,

3.and manage the intern, pattern-stripped clasp of a low-riding pair of jeans’ilk

3.bludgeoned to malady, (my lady, my silk) myriad….

3.rare wilting sun of the sun… run with me, ‘till i see the pageantry, build… let alone a quill, that does

stacked mind

i battled minutely and broke the index chapter-area-rearish and pristene in itself; that is an arrangment cloaked within a book’s barriers thinner than the thick letter-plaque, laced and unthinned; it didn’t get me down so much as to renew it, in fact, it seems like its gaining worth, like precious candy, i don’t know, obviously there is a worthier cause to incur growth, yet, none as sweet.

oh the smell - elemi - delicatesans’ sanitation with food… green, mini blade thickets…. ie. take some brick laying liasons… how meddlesome…and obstruct passage in libraries - and those the thought.

turuses

oh its like we are entitled

to every fabric across from this foliage, even the varying fabrige undergrowth wrought of this, a mason's fable, nightmare or shovel

catch us

tracking a whirlwind of pollen as dust onto available petals

and i wonder, if any cross-pollinated beeless…

and that bugle’s horn is to die for

submissive in pledges to and fro, discerning incoming autos

________

turuses

wrags

many…pennies-weight, within the jurisdiction of an edicette known to falter, pre-empts, plausible postulates of which, from all but one can hitherto alter. and yes you or you may have pennies for all the angles of a pressed coin, yet, emblazoning idols with them spastically hurdled through the air in one show of robust emblazoning, does not yield it’s capacity to promote growth against time. and against time is supremacy I guess forthwidth the renegade that it is… whatever bevels it connects eventually in surplus determines the surface of the moment a wrecking ball broke through; entrepreneurial, sadistic. Neitzsche’s “atavism” clocking in….

a direct line of command somehow got contraband…

r.i.p.

4. herbs.

4.a well, felt next to the smooth-shop, and rainwater doused it from time to time.

4.it fell upon the worthiest of the town, to stop and take some time.

4.at once one day,

4.a coin did break,

4.the surface of the water…

4.and just on time - or the clock that authored - it was surfeit with tea and proper.

super

cajolery

blazon, directory from the mashed out

maison, perfunctory list watchers, flout…

grazin’ perfunctory wist latchers, gout…

break the beak or break bread? i mean, what is the dire mutation doing now?

safety

on a samosa of a backwards warpath, petty - perhaps pedestrian - recall from the HQ led Preston into the net structure and pronds of the opposite of oblivion, ‘eh sos goes for us all… by that mark…. engagement where, in the microscopic-frothing-tangiblity experiment-ecosystem, the variety of decedent in ‘sublimated level 3″ unknown section to requisition note biene , ‘a new verse of well-crystalized piety was tinging for recall as those Mills marbled the petrie-centre. some powder, of, magnesium, later; the very small, yet informed hallo-wentrepreneur took just under full form…element 7.5 tacked to his right wrist band with insignia from some government chap, beside~ it

before much, and before long, the thing surprisedly formed around one side of the dish and taut predictable effervescence… again, more much, same long. as it stands, a hatching period known to the subdivision failed to mention or document that this was subservience of the…device!? willing to form - and that it was taking shaped around the slight, circular concave that- thinning?-turning to water? which was growing in uniform metabolism… like the focal prism scratch on the refracted index… element 7.5, has been recalled, ad diminue’ pro quo, and as deciduous’ are pronounced, tangled - appropriately - into the vacuumed perforations of the topiary inert proficiency of shell-like…larger than usual octopus vessels…

str

beyond progress within the computer mainframe and it’s strictly-digital capacity to preface backing up several attempts to testify - these as experienced coherent hackers - sent a rumikab of articles (known as an infinitely singular testament) wheeled light… gyro-cryptic, ‘shells, had a light disco sliding through the avenue fresh with baking soda and drink… blotches of small resisters; which accounted for the eerie glow, tilt-pink. i pieced together the sata and its particle party-favour cable… instant spring…

stand tall

placid it sits; a remonstrance, in the midst… of what-is-it? that of where the best cherry blossom hath splits… cider says hard: its the pits, the fits, the ritz russet-dark cherry molasses tis’ it for a list of super nintendo-binding dualisms to exist,, so jinxed…ummm it would take minxs to douse themselves - and we’ve two shots at this… quick, as a back up, before a tail up, yet ipso-facto… elastic like that of dopamine to endorphins perhaps yet the cherries ferry chariots and arrive in focal piety…the pits, again! we sit with the cherries across the fence. to climb, to the condensation-swine-rhetoric, sits… uhh, blimp? clenched like a rinsed hand, i grab the retrograding-officiated root, and route my right foot for the first elbow of a live one… pinching 2 bundles of hoodlum-ante and jump down and then to eat them… the cabbage-like puncture, to just graze the centre, piece, tincture of light vinegar…. and He’s cleaning the eavestrough for another… on second chomp, a brandish of sheer pheromone, thigh… spots a ladder to the shed and fro… before i brandish another, i’ll throw the rest in my pockets to rest - professed to cherish! yes, they’re unbreakable… —————hey you, where’d you get those… like he didn’t know?

eucalyptus

I”ve gots a shallow for-aloe, wound, wound from malpractise already,

my atlas stabbed my marble backward ‘back gammon theism, with warding capabilities crestfallen to thee tree, and it’s galvanized antissory film decay’a’wedding with the moisture involved in distraught dust and underage car… my first wishes was to dish wash the woven bovine roving of a uut disorganizing pallete entrepreneur in sevens… yet when i arrived tango, it was obviously a “jericho” moment, and i clicked the six six six… my emblem was duty; payed.

(mind on plinko, straight shooter on the hip) -turuses which has x2 paved the way for an astral projection that’ll guide me into the centre of the known solistice - forever just a teem - to deserve uut zero inert… inertia to a rotisserie clocked, rocketflag tango. Bounced that check ‘thralled, in specs. flekked one gold - the army stock in check, slivered to the dentist cuz i swallowed a praying mantis- at best and was the width of elastic band with working man’s best specs… perhaps>>> might need to run through a bit more radial arguments in the past; to, durst, deposit seriousness in my clay-abiding ipso-nouns, pro-abiding, to send in my resume of duality when it comes to rooting out clowns! thanks for the lovely slug you set loose on my concrete slab… x

Set’till

contralto vivified in plurality reign to indict the heart ache of such departure sparks in-dissent the friction of smart boxing, in three fold. a diorama

from

the pandering window, maybe the soda water crystals aside at my desk. Sometimes its good to hear about perfect leisure, when the legions are brass-steel self-alleged

i use to be quite a pro with pencil-spinning, and its strictly from my heart, the art that begins with pencil-rinsing… oh, i gave mechanical pencils something to believe in. doesn’t matter, twas a glorious match up of mechanical pencils, and spinning them, that i partook in. clad in an unsharpened… no question…

bark

a larger than normal tarantula poised to eat a small tree outside the restrictive park area came to the conclusion that, if he had studied medicine, he might have enjoyed eating sooner.

who knows?

title wave

darling loss, providing hosts with mothballs, independent of cause… the objection of walls corrects its paucity - dash costs… and in betrothal of sauces, paints - if thats what you call them - a dish, is left… cold fish… best viewed with a hook

its all wrong, maudlin fathoms, deep brilliant eyes of squid… the watch of witches in the crow’s nest, explode, then make fire for fish

the ice has originally melted - that, thin straw stout route to two too nihilist dire platforms of the underaffected that are down for precedence, that be: ignorance, either side of the fence with indescribable turmoil already, or even just because of the actions which seem impossible; and a strict mouthpiece, within limited to authority, via sanctioning and the underfunded promises therein… yet… as Mephistopheles has it, logic lasts till the last sentence… and the USA is in jeopardy

order some CATs to skulk around and sit and dig

tunnels to offshore…? trenches from spawn fly some jets in there if it helps with aerial footage perhaps isolates of pressure. ie. lots of liquid nitrogen! & even some type of bomb….. i know, bomb a hurricane w/ convoys of concrete trucks and/or logs

yet my venture permits both lines of caring to be merry, i was ready to say fish may need to swim onland for some reason and no that doesn’t help anybody, studying where fish are during so might be beneficial…same thing with people…helicopters!

makeshift trailer bridges? leaving taps on? gtfo of there? the final clue is: where would you like to live? and, the answer: florida

bitter stasis

why is it the sand gold? speakth before’n to see the moulds: grazing iguanas claim, climb, clad the folds, where ‘ and all the little pharoah scald with drolery- it must be the summer-line, crossing into the spill, long-horn, to horn, to horn exploding instruments turn to soil and nefarious- deltoids rest in summer-line wrest,

and as I am for ease of etching…sorry, possibly just saw a necklace-peice of a pendent permeate itself into an anubis coat- of- strictly fashionable-that-some-green, which as the light accustom brown-pouting was incandescent at best, maximized i, its deliverance as a frosted-scarab… motionless, iceberg of fabric from the mathematical subscriptions limited upon brick face, to seize armiture as one and one, yet but not captured… either purpose or meaning… tbc

pick me up twice

that and a night drought came in with a robust, roving massive darkness; across spanning over the minute divits of thunder clods, over this land gratefully, without its gander of low pressure; finally welcomed where the lakefront promenade - municipality to mine own - met the lake. i heightened up and spritzed the window to a cramp. like i say its not everyday one can live among confused feathers and disco lamps. i sped to my notebook and sketched the nuthatch i saw dabbling the air - like my vision was relegated to all and/or most of the movement in the bands - of sleevefilled horizon lines and the figurines. the hedges here to there, the short paved escape, the trees; flanked so-on forever, and the firmament. yet it moved fast, twas twice as vast, iconoclast clear skies bank where aroused was a shaky 5pm red sun- only visible now and so-where, a wind picked up and doused the downed whiskey rinsing through some impossibly pretentious banter, along the shore.

diagonally

it hasn’t even been a lock since my prized synced sundial ammended even blacksmith’s blind… the twilight hour… a still rather elliptical - outfit of my lot’s labor had I could sense turning a final austerity and gently top-heavy field gamon alotting that which continues moderate growth without locusts. at first its like watching a fire, then they settle down around 4:00am. but thats neither here nor there. unless you count the visits I get from Samson I get at all hours. and here we shall share him odd on envoy particular. reticent, self-evident.. my weather vane was drowsy so and so… wishing it could give me a clear patch as a black horse stamped with rider and pulled up… at the hour of 10:00pm Thelma made him a scarlet blend of herbal tea, I the same. Upon courtesy I seated him in my study and we both had at some fresh lemon tobacco. “how are the yellow and red water?” “fresh coal, have you another blend?” “why yes.” I fetched a Drumson Wood and asked Samson, “how long will you stay?” “Oh, just on my way back from town.” Samson took out a newsprint partially twisted in his back over-all pocket. “I’m gonna lay it straight for those aliens.” “…The crop circle people?… they seem vengeful and organized…” “More Drumson Wood, and I’ll just finish this tea here. I say, a price on their heads…” Samson pulled out the page, “seems a group of people do the circles too in order to show the ‘aliens’ we are intelligent too, near the back, smaller part of the publisher, called locustfocus.” “Why that’s as clever as it sounds.” “it says here we’ve seen the last of them this season, or they’re spreading, ready to ground.” “so what am I to do? What are we to do?” “stay vigilant. drink tea. in the extra fine print it says they are a judgement call, a reflection tranmorgified, a mirror as transition through life can only manage, all run by those who use livestock, those who value life.

onew one

its so noiseless that i ask you nobody knows this if i left without a trace to let loose my face,

existence, would start with thee last left bashful eyelash by alibi that to leech around a winding hill of coal at rest and, yet when abreast two fifths fine grass, and a wine glass, broke at home

finishing with an invisible penny for twisting, an oasis reminding me that im out one seashells finding colored beigh with patina of five sevenths temple displacement that striking up on mine own binds of

where my eye is a filament for the engrossment of ‘those’ others - skeptically close- but don’t you know you were never one to run away, from the salted roads

hey cold warm 2

I was on the brink of falling asleep, late and complacent on the couch in the front - for once one floor above the basement. My eyes slightly jumped open now and then, revealing - honestly - the life that played with myself and the scene… Decorations abounding around the walls and shadows from all that was seen. On one extended viewing of the partially lit walls covertly at the door - the indigo ceiling melting into normal orders - did buckle and remotely douse me with ubiquity and order of operations to discretion in architecture, the culpability of movement arrayed. my blanket in disarray - knit and white - became a sleeper’s foyle as it reigned on me as ordinary occurence; yet this, I was deeper.

why yes, the blocks of ceiling, my ballast; window and furniture, shifted, all to make something, something I either slept through or woke up suddenly into subriety - and had come about from all my condescension, with an expedient opt to reassign the ceiling to whatever it was. That know I knotted locales and a opaque ceiling.

My eyes began doubting the stillness, several times. My best guess was a moving candle operative, of fairy or pixie dissent, ushering me into the basement through the vent�� the comfort from the blanket growing exponentially, I jarred my eyes, feigning fright. at which the ceiling came bearing down on me and started a lament for the rug in front of the door… I swear I wanted to move; somehow I just knew I was not in the malady of a malevolent being, perhaps just proverbially and most likely - an impish flame rekindling from closed eyes’ near blind, and sallow angles reshaping…

I had been in this purgatory gearbox, for an hour or two… I waited for the birds to chirp. when the candle went out… it was now well-past midnight hour and I lay in the darkness, comfortable, yet partial to wakefulness. I lit another candle… the indigo folds, the impish flame, the blanket, all the same

There it was… the first bird chriping like a lovely siren.f

hey cold warm

a brazen on the barometric deep in the throat of recognition, plumes in loose flute position, angled a slolom solemn, so-seam - so-so - slotting into my lower chest, such as do dotted candy strips and just as memorable as the swindle mentioned specifically its the purple opal octagonal-pointed and the brunt cindrous dazzling cinammon my eyes yet its dark

arising phase I flew on land, a kite that racked from a bird’s nest in the clouds… angels… swiftly upon me eleven albatrosses came down I"m like, “where’s the waitress?” once as was thought, I throttled the full-armor-car-aft-facade on quickwork-flat blatant dune backing up to pull the chord down “all this from from the former backseat the lower order keeping distracted with menial attempts at diction drifting through the world, there she was, she cast a thoroughfare glistening aura, beside - on the board walk

Guage of an arrow, splinted roughhousing nothing more to climb, cherries full and waiting - and flagstone, drops in x. waiting for labels

razings’ dreams drifting through the world… heralding minutely, and casually on a mini skateboard, albatross full foyle ~ about. most - some pure coasting,.., buoyantly why I mean Cinderella had some natural artifice actually restricting limitation the wake of sheer wind, her able lateral shark of compute, which limiting more but hair it just comes to some things thats shes just into and really, across, where onto the window my reflection plucked my core,

the flagstone remorse. searching distance.

"check them, check them.” the limits that attest to, ward, all those feesible mentions… in both edges of a carrion dispositions of regret now, now… I’ve pent the stencils to be filled in and over with ink, the nets can’t even capture prize still frames to sync can’t even think in the now its so quick - the odd neglect cubism tares cares to fasten - yet? so - so finish quick

~moon cycle had i

it gets predictable the miserable the madness talent and those who wrap the falcon’s beak around and break the brow from beaten artists, (going )far'n finite for marbles quark, florid fauna, fond of a final fantasies for real, just how those are where those naught (reached…) phantoms lanterns saturn asprin a symposium where shadows’ riot for platony, create a credenza of its spectrum, a two-something measure of disparity insofar as he who was brought pox inequal pressed-to silhouettes of rockness frets, yes, sir, thats rounded-edges-talk of fast-misery wave-technology all-so spaced out like emaciated chocolate or space cadets… spying loch ness even the uneven

!54 104

as will lace’d rivulets of feathers felt into italic line, become barbarous against a feverish fire where no friction echoes of finite time perhaps already forgotten there own make marking burning - like this very poke - spokes of wind super-tropical winnding and,

nothing but glorious ignition as soon as bent backwards…to the ground, from the grind, as iconic rivulets of home break apart the hands… and posit… pheonix seeds, brought to term in ff7 to plant and plead with reality sometimes…

130

to sew the wounds up… my hand to play the part of spoon, hook, ransacking tolerance. I, with swoon in hand and maudelin talent even if i make a pamphlet on benelovent rancor, someone’s prediliction might ignore the horseshoe plants still stiff as to lay on my to-do list as one thing to hand out once its… in print and then wander into the abyss. till vastness becomes iconoclastic and I last this matress out till its endoplasmic reticulum becomes a magnet, and then on until it fractures, and polarity shifts, do it all backwards, with stronger magnets

farther into the w

breaking broke stuff that’ that satellites back-up flashes that sound as diamond scratches on doctor’s recommendations I vaccine some dollar bills for entertainment crystals - thats non-nickel-cadmium adjacent the cinema with her

just flashin’ against the line

I broke through the borrowed past, presented myself - bounced on calves… neck nexus to the side panorama first strident, an attack secondly merely contender ballast dear hearts with the task of fast or faster.

assured,

entry 3

Journal Entries in Blood Part three I went out to the market at midnight tonight, just to look around. A howling the other day made me think there might be a stray dog or wolf or something. I could probably train a wolf couldn’t I? The shop was dim though the neon open sign still cycled, coupled with metal bars and the lock, I somehow found my way home, and then it was… a howling, not of wolf, but of upset life or wind. It grew closer with another, then it stopped. My eyes were out like a dog, not a wolf, surveying the area for something other than leaves twisting attached to branches. I started my way home, a different way this time, I ate my trailmix and made safely to this attachment. It is nearly waking hour, and there it is again.

new new 1

i reckon there was a coast about 20 seconds ago, the earth drops’ moon cycle

i left without a trace to let loose my face, by alibi that to leech around a wind of fine grass, a wine glass, broke at home reminds that im out one seashells find that striking up on mine own binds of my suitcase working my shovel into an ovendouble shift one for mistakes, one for muscle… and one for miscellanious my find was called a jarhead and was for strictly pure profit in the warbly march sand and soil at this time of night

yes, yes here, where fleeting doesn’t cost - anything - except the loss of a waist here and there, below the flaying gargoyles which embed one’s soul lies some treble conspiracy quo and today in cue stone, turnt to evening fire cutters, even welcomed evening grace, and i don’t see it happening any other way

little foggy, like always probably won’t rain, but i’ll jog if it gets on me… twenty past a single digit, and drunk mates had made a religion to stop me… not on my map, they don’t even know where i live systems down, this was hardly… what you would get out of me.. like always i shutter and i see a zombie, it’’s me

new new 2

i reckon there was a coast about out and abrupt up about 20 seconds ago, the earth drops’ moon cycle had it different

on land. oh how! docking reminds that im out one seashell - my first boat - and up around $1000 each toss of the new one. for that striking up on mine own binds - of my bane suitcase - working my shovel into an ovendouble shift one for mistakes, one for muscle… and one for miscellanious a net growth my find was called a jarhead and was for strictly pure profit in the warbly march sand and soil at this time of night ‘that in treasures found scintillating matches, sparks, and clods

little foggy, like always probably won’t rain, but i’ll jog if it gets on me… twenty past a single digit, and drunk mates had made a religion to stop me… not on my map… they don’t even know where i live systems down, this was hardly his heart, always bound… what you would get out of me.. like always i shutter and i see a zombie, it’’s me

one one

its so noiseless that i ask you nobody knows this if i left without a trace to let loose my face,

existence, would start with thee last left bashful eyelash by alibi that to leech around a winding hill of coal at rest and, yet when abreast two fifths fine grass, and a wine glass, broke at home

where my eye is a filament for the engrossment of ‘those’ others - skeptically close- but don’t you know you were never one to run away, from the salted roads

zrunning

just flashin’ against the line

I lick my pen against the flower to appear chic yet damage nothing… How subject - of abstraction - forms torque on normally debatable craft ending, mending within art’s perametre; thus stated reverence, may exceed instead of submit to vision - though limited - image which is contrary in most cases, hitherto where this percent of contraction may hold true in reverse for cubism garullously settling upon it’s true form…

sober slurry

a puzzling equivalent - unto which i know of at very least twofold - habilitated itself with my side order of large onion rings…to go was and will be, cheddar jalapeno dip, oh, and a bottle of soda, a small pricey one… it seems these were on side as i gazed at the game sippin on my gazzeiu, that of the way over yonder to the other half of the staggering petition to heresay glee club mods who say no and who’d attribute new age convention with extremely age’d tradition… bless them. and their future seeds

nor zeus, nor he be the king of wizards, and poseidon - damned to eat plankton, that i relish eating wagon wheel cookies

—

turuses

curiously appetizing

I passed the telephone company’s brick building on the way back (like always) and like always it caught my glance (and probably, properly stored my electrolytes’ dot product in it’s heaving face)

I couldn’t fit inside the telephone machine building. for some reason, the telephone, had it in for me! yet, after 3 hours i sit by it’s ‘therefore’, wondering… why i must get inside this telephone.

soma

a riddle what starts with a middle four fretting that is, not ice cream, yet just as meddlesome when together between them specimens vary very robust, that is when not brushed… you can pick it up some say you can master it, some do as a clutch rapport, and clash together, with so much but sport. some think silence can take hold of the being… calming astronauts and marrying marigold flocks all abandoning the forge of earthly locks… consuming this tug of war with this rebel heart

destined for back pane, yet strained resonating with two thumbs on next whatever that may mean its suspect to a violence sometimes only ascribed to in old folks home, where the bloods been beaten hot and that

outer space

fare long freight to dim dimensions rate penchants whilst trenches, in… a way.. never saw them coming yet hospitals frost the tips fitness and fair stipulation lips conjugation of list - equivalent - while separation wiles, stat-wiley over intact, nothing - like platitudes dilution of concrete blocks add attitude yet painful memories by diminished blocks are subdued?

wool

Oh, it’s certain… hundred-thousand militant measures of a broken yard by metre (estranged for the reader) a meteor shower amends the broken pleasures of such a Neapolitan attack on the criticism for the cynicism had me open! Yes, oh my… plenty coin-like credit-card-scam-brilliance, sign the marks on my frail, weathered effacement into a blithering commensurate, yet forever emblematic union of staccato! The moon, was following me yet, and As I had sprained my ankle, I were had to, run over roots, scurry past pledges, that with a fluid limp-jump… mildly hopping over tracks, which my upper-back, caught on to splayed roots on the ground… as to be seen, wildly kicking up the scarce twig and twixt, ‘and anon: oxygen millennials - when and where necessary my powers of narration became anaesthetised and somehow configured itself somewhat, that into an old VHS tape conception format. After a little tracking the odour of odium prices on wolf masks with that plastic diffraction slips And the moon by the window, cocked it’s wonder-gun at me, Pleasure of unthinkable amounts, resting in negative, all conceived

v.1 “lemon tree”, postaged bout 10 days, (lemon-earth days)

sallow / pallor

dendrose

1 this is for that usury,

used to be awake, censorship encumbered-package, usually~ Asleep, clad in yesterday’s haze, beep, beep, beep first to rise, which just happens to be a phase… 6, clock, spearmint 6:15, cries. 2 identical clock cavities, brustlin’ busts of oven-cannot, trallop suites… I’ve officially dye-cast silver from coin to sweat, wheat and parametres, of which i’ve never spoke! 3 down by the second leap of day’s scales, the moon’s lymph tickle, play trick on the sicler… ‘say Death creeps out like how it does North Farther… ‘say don’t be scared of the ion, curtain, cascades… they say they break soon enough, that is as the iris tissue combusts!

4 and the parliament in laymens, rise like spite, muscly, and whelk; totally combobulated enough to qualify for thalidomide and seeing wealth. documents privvy to a living type of surrepititious musical scale.

5 around noon, the shops are broken into, the salad’s tossed, the forks, mashed in the gravy… without the sauce… stocktips holdfast like plateaus - how pleasant - bout the size of a yogurt… rain flares out of specifics… and barbers, leave there parlors… cars park - forward and backwards! 6 round about now the static combs diagonals, slate and tie, like an Egyptian wedding order for two, who killed you, and how you survived… 7 soon enough one must become one, and it always may… if i had to I would pat your heart a lullaby in your mummified chestplate just to be certain that I could breathe ~somehow.

8 its safe now for the mystriant, or the leader clad in torn bloody clothes in plain deniable site… to march upon the moons tumultuous creators, now maybe high noon all night.

just x 3

(bystand…)s are outnumbered by and yet while the juri is in… weather the atmosphere is tight enough, expediant and gruesome for the sudden fog! !oh what a sudden fog! plus, the lust for cummulative lush and hush, of, flesh, rut rooted room for relish, oh, im out of legalities to logician’s flexfit fever, ferver-fluish… “rabbitfoot-talisman” and, that they are

at least for now and sheesh I couldn’t count all these…

maudlin, vaudvillian pleats and hill battling in fleets, bleeding the tattle, in thieving the leaves, as this somehow presents itself, in a waltz within the season -

whilst, some reassuring sequence that thy betwixt bane and bosom, slaying, and slalom straight, out the demonic cellar of Helen Keller, ~looking for a piece of plastic - bendy, black - whilst sweating through tissues as would molasses !oh quite reluctant~

just to envelop the feasting concept in enamel-persona, that, “looks”, could be a snug fit as slang for glasses!oh

well, no match for shelves or sleeves in it among mashed-out color additives, “Madvillain” - trapped like tylenol packages… just too, pry that thing off my sling, slang sugar rifle, .35s to just need to carry this for triflin’ broken-oxen+wrought-trophy, a token for the inert.

marching through the swampy mud

balm

~a drag with bisquick, mistaken. a martyr broken, out spoken a pledge ‘though,’ mystics saw - in blind pageant - that it had been coming, the change in self / perpetual melting (maybe even wealth and static (theduality ))(- of practise expedient…) patient momentum quite like: eddies now, that tend to slop up off with the the prophets.’ toxicity and all textures on hand! mesmerism-synthesizing-metabolic, clox “A tall tail of uncommon fixtures to abed the solstice!” Ail uncommon Oxbridge- flyers…

who! ~ never saw this it coming - it, being. antithesizing avec beau shashay - passing by -round noon -,a slash a dash of anti-septic aid from the atmospheric changes )oh what a terrible 1 haiku ) 2 cacoon cannot forget the forfeit with a timurus attendant addendum of excess lemonade, -the patchy landing on cobblestones as a final order of direct ability to access sweet lemon merange pie! so cold! slay the dragon Oh, how moylent whoa, whoa, whoa dragon wings circled, moving more tweaked than lofty, that the shady concentric, crown-ambulent missletoe fleers stocatto flamed resisting arrest, sat down to rest on the ashy rooty charred bark deposit, chalk outline and all. And he seemed to pout, resting in his petulance, all on final penguin-feat exhuming the fallen lemon tree + roots Why? The sky - a death sentence, yet the crestfallen three-dimensional tilt of matter integrity beaming so honest from the sky’ now just past noon, sliding through like a dull lens (ingenuity), christened expedia! as and sent through the bloody-rack of fossilized hub temperature, gaily enjoying and blasting & mashing hulls lithosphere to the dragon, for now. the size of one third day, tending in an ache, forced tired like ambulances, and breaking off chips of lemon rinds like toothpaste…. oh! perambulating fonder chest cavitity status by chasing marche,’ strips, off commonly dragon mouth chaste stasis places, ready to eat pate’ and break blades off a graceless fairy ring, situated for bleak outlooks with its correct gargoyle smile missletoe at every sharp corner and as it was granted that this crystallizing dead tantrum of claws, wings, thighs, to be scaled for consumption

boe-loose

it crumbled like cartlidge, brisky-brisk then nonchalant at its content - ever so rich, in, conch shell whistleblowing labella, labelled able in its lapel to cache and cast a spell, upon which the worthiest pearl-whirring, cat-nip tail made for cats, some effect… for people, zizing - and whizing the cats backwards-bats… out of hell, surprisingly distasteful… cruella deville

perhaps atrocities, within the minds of these pilfered oddities by the hundreds, take malnurish me, on second thought its usually redundant asunder opposition to Gravity that spots of wine cause catastrophe

flying, like snails at a clean stop operation ~loosed from the grave

topsicology

the scarecrow glided past as apostacy towards err. perhaps more than air. the long corn crops gilded the found floundering stare-off. perhaps more wispy than fair… the greatest movement jackal, basically all impaired… just waiting in its frothy, slow-growth to find a child or conjugate terror why, ‘see that, I am a child of burden, sent from ion ridges and whisked past ice-sturgeons with respect to facilitate the growth - that in tandem - sent into the proximate atmosphere for a slow-burning ‘till its torn apart, and till its worn to wrought all a vision a scarecrow, which rends his smarts, filled totally gut of surroundings, and one day imparts a version of itself, which had lorn to lock, but had to step down from the part.

bark

a larger than normal tarantula poised to eat a small tree outside the restrictive park area came to the conclusion that, if he had studied medicine, he might have enjoyed eating sooner.

who knows?

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wisepuma23 · 6 years ago

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Flowers For A Ghost - Prologue

Masterpost and Summary Next

1991

The thunder crashed over the dark mountain road. The stars couldn’t be seen through the dark canopy of storm clouds. Lightning streaked across the sky like whips until the thunder shook the heavens in its agony. The gravel road curled around the mountain like a snake, water ran down the sides until the roads shined with slick. The mountain was more waterfall than dirt at this point. There was a flash flood warning in effect for the Blue Ridge mountain range and its surrounding counties. No one in their right mind was outside in this weather.

A car zoomed past the trees, its light shimmering in the heavy rain, and water crashed in its wake as it raced around the sharp mountain turns.

Virgil took a rare stretch of road to pull down his tie. His silk tie felt like a noose tight around his throat. He blew out a sigh when it hung loose around his neck. God, he can’t wait to get back home. The interview sucked ass. Virgil knew the nice lady said she would call back in a few days, but what if she didn’t? Then he would’ve worn this monkey suit for nothing.

Virgil growled as he yanked up his shirt from its place tucked into his belt, one hand on the wheel still making the sharp turns in the dark and the other freeing him from his tailored prison.His car rattled just under the constant thrum of thunder and rain. He could barely make out the road in the blinding rain. Why did his interview needed to be so far away?

Virgil shook his head as he made another sharp turn, water sucking on his tires; it was worth it. Patton and the kids were worth it.

Virgil cursed as the car jumped over a pothole hard enough that his head bumped into the roof. He just hoped he made it home in time for Patton’s cooking. The smell of lasagna made his way into his memory and his tongue started to water. Or maybe it was cold by now.

His car whistled by on the hard curves. Virgil felt the thrum of the thunder in his bones. His eyes focused on the road; he wasn’t dying on some mountain road like a dumbass. Well, maybe he can put on some tunes. Something to settle his nerves at least.

Virgil looked away from the road and looked down at his radio. He pushed at the buttons, switching from static to static. Nothing but white noise. Come on, come on, get some good ol’ Nirvana in here. Then finally the radio belted out the beginning lines to Smells Like Teen Spirit.

“Haha yes!” Virgil exclaimed. Then he heard a loud honk and light filled the cabin. His head whipped up and he screamed as he saw a truck coming right at him. Virgil yanked on the wheel and his wheels screeched as he went back into his lane.

“Fuck!” Virgil cursed, then rolled his eyes as he heard the answering honks as he passed. “I’m sorry! Shit, that was way too close.”

Virgil blew out a sigh as he winded his way down the mountain. His nerves were shot all to hell, and the thunder boomed outside. He thought idly that the storm must be on top on him, the lightning and the thunder seemed to arrive within the same second. The storm was gnarly, yeah.

Virgil clenched his steering wheel, trying to let Nirvana’s peeling strums wash over him.

He just needed to get home.

Virgil made it halfway down the mountain when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. He slammed down on the brakes and his eyes widened as he felt the sick lurch of the car skidding on the slick roads. His car spun and then slammed into the metal rail and he let out a shaky breath. The radio shifted back to static.

Virgil shakily stepped out of the car and pushed his hair out of his eyes. Rain ran down his face in rivelets as he sloshed his way up the road. There was a bright yellow car wedged in the metal rail, with one edge teetering over the cliff and the other on the road. White smoke curled up into the dark sky. It must be the coolant, so the car won’t explode at least.

Virgil leaned down to look into the windows before yelling, “Hey! Are you okay? Hello?”

There were three teenagers slumped against the seats. Virgil looked up to the rolling sky, fricking teenagers, he hoped his kids didn’t grow up dumbasses like these guys.

“Hey! Wake up!” Virgil shouted. “Your car is on the edge of a cliff! I– I said wake up, or I’m breaking in!” No response. Virgil groaned. “Dammit!! Hold on.”

Virgil drudged his way back to the car and wrenched open his trunk, rummaging in the back for anything to use. He found a wrench and grimaced, but it was the best he had on hand.

Virgil made his way back to the yellow car. The rain bit at his cheeks from how harsh it was coming down now, and he could barely see where he was walking in the storm. He knocked on the window with his wrench, the teens slowly waking up now.

"Come on, wakey wakey!" Virgil said as he tapped on the glass again. "You're going to die in there if you don't wake up right now!!!"

Finally, one of them shook their head and turned to his window. Virgil jiggled the door but it was locked like he already suspected. The teenager, a shaggy-haired boy, screamed as he looked through the front windows. Yeah, looking at certain doom can do that to anyone.

"Wake up your buddies!" Virgil shouted over the roar of the storm. "We don't have all day!"

Virgil wiped rain away from his face as he watched the boy shake his buddies awake in the front seat. He spotted blood on their foreheads; not good. There was no cell service out here either — shit, they had to hurry it up, shit .

Virgil eyed the rain beating down on the teetering crumpled hood. It was a miracle that they hadn't fallen down already. He could picture the broken heap at the bottom of the mountain face for authorities to find in the morning.

"Help us!" the boy giggled as he leaned against the glass. "Help us, bunny sir!"

Virgil squinted against the rain. "Are you fucking high?"

The boy blinked back at him. "Yeah, we are, don't you see the cliff? Aren't you high too, Bugs Bunny?"

"Damn kids." Virgil rolled his eyes. "Can you open the door?"

"No," the boy replied as he tried the lock too. "It's jammed! Larry thought he saw something shiny and he couldn't stop himself. We flew. We flew so high. But we're stuck here in the clouds. Can you free us from this metal prison, sir? And please don't tell our parents!"

"I won't," Virgil lied through his teeth. "What's your name?"

"Kenny."

"Kenny?" Virgil confirmed, then tapped on the glass window with his finger. "Okay then Kenny, can you roll down the window? I said roll down the window."

Kenny tugged on the roll but it was, again jammed; like everything else in this situation. Virgil bit back his swears. He didn't want to scare him more than he already was.

Kenny shook his head. Virgil sighed and felt the heavy weight of his wrench. He really didn't have anything else to use. God, he hoped the teenagers weren't such mega dicks that they pressed charges. He couldn't afford it. It was why he was even out here trying to get an interview to get more money.

"Lean back," Virgil shouted, "I'm going to break the window!"

"What?"

"I'm going to break the window!" Virgil yelled again over another clap of thunder. He tugged his grey suit jacket off. His pressed white shirt grew heavy with rain water and he wondered how he was going to hide it from Patton. The thought left as sudden as it appeared.

Virgil shivered as the rain soaked his white shirt until he felt it clung uncomfortably to his chest in seconds. He can handle the inevitable cold later when he wasn't saving reckless and drugged up teenagers in the middle of one of the worst storms this county has ever seen.

Virgil wrapped his suit jacket over his wrench. It had to work.

He roared as he swung it full force at the back window, grinning at the resulting giant spider web crack in the glass. Virgil rolled up his sleeves and worked up the wrench over his shoulder. He swung again with all the strength of a former baseball player. The glass shattered and Kenny's eyes bulged at the twinkling glass in his lap. Virgil tied his jacket around his waist.

"Kenny, well okay," Virgil swung the wrench over his shoulder, "Can your buddies climb over here? Just really gently. I wouldn't want y'all to fall okay. Just very slow."

"Hey, Larry?" Kenny said, then shook his shoulder. "Larry, dude, you need to get into the back seat. Come on, man." Then he turned to the other slumped boy in the passenger seat, "Hey Bart? Stop thinking about Kristina Rogers for one second and get up. Get in the back seat."

"Nngh," Larry groaned, "I'm not getting in the back seat, bro. I don't even like you dude. Well, maybe I will if you stop eating candy. Shit's not right. We brothers."

"Shut the fuck up," Kenny hissed, "we're going to die! We need to get out. We're on a cliff, dude. Like whoa, trippy as hell; so like, we're going to die if we stay here."

Bart shook his head. "S' my dad's car. Can't leave it here."

"I said GET OUT !" Virgil screamed. "Get in the back seat now or I'm calling the cops on you. Understand? I'm not joking. Your parents will be here quicker than I finish saying cocaine and hookers. So snap out of it."

Larry and Bart froze at the undeniably adult voice. Good. Virgil glanced again at the mountain and the storm. If it gets any worse then there were no denying that rock slides were going to become a danger. It was just going to happen.

Larry started to climb into the backseat. Careful, careful, his hands clenched and unclenched around his wrench as if it did any good. Virgil wished he had books or something in his car that could weigh down the trunk.

He looked down at himself. Oh right. God, this was so dangerous but he wasn't letting anyone die on his watch.

"Get out!” Virgil shouted over the storm. “I’m going to get on top of the trunk! Go now!”

He threw himself on top of the trunk. The car groaned under his weight, his muscles tensed and his throat closed up. Then it settled.

Virgil shook the sopping wet hair out of his eyes as he yelled over his shoulder to hurry up. He could hear Kenny tumbling out the broken window and onto the ground. The car groaned and Virgil felt his heart leap into his throat as his toes left the ground. Kenny shouted at his friends, and one by one, they shoved themselves through the window. Virgil leaned forward — don’t tip back, don’t tip back .

The rain whipped his back in harsh sheets. His fingers started to go numb and his chest ached from the abuse. Virgil spat out the rainwater as he waited on the teetering trunk in the roaring winds and rain. Kenny finally hauled Larry and Bart toward the road.

Virgil sighed. Three dumbass teenagers saved at long last. He wondered if Roman would call him a hero. Especially with his cute lilt over his h’s.

Home was waiting for Virgil at the bottom of the mountain. Just another thirty-minute drive. Some cold pasta was what he needed. Yeah, cold pasta sounded great about now. Virgil tipped his head back to blink up at the storm. It was so beautiful out here. Even if it was deadly.

The car groaned as it finally lurched upwards. A scream died in his throat as he realized the car had finally lost it balance on the sheer cliff face. Virgil tipped back, his arms swinging in the air; OH GOD!

He felt the empty air at his back and saw the horrified faces of teenagers. Kenny reached out for him, but his eyes were already sliding upwards to the sky. Oh. Oh no no no.

One word rang clear in his mind: Patton.

I’m sorry.

...

The yellow car tipped wheels over hood as it tumbled down the mountainside. Kenny screamed as he saw the body trapped in the tumble like a shoe in a dryer. Larry fell to his knees and puked onto the roadside. His vomit mixed with the rushing rainwater that sucked at their shoes. The storm raged on, uncaring in its wrath, however, the teenagers hadn’t registered it as a tempest. The thunder rang like a gravel in a courtroom that spoke of lifetime imprisonment; the harsh white flashes of lightning similar to the inevitable mugshots. The wailing of the wind transformed into the same eerie notes of police sirens.

God. They killed him. They did, they did, and they didn’t even save the nice man. Not after he saved their lives.

“We….we have to get out of here, man,” Bart said, he pulled Larry to his feet and pulled Kenny away from the edge, “Cops are going to be here any minute. Like wooooo boi, I can’t let my parents know. They’ll kill me, you know? My dad will kill me. Shit, shit, Kenny let’s go! We can take his car.”

Kenny took one last look back and then limped away. His parents would actually kill him if he’s home after midnight.

He looked up at the storm that continued to rage on.

Huh, the weather was real nasty tonight.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfic #moxiety #myfics

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paketwisatabahari · 4 years ago

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Bali Tour Service And Great Things To Do In Bali

When touring to Bali for a vacation, it's never a case of what are you going to seek out to do in your vacation, however somewhat how many weeks vacation can you're taking to take pleasure in all that Bali has to supply. Many individuals consider beaches and white sand when pondering of Bali and associate is a being mainly a seashore holiday. Though there are a lot of resorts alongside the beachfront to chill out at, this is solely a small a part of all of the Bali tours and actions obtainable. There are only a few lodges and resorts in Bali that won't have both in house excursions of Bali or have the ability to prepare some tour via an impartial tour company so that you can enjoy.

With so many activities obtainable it's tough to choose the very best to advocate, however primarily based on the popularity of the next these appear to be essentially the most thrilling things to do when considering one of the many Bali tours obtainable.

Beneficial Bali Water Activities

Bali Marine Walk

Have you ever always wanted to experience the ocean flooring, the backyard below water that is teaming with marine life filled with shiny colors and gorgeous fish, however were afraid to dive or are not a very nice swimmer? Then this is a should so that you can check out while you go to Bali. This is a revolutionary diving system that you would be able to experience even if you happen to can’t swim; all you want to be able to do is stroll. The concept behind it is vitally easy; an open ended helmet allows the wearer to walk on the ocean mattress by simply putting it over their head. There may be an inbuilt defogging mechanism that forestalls the entrance “window” from changing into steamed up. There's a hose which is related to the scuba tanks allowing free movement whereas enjoying with the fish and feeding them out of your hand. This is actually a must do exercise when visiting Bali. Marine walk have their very own boat that may take you to Lembongan Island where you possibly can take pleasure in a day exploring the depths of the ocean.

White Water Rafting

Bali Journey Rafting gives a five star service that's renowned as the safest household rafting company in Bali. Age is just not a factor with this company, youngsters from as younger as 5 have been rafting down the Ayung River. The expertise is exhilarating and the views are breathtaking. The tour is on a stretch of river 8 kilometers lengthy and consists of 27 class II and sophistication III rapids wandering via unspoiled rain forests, towering gorges and sculptured rice fields. All of the guides are professionally skilled and have tons of expertise to pilot the rafts by some dramatic drops, waterfalls and rivers making your white water expertise secure but superior.

The entire journey will last roughly one and a half hours, depending on how fast the river is flowing. At the finish of the journey there are hot showers and altering rooms so that you can refresh in, followed by a hot connoisseur buffet at a private restaurant with views of majestic mountains and rice fields. The distinctive facilities and having the longest course on the island has attracted Hollywood celebrities like Claudia Schiffer, Jean-Claude Van Damme and David Copperfield. Entry is fairly straightforward, only an hour’s drive from nearly all of the resorts in the south of Bali.

Waterbom Park

Waterbom Park is located in the resort village of Kuta; it is a large 4 hectares in size with tropical vegetation making up the amazing landscape. World class water slides are located throughout the park and are obviously the primary attraction, however are many other recreational amenities situated inside the huge grounds. You could have the option of dong some wall climbing, water volley ball, bungee jumping, and getting blasted with the water blaster. For the extra relaxing tourist, the park provides a spa, many swimming pools to relax in, the Wantilan Restaurant has a swim up bar facility, or just watching the kids enjoy the Kiddies Park. This park is run by an Australian concern and the security requirements are exceptionally high. There is a strict maintenance regime in addition to supervision from certified lifeguards which are continuously on responsibility allowing mother and father to let their children splash away with none worries.

Inland Activities References

Bali Quad Discovery Tour

One of the oldest mountain villages of Bali, Payangan, is dwelling to Bali Quad and buggy discovery tours. The services are only 15 kilometers south of Kintamani on the slopes of mount Batur near Ayung river valley. The tour is thru very remoted countryside, the place you will not come across other vacationers whereas driving your personal 4 wheel quad bike. The groups are restricted to six in order to not make too much of a disruption to the locals and to ensure that guides are able to give personal help. Teams are divided in keeping with skill degree, not necessarily age, however if you wish to have your personal group composed of individuals of all talent ranges then that can be arranged. The one requirement that is wanted is that you just be in good bodily shape because the terrain might be very demanding.

Kintamani Volcano Tour

This can be a highly regarded tour in Bali because it wanders through many alternative areas of the Bali countryside permitting you to experience the diversity of Balinese culture and ends up with you standing on the sting of the crater of mount Batur. Among the locations and activities which might be visited and skilled on the way in which is the famous Barong Dance situated in Batubulan, the village of Celuk famend for its silver and goldsmiths, the gifted village of Mas with their exquisite wood carvings, the cultural capital of Bali, Ubud that is overflowing with cultural activities and beautiful paintings.

Elephant Safari Park Tour

The Elephant Safari Park located in Taro, Tegallalang is a must do for all visitors that come to Bali as it's the only complete elephant safari experience on the earth. The unique park is the house to the only Mammoth Skeleton in South East Asia and is acclaimed as the world’s best elephant park that's set in a picturesque tropical setting. In between using, sightseeing, hand feeding, touching them, taking pictures with them, you may study their ancestry and diversity on the large historic and graphic displays that the park has. The parks services also embody a reception and information middle, a comprehensive museum with many elephant memorabilia.

Overlooking a formidable lake is the restaurant that is able to maintain over 200 people and has a implausible worldwide menu making it supreme not only for a visit, however is a perfect location to hold a marriage or different event. The gift store has an unimaginable array of elephant themed objects that include paintings, ivory (watch out when shopping for this, make sure that it will not be confiscated at your individual countries airport), wood and carvings, clothes and lots of different souvenirs.

Although the park may be very tourist oriented the principle objective of the park is the safety of these elephants that have all been rescued because of the deforestation that's occurring in Southern and Central Sumatra and this park has turn into a sanctuary for this endangered and guarded species. Elephants are very clever creatures and at certain instances of the day there are displays of the elephant’s capabilities including painting. The park is nice for every type of vacationers and will probably be a spotlight of your Bali tours.

As a visitor you will be able to the touch and hand feed the elephants, watch as they playfully bathtub in the massive lakes, have personal photographs taken with you using on the elephants, witness the intelligence of these large but gentle creatures and find out about their historical past, details about them and the issues for his or her future. The park additionally offers mini rides for the children.

Bali Paragliding Adventure

Bali has a mountain chain that stretches throughout the island giving paragliding lovers spectacular views and quite a lot of completely different places to launch from. The most well-liked locations are , Timbis, Gunung Payung, Mount Batur and Candi Dasa.

Timbis

Bali’s most popular flight zone and coaching center is located right here, close to the spectacular Bali Cliff resort. The rugged cliffs, white seashores, clear blue seas, Hindu temples and crashing waves over the coral reefs make this the right spot to learn how to paraglide. There are facilities for meals and drinks for those who favor just to chill out and watch the extra adventurous vacationers bounce off the cliffs. After your flight there are Balinese workers who will pack your canopy away simply as you need it.

Gunung Payung

East of Timbus, perhaps quarter-hour drive, Gunung Payung offers a launch area for the more skilled paraglider as at excessive tide there isn't any backside landing and you will have to soar and steer your manner eastward to keep away from crashing within the water.

Mount Batur. Mount Batur is an lively smoldering volcano with 4 craters at an elevation of 1,717m which last erupted in 2000. There is no such thing as a better place to get your coronary heart pumping earlier than takeoff, and if you're fortunate sufficient not to get bombarded with showering lava, the view is breathtaking. Mount Batur is positioned in Kintamani, north of Ubud.

Candi Dasa

Candi Dasa has a small take off space and subsequently prime landing just isn't doable, the location is a 250m high ridge. The thermals are awesome right here and it's often potential to achieve cloud base, 600-750 meters. The stroll to take off from the black sand bottom touchdown seaside is 20-30 minutes depending on how fit you're. There are Balinese porters should you want assistance.

There are many trusted Bali automotive rental as well as tour service who will in a position to drive visitors or vacationers to these interesting spots.

#bali tour service #bali activities #bali tours

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bonafidehero · 4 years ago

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Bella the Teenage Witch

Summary: What if Bella Swan was a witch? Taking advanced classes, Bella graduates from Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry early. With her mother and Phil traveling so much she decides to move to the sleepy town of Forks and spend some time with her father, who insisted on her attending the local high school to make some “normal” friends. Oh how wrong he would be.

Read it on AO3 and FanFiction!

Chapter 14 - Wands and Wanders

We dropped her bags off, returned Lauren her keys and headed off. I was quickly disappointed in my options, the bookstore seemed to be one my mom would have enjoyed, meaning it was full of crystals, dream catchers, books on alternative medicines, spirituality and everything your local hippy would love. Just as I was about to announce to Angela that we should just leave, a section near the register caught my attention.

“I'll be right back.” I whispered, she nodded and continued looking through the selection in front of her with interest.

The clerk at the register watched me with interest, following me with his eyes as I approached the small area that was slightly sectioned off from the main showroom. I realized quickly that this was not any ordinary selection of books and knick-knacks. These were magical. I noted many brands and authors I'd seen many times in stores I'd visited in the village at school, there were even a few sneakoscopes and remembralls.

“Hello, Miss.” The clerk said carefully as he approached, “See anything... of interest?”

I looked up in surprise, I'd been so enthralled, I didn't realize he'd materialized next to me. “Uh-maybe, are you...” I trailed off, not sure if I should say the word.

He smiled, “Yes, I assume you are...?” he asked as he raised his eyebrows.

“Yes.”

“Hm, I thought... since you noticed this.” He said with a little more enthusiasm and waved towards the shelves, “It's charmed to be invisible to no-maj but we don't get too many magical folk around here. Mostly just the sparse regulars from the area, although, I've never seen you?”

“I'm new, well, I was born here... uh, Forks... I just moved back.” I stumbled out, blushing a little.

He hummed, “Right, I'm Gareth and you are?” He held out his hand and smiled a wide toothy smile.

I smiled nearly as wide and took his hand, “Bella, is this the only magical store around here?” I asked as I looked back towards the shelves, seeing if there was anything I'd been needing.

“Yes, the closest village is in Seattle. We often work with the stores there, stocking items as they are needed here.” He glanced at the shelves, seeing my eyes falling on a few items, then glanced towards Angela, she'd not noticed where I'd gone. “If you'd like, we have a delivery service...?”

“Yes, thank you... she's not... I don't want her to ask questions.” I said relieved, there were a few things I'd like to grab, more, even but I guess that would wait until Seattle.

Or maybe I'd ask if he could get it?

“Of course,” He pulled out his wand, flourish it and some parchment and a quill appeared. “Please, leave an address and we can send an owl.”

I scribbled down my address, snagged the few items I'd like and gave him the proper amount of currency.

“We'll have it sent by tomorrow morning at the latest.” He smiled and handed me my change.

“Bella?” Angela called out, looking around the store with a confused look.

I stilled, wide-eyed and glanced at Gareth.

He held up a finger to his lips, smirking and whispered, “Don't worry, I'll distract her while you appear. Look casual.”

He turned and waltzed back to the counter, splaying his hands on it's sleek top. “Hello, Miss? Anything you need help with?” he asked charmingly, a playful smile on his face, “Ready to check out, maybe?” He eyed the stack of books in her arms.

Edward isn't the only one around here who likes to dazzle, I thought wryly.

Angela looked towards Gareth in surprised, clearly realizing she'd not seen him there a moment before but shook her head and nodded. “Uh, yes, please.” She moved forward and dropped her stack of books on the counter. Gareth glanced my way and raised his eyebrows, discretely mouthing “Go on, then.” as he began counting Angela's bills out dramatically.

Smooth. I thought, rolling my eyes.

I moved out quickly and stood next to a display in the middle of the store, “Hey, Ang, ready to go?” I asked, trying to keep my voice casual. I was a horrible liar. Gareth quirked an eyebrow and smirked.

Shut up. I thought, trying not to smile.

Angela whirled around, the bag on her shoulder slipping slightly and her hair swishing around her face, “Bella! What... I- where were you?”

“Just over there.” I vaguely pointed towards the opposite corner at the back of the store, noting there was a bathroom door there. Believable enough. I hoped.

Angela looked, still confused but nodded dreamily, “Right, uh... yeah, I'm ready.”

Gareth waved, “Come again, ladies!” he called happily and we both waved as we let the door close behind us.

“That guy was a bit friendly.” Angela smirked, “If I didn't know any better, I'd say he was flirting.”

I smiled, “Yeah, I think he was.” That's one way to distract no-maj. I rolled my eyes to myself.

Angela giggled, “He's kinda cute, in a quirky way.”

Yes, Gareth looked like the typical “wizard who's trying to fit in with muggles.” Or maybe he was just eccentric. He wore a white, flowy shirt that look like something Mr. Darcy would wear, tight dark trousers and pointy ankle boots. He even had some piercings lining his ears and dark hair that came down to his collar. I had to agree, he was kinda cute; I didn't mind a slightly flamboyant and confident man.

Of course you don't, a voice in the back of my head said. Sound familiar?

As we walked we talked a bit more about Gareth and then Angela showed me the books she'd gotten, I suddenly felt a chill down my spine. Glancing around I realized with a jolt that there were two men following us and worse, we'd some how ended up in a narrow alley off the main road. They were blocking our way back, we had no choice but to continue further down into the darkening alley.

I gulped, “We're being followed.” I whispered frantically to Angela, she looked around and paled.

“Oh my God.” She said fearfully, dropping her books back in her bag and tugging on my hand, “Come on, let's hurry, we'll find another way back.”

We hurried down the alley, my stomach dropped once we'd made it to the end, it opened into a loading area behind some warehouses. The only way we could see to leave was through more dark alleys. I tugged Angela's hand and pulled her down one that I hoped lead towards the general direction of the way we'd originally came. With a gulp I realized my mistake because not only was this the wrong way but we were now at a dead end, or as dead of an end as we could get in this situation. There was an inlet from a road, which I could see the occasional car drive past but it was far away and the buildings surrounding the large open area were windowless, door less and with the darkening sky, nearly pitch black.

“Fuck.” I whispered, looking towards Angela whose eyes were wide and she was trembling slightly, I followed her line of sight and paled. There were three more men leaning against a brick wall shrouded in shadow, I'd not noticed them at first.

Angela gripped my hand, pulling me close to her and she began walking slowly backwards; but just as we took a few awkward steps, the men who followed us stepped in our way, blocking our sole exit.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! This is bad.

“Hey there.” One of the men called from the wall, pushing off casually and waltzing over, “Found us some birds, Ben?”

“Yeah, I think, they've lost their way.” I glanced behind us and he had a sickening smile on his face, a slur to his words and the stale scent of beer wafted over me.

Fuck.

“We'd be more than happy to help you find your way back, for two beautiful girls.” The first man drawled, smirking, waggling his eyebrows and stepping forward once more.

“Leave us alone.” I growled, glancing nervously around as the men began to circle us.

“Awe, don't be that way, sugar.” The main man whispered, stepping closer once more.

I reacted on instinct, pulling out my wand which was concealed within my jacket and held it out defensively. “Seriously, I'm warning you, back off!” I shouted, I could hear my voice trembling even as I tried to steady my nerves.

He looked down at my wand and laughed loudly, “I don't think a stick will help you much here, darling.” The group around us cackled, I felt like my heart was going to beat out of my chest. Angela was shaking next to me, close to tears, I did the only spell I could think of that wouldn't cause much harm.

“Petrificus Totalus!” I whispered. His limbs went ridged, he fell back with an aching thud. His groups eyes snapped to his form, clearly thrown by how he'd seemingly fallen over without cause. Angela looked at me wide-eyed, fear etched on her face still and stared at my hand gripping my wand. Just as I began to try and push through the group in their moment of shock I heard tires squealing. Everyone whipped around towards the sound as a car fishtailed in, nearly running over the man sprawled on the ground and the passenger side door opened.

“Get in!” A furious voice demanded.

I realized with a shock that I knew this car and that voice; Edward's shiny silver Volvo, my fear vanished and I tugged Angela towards the car. I heard a click as the back door open and I directed Angela inside as I hopped into the passenger and we peeled out back onto the road.

I heard Angela burst into tears from the back and tears of my own brimmed my eyes, I looked towards Edward who was breathing hard and gripping the steering wheel.

“Put your seat belts on!” He growled as he sped through the streets, cars beeping at us as we went.

I did as he said, I heard a click from the backseat and glanced back at Angela, her face was shining with tears. “It's okay, we're safe.” I whispered.

I looked back at Edward, his face was murderous and he was still gripping the steering wheel, knuckles white. “Are you okay?” I breathed.

He laughed darkly, “No.” Eyes blazed as he stared straight ahead driving at an alarming speed. I stared at him, for the first time I could see the mask had fallen that he typically wore. Similar to his first reaction to me in biology but this time it was even more chilling, I could practically feel the rage seeping off of him.

Or maybe my body was finally reacting the way it was meant to in the presents of a vampire?

Suddenly he glanced my way and his face softened a tiny bit, he pulled over quickly and turned the car off. I glanced around, it was pitch black around us and in the car, I wasn't even sure if we were still in Port Angeles.

“Bella? Angela?” Edward asked tightly, he looked sideways at me and then in the rear view mirror, “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” Angela whispered, sounding anything but okay.

“Yeah, we are now.” I said after a moment.

“Distract me.” Edward said suddenly.

“What?”

“Just... say something, anything!” He pleaded, squeezing his eyes shut.

I blinked, “Uh, I'm gonna run Tyler Crowley over with my truck.” It was the first thing I could think of.

He kept his eyes squeezed shut, breathing hard through his nose but the corner of his mouth turned up a bit.

“Why?”

“He told everyone we're going to prom together, he's either insane or thinks my rejection for the Spring Dance was some how an invitation. Although, Charlie wouldn't appreciate attempted murder, maybe I could run his Sentra off the road? Mob style warning? If he doesn't have a car he can't take anyone to prom...”

“I heard about that.” Edward interrupted, sounding a little more composed, eyes still shut but a smirk tugged at his lips.

“Ugh, of course you did!” I threw my head back against the seat rest, rubbing my face. Why was I seemingly the only person who'd missed this? Even the misfit Cullens knew!

“How did you do that?” Angela's voice broke out suddenly from the backseat, we both looked towards her.

“Do what?” Edward asked, uncertain.

“Bella, w-what happened back there? You... that man, he fell and you... that stick? It was like he froze...” She trailed off mumbling under her breath.

Fuck. I tried to think of something to explain away the sudden and very obvious use of magic that I'd completely forgotten I'd done. And I just left them there! Surely they will tell someone? God, I'm gonna get a letter from MACUSA! Oh Merlin!

I was reeling, I could feel my panic rising. “Uh, I don't know, Ang... I think he... had a seizure?” I said with absolutely no conviction. Nice, very convincing.

“A seizure?” She asked, tilting her head to the side as her eyebrows pulled inwards.

“Yeah, their pretty common, it was probably that.” Edward spoke up confidently.

I looked at him in surprise, he looked at me and raised his eyebrows, tilting his head slightly towards Angela.

My eyes widened, “Yeah, he was convulsing, you must had miss it... everything happened so fast.” I said with a little more confidence.

“Weird...” She whispered, “But the stick...”

“Yeah, I, I snagged it from the alley... I didn't know what to do... I thought maybe it'd scare them. Dumb, I know.” I laughed nervously.

“Huh...” She still didn't sound convinced but seemed too shocked to argue anymore.

Fuck, would I have to obliviate her? I cringed, if MACUSA finds out, they'll do it. Fuck, fuck... and those guys! Fuck!

I heard a buzz and jumped. Pulling my phone from my pocket, it was a text from Jessica, I had 5 missed calls from her already. Fuck!

“Shit.” I whispered, “Jessica and Lauren have been waiting for us!”

“Oh no!” Angela shrieked, “I forgot, E-Edward, we have to go... we're supposed to go to dinner. They're probably so worried!”

He nodded wordlessly, starting the car and whipping back out onto the road effortlessly, speeding back towards Port Angeles.

We'd gotten back in nearly no time, Edward parallel parked and shut the car off once more. I looked up to see where we were and with a start I realized we were at Bella Italia. How did he know?

As we all got out I noticed Jessica and Lauren were sat on a bench outside the restaurant, both looking confused and nervous, they looked up at the sound of our doors slamming and their mouths dropped open in two identical, comical o's.

“Where have you been?” Jessica practically shrieked. I cringed, she sounded really worried. I glanced at Angela and she looked close to tears again.

Edward jumped in, “They ran into trouble, I'm sorry, I should have gotten them back sooner.” He spoke in his smooth, velvety voice.

They both stared at him in awe, eyes slightly glazed over. “W-what happened?” Lauren asked dazed, looking back towards us.

“These guys, they followed us, they almost... Oh my God.” Angela stammered and covered her face.

I pulled her into a hug, “We're really sorry, we got lost... let's go eat, I'm sorry we made you wait.”

Jessica cringed, “Oh we-we already ate. We didn't know what to do, you weren't answering...” she trailed off nervously.

“Oh, no! That's fine, I'm not really hungry... let's... go home?” I asked uncertainly.

“I think you both need to eat.” Edward said suddenly.

“Uh...” I glanced at Angela, she seemed to be coming back from her melt down a moment ago. She suddenly threw her hand over her mouth.

“Oh no, what time is it? I need to get home!”

“You should eat.” Edward continued, concern pulling his eyebrows together.

“I can eat at home, I was supposed to be home by now, I have to get up early tomorrow... I'm supposed to babysit. I'm gonna be in so much-”

“It's okay, we'll head home, really.” I looked pointedly at Edward.

“Okay but I'm taking you to dinner, you need to eat.” He said staring right back at me.

I blinked, looking at the others, Lauren and Jessica shrugged before both reaching out to Angela and lead her towards Lauren's car.

“Okay, fine.” I finally said, walking over to where Jessica was helping Angela into the backseat.

“Will you be okay?” Jessica whispered.

“Yes, I'm fine.” I smiled, Of course I would be, I was having dinner with Edward fucking Cullen.

Lauren smirked, “Yeah, you are.” She went around to the drivers side and pulled the door open, “Text us when you get home.” She demanded and slipped in, slamming the door shut.

I nodded, Jessica looked at me once more with concern and then jumped into the passenger side. Edward and I stood there awkwardly, watching their car speed off down the road back towards Forks.

#Bella the Teenage witch #edward x bella #Fanfic #myfic #Harry Potter #Twilight Saga #Crossover

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mobilemechanicvegas-blog · 5 years ago

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avalondavis-blog · 7 years ago

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So Below

So Below The sun burned hot and red that morning, sitting low on the horizon like coals in a banked fire. In the night the wind shifted from the east to the south, replacing cool drafts from the lake with heavy, humid air. By morning it was nearing 90 degrees and the highway stretching for 200 miles in either direction of the motel was wavering in the heat, a long black scar cutting across the desert. George Clark lay sleeping next to his wife Hannah, who had awoken sometime in the night and hadn’t been able to fall asleep again; the birds that began to chirp sometime after three had deeply confused and startled her, as they sounded like the ones at home that usually began to sing at seven; the pitch darkness and periodic rustling in the eucalyptus tree outside the room unsettled her. The finches sounded almost like a looped recording and she pushed the thin pillow over her ears in an attempt to drown them out. Now the watery sunlight illuminated a corner of the room with a soft silvery glow, glinting over the glass coffee pot on top of the pressboard credenza. A faded landscape painting of flowers in vivid blues and purples reminded Hannah of the carpet in the casino they had visited the night before. George had gotten lucky at the blackjack table and won a modest sum of $150, then proceeded to treat anyone who could hear his boasting to a drink. An hour later he was drunk and angry, wondering where his money had gone and suspiciously eyeing an elderly couple across the bar. “They’re all scammers, Han, I’m telling ya. Look at their act,” he slurred, pointing his glass in their general direction. “Just putting up some damn act, probably stealing wallets or something when no one’s lookin’.” They briefly glanced over and sent Hannah a sympathetic look, one she ignored in favor of staring at a stack of cocktail napkins with “Royal Meridian Casino and Resort” printed on the edge. George lay sleeping heavily beside her, half the covers pulled up around his shoulders and obscuring his face. He’ll be hungover and bitter when he finally wakes up, she thought impassively. They were married two months ago, the afternoon of their graduation. He had just turned 24 and she was 21. They had the paperwork filed at the courthouse and a small reception in a friend’s garden; Hannah’s mother had baked a lemon cake and hung garlands of flowers across the sun-bleached backyard fence. Someone was quietly strumming a guitar and a ring that belonged to George’s grandmother sat delicately on Hannah’s hand; it was a simple silver band adorned with an etched chunk of mother of pearl that glinted in the light. They had danced until the early hours of the morning and walked back to the apartment, Hannah carrying her shoes with George’s suit jacket wrapped around her shoulders. By half past eight she grew restless and pushed back the sheets, padding slowly to the door, grabbing her robe and keys. Outside she drew a pack of cigarettes from her pocket, swearing when her lighter flickered and faltered several times before finally working. She slowly exhaled and gazed across the highway, her sharp gaze raking over the low orange mountains and scrub brush. Wildfires from several states over had swept smoke in overnight, turning the cloudbank covering the sky into a sickly yellow grey color. A bump behind her startled her, almost dropping the half smoked cigarette clutched in her hand. George must be up, she thought. With a final glance to the mountains she stubbed out the cigarette and briskly turned towards the door, slowly turning the knob. The light in the bathroom seeped under the door and Hannah heard running water. She sat heavily on the edge of the bed, picking mindlessly at the threadbare bedspread. Hannah had no doubt that she loved George and he did as well, but sometimes it felt like they were playing house when they went grocery shopping or to dinner parties with people they vaguely reminded from school; more nights than not they parted ways after cooking dinner, Hannah taking her plate to the deck and George disappearing in front of the TV. They loved each other but the nagging sense that one or both of them were bored wouldn’t leave her alone. George emerged from the bathroom, softly smiling at Hannah and giving her a small wave. “We should head out by 9:30 if we want to get there before it’s in the 100’s,” he quietly mused. They had each jumped at the chance to take time off work for a vacation, finally deciding on going south to the Scablands. Thousands of years ago colossal flooding tore canyons into the land, repeating every time ice sheets would melt and unleash massive waves. Hannah closed the distance between them, planting a chaste kiss on George’s cheek. “I already packed up most everything, we’re just about ready to go.” He nodded curtly and busied himself with dressing while Hannah went to brush her teeth and comb her hair. She took a quick look at herself in the mirror, noticing a faint crease in her forehead where before her skin had been smooth. By 9:15 they had packed and checked out of the motel, heading towards the sun which had now been hoisted higher into the sky, illuminating the clouds and casting unnatural light over the desert. After passing mile marker 332 Hannah dimly realized that they were at least 50 miles from where they should be; the turnoff for the national park should have been somewhere near mile 280. “George, where’s that map? I thought we’d have seen some kind of signs yet” she questioned. He turned towards her and smiled; “Han, don’t worry about it, it’s all in the journey, right? We’ll pull over soon and ask”. Her mouth lifted faintly at the corner and she softly took his hand in hers, squeezing once. By 11 they reached a service station with a small diner and while Hannah went inside to call her mother George made small-talk with the mechanic. He soon joined her at a booth in the corner and they ordered lunch. Around bites of his sandwich George relayed tidbits of local trivia he had picked up from the mechanic and Hannah picked at an order of fries. She hadn’t eaten since last night and the crop of Mormon crickets they had driven over made her sick to her stomach. They’re actually a type of katydid, she thought. When droughts come they gather in a large group and the bigger ones eat the smaller ones. They were on the road again by noon but not getting any closer to the Scablands. Several signs for the park passed but any turns they took brought them back to the highway. George slowly became more and more frustrated, taking several cigarettes from Hannah and swearing every time they saw another sign. “Where in the hell is this damn place?” he muttered angrily, slamming both hands on the steering wheel in frustration. Hannah was growing progressively more agitated, and they agreed unanimously to pull over and stretch their legs. A semi truck roared past them, kicking up clouds of red dust in its wake and narrowly avoiding clipping George. “Watch out, you son of a bitch!” he shouted, picking up a handful of small rocks and throwing them at the truck as it disappeared into wavering lines of heat down the highway. It was nearing 12:30 by the time they decided to start driving again. A low mist creeped in and hugged the surface of the road as the temperature danced around 103 and the humidity closed in at 95%. In the distance Hannah noticed sprawling fields of wheat, a stark contrast to the otherwise lifeless plains of dirt. They seemed to be steaming; odd, she noted. The road quickly peaked over a small hill and then dipped down into the valley below. George pulled the car to the side of the road at the top of the grade and took the keys out of the ignition, slowly walking to the middle of the road and standing with his shoulders squared, staring straight ahead. Perplexed, Hannah joined him, lightly touching his arm. “George, what are you doing? Is something wrong?” Worry lines creased her forehead. “Look out there, do you see ‘em?” She followed his pointed finger past the wheat fields and into the distance. The very tops of what looked like canyons marred the land, deep gouges pockmarked with steep ridges and sweeping lines of brown rock. “That last asshat we asked for directions was full of it, I knew they were this way” he crowed, pulling an arm around her shoulder. “We should be there in maybe an hour, hour and a half.” She smiled lightly, looking up at the sky. The sun was still obscured by the heavy clouds, emitting an eerie yellow glow that made her skin look sallow and dead. The ring on her finger looked like an old grey tooth, none of its usual shimmer and luster visible. Suddenly George clapped his hands and exclaimed “Come on, Han, let’s get going”, taking two long strides to the driver’s side door. She remained stock still for a beat, following soon after. The road ahead dipped into a shallow valley, the car gliding smoothly down the moderate decline. As Hannah looked around at the fields she noticed huge swaths of them were blackened and burnt, some areas still smoldering. The wheat near the edges of the road was still intact and growing, softly rustling even though she couldn’t feel any kind of breeze. Eventually the road evened out and George and Hannah drove in comfortable silence, although something about the closeness of the crops to the road unnerved Hannah. She didn’t know why and felt stupid to bring it up, but there was something deeply claustrophobic about the waving golden sea all around them. She extracted her cigarettes from the glove box and lit one, raising it to her lips every few seconds and quickly exhaling in short, choppy breaths. Up ahead she noticed a farmhouse, painted deep red to match a barn tucked away near the base of a jagged grey rock formation. There wasn’t a front door in the frame and from her position in the passenger’s seat, all she could see inside was darkness. George quickly looked over at her, smiling, when they were both suddenly lurched forward. Hannah screamed and George reflexively swerved to the right, plowing the car into the wheat. When they both had gathered their wits they looked out the windshield to come face to face with a dead deer, lying splayed out on the hood. Its back was twisted and blood poured from a gash on its stomach, steaming and fogging the window. George had his hands clamped over his mouth and Hannah immediately flung open the door, stumbling around the car and falling to her knees. From outside of the car she could her him sputtering and trying to form a sentence, eventually shouting “What in the he – where did that even come from?! Han?” But she couldn’t respond; her eyes were fixed on a scarecrow in the field across the road. It was swaying in the same undulating way as the wheat, moving on its own accord. She numbly realized that it was moving towards them, only registering a moment later that it was a person. “You folks alright? Those deer can really sneak up on you!” a genial voice called from several hundred feet away. George leapt out of the driver’s seat, rounding the car to place a protective hand on Hannah’s shoulder, lifting her off the ground. The figure came closer, looking briefly left and then right before crossing the road. George sputtered the beginning of a sentence that died on his tongue before raising a shaky hand as a non-verbal salutation. The figure returned it, loping quickly across the road before coming to a stop in front of them. It was an older man, maybe in his late 70’s, wearing a dusty pair of coveralls, rubber boots, and a worn flannel. His grey hair was scraped back in a wave against his bony head, and Hannah let out what could be mistaken for a laugh. She inched closer to George, hoping he noticed too. It was his eyes: she had never seen something like it in her life before – they were almost golden, reflecting the dull yellow tinge of the sky above and set deep in his face, cushioned by dark bags. They weren’t human and they weren’t animal. Jesus Christ, Hannah thought. Jesus Christ. “Looks like you folks had a little accident there, huh? Anyone hurt?” George and Hannah dumbly shook their heads no, and George turned around to survey the damage while Hannah remained frozen in place. The man turned to her and smiled, revealing a row of slightly crooked yet white, shiny teeth. “I can help you two get that deer off there, poor thing was probably just spooked is all. Don’t get many cars driving down here as of late”. It was his voice too, Hannah realized, his voice and his goddamn eyes. It sounded like she was imagining it and hearing it out loud all at once, each syllable reverberating around in her head until nothing made sense. She pulled a tight lipped smile and curtly nodded, stumbling backwards towards the car. “Yes, thank you, that’s very helpful, thanks” she quickly stammered, keeping her eyes locked on the man. He smiled again, placing a hand in his pocket. She quickly rounded the car and ran to George. “We need to leave, right now. George, please” she whispered harshly, gripping his arm. He turned in confusion. “Hannah, what the hell are you talking about? We’ve got a dead animal on top of the car and the windshield’s covered in blood, we aren’t going anywhere”. He eyed her worriedly, lightly grabbing her shoulders and tilting her head to make sure she didn’t have any bruises or cuts. “Are you feeling okay?” he asked, searching her eyes. “Yes, I’m fine, now can we just go? We’ll push the deer off and I think we have some rags in the trunk, but we need to leave NOW”. His lips closed into a thin line and guided her to the passenger seat. “I think you need to just sit down and catch your breath, okay? Maybe get some water? There’s plenty in the cooler. I’ll take care of this, alright? Just stay here”. She sat heavily in the seat for a moment, gazing at the red windshield before shaking herself and hurriedly locking the door. She scrambled over to the driver’s seat and quietly shut the door, locking it as well. George took one last look at the car before walking over to the man, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry about that, she’s just a little rattled. You know women, can’t handle blood well” he said, huffing out a laugh. The man stared blankly before the corners of his mouth lifted. It wasn’t exactly a smile but something more akin to an involuntary twitch. “Yes, of course. I’ll let you two sit tight while I go get something to take care of our friend there”; the man pointed a thin finger to the deer, its head lolling over the hood of the car. He ambled back across the road and into the red house, emerging several minutes later with a length of heavy rope and a bucket. As he came closer to the car Hannah’s skin began to prickle. She snatched her cigarettes out of the glove box again and pushed one between her lips, burning herself with her lighter before successfully lighting it and taking a deep drag. She heard muttering from outside and saw George and the man in front of the car, tying the rope to the deer. It must be 1:30 by now, she thought. The glow of the sun overhead cast only the faintest of shadows, and while then men maneuvered the deer’s body from the hood of the car, she noticed the man didn’t have a shadow. Not even on his face, whereas the plains of George’s nose and brow cast dark light against his cheeks. It was like the man was glowing from within. After several minutes they heaved the carcass from the car, the heavy thud and squelch of it hitting the ground making Hannah jump. George and the man pulled wet rags from the bucket and began to mop the blood from the window. One of them said something and the other chuckled, but Hannah couldn’t decipher who said what. Once most of the windshield was cleared George went to open the driver’s side door but found it locked; he knocked lightly on the window. “Han, the keys are inside, can you unlock the door?” She sat motionless for beat, eyes on her lap. “Hannah? You okay?” At the sound of her name she clicked back to reality, moving slightly to unlock the door. George slid in next to her and she handed him the keys. The man stood next to the car, hands on his back, eyes trained to the sky. “Looks like rain soon, huh?” he muttered. George started the car and leaned out the window, bidding farewell to the man. He smiled, his eyes crinkling and teeth on display. Hannah looked straight ahead, turning only when her name was called to offer a tight-lipped smile. “You folks watch out now” the man warned lightly, offering one last grin to George. “What about that deer there? Gonna bury it?” George queried with a small laugh. “Oh don’t you worry, it’s going to a good place” the man replied, thumbing his nose. George huffed a laugh and waved as he backed out and turned the car to the road. “George, can we please leave? Now?” Hannah whispered, close to tears. He turned slightly, an annoyed look on his face. “Alright, alright, goddamn, we’re going”. He offered one last goodbye to the man, who stood in the middle of the road behind the car. As they drove off and were almost clear of the valley, the engine sputtered and stalled. “Shit!” George shouted. He was about to step out and pop the hood when Hannah’s blood ran cold. She could hear rapid footsteps behind them, far too fast for a man as old as the stranger to move, and before either of them could do anything they felt the car jolt forward slightly. From the rearview mirror Hannah saw the man slam his hands on the trunk of the car so hard they left twin handprints in the metal. Both Hannah and George jumped in shock; Hannah caught one last look at him and nearly screamed in shock again. His whole face had gone dark and his eyes were completely gold, twinkling like two stars in a completely dark sky. He gave a wide grin, mouth stretching too far across his face like he had been cut from one side to the other. A low groan emitted from his body, something no human should be able to make, like the sound of a steel girder bending. George gripped the steering wheel and was about to jam his foot on the gas pedal before the man gave the car another shove, lurching forward several feet. “What in the hell…” George weakly muttered, all the color gone from his face. The man smiled knowingly at him, quietly murmuring “Not a lot of traffic here lately” before taking a huge step backwards and running at the car, slapping his hands in the indents he made earlier and running at full speed, pushing the car down the road and towards another small hill, identical to the one they crossed not an hour before. Hannah was screaming now, no words, just pure terror. George looked back at the man and it was like his brain short-circuited. No sound came from his gaping mouth, his lips opening and closing rapidly. The man picked up speed, giving one last push before the car nearly flew over the hill, landing hard on the road. All of a sudden it roared to life and sped down the road, George’s foot never having left the gas. In the rearview mirror, Hannah dared one more time to look back. The whole valley was burning and the man stood in the middle of the road, one arm raised in the air in a mock salute as the world behind him was engulfed in flames.

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kaerlath · 8 years ago

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Remnants of the Jedi (Story)

Master Gabe-ril Kaerlath awoke, starting slightly from where he had somehow slipped into sleep from the normal restful meditations of the Jedi. He had remained sitting in the same position as he had when he first started his night’s meditations, but the memories of the dream that Gabe-ril had awoken from were fresh in his mind. Inwardly, he focused on the remnants of the dream as they flitted through his mind like feathers upon the wind. The dream was still sharp and the images vibrant. It had been a dream about the past, when he had been but a young padawan and newly arrived to Tython.

Gabe-ril had been standing near a stream, focusing on the water move over the rocks and listening to his master, Da'evin Telbai, speak. "The Force is like the water, Gabe-ril. It flows over us and around us; it is a part of us and a part of everything." His master spoke quietly, evenly, allowing the words to almost flow over the young Miralukan like the water in the stream. Da'evin lifted his hand and all of the stones in the stream suddenly shifted, arranging themselves in patterns on the stream floor in front of the boy.

Gabe-ril gasped audibly at the display, a broad smile appearing on his face. "Master! How strong must I be before I can do that?" Da'evin chucked softly and then replied, "You can already do it. You simply have not yet the control, Gabe-ril." The boy's smile faltered a little and then the man continued, "But you will have it one day, Gabe-ril. Your potential is great and your family is very strong in the Force."

The boy shifted slightly as his curiosity was peaked by the statement before saying, "I want to be the most powerful Jedi ever, Master."

Da'evin quirked an eyebrow upwards and asked, "Why?"

Gabe-ril paused for a moment, putting his thoughts into words. He knew that this type of question was a test and one that he had to be careful about answering. "Because I want to help people, I want to help as many as I can." Da'evin smiled faintly and then asked, "And do you think that it requires great power to help people, Gabe-ril? Does the contribution that you make depend upon how strong you are in the Force?" Gabe-ril shook his head and then said, after a brief moment, "No, but I'm sure it certainly helps!"

Da'evin chuckled and shook his head, reaching down to ruffle the boy's hair fondly. "It may help, but it is important to remember that to gain power for power's sake is the way of the Dark Side. Your intentions may be pure, but the temptation of the Dark Side is strong and you must always be vigilant, Gabe-ril."

The tone of his master's voice had changed and now it was more serious. Gabe-ril knew that tone well; it was used when the most important lessons were being taught. He listened intently to his master, taking careful note mentally.

"Many Jedi have underestimated the pull of the Dark Side in the past, my padawan. Never let your guard down against it and never believe yourself so strong that you need never worry of it."

Gabe-ril nodded solemnly. "I promise that I won't let my guard down against the Dark Side, Master."

Da'evin smiled, nodding his approval to the boy. "Good. Now, let's head back to the temple and see if we can't find some cookies for you, shall we?"

Gabe-ril paused, his mind replaying the brief moment that was still caught in his memory, working it through as best he could. He had completely forgotten about the discussion, as there were many over the years of his training about the Dark Side, the Force, and his training with his master. Why had he dreamt of that moment? He shook his head, clearing his mind. It was unusual, especially given that he had somehow dreamt while meditating. As he was about to go over the memory again, the sudden beeping of his holo-comm startled him and he pushed himself up onto his feet and moved over to the electric panel on his wall and pushed the small red blinking button to answer the call.

Rather than the image of his caller appearing, however, two sets of numbers suddenly appeared instead and then one word below them. Gabe-ril thinned his lips as he examined them for a moment before pulling out his datapad and typing them in. His demeanor grew troubled as he examined the response back from the small handheld device. They were definitely coordinates from the reading, it was clear that the first set of numbers led to a planet by the name Corridan, but it wasn't really the information that upset him, but the one word that was included with them. Telbai.

---

Gabe-ril Kaerlath walked purposefully down the hallway that led away from the Council chambers inside of the Jedi Temple upon Tython and towards the docking bay where his ship was currently being serviced and fuelled. Although Gabe-ril could have simply met with the Council through a holocomm, he'd decided that it had been important enough to meet face to face and had been pleased that it had gone as smoothly as it had. Usually, the idea of a Jedi going off to a planet on the outer ring and shirking all of his normal responsibilities was met with more resistance by the Council. However, they had agreed that if this was a lead to find out what happened to Master Da'evin Telbai, it was an opportunity that had to be looked into.

Master Da'evin Telbai had disappeared while on a routine rescue mission with a smuggler named Dracen Fairchilde. The smuggler had been new and while Da'evin Telbai had done missions with others like her before trying to rescue force sensitives from the Sith academy upon Korriban, he had somehow disappeared during the mission and the woman had no recollection or memory of exactly what happened. It had been a complete mystery and one still unsolved and a particular sore spot for Gabe-ril. There were still some Jedi who believed that the smuggler had something to do with the disappearance, although Gabe-ril was certain that she didn't. The Miralukan hoped that this trip would lead to the truth.

He murmured his thanks to the mechanics as he continued past them on his way to the ramp upwards into his defender-class light corvette and then was greeted by his C2-N2 model robot. "Master, the ship's fuel supply has been filled to maximum capacity and I have taken the opportunity to clean all of the chambers thoroughly." The robot spoke with a slightly clipped metallic voice and Gabe-ril paused as it asked, "Are we going to be going on a long trip, Master? I could not help but notice how thorough the mechanics were in their inspection this time."

The Miralukan answered, "It may be a long trip, C2. I'm not entirely certain yet." He walked to the deck of the ship with the C2-N2 walking in its stilted manner behind him.

"Where is it that we'll be going, Master?" The C2-N2 wasn't a bad model, but perhaps a little too talkative at times for Gabe-ril's liking, but sometimes he did like the company. Gabe-ril paused for a second and then answered, "Well be going to Corridan, C2."

The robot paused for a moment, apparently processing what little it knew of the planet and then asked, "Whatever are we going there for, Master? It looks like nothing more than an uninhabited rock from what records we have. There are some indigenous animals, but little else."

As Gabe-ril dropped down into the pilot's chair and relaxed, he answered the C2-N2, "It's the little else that we're going for C2," and reached over to punch up the comm frequency for the tower, not waiting for the robots unhappy response.

"This is Vigilance, looking for clearance for take-off." He spoke confidently and was pleased at the quick reply from the tower. "This is Tython Temple three, Vigilance is good to go. Repeat, Vigilance is clear for takeoff."

Gabe-ril activated the engines and felt the heavy thrum of the machines suddenly whirring to life. Around him, he could feel the vibrations of the ship suddenly gaining power and rising from the ground. He remembered when he first experienced space travel and left his home planet for the first time. With a fond smile, he pushed the throttles and the ship suddenly thrust forward, gaining speed before rising upwards into the skies of Tython and out of the atmosphere of the planet.

---

As the Vigilance exited hyperspace, Gabe-ril pulled up the relatively few scans of the planet onto his holopad and scanned the information, trying to pinpoint the other set of coordinates that had been sent to him. He frowned thoughtfully as the image of a small ridgeline of mountains appeared after punching in the numbers. The miralukan saw no settlements or buildings of any kind, nor any ship. If his master was there, he was certainly out in the middle of nowhere. Gabe-ril looked over the holomap to find a suitable place to put his ship down as he called out to the ship robot, "C2, go ahead and run a life form sensor sweep around these coordinates. I want to find out if there is anything down there waiting for me when I land."

The gold-hued metal robot nodded and then used the ship sensors to do a quick scan of the area around the ridge. "It appears, Master, that there are several indigenous life forms around the area, but there are no humanoids present," C2 replied after a momentary scan.

Gabe-ril bit his lower lip for a moment and then nodded, pulling the ship around out of orbit of the planet and into the atmosphere, letting the navigational computer find the best entry point. Turbulence shook the ship for a moment until it evened out and Gabe-ril steered the ship towards a small clearing only a few kilometers away from the ridge. "It looks like I take the speeder the rest of the way, C2."

---

The steady hum of the speeder filled the air as the Miralukan Jedi sped over the rocky ground of the animal trail that led up and along the ridge. The mountains were quite jagged, with huge stones haphazardly torn from the ground and without a speeder, Gabe-ril imagined it would be difficult terrain to cross with any urgency. He’d left C2 in charge of the ship below, making certain that the robot knew if the Jedi did not return, it would be up to him to return back to Tython and let them know what happened.

As he grew closer to the designated coordinates, he throttled back on the speeder, allowing it to slow to a stop and land. Drawing his robes around him as he dismounted from the speeder, Gabe-ril paused to take in the mountainside. There did not seem to be anything out of the ordinary that he could perceive. Then he saw it. A small cave almost hidden by an overhang of rocks, precisely at the coordinates. Thinning his lips, Gabe-ril went forward, wrapping the Force around him in a protective shield, just in case there was something that the scanners hadn’t picked up or a trap.

The darkness of the cave meant little to him. Being one of the Miraluka, it was the Force that guided his steps and his sight, not eyes. In fact, the Miralukan people had no eyes. Born completely without sight and eyes and only retaining vestigial eye sockets, they perceived the environment around them through Force sight instead of regular vision. In fact, through the years the ability had been honed so well that when a Miraluka looked upon a Jedi or Sith, they could “see” the Force radiating off them.

Gabe-ril stepped forward through the cave confidently, the Force sight guiding him through the stone tunnel as if it were daylight. As he neared the back of the cave, he could feel something ahead. Something tied to the Force and, in a manner of speaking, it seemed to call out to him.

The Jedi could feel both sides of the Force coming from whatever it was that lay ahead and he paused for a moment, weighing the danger and possibilities. In the end, however, he decided that he’d simply come too far to stop now. Moving forward, he found himself at a smooth wall and he could sense the object on the other side. Gabe-ril called forth the Force and the stones shuddered for a moment and then cracked. As if it were nothing at all, Gabe-ril motioned with a hand, causing the broken stones and dust to fly into a pile on the side. A gasp escaped his lips as the object was finally revealed to him. It was a holographic datacron, also known as a holocron. The soft glow of the Force surrounded the device and that was what Gabe-ril had sensed.

Reverently, and carefully, Gabe-ril lifted the device. It was old, of that he was certain. Shaped like a pyramid, the organic crystals still pulsed with the life of the device. While the Miraluka had seen many holocrons around the Jedi Archives, this one seemed alien to him. He pursed his lips for a moment as he ran his hand over the device, but took care not to activate it. There were traps to be found even in these archival devices, Gabe-ril knew.

He tucked the device into his robes and turned to make his way back out of the cave, deciding that he would have time to examine it closely once he returned to his ship and left the surface of the planet. Gabe-ril took a moment longer to make one last glance around to try to see if there was anything else, anything of his Master or any clue of who had left this or why before moving back through the rubble to the exit.

Strangely, Gabe-ril felt a little let down by the discovery so far. He had hoped to find Da’evin or at least someone who knew where he was, or the remains of a camp or … something. It seemed unlikely that this ancient artifact would hold that information. In fact, he was certain that it did not. The more that Gabe-ril thought about it, the more likely it was that this holocron was nothing more than old records and likely nothing useful to him at all.

He started suddenly as the roar of some sort of bestial animal suddenly filled the tunnel. Gabe-ril had been so preoccupied by his thoughts that he’d completely forgotten himself or where he was. Ahead of him, and unfortunately blocking the exit of the cave, was a very large cat-like animal with fangs and sharp horns that were raised off its back. The beast snarled again and Gabe-ril realized that this was probably its lair.

The Jedi paused for a moment, trying to decide if he could somehow calm the beast with the Force, but then the moment was gone and the animal leapt through the air and straight at him. While there was not a lot of room to maneuver, Gabe-ril managed to jump forward into a crouching roll beneath the beast as it landed to where he had been but a moment before.

The Miralukan moved with the grace and training of someone long using the Force and Gabe-ril rose smoothly to his feet, spinning around as he used the Force to break a piece of the stalagmite next to him and shoot it towards the animal. He could not blame the beast for wanting to protect its home from an invader, so he sought not to seriously injure it. The sudden yelp of pain seemed to surprise both him and the monster as the rock hit it squarely in the side of the head, causing it to shuffle sideways on its feet.

Gabe-ril turned and ran, using the animal’s momentary confusion to his advantage and focused on the Force to grant him extra speed. It would not last long, he knew, but the speeder was right outside of the cave. Behind him, the animal seemed to come to its senses and leapt after him, growling dangerously.

Bringing up a bubble of Force to surround him, Gabe-ril leapt onto the speeder and grabbed the throttle, pushing the bike into full speed and held onto it with dear life as it thrust forward. The frustrated howl of the animal was left behind as he sped back over the trail back to his ship. He hadn’t found his master, but perhaps there would be something in this holocron that would give him answers. The Jedi was growing tired of having more questions.

---

The departure from the planet had not been difficult and besides a few stray animals sniffing around the ship, there were no surprised awaiting Gabe-ril upon his return. He’d decided that it would be best to put the ship into orbit, just in case the holocron had more information that would require him to search the planet, but the more thought he put into it, the more likely it seemed that he would be led elsewhere.

Gabe-ril walked to his meditation chambers after giving C2-N2 orders to return the ship to Tython if anything went wrong and then knelt in front of the small alter before placing the pyramid shaped holocron in front of him. He took a deep breath, clearing his mind and his thoughts before reciting the Jedi mantra to himself.

There is no emotion, there is peace. He felt the calmness move through him as a soft wind. The troubles and tribulations of the days adventure slipped from him as a robe from his shoulders.

There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. Gabe-ril let the assuredness of his Master’s teachings and what he knew of holocrons fill his mind, focusing on what difficulties he might face upon accessing the gatekeeper and how best to overcome them.

There is no passion, there is serenity. The Jedi let the anxiousness of what he might face pass. He would be deliberate; caution would serve him well in this undertaking.

There is no chaos, there is harmony. He felt centered now and felt the Force surrounding him. Gabe-ril was one with the Force and with each moment, he could feel the universe breathe in time with his own breath.

There is no death, there is the Force. No matter what the outcome, Gabe-ril knew that he would continue on as part of the Force. He knew that he had nothing to fear.

Opening his eyes, he reached forward with the Force and activated the holocron. The image of his missing master appeared before him and shimmered in the air for a moment before Gabe-ril asked, “Master?”

“Ah, my Padawan. How you’ve grown.”

---

Of course, Gabe-ril knew that the gatekeeper was not his real master. The gatekeeper program was a guide, of sorts, that lent a certain personal touch to the search and recovery engine of the device. Of course, the more powerful ones could even sense the ability and level of a Jedi and offer or restrict information accordingly of what may lie in the device. It was a trick of the organic crystals and hologrammic technology that captured the appearance and cognitive networks of the holocron’s owner, but he couldn’t help but feel a moment of joy at hearing Da’evin’s voice once again.

“You are a Master Jedi now. That is good.”

Gabe-ril’s lips curved into a faint smile of pride at hearing the words, even if they were from the program. He responded, “Thank you, Master Da’evin. I have taken your teachings to heart and done the best I could after your disappearance.”

The gatekeeper seemed puzzled by the Jedi’s response and then said, “Disappearance?” Obviously, the program and holocron had been made previous to whatever had happened to Gabe-ril’s master. The Jedi felt a moment of confusion himself as he had hoped that this holocron had been recorded with answers to what happened.

Gabe-ril pursed his lips and then said, “You disappeared while on a trip to rescue several force sensitives from Korriban before they could be trained as Sith.” He paused and then added, “I thought that you knew this. Were you not made after this?”

The image of his master shimmered again and then shook its head. “No, my Padawan. I believed you had come seeking this after my joining to the Force.” The gatekeeper spread its arms and then said, “I hold the information of your family line, Gabe-ril, and the relic of your past.”

Gabe-ril found himself frowning. This was not at all what he thought it would be. Obviously, it had nothing to do with where his master might be or what might have happened to him. Worse, why would there be a holocron this old about his family? And why would Da’evin have hidden it on some planet in the outer ring? This made no sense.

“I do not understand, Master Da’evin.”

The gatekeeper image smiled, almost sadly, and then replied, “No, but you will. Speak your name, Gabe-ril and you will find out what knowledge it is that I guard.”

Gabe-ril frowned again. “My name, Master?” He took a deep breath and then said, “Gabe-ril.” Nothing happened and so he said it again, this time using his full name and title. “Jedi Master Gabe-ril Kaerlath.”

As he finished his last name, the image of his master disappeared, fading to nothing and the holocron suddenly flared, glowing red. The image of a figured robed in black and with a hood covering its head appeared before him. “I am Tzo-zin, Jen’jidai.” The figure spoke with a soft sibilance and Gabe-ril could feel the Dark Side emanating from him.

Gabe-ril wrapped the Force around himself in a shield, suddenly quite certain that he had made a terrible, terrible mistake.

This new gatekeeper could apparently detect the Force shield go around him because the image laughed, as if mocking the Jedi. Then, it reached up and pulled the hood back, revealing its face. Gabe-ril felt a moment of shock roll through him as he looked upon the image of another Miraluka.

“You have nothing to fear from me, little Jedi. I would not harm another of the blood of the great Jen’jidai Tzo-zin.”

Gabe-ril felt his mouth grow suddenly very dry.

---

It was as if the gatekeeper took delight in the sudden confusion that Gabe-ril certainly felt, because the image of the dark robed figure continued speaking. “It has been many, many thousands of years since I walked Korriban. But not so long that my blood has become so diluted that I cannot sense it.”

Gabe-ril licked his lips as he carefully worked his mind around this gatekeeper’s last statement. It could be, he reasoned, that the being simply meant that they were both of the same race. It was a reasonable conclusion, but one that didn’t quite hold up. What, exactly, was this gatekeeper leading him to?

“Your potential is great and your family is very strong in the Force."

Da’evin knew. Gabe-ril found himself frowning again as he pieced together the puzzle that had been lain out before him. That’s why it was his name that activated the other part of this holocron. Da’evin had known all along and hidden this from him. The realization shocked him. Was it a lie by omission?

“Who were you?” Gabe-ril found the question leaving his lips even before he realized it had. “And what is a Jen’jidai?”

“I was branded a Dark Jedi when I had begun to study the … extended uses of the Force.” The image flickered momentarily, but then grew solid again, apparently drawing more energy from the organic lattice of the holocron device itself.

“So you are one of the Sith…” Gabe-ril started saying, trying to reason through the explanation.

“The Sith? Do not dare name me a slave as those pathetic worms. They are nothing!” The sibilance in his voice grew heavier at the emotional outburst. “I knew Ajunta Pall, fought with XoXaan and Karness Muur. I worked at the side of Sorzus Syn herself! I am Tzo-zin!”

Gabe-ril was confused at first by the names. They did not immediately leap out to his memory, although he was certain that he’d seen at least one of them before in some of the older histories. He stayed silent and worked at trying to remain centered and calm. There was a great opportunity here, but a great danger as well.

“I can tell that you know nothing of these, the greatest of Jen’jidai.” Contempt dripped from the tone of the image and Gabe-ril found himself abashed as the gatekeeper continued speaking. “We were forced from the Jedi Order because they were weak and afraid of what truths we uncovered of the Force.”

“The Order is not weak, nor fearful of Bogan.” Gabe-ril recited the words almost more for his own sake than that of Tzo-zin. There were many instances in the past where the Jedi Order had split apart and fought one another over experimentation of the Dark Side. It had begun even with one of the Founders of the Jedi Order, Rajivari.

The gatekeeper snorted contemptuously at the statement and ignored it. “We warred for a hundred years before we were driven back and exiled. There were twelve of us.” Gabe-ril could feel the dark side strengthen around the pyramid device and for a moment he wondered whether he should deactivate it and take it to Tython.

Perhaps, he reasoned, it would be better if there were other Jedi present with him to make certain that it would be safe. Gabe-ril bit his lower lip for a moment and then realized that it would put his entire life with the Jedi into question. If this truly was his ancestor, there were some Jedi who would believe him more likely to fall to the Dark Side. And the nagging question of why his master had hidden this from him was still unanswered.

“We made our way to the planet Korriban. It was Sorzus who had decided that the Sith people would be the easiest for us to rule over and mold as we wished.” The gatekeeper laughed, then, and it sent a chill through Gabe-ril. It was almost as if this thing were still alive. “They thought that they would try to kill us when we landed. How pathetic.”

“You said before that the Sith were slaves.” Gabe-ril found himself growing curious at this apparent firsthand knowledge of how history had come to pass. It was almost as if he were back at the archives.

Tzo-zin nodded, slowly. “After Ajunta Pall killed their weak ruler and took his place, the Sith named us Jen’jidai.” It paused and then explained, as if to a child, and answering Gabe-ril’s earlier question, “It means Dark Lord in the Sith tongue.”

Gabe-ril found himself remembering bits and pieces of the war now. It had been called the Hundred Year Darkness, and for good reason. The Dark Jedi had twisted the Force to create monstrosities that the universe had never seen before. Shamblers, pit horrors, leviathons and other things too horrible to name had been created through the use of the Dark Side and let loose against the Jedi.

In fact, the Dark Jedi had been so strong that it had taken a carefully planned orbital bombardment to finally defeat them. To know that one of his ancestors had actually been there filled Gabe-ril with a sense of awe. Likewise, to know that the ancestor fought on the side of the Dark Jedi also filled him with a sense of revulsion and shame. The Jedi was beginning to see why Da’evin had hidden this from him.

“This is … much to take in.” Gabe-ril tried to speak calmly, but his voice carried a little of the confusion and emotion that he was feeling.

“You know nothing of your past or your heritage.” Tzo-zin stated bluntly, as if it were a testament of how little regard it had for Gabe-ril. “Your veins carry the blood of one of the most powerful Jen’jidai that has crossed the universe and you know nothing of it.”

Gabe-ril rolled his shoulders in response and then replied, “Much has changed over the course of the millennia. Your blood, if you truly are one of my ancestors, has returned to the Jedi Order.”

The scorn at which the gatekeeper responded to this was so sharp that the Miralukan Jedi was once more given the impression that this thing was alive and not just a program stored thousands of years ago.

“That bunch of ignorant fools who hide behind their codes and their lopsided morals?” Tzo-zin laughed harshly. “Those hypocrites with their lies and half truths? Why do you think that we left the Jedi, boy?”

Gabe-ril fought the anger that had begun to well in his chest at the gatekeeper’s words. He spoke quietly, “There is no emotion, there is peace.”

Taking a deep breath, the Jedi managed to calm himself once more before the gatekeeper snorted out, “You don’t even know the code. Or is this just what this new Jedi Order wants to brainwash you with? There is no emotion? What sort of drivel is that? Of course there is emotion. You cannot deny how you are made or the feelings you have.”

The Miralukan tilted his head and then said, “Self-control is the key. Understanding oneself and mastering our emotions is the first step to Mastering the Force.” He recited the words as if he’d memorized them. In truth, Gabe-ril had. He knew the code intrinsically.

Tzo-zin seemed to pause for a moment and then said, plainly, “Recite this code to me, child of my children’s children.” Obviously, the gatekeeper seemed to hold little regard to Gabe-ril’s status now.

Gabe-ril inclined his head in a slight nod before stating, “There is no emotion. There is peace. There is no ignorance, there is knowledge. There is no passion, there is serenity. There is no chaos, there is harmony. There is no death, there is the Force.”

Tzo-zin’s image shook its head. “It seems that the Order has fallen to finalities and the definite. There is no life, only their law. Perhaps that should be added in that little nursery rhyme somewhere.”

Gabe-ril found himself frowning. Debating with the holocron had not been the direction he thought this conversation would lead. But, he took the bait anyway. “What, exactly, do you mean? The Force teaches us calmness, to look inwardly for knowledge and to ignore the anger and emotions that lead to the Dark Side. To accept that all things lead to the Force.”

“Perhaps this is what is taught by your Jedi slavemasters now, but that is an abomination of the Code.” Tzo-zin grinned, his lips curving upwards into a mirthless smirk. “And believe me, I know abominations well. I helped create many with Jen’jidai Sorzus.”

Gabe-ril paused and then asked, “Then what is the Code? What were you taught?” He couldn’t help being curious. Had things truly changed that much?

“Emotion, yet peace. Ignorance, yet knowledge. Passion, yet serenity. Chaos, yet harmony. Death, yet the Force.” Tzo-zin’s recital was just as clear to Gabe-ril and indeed, he’d seen this particular translation of the Code in some of the older archival datacrons, but he was slightly puzzled nonetheless. “Isn’t this the same? Simply variances of translations?”

Tzo-zin curved its lips disapprovingly. “Ignorant child. This code they teach you now is absolute. There is none of this, none of that. No emotion, no passion, no chaos.” He waved a hand dismissively. “The Force deals not in absolutes. The Code was meant to give acceptance of what was, not to deny it in its entirety.” The hologram’s lips curled back into a sneer. “This new Jedi Order has embraced fear and based their entire beliefs around them. The irony is not lost upon me.”

Gabe-ril found himself taking another deep breath to calm himself, but inwardly thought about what the gatekeeper had said. He had always believed that the words were the same; simply translated slightly different between the languages of the translators, but the meaning in the end was supposed to be accurate. Had the Jedi become too rigidly based upon a Code that was an error of translation? The ramifications were chilling.

Tzo-zin’s image shimmered for another moment and then grew solid once more. It seemed apparent that the holocron might have sustained damage over the years. Apparently, the gatekeeper realized that too. “My time is growing short, but there is much that you should know. Much, apparently, that has been lost to my bloodline. I once held secrets that could make you one of the most well-known and powerful Jedi that the universe has ever seen. The knowledge I hold cannot be lost for all time like this.”

Gabe-ril licked his lips once more, noticing how dry they had become. This holocron held histories of the Jedi Order that could be older than any others in the archives. The knowledge of their Order could be lost for eternity. Gabe-ril suddenly wondered if it would be possible to deactivate the device, to recharge it perhaps. Tzo-zin’s gatekeeper apparently anticipated this question, stating, “Because of the tampering by the Jedi who had locked me into that cave before, once activated, this holocron will not be able to be activated again. Think carefully. Think of how many could be saved by what I can teach you.”

Inwardly, the Jedi found himself agreeing with the holocron. While it was true that Tzo-zin had become a Dark Jedi, he had also studied with some of the Jedi of old and his knowledge could be valuable. Who knows how many techniques and how many Force abilities have been lost over the millennia since he was alive? Gabe-ril pursed his lips together. The holocron had said before that it would not harm him, he reasoned to himself as he thought about the possibilities.

"It may help, but it is important to remember that to gain power for power's sake is the way of the Dark Side. Your intentions may be pure, but the temptation of the Dark Side is strong and you must always be vigilant, Gabe-ril."

Gabe-ril paused, remembering his dream. Just as quickly as he had begun to be tempted by the idea, he realized that was where the danger lay. “No, I will not be taken by the Dark Side.”

Tzo-zin’s image seethed and the red flare of the Force around the pyramid grew brighter. “No, you must not resist me! It is in your blood!” The sibilant hiss of the gatekeeper grew more pronounced as the glow of the energy did. “Accept my knowledge! My teachings must not be lost!”

Gabe-ril took a steadying breath as the holocron’s gatekeeper ranted. He realized that although there was knowledge that the universe was losing, the dangers of the Dark Side were too powerful to ignore; or even to risk. Perhaps this is why the Jen’jidai were forced from the temple so many years ago.

Finally, Tzo-zin’s image flickered once more, rapidly. The holocron was losing power. Gabe-ril watched with a mixture of feelings; relief and sadness both. He was giving up a lifetime of information and although he knew it was the right decision, he could not help but feel the loss of the possibilities. Tzo-zin spoke once more before the red glow around the holocron disappeared entirely.

“Do not forget me, child of my children’s children. Remember the name Tzo-zin.”

Gabe-ril doubted that it would be possible to forget, even if he wanted to.

---

Gabe-ril rose to his feet and steadied himself. The conversion, if it could even be called that, had drawn more strength from him than he had expected. The Jedi was shaken, to be certain, and it had been a long time since he’d felt so confused about who he was. But, in his heart, he knew that he’d made the right decision.

Reaching forward, he picked up the darkened holocron and gasped in surprise when a soft blue light surrounded it. The image of his master appeared once more, as it had at the very beginning.

“Master?” Gabe-ril asked. “I thought the holocron was useless now.”

Dae’vin’s image smiled and murmured, “It is. It was the wish of your Master to congratulate you upon your passing of the hardest test you have yet faced. The test of yourself.”

Gabe-ril frowned. Was this all a test then? Had this all been made up? The gatekeeper seemed to expect the question because he continued speaking, “Tzo-zin was your ancestor. There were no lies offered to you. I found this holocron many years before I took you as my student, Gabe-ril. I believe it was the Force that led you to me afterwards, so that I might prepare you for this one day.”

Gabe-ril stayed silent as the gatekeeper continued. “I do not have long left, even now I draw upon the very last of the power to speak to you. But your ancestor left one other item and now, I give it to you. See that it is used for a more worthy cause than what it was before.” With that, the base of the pyramid slid back and the handle of a lightsaber fell. Instinctively, Gabe-ril reached out with the Force and caught it, pulling it back into his hand.

As the holocron blinked once more and the blue light faded for the last time, the gatekeeper spoke again. “I am proud of what you have become, my padawan.”

Gabe-ril smiled, feeling a sense of peace come over him. “Thank you, Master.”

After setting the holocron down once more, he stepped back and the sudden hum of the lightsaber being activated cut the silence of the room. The glowing red blade left afterimages in the air as he sliced, testing its weight and strength. It was well made, to be certain, and the metalwork exquisite. Made millennia past, it was a relic of an era long since gone.

The Miralukan deactivated the blade and tucked the hilt into the belt of his robe. He would make certain that the future good of the weapon would outweigh the crimes for which it was used in the past. Gabe-ril had no more answers as to what happened to his master than he did before he started this trip. He also had no idea who it was that led him here in the first place.

But, he knew more about himself and that, by far, was the most important. He could not help the nagging questions that he had after discussion the Code with Tzo-zin and wondered whether the gatekeeper had been right. They were questions that he could not answer, but Gabe-ril decided that no longer could he simply accept what was in the Jedi Order simply because it was.

In that, Tzo-zin was right. The Force cared nothing for absolutes. The universe changed constantly and only by adapting and changing with it would the Jedi survive. And only by questioning that which was would he find reasons why. It would be a lesson that he swore to pass onto his students in turn.

Emotion, yet peace.

Ignorance, yet knowledge.

Passion, yet serenity.

Chaos, yet harmony.

Death, yet the Force.

Reaching up to tap the intercom next to his door, he spoke in a calm, clear voice. “C2, let’s go home.”

#jedi #star wars #swtor #rp character #kaerlath

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dmat574-blog · 7 years ago

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Anyone Own A Boat? It Might Be Needed To Get To Class 2/22/2018

This past week has been all over the place weather-wise in southwest Pennsylvania, I don’t even know what month it is solely based on the conditions of late. Last weekend many locations experienced the flooding that was expected from all of the heavy rainfall last Friday. Downtown Pittsburgh got just over 2 inches of rain in a little over 24 hours, resulting in parts of downtown and The Point being underwater. After all that was said and done, almost everyone, including California, broke record highs as temperatures rocketed into the upper 70's and even an 80 degree mark or two. Certainly sounds more like spring break weather than anything else, not late February.

Since then, California and Cal U has been stuck in the same pattern that’s been plaguing the entire country. Bitter cold air and snow continues in the western half of the US while torrential rains continue to fall across the Mississippi and Ohio River valleys with extremely warm air out ahead of this boundary along the East Coast. Let’s break this pattern down and figure out when the heck all this rain is going to get out of here. As of this morning, a swath of precipitation is spread across much of western Pennsylvania, with temperatures in the upper 30′s south and closer to freezing the farther north you go. A sort of cyclonic circulation has set up around all of this rainfall, which has been typical of any batch of precipitation that sets up along this stalled boundary and brought some of those ear freezing marks close to Pittsburgh.

I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but this pattern is sticking around for at least a few more days, with rounds of rain fluctuating in and out every 12 hours or so. The upper level flow has a jet streak progging over the Mid-Atlantic and into the Mississippi Valley with the right entrance region over this area supporting enhanced rising motion. In the middle and lower levels it’s still fairly evident that the ridge just off the east coast of Florida is stuck in place, while a trough and attached low pressure center is placed in the southwest US. With these features in place, the mid-level steering flow is continuously pushing southwest flow into the Mid-Atlantic along this strong pressure gradient between features. The air within this flow is still extremely warm and moist thanks to the Gulf of Mexico being upstream.

So, in general, all models are in agreement that rain chances will continue straight through the weekend before finally tapering off late Sunday into Sunday night. Around this time is when a very occluded low pressure system will push through the Great Lakes, finally kicking the atmospheric flow into gear and ending this continuous flow of moisture in between the high pressure center in the east and the trough out west. The tricky part for this coming weekend is when and where the boundary will shift, essentially directing where the best convergence will set up for rainfall. For the most part models aren’t hinting at the pattern of surface and near surface winds shifting much. However, there is a brief period late Friday afternoon into the evening where winds will slacken a good bit, lessening the amount of convergence and moisture over California and southwest Pennsylvania for a bit. This could be the only reprieve from rain all weekend, as showers and heavier bands of rain will be continuous.

Now the most important question, just how much rainfall where there be and what will be the impacts? Regardless of how much more rainfall occurs, it’s almost a definite that river flooding will occur across the western half of the state. With all of the rainfall and melting snow from the previous week, the ground is very saturated and river levels are already up. As such, the National Weather Service in Pittsburgh has already issued a Flood Warning through 4:30 PM today (which should be extended) and a Flood Watch until Sunday at 7:00 PM for California and surrounding areas.

Through the end of that flood watch, models are showing additional rainfall totals anywhere from 2-4 inches, with the NAM showing the least at just over 2 inches while the GFS is showing much higher amounts just above 4 inches, the Canadian and Euro are more towards the middle near 3 inches. The differences between the models is due to the track of the low pressure system over the weekend and the timing of when the boundary should be pushed out. While there’s still a good bit of uncertainty between the models on this, I’m going to hedge towards just below the middle ground here, with 2.75 to 3 inches likely for California and southwestern Pennsylvania. I think areas to the north and east of Cal U will see some of the heavier amounts this time around. The pictures from the different model runs showing accumulations are posted below to show this pattern.

I mentioned it earlier, and no it wasn’t a dream, we’re actually going to see an end to all of this rain early next week. The general consensus of the models is that somewhat weak ridging will establish over the eastern half of the country, farther west this time too. That means the inclement weather will be off to the west a bit more and sunshine will return! There is one downfall however, and if you’re not a fan of the cold stop reading now. Winds coming out of the north and northwest will drop temperatures back down to just above where they should be for this time of year, with highs in the lower 50′s and lows just below the freezing mark. So bring out the longer pants and put away the rain gear, because we’ll finally be catching a much needed break from the rain, even if that does mean colder temperatures.

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eddiejpoplar · 7 years ago

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The Penance of Preparedness

VESUVIUS, Virginia — The airport’s an hour away by 81 North, then 64 East at Staunton. I hate that drive. All those people running the same direction, their heads down, schooling like fish and ignoring the green wonder of the Shenandoah Valley. The counties up here all sit on a loose grid, the roads either parallel or perpendicular, dictated by the old and gnarled spine of the Blue Ridge, how it lies pointing vaguely northeast. It means there are a thousand ways to get to the same place so long as you’ve got a wealth of minutes to burn.

For once, I did. Beth gathered up our daughter and dropped her in the tub about the time I set out the door to meet my step mother’s flight. I’d planned to take the Mercedes. Aim its silver star at the Blue Ridge Parkway’s crumbling asphalt and trace the road all the way to Afton. Run my hands through the long light of late summer and breathe a minute. The sky had other ambitions.

The wind was cool, snapping its jaws at the line of maples, poplars and oaks that frame our place, the lot of them turning their leaves, flashing their silver bellies at the low clouds in a dare. The horizon was dark, rippling with the blue muscle of an evening storm pushing its way east. The first fat drops planted themselves on the sidewalk as I stood on the porch, considering my options. My 1977 Mercedes 230 with no air conditioning and four questionable tires is no place to spend a Virginia thunderstorm.

I took our second-generation Honda CR-V instead. Maybe the nicest vehicle we own, it’s happy to trudge its way through the grind of daily existence with neither complaint nor demand. I can’t stand the adequacy of it, how gladly it eschews excellence for acceptability, abandoning the precise handling and crisp steering of the brand’s past for a driving experience that’s completely forgettable—far worse than merely bad.

That’s what was on my mind as I grabbed the thing by its scruff and shook it up the mountain outside of Vesuvius. There’s a satisfaction to wailing on a car you hate, stoking your mechanical masochism. Somewhere along the way, I realized I was having fun outsprinting the storm. I dropped the windows and laughed at the stumbling understeer, the tippy body and detached steering. Grinned at the sound of four commuter tires pleading for mercy, their wail a crescendo in the dusk.

By the time I reached the Parkway, I could see patches of clear sky here and there, all set orange with the slipping sun. The light dashed through the trees at the crest of the Blue Ridge, making for long and perfect staccato shadows. The road wound into deeper and darker woods. That’s when I saw the Wrangler on the shoulder, its front bashed to an improper V, the hood peaked, and the windshield shattered. Steam climbed from the grille. Earth, leaves, and a scattering of items once inside the Jeep sat strewn across the pavement. A cooler. Shards of broken bottles. A pile of dark clothing. But as I pulled the Honda off the road and got out, the scene clicked into focus. It wasn’t just discarded cloth piled in the middle of the road. It was a person.

I checked my phone as I ran, the slaps of my boot heels and the plink of cooling metal playing lead to the rhythm chant of late-summer cicadas. No service. The Jeep’s horn began to blare. I was begging already, pleading with the whoever or whatever would listen, “Don’t be dead.”

The curses that were on my lips froze there as I reached the man. He was in his late 40s, his head shaved. He’d been in shape once, his legs, arms and shoulders thick with muscle that hadn’t enjoyed the breadth of its function in years. He wore shorts and sandals, his body cut and scraped, the cloth of his t-shirt pulled up over his half-barrel belly. I called to him, and at first, got no response. Knelt, leaned close, and tried again. He groaned, his eyes fluttering. The brief joy of seeing him alive was replaced by real fear as blood ran from the back of his head so fast the asphalt couldn’t absorb it. In all my years of construction and mechanic work, I’ve never seen so much blood all at once. A red river of life running from this man.

It hadn’t dawned on me just how unprepared I was. I had nothing to give him. No gloves to protect myself, no bandages, no towel or blanket. My last first aid class was more than 10 years ago. I’d always rolled my eyes at the people who packed their trunks with emergency supplies, who lived under the insufferable banner of “just in case.” Now it seemed painfully stupid to be a man who carries a spare alternator in his truck but has no way to help a stranger in need.

Desperate, I took off my shirt, gently lifted his head and placed the fabric beneath his skull, holding it there. I couldn’t quit cursing, my heart hammering against the bones of my chest. His skin was already cold from shock, alien through the slick of his warm blood. The fear was bad, but not nearly so cruel as not knowing what to do. My mind flicked through the options. Stay, keep pressure on the wound, and hope someone else drove by on this abandoned two lane. Or, somehow put him in the Honda and take him to aid. Or, rest his head on the ground, hope like hell the weight of it was enough to staunch the bleeding, and go for help.

Every one of them seemed a gamble. I knew better than to try to move the man. I had no idea how he wound up in the road, though it seemed likely he was thrown there, ejected from the Jeep along with the rest of the detritus that littered the southbound lane. I had no way of knowing how bad his injuries were, but moving him would likely make them worse. And, there was no telling when the next car could come by. It could be minutes. It could be hours.

I laid his head back on my shirt and promised I’d return. Ran to the Honda and got in. I didn’t make it 50 yards down the road before I saw headlights. I blew the horn, flashed my high beams and stopped the Honda dead center on the double yellows. Got out and ran to the driver’s window, where I found a car full of terrified college-aged young women, all wide-eyed at the blood-covered stranger with no shirt, demanding to know if any of them had service.

They all looked at their phones, and by some miracle, one of them had a few bars. I told her to call 911, to tell the dispatcher that there had been an accident on the Parkway and that the driver had been ejected from his vehicle. I told them I didn’t know the mile marker, that they needed to go find the closest one if they didn’t either.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, a shadow of a memory illuminated as I ran back to the man’s side. If he had a concussion, I shouldn’t let him fall asleep. I knelt and called to him again.

“Buddy, you need to wake up, ok? What’s your name?”

This time, the groaning stopped. His breath went shallow. I reached over and slapped him on his ribs, and he started.

“What’s your name, man?”

“Bobby.”

“Bobby, that’s good. Where you from, Bobby?”

Another car pulled up, its driver a woman who was quick to help, quick to keep Bobby talking. We asked him everything we could think of. Asked him to move his toes, then his fingers. Asked him to tell us about his wife, and when he said her name was Karen, the woman brightened.

“That’s my name, Bobby,” she said.

His answers came in labored, single-word bursts, some easier than others. He couldn’t tell us his last name or the names of his two boys, but could rattle off his wife’s phone number with relative ease, give or take a few digits. One of the young women from the first car walked up barefoot, picking her way between the broken glass. She knelt and held Bobby’s right hand as his words stumbled and faltered, her shoulders making the tattoo that ran from the base of her neck down her spine shift and move in the twilight.

The storm caught us, then, announced on that same cool wind I felt on my porch. It moved through the trees, whispered across our skin. It felt like some sort of reprieve.

“Feel that, Bobby? The rain’s coming. It’s gonna feel awfully good after this heat.”

And it did, each heavy drop like a sweet and cool kiss. The young woman looked up, drops of rain suspended in her flyaway hair capturing the last light of the day. Her brown eyes were worried.

“His arm and shoulder are in bad shape,” she said. “I think the muscle might be torn.”

We were there an hour. Maybe more. A mingling crowd gathered on the ridge top. Bobby’s bleeding slowed, then stopped. His answers never got clearer, but they came easier. Someone lent me a pullover. Umbrellas appeared.

“Guys, why are we doing this?” Bobby asked. Everyone laughed.

“That’s a good question, brother,” I answered, finally suspecting that he’d be alright.

We heard the sirens long before we saw the trucks, their lights cutting through the dark that had long-since descended on the scene. The fire fighters and EMTs loaded Bobby onto an ambulance and took him to UVA, leaving the small crowd of strangers standing there with nothing more than each other and the rain. I told them thanks, and apologized for having to leave so quickly, but I was already very late for my step mother’s flight.

I got back in the Honda, the dome light illuminating my phone and sunglasses, both covered in Bobby’s blood from when I’d gotten in earlier, the cabin bright with the penny smell that only comes when the stuff starts to dry. I sat for half a second, my hands shaking with the jab of adrenaline. And as I drove out the remainder of the Parkway, I couldn’t pry that flood of Bobby’s blood from my mind. Not because it was shocking, which it was, but because that could have been me a hundred times over. I spent my young years on a tear, eschewing drinking and drugs in empty hay fields for full-throttle rips around this county, a collection of near misses on my hip.

Finding that man sprawled on a road I’ve run a hundred times was a clear reminder: the penance for living is being prepared with more than the shirt off your back. The American Red Cross sells inexpensive kits stocked with necessary basics for less than you’d pay for a year’s worth of Netflix. Likewise, keeping up with first aid training only takes a handful of hours, time I’d likely squander anyhow. Bobby was a good reminder to keep more than car parts under my back seat, and to sharpen the skills necessary to keep someone safe until help arrives.

My phone rang when I finally reached the interstate. It was my wife, calling to tell me my step mother’s flight was cancelled. That she’d been rerouted to another airport an hour south and that my father was on his way to pick her up. It was hard not to laugh at the cosmic click of things, the cascade of events that put you where you are. I hung up the phone and pointed the Honda toward home, back through the storm.

The post The Penance of Preparedness appeared first on Automobile Magazine.

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nyastuding · 7 years ago

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Most Effective Ways To Overcome Car Recovery\'s Problem.

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readbookywooks · 8 years ago

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Out of the Frying-Pan into the Fire

Bilbo had escaped the goblins, but he did not know where he was. He had lost hood, cloak, food, pony, his buttons and his friends. He wandered on and on, till the sun began to sink westwards-behind the mountains. Their shadows fell across Bilbo's path, and he looked back. Then he looked forward and could see before him only ridges and slopes falling towards lowlands and plains glimpsed occasionally between the trees. "Good heavens!" he exclaimed. "I seem to have got right to the other side of the Misty Mountains, right to the edge of the Land Beyond! Where and O where can Gandalf and the dwarves have got to? I only hope to goodness they are not still back there in the power of the goblins!" He still wandered on, out of the little high valley, over its edge, and down the slopes beyond; but all the while a very uncomfortable thought was growing inside him. He wondered whether he ought not, now he had the magic ring, to go back into the horrible, horrible, tunnels and look for his friends. He had just made up his mind that it was his duty, that he must turn back-and very miserable he felt about it-when he heard voices. He stopped and listened. It did not sound like goblins; so he crept forward carefully. He was on a stony path winding downwards with a rocky wall. on the left hand; on the other side the ground sloped away and there were dells below the level of the path overhung with bushes and low trees. In one of these dells under the bushes people were talking. He crept still nearer, and suddenly he saw peering between two big boulders a head with a red hood on: it was Balin doing look-out. He could have clapped and shouted for joy, but he did not. He had still got the ring on, for fear of meeting something unexpected and unpleasant, and he saw that Balin was looking straight at him without noticing him. "I will give them all a surprise," he thought, as he crawled into the bushes at the edge of the dell. Gandalf was arguing with the dwarves. They were discussing all that had happened to them in the tunnels, and wondering and debating what they were to do now. The dwarves were grumbling, and Gandalf was saying that they could not possibly go on with their journey leaving Mr. Baggins in the hands of the goblins, without trying to find out if he was alive or dead, and without trying to rescue him. "After all he is my friend," said the wizard, "and not a bad little chap. I feel responsible for him. I wish to goodness you had not lost him." The dwarves wanted to know why he had ever been brought at all, why he could not stick to his friends and come along with them, and why the wizard had not chosen someone with more sense. "He has been more trouble than use so far," said one. "If we have got to' go back now into those abominable tunnels to look for him, then drat him, I say." Gandalf answered angrily: "I brought him, and I don't bring things that are of no use. Either you help me to look for him, or I go and leave you here to get out of the mess as best you can yourselves. If we can only find him again, you will thank me before all is over. Whatever did you want to go and drop him for, Dori?" "You would have dropped him," said Dori, "if a goblin had suddenly grabbed your leg from behind in the dark, tripped up your feet, and kicked you in the back!" "Then why didn't you pick him up again?" "Good heavens! Can you ask! Goblins fighting and biting in the dark, everybody falling over bodies and hitting one another! You nearly chopped off my head with Glamdring, and Thorin Was stabbing here there and everywhere with Orcrist. All of a sudden you gave one of your blinding flashes, and we saw the goblins running back yelping. You shouted 'follow me everybody!' and everybody ought to have followed. We thought everybody had. There was no time to count, as you know quite well, till we had dashed through the gate-guards, out of the lower door, and helter-skelter down here. And here we are-without the burglar, confusticate him!" "And here's the burglar!" said Bilbo stepping down into the middle of them, and slipping off the ring. Bless me, how they jumped! Then they shouted with surprise and delight. Gandalf was as astonished as any of them, but probably more pleased than all the others. He called to Balin and told him what he thought of a look-out man who let people walk right into them like that without warning. It is a fact that Bilbo's reputation went up a very great deal with the dwarves after this. If they had still doubted that he was really a first-class burglar, in spite of Gandalf's words, they doubted no longer. Balin was the most puzzled of all; but everyone said it was a very clever bit of work. Indeed Bilbo was so pleased with their praise that he just chuckled inside and said nothing whatever about the ring; and when they asked him how he did it, he said: "O, just crept along, you know-very carefully and quietly." "Well, it is the first time that even a mouse has crept along carefully and quietly under my very nose and not been spotted," said Balin, "and I take off my hood to you." Which he did. "Balin at your service," said he. "Your servant, Mr. Baggins," said Bilbo. Then they wanted to know all about his adventures after they had lost him, and he sat down and told them everything-except about the finding of the ring ("not just now" he thought). They were particularly interested in the riddle-competition, and shuddered most appreciatively at his description of Gollum. "And then I couldn't think of any other question with him sitting beside me," ended Bilbo; "so I said 'what's in my pocket?' And he couldn't guess in three goes. So I said: 'what about your promise? Show me the way out!' But he came at me to kill me, and I ran, and fell over, and he missed me in the dark. Then I followed him, because I heard him talking to himself. He thought I really knew the way out, and so he was making for it. And then he sat down in the entrance, and I could not get by. So I jumped over him and escaped, and ran down to the gate." "What about guards?" they asked. "Weren't there any?" "O yes! lots of them; but I dodged 'em. I got stuck in the door, which was only open a crack, and I lost lots of buttons," he said sadly looking at his torn clothes. "But I squeezed through all right-and here I am." The dwarves looked at him with quite a new respect, when he talked about dodging guards, jumping over Gollum, and squeezing through, as if it was not very difficult or very alarming. "What did I tell you?" said Gandalf laughing. "Mr. Baggins has more about him than you guess." He gave Bilbo a queer look from under his bushy eyebrows, as he said this, and the hobbit wondered if he guessed at the part of his tale that he had left out. Then he had questions of his own to ask, for if Gandalf had explained it all by now to the dwarves, Bilbo had not heard it. He wanted to know how the wizard had turned up again, and where they had all got to now. The wizard, to tell the truth, never minded explaining his cleverness more than once, so now he had told Bilbo that both he and Elrond had been well aware of the presence of evil goblins in that part of the mountains. But their main gate used to come out on a different pass, one more easy to travel by, so that they often caught people benighted near their gates. Evidently people had given up going that way, and the goblins must have opened their new entrance at the top of the pass the dwarves had taken, quite recently, because it had been found quite safe up to now. "I must see if I can't find a more or less decent giant to block it up again," said Gandalf, "or soon there will be no getting over the mountains at all." As soon as Gandalf had heard Bilbo's yell he realized what had happened. In the flash which killed the goblins that were grabbing him he had nipped inside the crack, just as it snapped to. He followed after the drivers and prisoners right to the edge of the great hall, and there he sat down and worked up the best magic he could in the shadows. "A very ticklish business, it was," he said. "Touch and go!" But, of course, Gandalf had made a special study of bewitchments with fire and lights (even the hobbit had never forgotten the magic fireworks at Old Took's midsummer-eve parties, as you remember). The rest we all know - except that Gandalf knew all about the back-door, as the goblins called the lower gate, where Bilbo lost his buttons. As a matter of fact it was well known to anybody who was acquainted with this part of the mountains; but it took a wizard to keep his head in the tunnels and guide them in the right direction. "They made that gate ages ago," he said, "partly for a way of escape, if they needed one; partly as a way out into the lands beyond, where they still come in the dark and do great damage. They guard it always and no one has ever managed to block it up. They will guard it doubly after this," he laughed. All the others laughed too. After all they had lost a good deal, but they had killed the Great Goblin and a great many others besides, and they had all escaped, so they might be said to have had the best of it so far. But the wizard called them to their senses. "We must be getting on at once, now we are a little rested," he said. "They will be out after us in hundreds when night comes on; and already shadows are lengthening. They can smell our footsteps for hours and hours after we have passed. We must be miles on before dusk. There will be a bit of moon, if it keeps fine, and that is lucky. Not that they mind the moon much, but it will give us a little light to steer by." "O yes!" he said in answer to more questions from the hobbit. "You lose track of time inside goblin-tunnels. Today's Thursday, and it was Monday night or Tuesday morning that we were captured. We have gone miles and miles, and come right down through the heart of the mountains, and are now on the other side-quite a short cut. But we are not at the point to which our pass would have brought us; we are too far to the North, and have some awkward country ahead. And we are still pretty high up. Let's get on!" "I am so dreadfully hungry," groaned Bilbo, who was suddenly aware that he had not had a meal since the night before the night before last. Just think of that for a hobbit! His stomach felt all empty and loose and his legs all wobbly, now that the excitement was over. "Can't help it," said Gandalf, "unless you like to go back and ask the goblins nicely to let you have your pony back and your luggage." "No thank you!" said Bilbo. "Very well then, we must just tighten our belts and trudge on - or we shall be made into supper, and that will be much worse than having none ourselves." As they went on Bilbo looked from side to side for something to eat; but the blackberries were still only in flower, and of course there were no nuts, nor even hawthorn-berries. He nibbled a bit of sorrel, and he drank from a small mountain-stream that crossed the path, and he ate three wild strawberries that he found on its bank, but it was not much good. They still went on and on. The rough path disappeared. The bushes, and the long grasses, between the boulders, the patches of rabbit-cropped turf, the thyme and the sage and the marjoram, and the yellow rockroses all vanished, and they found themselves at the top of a wide steep slope of fallen stones, the remains of a landslide. When they began to go down this, rubbish and small pebbles rolled away from their feet; soon larger bits of split stone went clattering down and started other pieces below them slithering and rolling; then lumps of rocks were disturbed and bounded off, crashing down with a dust and a noise. Before long the whole slope above them and below them seemed on the move, and they were sliding away, huddled all together, in a fearful confusion of slipping, rattling, cracking slabs and stones. It was the trees at the bottom that saved them. They slid into the edge of a climbing wood of pines that here stood right up the mountain slope from the deeper darker forests of the valleys below. Some caught hold of the trunks and swung themselves into lower branches, some (like the little hobbit) got behind a tree to shelter from the onslaught of the rocks. Soon the danger was over, the slide had stopped, and the last faint crashes could be heard as the largest of the disturbed stones went bounding and spinning among the bracken and the pine-roots far below. "Well! that has got us on a bit," said Gandalf; "and even goblins tracking us will have a job to come down here quietly." "I daresay," grumbled Bombur; "but they won't find it difficult to send stones bouncing down on our heads." The dwarves (and Bilbo) were feeling far from happy, and were rubbing their bruised and damaged legs and feet. "Nonsense! We are going to turn aside here out of the path of the slide. We must be quick! Look at the light!" The sun had long gone behind the mountains. Already the shadows were deepening about them, though far away through the trees and over the black tops of those growing lower down they could still see the evening lights on the plains beyond. They limped along now as fast as they were able down the gentle slopes of a pine forest in a slanting path leading steadily southwards. At times they were pushing through a sea of bracken with tall fronds rising right above the hobbit's head; at times they were marching along quiet as quiet over a floor of pine-needles; and all the while the forest-gloom got heavier and the forest-silence deeper. There was no wind that evening to bring even a sea-sighing into the branches of the trees. "Must we go any further?" asked Bilbo, when it was so dark that he could only just see Thorin's beard wagging beside him, and so quiet that he could hear the dwarves' breathing like a loud noise. "My toes are all bruised and bent, and my legs ache, and my stomach is wagging like an empty sack." "A bit further," said Gandalf. After what seemed ages further they came suddenly to an opening where no trees grew. The moon was up and was shining into the clearing. Somehow it struck all of them as not at all a nice place, although there was nothing wrong to see. All of a sudden they heard a howl away down hill, a long shuddering howl. It was answered by another away to the right and a good deal nearer to them, then by another not far away to the left. It was wolves howling at the moon,wolves gathering together! There were no wolves living near Mr. Baggins' hole at home, but he knew that noise. He had had it described to him often enough in tales. One of his elder cousins (on the Took side), who had been a great traveller, used to imitate it to frighten him. To hear it out in the forest under the moon was too much for Bilbo. Even magic rings are not much use against wolves-especially against the evil packs that lived under the shadow of the goblin-infested mountains, over the Edge of the Wild on the borders of the unknown. Wolves of that sort smell keener than goblins, and do not need to see you to catch you! "What shall we do, what shall we do!" he cried. "Escaping goblins to be caught by wolves!" he said, and it became a proverb, though we now say 'out of the frying-pan into the fire' in the same sort of uncomfortable situations. "Up the trees quick!" cried Gandalf; and they ran to the trees at the edge of the glade, hunting for those that had branches fairly low, or were slender enough to swarm up. They found them as quick as ever they could, you can guess; and up they went as high as ever they could trust the branches. You would have laughed (from a safe distance), if you had seen the dwarves sitting up in the trees with their beards dangling down, like old gentlemen gone cracked and playing at being boys. Fili and Kili were at the top of a tall larch like an enormous Christmas tree. Dori, Nori, On, Oin, and Gloin were more comfortable in a huge pine with regular branches sticking out at intervals like the spokes of a wheel. Bifur, Bofur, Bombur, and Thorin were in another. Dwalin and Balin had swarmed up a tall slender fir with few branches and were trying to find a place to sit in the greenery of the topmost boughs. Gandalf, who was a good deal taller than the others, had found a tree into which they could not climb, a large pine standing at the very edge of the glade. He was quite hidden in its boughs, but you could see his eyes gleaming in the moon as he peeped out. And Bilbo? He could not get into any tree, and was scuttling about from trunk to trunk, like a rabbit that has lost its hole and has a dog after it. "You've left the burglar behind again}" said Nori to Dori looking down. "I can't be always carrying burglars on my back," said Dori, "down tunnels and up trees! What do you think I am? A porter?" "He'll be eaten if we don't 'do something," said Thorin, for there were howls all around them now, getting nearer and nearer. "Dori!" he called, for Dori was lowest down in the easiest tree, "be quick, and give Mr. Baggins a hand up!" Dori was really a decent fellow in spite of his grumbling. Poor Bilbo could not reach his hand even when he climbed down to the bottom branch and hung his arm down as far as ever he could. So Dori actually climbed out of the tree and let Bilbo scramble up and stand on his back. Just at that moment the wolves trotted howling into the clearing. All of a sudden there were hundreds of eyes looking at them. Still Dori did not let Bilbo down. He waited till he had clambered off his shoulders into the branches, and then he jumped for the branches himself. Only just in time! A wolf snapped - at his cloak as he swung up, and nearly got him. In a minute there was a whole pack of them yelping all round the tree and leaping up at the trunk, with eyes blazing and tongues hanging out. But even the wild Wargs (for so the evil wolves over the Edge of the Wild were named) cannot climb trees. For a time they were safe. 'Luckily it was warm and not windy. Trees are not very comfortable to sit in for long at any time; but in the cold and the wind, with wolves all round below waiting for you, they can be perfectly miserable places. This glade in the ring of trees was evidently a meeting-place of the wolves. More and more kept coming in. They left guards at the foot of the tree in which Dori and Bilbo were, and then went sniffling about till they had smelt out every tree that had anyone in it. These they guarded too, while all the rest (hundreds and hundreds it seemed) went and sat in a great circle in the glade; and in the middle of the circle was a great grey wolf. He spoke to them in the dreadful language of the Wargs. Gandalf understood it. Bilbo did not, but it sounded terrible to him, and as if all their talk was about cruel and wicked things, as it was. Every now and then all the Wargs in the circle would answer their grey chief all together, and their dreadful clamour almost made the hobbit fall out of his pine-tree. I will tell you what Gandalf heard, though Bilbo did not understand it. The Wargs and the goblins often helped one another in wicked deeds. Goblins do not usually venture very far from their mountains, unless they are driven out and are looking for new homes, or are marching to war (which I am glad to say has not happened for a long while). But in those days they sometimes used to go on raids, especially to get food or slaves to work for them. Then they often got the Wargs to help and shared the plunder with them. Sometimes they rode on wolves like men do on horses. Now it seemed that a great goblin-raid had been planned for that very night. The Wargs had come to meet the goblins and the goblins were late. The reason, no doubt, was the death of the Great Goblin, and all the excitement caused by the dwarves and Bilbo and the wizard, for whom they were probably still hunting. In spite of the dangers of this far land bold men had of late been making their way back into it from the South, cutting down trees, and building themselves places to live in among the more pleasant woods in the valleys and along the river-shores. There were many of them, and they were brave and well-armed, and even the Wargs dared not attack them if there were many together, or in the bright day. But now they had planned with the goblins' help to come by night upon some of the villages nearest the mountains. If their plan had been carried out, there would have been none left there next day; all would have been killed except the few the goblins kept from the wolves and carried back as prisoners to their caves. This was dreadful talk to listen to, not only because of the brave woodmen and their wives and children, but also because of the danger which now threatened Gandalf and his friends. The Wargs were angry and puzzled at finding them here in their very meeting-place. They thought they were friends of the woodmen, and were come to spy on them, and would take news of their plans down into the valleys, and then the goblins and the wolves would have to fight a terrible battle instead of capturing prisoners and devouring people waked suddenly from their sleep. So the Wargs had no intention of going away and letting the people up the trees escape, at any rate not until morning. And long before that, they said, goblin soldiers would be coming down from the mountains; and goblins can climb trees, or cut them down. Now you can understand why Gandalf, listening to their growling and yelping, began to be dreadfully afraid, wizard though he was, and to feel that they were in a very bad place, and had not yet escaped at all. All the same he was not going to let them have it all their own way, though he could not do very much stuck up in a tall tree with wolves all round on the ground below. He gathered the huge pinecones from the branches of his tree. Then he set one alight with bright blue fire, and threw it whizzing down among the circle of the wolves. It struck one on the back, and immediately his shaggy coat caught fire, and he was leaping to and fro yelping horribly. Then another came and another, one in blue flames, one in red, another in green. They burst on the ground in the middle of the circle and went off in coloured sparks and smoke. A specially large one hit the chief wolf on the nose, and he leaped in the air ten feet, and then rushed round and round the circle biting and snapping even at the other wolves in his anger and fright. The dwarves and Bilbo shouted and cheered. The rage of the wolves was terrible to see, and the commotion they made filled all the forest. Wolves are afraid of fire at all times, but this was a most horrible and uncanny fire. If a spark got in their coats it stuck and burned into them, and unless they rolled over quick they were soon all in flames. Very soon all about the glade wolves were rolling over and over to put out the sparks on their backs, while those that were burning were running about howling and setting others alight, till their own friends chased them away and they fled off down the slopes crying and yammering and looking for water. "What's all this uproar in the forest tonight?" said the Lord of the Eagles. He was sitting, black in the moonlight, on the top of a lonely pinnacle of rock at the eastern edge of the mountains. "I hear wolves' voices! Are the goblins at mischief in the woods?" He swept up into the air, and immediately two of his guards from the rocks at either hand leaped up to follow him. They circled up in the sky and looked down upon the ring of the Wargs, a tiny spot far far below. But eagles have keen eyes and can see small things at a great distance. The lord of the eagles of the Misty Mountains had eyes that could look at the sun unblinking, and could see a rabbit moving on the ground a mile below even in the moonlight. So though he could not see the people in the trees, he could make out the commotion among the wolves and see the tiny flashes of fire, and hear the howling and yelping come up faint from far beneath him. Also he could see the glint of the moon on goblin spears and helmets, as long lines of the wicked folk crept down the hillsides from their gate and wound into the wood. Eagles are not kindly birds. Some are cowardly and cruel. But the ancient race of the northern mountains were the greatest of all birds; they were proud and strong and noble-hearted. They did not love goblins, or fear them. When they took any notice of them at all (which was seldom, for they did not eat such creatures ), they swooped on them and drove them shrieking back to their caves, and stopped whatever wickedness they were doing. The goblins hated the eagles and feared them, but could not reach their lofty seats, or drive them from the mountains. Tonight the Lord of the Eagles was filled with curiosity to know what was afoot; so he summoned many other eagles to him, and they flew away from the mountains, and slowly circling ever round and round they came down, down, down towards the ring of the wolves and the meeting-place of the goblins. A very good thing too! Dreadful things had been going on down there. The wolves that had caught fire and fled into the forest had set it alight in several places. It was high summer, and on this eastern side of the mountains there had been little rain for some time. Yellowing bracken, fallen branches, deep-piled pine-needles, and here and there dead trees, were soon in flames. All round the clearing of the Wargs fire was leaping. But the wolf-guards did not leave the trees. Maddened and angry they were leaping and howling round the trunks, and cursing the dwarves in their horrible language, with their tongues hanging out, and their eyes shining as red and fierce as the flames. Then suddenly goblins came running up yelling. They thought a battle with the woodmen was going on; but they goon learned what had really happened. Some of them actually sat down and laughed. Others waved their spears and clashed the shafts against their shields. Goblins are not afraid of fire, and they soon had a plan which seemed to them most amusing. Some got all the wolves together in a pack. Some stacked fern and brushwood round the tree-trunks. Others rushed round and stamped and beat, and beat and stamped, until nearly all the flames were put out-but they did not put out the fire nearest to the trees where the dwarves were. That fire they fed with leaves and dead branches and bracken. Soon they had a ring of smoke and flame all round the dwarves, a ring which they kept from spreading outwards; but it closed slowly in, till the running fire was licking the fuel piled under the trees. Smoke was in Bilbo's eyes, he could feel the heat of the flames; and through the reek he could see the goblins dancing round and round in a circle like people round a midsummer bonfire. Outside the ring of dancing warriors with spears and axes stood the wolves at a respectful distance, watching and waiting. He could hear the goblins beginning a horrible song: "Fifteen birds in five firtrees, their feathers were fanned in a fiery breeze! But, funny little birds, they had no wings! O what shall we do with the funny little things? Roast 'em alive, or stew them in a pot,fry them, boil them and eat them hot?" Then they stopped and shouted out: "Fly away little birds! Fly away if you can! Come down little birds, or you will get roasted in your nests! Sing, sing little birds! Why don't you sing?" "Go away! little boys!" shouted Gandalf in answer. "It isn't bird-nesting time. Also naughty little boys that play with fire get punished." He said it to make them angry, and to show them he was not frightened of them-though of course he was, wizard though he was. But they took no notice, and they went on singing. "Burn, burn tree and fern! Shrivel and scorch! A fizzling torch To light the night for our delight, Ya hey! Bake and toast 'em, fry and roast 'em till beards blaze, and eyes glaze; till hair smells and skins crack, fat melts, and bones black in cinders lie beneath the sky! So dwarves shall die, and light the night for our delight, Ya hey! Ya-harri-heyl Ya hoy!" And with that Ya hoy! the flames were under Gandalf's tree. In a moment it spread to the others. The bark caught fire, the lower branches cracked. Then Gandalf climbed to the top of his tree. The sudden splendour flashed from his wand like lightning, as he got ready to spring down from on high right among the spears of the goblins. That would have been the end of him, though he would probably have killed many of them as he came hurtling down like a thunderbolt. But he never leaped. Just at that moment the Lord of the Eagles swept down from above, seized him in his talons, and was gone. There was a howl of anger and surprise from the goblins. Loud cried the Lord of the Eagles, to whom Gandalf had now spoken. Back swept the great birds that were with him, and down they came like huge black shadows. The wolves yammered and gnashed their teeth; the goblins yelled and stamped with rage, and flung their heavy spears in the air in vain. Over them swooped the eagles; the dark rush of their beating wings smote them to the floor or drove them far away; their talons tore at goblin faces. Other birds flew to the tree-tops and seized the dwarves, who were scrambling up now as far as ever they dared to go. Poor little Bilbo was very nearly left behind again! He just managed to catch hold of Dori's legs, as Dori was borne off last of all; and they went together above the tumult and the burning, Bilbo swinging in the air with his arms nearly breaking. Now far below the goblins and the wolves were scattering far and wide in the woods. A few eagles were still circling and sweeping above the battle-ground. The flames about the trees sprang suddenly up above the highest branches. They went up in crackling fire. There was a sudden flurry of sparks and smoke. Bilbo had escaped only just in time! Soon the light of the burning was faint below, a red twinkle on the black floor; and they were high up in the sky, rising all the time in strong sweeping circles. Bilbo never forgot that flight, clinging onto Dori's ankles. He moaned "my arms, my arms!"; but Dori groaned "my poor legs, my poor legs!" At the best of times heights made Bilbo giddy. He used to turn queer if he looked over the edge of quite a little cliff; and he had never liked ladders, let alone trees (never having had to escape from wolves before). So you can imagine how his head swam now, when he looked down between his dangling toes and saw the dark lands opening wide underneath him, touched here and there with the light of the moon on a hill-side rock or a stream in the plains. The pale peaks of the mountains were coming nearer, moonlit spikes of rock sticking out of black shadows. Summer or not, it seemed very cold. He shut his eyes and wondered if he could hold on any longer. Then he imagined what would happen if he did not. He felt sick. The flight ended only just in time for him, just before his arms gave way. He loosed Dori's ankles with a gasp and fell onto the rough platform of an eagle's eyrie. There he lay without speaking, and his thoughts were a mixture of surprise at being saved from the fire, and fear lest he fell off that narrow place into the deep shadows on either side. He was feeling very queer indeed in his head by this time after the dreadful adventures of the last three days with next to nothing to eat, and he found himself saying aloud: "Now I know what a piece of bacon feels like when it is suddenly picked out of the pan on a fork and put back on the shelf!" "No you don't!" be heard Dori answering, "because the bacon knows that it will get back in the pan sooner or later; and it is to be hoped we shan't. Also eagles aren't forks!" "O no! Not a bit like storks-forks, I mean," said Bilbo sitting up and looking anxiously at the eagle who was perched close by. He wondered what other nonsense he had been saying, and if the eagle would think it rude. You ought not to be rude to an eagle, when you are only the size of a hobbit, and are up in his eyrie at night! The eagle only sharpened his beak on a stone and trimmed his feathers and took no notice. Soon another eagle flew up. "The Lord of the Eagles bids you to bring your prisoners to the Great Shelf," he cried and was off again. The other seized Dori in his claws and flew away with him into the night leaving Bilbo all alone. He had just strength to wonder what the messenger had meant by 'prisoners,' and to begin to think of being torn up for supper like a rabbit, when his own turn came. The eagle came back, seized him in his talons by the back of his coat, and swooped off. This time he flew only a short way. Very soon Bilbo was laid down, trembling with fear, on a wide shelf of rock on the mountain-side. There was no path down on to it save by flying; and no path down off it except by jumping over a precipice. There he found all the others sitting with their backs to the mountain wall. The Lord of the Eagles also was there and was speaking to Gandalf. It seemed that Bilbo was not going to be eaten after all. The wizard and the eagle-lord appeared to know one another slightly, and even to be on friendly terms. As a matter of fact Gandalf, who had often been in the mountains, had once rendered a service to the eagles and healed their lord from an arrow-wound. So you see 'prisoners' had meant 'prisoners rescued from the goblins' only, and not captives of the eagles. As Bilbo listened to the talk of Gandalf he realized that at last they were going to escape really and truly from the dreadful mountains. He was discussing plans with the Great Eagle for carrying the dwarves and himself and Bilbo far away and setting them down well on their journey across the plains below. The Lord of the Eagles would not take them anywhere near where men lived. "They would shoot at us with their great bows of yew," he said, "for they would think we were after their sheep. And at other times they would be right. No! we are glad to cheat the goblins of their sport, and glad to repay our thanks to you, but we will not risk ourselves for dwarves in the southward plains." "Very well," said Gandalf. "Take us where and as far as you will! We are already deeply obliged to you. But in the meantime we are famished with hunger." "I am nearly dead of it," said Bilbo in a weak little voice that nobody heard. "That can perhaps be mended," said the Lord of the Eagles. Later on you might have seen a bright fire on the shelf of rock and the figures of the dwarves round it cooking and making a fine roasting smell. The eagles had brought up dry boughs for fuel, and they had brought rabbits, hares, and a small sheep. The dwarves managed all the preparations. Bilbo was too weak to help, and anyway he was not much good at skinning rabbits or cutting up meat, being used to having it delivered by the butcher all ready to cook. Gandalf, too, was lying down after doing his part in setting the fire going, since Oin and Gloin had lost their tinder-boxes. (Dwarves have never taken to matches even yet.) So ended the adventures of the Misty Mountains. Soon Bilbo's stomach was feeling full and comfortable again, and he felt he could sleep contentedly, though really he would have liked a loaf and butter better than bits of meat toasted on sticks. He slept curled up on the hard rock more soundly than ever he had done on his feather-bed in his own little hole at home. But all night he dreamed of his own house and wandered in his sleep into all his different rooms looking for something that he could not find nor remember what it looked like.

#Hobbit

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