Friday, September 28, 2007

Sunset Silhouette


This photo of the Highway 101 Bridge at Beverly Beach was taken 15 minutes after sunset in late February 2007. Walking away from the beach, after my wife and I shot a few dozen picture on the beach, I turned around for last view of the beach and sunset and saw this inspiring view. I set up the tripod, mounted the camera and snapped several shots using different apature and f-stop settings. This one is my favorite of the series.

The photo was shot using a Kodak series 800 digital camera and tripod (to stablize the camera during the prolonged exposure).

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

Russian Phlisophy


Yes it is true; today is a bad day.
Yesterday was a better day.
But tomorrow will be worse.
Live for today.
A lesson learned after two very hard days at work and a third on its way. Tomorrow is the last of this and my post will become regular again. It looks like the poll is reflecting more people want to see more of my photos. I will work on that.
Until then...

Monday, September 24, 2007

Un-born

Warning and Disclaimer:
If you are offended by mature and grotesque content you are hereby advised to not read this short story and this story contains graphic language, descriptions and adult situations and have been known to offend adults and make my ex-wife (wife at the time I wrote it) wonder if she even knew who she was married to.

You have been warned!

This story was my first complete short story I wrote several years ago when I made a half-assed attempt to become a publshed writer, which never happened.

Unborn

Mel sits in his car outside the Dime-a-Load laundry mat reading the newspaper.

The headline reads in bold caps “COPYCAT SERIAL RAPIST STRIKES IN BOSTON". Mel lays the paper down, grabs the binoculars from the dash and steals a peek at her inside doing laundry.

It has rained earlier in the evening and the roads were still rain soaked. An eerie glow radiated off the water-soaked road from the cheap green-tinted window filtered fluorescent lights inside the laundry mat.

The redhead folds her red silky blouse neat and tidy and places it in the yellow laundry basket. She turns to grab a yellow tank top and knocks a box of dryer sheets to the ground. She bends over to pick up box.
Mel winces and clutches his groin. The hunger aches as it yearns for satisfaction; yearns to be fed. Mel fidgets with himself, as he always did when the hunger called.

He peers through the binoculars again. She closes the dryer door.

Mel pulls a bandage out of his breast pocket. He peels the wrapper off and looks in the rearview mirror as he put it on. He opens the car door; no interior light came on. He climbs out of the old Ford LTD pulling the keys from the ignition in a fluid motion. As he stands up, he groans as his knees pop and crack while he stands up.
Mel walks to the back of the car. He slips his key in the trunk and unlocks it. He doesn't open the trunk, not yet, as he doesn't want to draw attention to himself. Not yet. He turns his head slightly, while acting like he is fussing with the lock, to watch her without making it obvious. He doesn't want to scare her. Not yet.

She walks out of the front door and looks across the street, as if right at him. Mel looks down at the lock, but continues to watch her from the corner of his eye as he busied himself with the key in the trunk.

She walks towards him. Mel squirms inside as she approaches. The Hunger calls to him. It takes all of his will and strength to not fidget with himself. Mel turns his eyes back on her.
She stops at the curb in front of the laundry mat. Mel stifles a squeal of excitement. She looks left, then right, and then left again. She walks across the street.

She’s walking towards my car!

She veers towards the parked car behind Mel. He straightens up and glanced at her.

She sets her basket on the hood of a beat-up Pinto and she dig in her pocket.

She pulls her hand out of her pocket with keys dangling like chimes in the wind as she walks toward the drivers door.
Her lack of preparation is working to my advantage. Mel closes his eyes briefly as the scent of her body reaches is nose. He can smell the faint odor of perspiration under her breasts. He can taste the sweet nectar of her nicely trimmed pussy. The hunger longs to be fed and screams at him.

Her basket of clothes slides down the rain-slicked hood of her Pinto. “Damn it!” she said darting to catch it. The basket reaches the end of the hood before she can get to it and tumbles to the ground.
Not what I expected, but couldn’t have went better.

Her clean clothes spill around Mel's feet. He turns and allows the trunk to open and looks down. A pair of white, high-cut panties with red lacey trim lay across the laces of his galoshes. The hunger surged at the sight and his whole being feels like it might explode right there. He closes his eyes, takes in a deep breath, and opens his eyes while he releases the now stale air from lungs through his nose.
Mel regains his composure enough to see the redhead scrambling to save her clothes from the ground. She kneels down next to him, muttering. He could not hear her mumbling over the sound of his own heart hammering in his chest.

He reaches for his back pocket and grabs a small aluminum bat. Mel pauses for a moment. Something is wrong with this situation. For the first time since the hunger came to him, something didn't feet right... Almost like it was, Too Right.

The Hunger sends an aching ripple through his entire body, urging him to forget the fear and focus on Its need. He refocuses, pulls the bat from his back pocket, raises the bat over his head and brings it down across the base of her skull with a swift, smooth swing.

Her body collapses limp to the cold, wet ground, face first with a dull thud. No time to waste.
Mel lifts the trunk open and picks the redhead off the ground. 115, 128 max. Nice and lean. He lays her gently on the cool plastic lining the trunk floor. Mel made it a point to pick smaller framed women after he failed to load a woman who was well over 300 pounds. Lesson learned.

He closes the trunk, pulls the keys out of the truck keyhole and walks around the car to the driver door. He opens the door climbs in the driver’s seat, and starts the car. I didn’t check to see if she was dead, he thought. "It’s not important. Just get her home and check there."

The veins in his neck pulse to the beat of his heart as he started the car. I don’t need panic driving right now. "Calm down! Calm down. Calm… Down… Mel took a few moments using a breathing technique he learned to calm himself. He had driven in a panicked state before and got a ticket with a woman in the trunk the whole time. Lesson learned.

Once Mel regained his composure, he checks the review mirror. A car is approaching in the distance. He shifts the car into drive and idles away from the curb with his lights off. He makes the first available right turn without his brakes and half way through the block he switched his lights on and steps on the gas pedal.
Mel turns the portable police scanner on. Silence… The scanner changes frequencies. Silence… It changed again. Silence… Again… Silence… He starts his route back home. Mel knows where the numbers of police officers are highest at this time of night, and he makes his way home avoiding all of those locations.

*****************

Mel pushes the button on the garage door opener as he pulls into driveway. Once the door opens fully he pulls into the double garage and shuts off the engine. He presses the garage door opener button again and the door lowers closed.
Mel gets out of the car and walks over to the workbench. He grabs some precut butcher paper and a roll duck tape. He turns and walks to the front of his car. He bends down and taped the paper over his front license plate. He does the same thing for the back plate. Lesson learned.
I wonder if she is dead, he thinks, as he notices no sound coming from the trunk.

That’s too bad. He hastens his preparation process so she won't get too cold. He made that mistake once, and although unpleasant, he was able to satisfy the hunger, but he did not enjoy it. Lesson learned.

He surveys the garage. He checks the sound-deadening foam. Good.

He checks the table in the middle of the second half of the garage. Tie straps in place. Good.

He checks the deadbolts on all the doors leading out the garage. Locked. Good.

Everything is in order.
Mel walks to the table and undresses himself down to his underwear. The cold concrete floor robs the heat from his feet. He bends over, pulls his keys from the pocket of his crumpled pants and walks over to the trunk. He pulls his underwear down, steps out of them and throws them towards the door to the house.
He inserts the key into the trunk. Darkness swallows him as the lights went out. The only sound he can hear is the beating of his own heart. He even hears his heart skipped a beat and the doubt returns to his head.
Mel snaps his hand away from the key and stands in the dark for a minute. The cool musty garage air caresses his skin and a shiver snakes up his spine and his flesh crawls with goose bumps and the hair on arms stands up.

He thinks about the situation for a minute. What is wrong here? The garage door light just shut off. "How could I forget to turn the lights on?" He stops thinking and listens. Save his still racing heart there is nothing but silence.
The Hunger urges Mel to feed it again. He feels his way to the door into the house.

He fumbles for the light switch and flips it up. The dark blue fluorescents come to life overhead with a clicking noise as they cast a cold pale light into the garage.
Mel stands there, naked, holding the light switch between his shaking index finger and thumb. "I have never forgotten the lights", he says aloud. He looks over the room again. A voice in his head calls out, "This doesn’t feel right."

The Hunger calls to him again expressing its urgency. The voice in his head is silenced and he obeys the Hunger.
Mel returns to the back of the car and places his left hand on the trunk before turning the key with his right hand. "I don’t need this one kicking the trunk open on me", he says.

Lesson learned.
Mel turns the key and the lock clicks open. He waits, holding the trunk closed, nothing from within. He opens the trunk and looks in. He watches her for a moment and notices that she isn’t breathing. "That’s too bad," he says as a bend down and wraps his arms around her.
Mel lifts her limp body out of the trunk and carries her to the table. Her red hair swings limp, as does her arms and legs. He places her gently on the table and he undresses her.

Mel uses great care when undressing the women, or as much care, as they would allow if they were alive. The red head allowed Mel to use all the care he wanted. One of the benefits of them being dead. He looks at the tie straps at each corner of the table, then looks back at her nude body. "I won’t need those tonight," he says with a grin.

Mel looks at her long and hard.

The Hunger demands satisfaction.

He places his right hand on her stomach and the fingers of his left hand run through her red moist hair. The skin under his right hand is soft and silky smooth. She is cool to the touch, but not cold. He moves his hand up her body and grasps her left breast firmly.

“Small, but firm,” he says. The Hunger drilled him with pain in his groin.
“I know!” he shouts. “I need to get into the goddamn mood. I’m not a fucking machine.”

The hunger eases a little, but remains persistent.

Mel's hand moves down her body, caressing her white skin. He runs his fingers through her red, thick delicately trimmed pubic hair and tugs at it lightly. He lowers his head to her stomach and inhales deeply. The faint smell of sweet vanilla lavishes his senses. His dick pulses to life as he clutches her crotch hard with his whole hand. "You’re still warm where it’s important," he says.
Mel slowly climbs onto the table. He lays on his side next to her to face her to look at her beautiful face. He stares in awe at her. “Never before have I had such a beautiful woman,” he said. “Thank you for sharing yourself with me. Thank you.”
He rolls on top of her, using his knees to spread her legs. The head of his penis brushes lightly against her pubic hair. He feel the urge to cum right then. “Oh, no, no, no. Not yet. It won’t be satisfied that way. No cheating the hunger my dear.”

He hovers over her and thinks of non-stimulating images. Dead kittens

CockroachesNaked men… The urgency passes.
Mel settles into position, plunged into her and moans at the warm moistness of her.

He withdraws and plunges again. Again. With each thrust, the Hunger subsides just a little and is replaced by pre-orgasm sensations. He thrusts faster, harder and deeper as he approaches his peak.

Mel’s orgasm finally surges through his body; he thrusts deep in her to release his seed. Something tugs on his cock hard from within her. Her body shudders. “What the fuck?” he screams.

Mel moves to get off her, but she wraps her legs around his waist and holds him in place. The second wave of his orgasm hits. Her body convulses again and she arched her back. He cried out in pain as something, she, jerked on his invading probe.
The redhead’s eyes snap open and she grins. He fights to escape her clutches, but the third wave of orgasm hits him. Her body seizes and a painful ripping sensation from deep within her pulls him closer. He fights against his orgasm and against her, but could not focus on either over the now searing pain.
The redhead throws her arms around him and pulls him closer to her. She lifts her head slightly and in his ear whispers, “This is the beginning of the end.”

A vicious pull on him, her arms let go, and his back arcs and he screams and almost inhuman sound of agony. Another pull, even stronger this time, his pelvic area collapses in a melody of snapping bones and liquid flesh.

Mel’s lower back snaps as his body folded in two, the bottoms of his feet touching the back of his head, and he is drawn even further into her womb. The redhead moans unnaturally, as she throws her head back and arcs her back. Her pelvic area spreads making more room for his mass.

Mel can’t breath. He can’t scream. No! NO!

Mel feels his body being pulled in, inch by inch. He cannot not feel his heart beat any more. His shoulder pops as his arm flails, continuing to try to find a way to escape her. His collarbone snaps under the immense pressure. His neck feels the warmth of her labia. For a brief moment he can tasted her moistness mixed with his own. Then he tastes nothing. He smells the faded sweet vanilla. He smells nothing. He saw the red fluff of pubic hair he admired earlier. He saw nothing.
Mel was unborn.

*****************

She remains on the table until he was fully absorbed. She does not enjoy her role, but she found solace in knowing she was purifying the world of the scum of the Earth.

When she finished healing and she rolled off of the table. She took a moment and looked around the room. A garage. Car, workbench, clothes…She grabs the clothes crumpled on the floor and puts them on. They were a man’s clothes, but it wasn’t the first time she put a man’s clothes on and won’t be the last.

She walks over to the car and closes the trunk. She notices the keys sticking in the lock and takes them out. She looked down and sees the butcher paper on the license plate and pulls it off. She walks around the front of the car and does the same thing for the front plate.

She walked to the driver’s side of the car and slid behind the wheel. She starts the old brown car and presses the garage-door opener. The door opens slowly. She backs the car out of the garage and presses the garage-door opener again. The door closes.

She looks down in the passenger seat and read the headline of the newspaper. She backs out of the driveway, puts the car into drive and makes her way to the freeway. Boston 485 miles the sign read.

“Boston it is.”

Sunday, September 23, 2007

Leaving On A Jet Plane... Don't Know When I'll Be Back Again.

Well... I do know when I will be back... But just wanted everyone to know that I did not post tonight because I am flying out to Chicago tomorrow morning at 6:00 AM.. and have to be at the airport by 4:30 AM in about three and half hours. Once I am settled into my hotel room I will post up something then.

Until then... God Bless.

Friday, September 21, 2007

The Barn


A simple barn using only two pencils.

Thursday, September 20, 2007

Bats in the Belfry


This photo was taken using a Kodak 800 series digital camera without flash.

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

Farm House

This was one of more detailed drawings. There are certain aspects of this that I enjoy, and others that I don't. Things like shading, structure and detail are hit and miss on here.... I think that is what I like about.. it makes me feel awkward... and I like that about it.

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

Bullied - Chapter 2

Some say the end is near.
Some say we’ll see Armageddon soon.
I certainly hope we will.
I sure could use a vacation from this,
Bullshit, three-ring circus sideshow

Ænema



Tool

Chapter Two


The tardy bell rang. Jon walked in the front doors of the school. Teacher’s voices from classrooms echoed through the empty halls. Ok, just go get your coat and go home.

He walked down the main hall. He passed the purple walls of the English and Music hallway across from the entrance of the cafeteria. The smell of burned beef and grease still poured from the cafeteria.

I won’t be eating in there again.

He picked up his pace.

Jon turned left down the yellow walls of the Science and Math hallway, which his locker stood tucked away at the very end of. Classroom doors stood open and teachers called out attendance.
“Matt Andrews.”

“Here.”

“Sally…”

“…ephanie Williams?”

“Here.”

“Holl….”
Here.

“…Turnball.”

“Jon Turnball?”

Giggles escaped the doorway of Jon’s first period class and echoed down the halls.

“ Nora Jam....”

“avid Moore”

Jon stopped.

“Yo.”

“Here will do fine Mr. Moore.”

“Yup.”

Jon moved passed the door quickly and stopped on the other side.

He is only two classrooms away from my science class. Jon’s mind spun a web of worries. His chin dropped to his chest as he moved towards his locker again.

This must be hell. Don’t know what I did, but… I’m in hell.

Fourteen. He spun the combination dial to the left, going around the number twice. One. Closing classroom doors echoed down the hallway. He spun the dial right. Thirty-…

“Mr. Turnball.” The voice of Mr. Adams, principal of the school, startled Jon and he spun the dial past the last number.”

Jon turned toward him. “Yes sir?” He looked at a spot of mortar that seeped from the crease of two of the over-waxed floor tiles between Mr. Adams’s shoes.

“Running a little late today?”

“Yes sir.” How did he know?

“And I understand you left school yesterday in quite a hurry.”

“Yes sir.” Does he know everything?

“Care to talk with me about it?”

Jon put his hands in his pockets. “No sir”

“Well Mr. Turnball, this is a tardy. With this and skipping the half a day of school unexcused means… You know what that means don’t you?”

Jon’s heart sank. “Yes sir.” Detention.

“Well then,” Mr. Adams said as he wrote on a pink pad of paper. “You will need to report to room one-zero-nine immediately after seventh period.” He tore the top sheet off the pad and handed it to Jon. “This’ll let Mr. Winders know we have spoken about this tardy.

“Yes sir.”

“Now gather your things from your locker and get to class.”

“Okay.” Jon turned to his locker. He heard the squeak of Mr. Adams’s shoes and looked. Mr. Adams walked down the pale-gray hall that ran parallel with the main hall connecting the Science and Math hall with the English and Music hall.

Jon turned to his locker. Detention. Mom is never going to understand this.

Jon put his hand on the combination dial. Fourteen…One…Thirty-three.

Jon pulled his notebook and science book from his backpack. He stuffed his backpack in the narrow opening of the locker and slammed it shut.

I can’t believe I got detention!

Jon turned and walked down the hall to his first period class. The door to David’s classroom was closed.

I need to avoid this spot after first period. He looked down at the main hall.

If I go that way, at least I’ll have the hall monitors watching for trouble. He continued to his class.

He stood in at the door of his classroom for a moment, placed his hand on the knob and turned. It didn’t move. Great!

Mr. Winders loved to make examples of tardy students. Jon knocked, reluctantly on the door. Jon looked at the scuffed toes of his once white shoes. The door opened.

“Why look everyone. Jonathon decided to bless us with his presence after all .”

The classroom filled with laughter.

“You have a pass I assume?”

Jon held out the pink paper Mr. Adams handed to him. Mr. Winders took it, looked at it long and hard and returned it to Jon’s hand.

“Very well. Come in and have a seat, any seat you wish.”

There was only one seat available: his seat.

**********************************************************

Jon sat through detention once before. It was quiet, only one or two other kids in the room. It worked out to be hour of sitting in silence, working on homework; a blessing to him.

Jon walked into room one-o-nine. Mrs. Williams sat at her desk and marked red ink all over English homework. Jon scanned the room.

I’m the only one here.

He moved to the far side of the room and sat in the first desk by the windows. The flickering overhead lights didn’t hurt his eyes as much with the natural light from outside filtering in.

He opened his backpack, pulled out his notebook and math book and opened it to the dog-eared page.

“Look here, its shit stain.”

Robyn. Jon looked towards the door. Why her?

Jon thought it was funny when he heard what she did in gym class, but wasn’t ready to spend an entire hour with her. He turned back to his book.

“That’ll be quite enough out of you Miss. Woodard. You’re late again I see.” Mrs. Williams said.

“They must not have enjoyed your artwork in the cafeteria, huh?” Robyn continued as if Mrs. Williams had said nothing.

Queasiness made a home in Jon’s stomach.

“Miss. Woodard, would you like another week added to your detention schedule?”

She has a detention schedule? I guess showing breasts to the boys gym class would get anyone that.

Robyn sat in the desk right next to Jon. She never answered Mrs. Williams, but the taunting stopped. Jon smelled the familiar scent of freshly smoked cigarettes. An unpleasant smell. It reminded him of home.

Jon tried to do his homework, but was unable to concentrate. He felt Robyn’s eyes burning into the side of his head. He never looked at her, but he knew she was waiting for him to. Jon looked at his math book, and flipped the page every so often, but he wasn’t really reading it.

What am I going to do after detention? I could stay after, pretending to have a homework question. No not a good idea. She could wait for me anywhere then. No I need to get out of this room first.

Jon listened to ticking of the clock. A bead of sweat rolled down his cheek. Tick… Tick… Tick… Jon jumped as Mrs. Williams’s chair squealed when she stood up. Jon’s teeth ached at the sound.

Why doesn’t she just scrape her nail across the chalkboard.

“I will be right back; I expect that you will continue with your homework…” Mrs. Williams said looking at Jon, “or what ever you are doing, she said turning her attention to Robyn. She walked out of the room.

Where is she going?

Robyn turned and faced Jon. “So shit stain; a little jumpy aren’cha? Why’d you get detention?”

Jon turned back to his book.

Ignore her and she will leave me alone.

“Hey, I’m talking to you.”

Jon turned the page in his book.

“Hey shit stain,” Robyn said a little louder, shoving Jon’s shoulder.

Ignoring her isn’t going to work.

Jon turned to face her. His eyes met hers for a moment and then he looked at her gray tee-shirt. “I am here because I was late to school.”

Not that you really care.

“Oh really.” Robyn laughed. “Sure it wasn’t cause you spewed all over the cafeteria?

“Yes, I’m sure. I got here late and Mr. Adams gave me detention.”

“I remember. How’s your elbow?

Jon didn’t answer, just stared at her shirt.

“So you like staring at my boobs, huh?”

Jon’s eyes darted to the desk behind her. “I wasn’t looking at them.”

“Sure you weren’t you little perv. I oughta beat the shit out of you right now.” She moved to get up from her seat.

“Mrs. Woodard? What do you think you are doing?”

Jon snapped his head back to his book.

Thank you.

“Just stopping the little perv from staring at my boobs.”

Jon’s face warmed and he looked at Mrs. Williams shaking his head.

Robyn looked at him. “You lying piece of shit. I swear Mrs. Williams; he was gawking at my breasts.”

“Well now Robyn, since you have a week’s worth of detention for that little stunt in gym class, I doubt that Mr. Turnball was unprovoked.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Robyn shouted.

“Mrs. Wilson,” Jon piped in. “I wasn’t looking at her breasts. I was just explaining to her why I was here.”

“Jon, you are dismissed. Consider your detention obligation met. You may go now.”

Jon picked up his backpack and placed his things in it. He looked at the clock. 3:45.

I can still beat mom home.

“As for you Mrs. Woodard, you will have the privilege of joining Mr. Hanson for detention next week as well.”

“That’s not fair.”

“You should have thought of that before you... well you know.”

Jon walked around the front of his desk and past Robyn. She kicked at him, but only grazed his pant leg.

“You are such a bitch,” Robyn whispered.

“What was that Mrs. Woodard?”

Robyn sat silently.

“Let’s go ahead and make that two more weeks,” Mrs. Williams said.

Jon walked out of detention. The tension in his shoulders released a bit. He walked to the front doors of the school, stopped and put his coat on. He stepped out the front door and drew a deep breath air through his nose. Fresh air.

One hundred and nineteen…One hundred eighteen…One hundred seventeen…One hundred sixteen…

Four, Jon’s neck tightened. Three, his stomach cramped. Two, his heart pounded. One, he fought to breathe. The garage door was open and his mom’s car sat parked inside.

Mom’s home. Mom beat me home.

**********************************************************

Jon walked into the family room from the garage. His mom stood at the kitchen counter, phone cradled to her head. She spun around and said, “Never mind, he is here now.”

Oh man.

Him mom slammed the phone on the cradle. “Where have you been?” she yelled.

“I was at school.”

“School got out at 3:00. What have you been doing since then? I called Grandma, Sandy and Ned. I was just about to call the police. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was late getting to school this morning and got deten…”

“Late? How could you be late? You were fed and dressed before I left for work. What the hell happened?”

“I was watching cartoons… and I…”

“No more television in the mornings…you understand?”

“Yes.”

“So, you got detention again huh?”

“Yes.”

“You remember what your father and I said would happen to you if you got detention again?”

“Yes,” a switchin and grounded to my room.

“Go to your room. Your dad will be in there after he gets up and I will call you out when dinner is ready.”

Jon turned and headed towards his room.

“Good thing you brought that coat home mister.”

I know.

Jon closed his door behind him. He put his backpack on the floor next to his bed. Walked over to his closet, untied his shoes, took them off with his hands and placed them neatly in his closet.

Jon draped his coat over the end of the bed. He turned and looked at his radio, but thought better of it.

She probably means I am grounded from that too.

Jon looked at his backpack.

I don’t feel like doing homework.

He sat on his bed and pulled his nightstand drawer open. He grabbed his book and opened it to the dog-eared page. I can always count on you Mr. Merrick. The motor from the garage-door-opener resonated through the house.

Jon heard his parent’s bedroom door open. He heard heavy footsteps down the hall.

Dad’s up.

Jon dog-eared his book and put it back. “Maybe later Mr. Merrick,” he whispered. Jon lay back on his bed and listened to his parents.

“I don’t know what has gotten into him,” his mom said.

“I do. He’s getting at that age where all kids begin to rebel. It’s a phase, it will pass,” his dad said.

“Why do you always take the hands-off approach with him Tom?”

“What the hell are talking about?”

“You never discipline him.”

“Am I to blame for the way he is turning out?”

“Always say that’s what boys do at that age.”

“That’s because most of the time it’s true.”

“You don’t do anything but provide excuses for his behavior.”

“You know I work… graveyard I mind you,” his dad yelled.

“Well I work to you know,” his mom countered.

“I know.”

“I put in as many hours a week as you do. Then, I’m expected to clean the house, cook your meals, take care of your kid and still make time to have sex with you!”

Gross. I didn’t need to know that.

“Well you know what Helen? I bust my ass around this house as well.”

“All you do is sleep. You come home from work and sleep.” You wake up. Eat dinner and then take a nap before work. You don’t do half as much as I do!”

“Is that what you think?”

“Hell yes. If you think I’m wrong, prove me wrong.”

“I work ten hour nights and yeah I sleep all day and I take a nap before work, but when it comes to my weekends, I bust my ass around here. If it weren’t for me, you still wouldn’t have a dryer. The leak in the roof, were you going to fixed that?”

A moment of silence.

“Yeah I didn’t think so. No, I spent three weekends of hunting season putting a new roof on this house! Who mows the yard? Me! Who empties the garbage? Me! And built your deck in the backyard? That’s right, I did.”

“Don’t let your head get too big Mr. Villa. The deck isn’t even square and the dryer takes two cycles to dry a damn sock!”

“You think you can do better?

“I think you have it easy around here.”

“Aw, piss off.”

“Thomas Andrew Turnball!”

Jon heard the thudding footsteps of his dad coming down the hall. His bedroom door flew open and his dad stood there in his underwear, the pee-flap hanging open slightly. jon looked at the floor.

“Jonathon.” The volume of Tom’s voice didn’t drop a bit.

Jon looked at the wall of the hallway behind his dad.

“What the hell are you thinking?”

“I’m sorry.”

“What the hell did you do this time?”

He doesn’t even know why mom is mad?

“I was late to school and got detention.”

“We live two blocks away.” His dad’s voice lowered and he shook his head. “How the hell were you late?”

“I was watching…”

“Cartoons? Yeah figures. We had a deal, remember? Go out back and get a switch off the maple tree and bring it to me.”

Jon slipped his shoes on walked down the hall and through the kitchen to the sliding glass door of the family room. His mom stood in the kitchen with her back to him the whole time. He opened the sliding glass door and walked outside.

Jon always picked a thicker switch, because his dad hit him easier with it and the thinner ones stung a whole lot more.

What kind of parent makes a kid get his own switch?

The lower part of tree, thinned out too well, made Jon look to the upper branches for a good switch. He snapped a good one off, stripped the leaves and nubbins and carried back into his bedroom.

His dad took the switch from him and said, “Take the position.”

Jon walked over to the bedpost at the foot of the bed. He dropped his pants to his knees.
At least it’s dad.

His mom had a bad aim and usually switched his lower back and upper legs, missing his butt completely. His dad took his time. Jon grabbed the bedpost with both hands.

“This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you,” his dad said.

What does that mean, I’m the one getting hit.

The first switch landed. It didn’t sting too much, but Jon wailed like a wounded dog. He learned a long time ago that the sooner he cried out the easier his dad was with the rest of his swings.

“One,” Jon called out.

Jon heard the next one coming. Swoooo-…The incoming whispered in the room... -itch… as it connected with Jon’s underwear. He cried out again bur he wasn't faking it this time. He wanted nothing more than to let go of the bedpost, but knew the switching would only get worse if he did.

“Two,” he squeezed through his clinched jaw.

Three… Four... Five… Six… Seven… Eight… Nine… Ten…

“Pull your pants up.” Jon did. “You need to think about this,” his dad continued. “Do you think we enjoy doing this?”

“No.” You must if you do it all the time.

“That’s right we don’t. But you give us no choice. You need to start thinking. Start using that brain and we won’t have to do this, okay?”

“Yes.” Jon wiped the tears from his cheeks.

“Now stay here until dinner time. We’ll call you out.” His dad made is way to the door.

“Okay. Can I listen to my radio?”

“No you can’t!” his mom yelled from the other room. “As a matter of fact, I will bring you your dinner.”

“There ya go,” his dad said as he pulled the door shut.

Dinner in my room, she is “really” mad. I don’t understand. It’s not like I got in fight, or stole something.

Jon sat on his bed, carefully. Although he picked the least painful switch he could find, it still hurt and he knew it would leave bruises.

Why don’t they like me?

Jon scooted carefully up the bed and laid his head on his pillow.

Maybe they would be happier if I wasn’t here anymore.

Jon rolled on his left side facing away from the door. He stared at the sky-blue wall.

I could run away.

“There, ya happy?” His dad said.

Where would I go?

There was no reply from his mom.

Anywhere would be better.

Heavy footsteps thudded down the hall and his parent's bedrom door slammed.

But where?

Jon heard the shower start.

Anywhere but here.

Monday, September 17, 2007

Mountain House


This scenic drawing of a mountain house was my first attempt at incorporating smoke into a drawing. It didn't quite work out well, but I like the way the mountains turned out... a little off.

Sunday, September 16, 2007

Bullied - Chapter 1

Jon entered the cafeteria, his nose instantly pummeled with the smell of grease and burning beef. His stomach turned at the smell. He scanned the rows of tables, looking for a place to sit, far away from the kitchen.

“There it is,” Jon said eyeing a chair by the stage. He made his move as the first few kids trickled out of the serving line. Just in time. He sat in a chair facing the entrance of the cafeteria with only the stage behind him.

He bit into his tuna salad sandwich. Not my favorite, but has to better than what they’re serving today. He watched kids walk their trays of trash to their preferred seats. How can they eat that stuff? My dog wouldn’t eat that garbage.

He watched kids enter the cafeteria and rally for position in line to receive their gut-bombs. “Lemmings. They are all a bunch of lemmings. Push one lemming off a cliff and the rest will follow,” he said to himself. He opened his baggie of chips. How do they make these?

Noise grew to a deafening roar as more kids wandered into the cafeteria and competed with others for conversation volume. Blah. Blah. Blah. Jon pulled a chip out and stuffed it into his mouth. All they ever talk about is their favorite band, who likes who or what’s happening at the mall. “How boring,” Jon said.

A group of boys walked into the cafeteria as Jon took another bite of his sandwich. Eighth-graders. Jon opened his thermos and poured some milk in the lid-cup.

Jon recognized the redhead in the group. He’d accidentally bumped into him in the hall before third period. Even then, Jon had recognized him, but couldn’t remember how he knew him. He sank in his seat and kept a watchful eye.

Jon stole quick glances at the group of boys. He wanted to take a good long look to try to place the redhead, but knew he couldn’t. If he looked too long, the boys might notice him.

The redhead pointed in Jon’s direction and the entire group moved in, following the redhead’s lead. Lemmings and he must be their leader. Jon took a big gulp of his milk. Even lemmings need a leader to be the first to jump off the ledge.

Jon continued watching the boys out of the corner of his eye. Please turn. Please turn. Let it be someone else. Please. The boys stopped across the table in from of Jon.

“Hey there,” the redhead said. “Remember me?”

“Yeah,” Jon said. “Sorry about earlier. I didn’t see you. It won’t happen again.” Jon made no direct eye contact and a lump swelled in his throat.

“You think I’m here about that hallway thing?” The redhead let out a chuckle and the lemmings followed his cue.

Jon looked at his knee under the table and put his sandwich down. Butterflies flew around his stomach. “Well, yeah,” Jon said. Why else would you be here?

“You really don’t remember me?” The redhead paused dramatically, looked at his lemmings and they grinned. “Well I remember you. I remember you real good. Three years ago you got my knife collection throwed away,” the redhead leaned over the table. Jon leaned away from him.


“What? How could I have anything to do with your knife collection? I don’t even know you.” It wasn’t easy for Jon to get the words out. The butterflies and the tuna in his stomach weren’t playing well together suddenly.

“Think hard about it, three years ago.”

Jon tried to remember, but couldn’t and shook his head.

“You told your teacher I pulled a knife on you. I was tooken to the principal’s office and my parents were called. I was kicked out of school, and only one day left. I had to go to summer school so I wouldn’t be held back.”

Jon tried to remember, but could not.

The redhead growled. “When my parents got me home they grounded me for the summer, I got a beating and my knifes was throwed away. I bought those knifes with my allowance and one was from my grandpa.”

Pain bit Jon's chin as the redhead gripped it with cold clammy fingers. “Look at me when I talk to you,” the redhead said as Jon’s face was forced up. Jon saw scrunched eyebrows and a gleam of anger raging behind the redhead’s eyes. The name David crept into his thoughts, slipped across his tongue and through his lips. Jon remembered. How could I have forgotten that?


**********************************************************

Returning from recess one late spring day in the third grade, as Jon walked into his classroom, an older kid stood by the door. Jon and Mike, a classmate, teased each other. Jon didn’t notice David until he spoke to Mike.

“Hey Mike. Is this kid bugging you?” David asked.

“Hey David. No he’s not bugging me,” Mike said, turned and walked into the classroom.

Jon turned to look who had asked. David was enormous. He was tall, with big muscles and was using a pocketknife to clean under his fingernails. Jon’s breathing accelerated.

David stopped grooming himself, grabbed Jon by the shoulder, and said, “You better not be bugging him. Understand?”
Jon looked at the knife at David’s side as he nodded. His heart pounded hard enough he could hear it as well as he could feel it.

David let go of him and Jon entered the classroom and walked up to his teacher. Jon waited for the rest of his classmates to come in. Mike, already at his desk, pulled his math book out.

“Mrs. Ewing?” Jon asked once the last person was in the door.

“What is it Jon?” Ms. Ewing replied.

“The fifth-grader standing outside the classroom door threatened me with his knife,” he whispered not wanting others to overhear him.

“Are you sure Jon?” she asked.

Jon nodded.

**********************************************************

“David,” Jon said again. The lump in Jon’s throat fell into his stomach. Two gags escaped Jon, followed by a tuna-milk-potato chip-bile geyser. The slop shot out of his mouth, launching his lunch like a chunky-fluid missile.

David tried to get out of the way, but not fast enough. He moved his face in time, but the vile flow hit him in the chest, decorating his neck, pea-green shirt and arms in a cream-of-tuna-chip soup.

Jon heard gasps and gags from nearby tables. David slipped on some of the puke and he reeled back. His arms flailed to keep his balance, throwing vomit from his hands through the air towards innocent onlookers, and he fell into one of the lemmings.

“Holy shit! What’s wrong with you? Oh man, it smells like shi… What the fuck did you eat?” David gagged. “You want me to beat your ass now?”

The urge to vomit subsided, but only for a moment. His cheeks warmed up as he felt embarrassment setting in. The butterflies returned. No, not again.

David stood up and looked at the front of his shirt, “Yeah, you remember alright.”
David lunged at Jon, and stopped a few inches from his face. “You owe me over a hundred bucks to replace my knives.” David looked at his short once more, then looked back at Jon. "And now you owe me a new shirt too."

One of the lemmings nudged David and said, “Watch it. Patrol coming.”

Jon looked past David’s face and saw a teacher, across the cafeteria, walking their direction. Thank god! This’ll be over soon.

David smacked Jon on the forehead with his vomit-coated hand. “Hey shit stain, did you hear me?”

Jon’s stomach began churning again. “I’m sorry that happened,” he said as he spat remnants of chips and tuna vomit.

David moved back.

“I didn’t mean to get your knife collection taken away, but…”

“Throwed away!” David yelled.

“Hey, what’s going on over there?” the teacher asked.

David looked back at the lemmings and motioned his head in the direction of the approaching teacher.

Jon peered around David again. Hurry please! Two of the lemmings moved towards the teacher.
“If they was just taken away,” David continued in a more controlled tone, “That might mean I would get them back someday.”

David slapped the side of Jon's head. Jon felt the vomit drip down his hair and across his ear.
“You remember Mike?” David asked.
Jon nodded.
“Well he’s my brother. I was only giving you a hard time, having a little fun. You had to be a little fucking baby and go cry to teacher.” Jon remained silent.

The teacher dodged one of the intercepting lemmings and held her hand out causing the other to sidestep her, “Get out of the way,” she said.

“Sorry,” Jon repeated.

“Sorry isn’t going to cut it, shit stain. I promise you this,” David's voice lowered to a whisper, “you’re gonna pay for my knifes, then you’re gonna pay for this puke-soaked shirt. One way or another, you will pay shit stain. You are gonna pay.” David accentuated the last “pay” with a sharp poke at Jon’s forehead.

“Mr. Moore!” the teacher shouted. The cafeteria was suddenly silent. “What is going on here?” she asked David, crossing her arms.

“Let’s get out of here.” David said as he turned and walked away from Jon with the lemmings following close behind. The teacher, blocking their path did not budge.

“Mrs. Haden, if you don’t mind, I would like to go home.”

She still did not move.

“Look.” David pulled his shirt out towards her and gagged. “He puked on me.”

Mrs. Haden took a step back, moved her hand over her nose and mouth and turned her head. “Fine, go on,” she said, her voice muffled by her hand. She stepped to one side and David walked around her. The lemmings followed.

“Do you need to go see the nurse?” Mrs. Haden asked Jon flatly.

Jon looked around the room. Everyone stared at him. It started with one person. Then a second joined in. Then someone else join, then another and another. Before Jon knew it, everyone in the cafeteria laughed. His vision blurred as tears welled up.

When David and the lemmings were out of Jon’s sight, he grabbed his backpack and darted from his chair, out of the cafeteria and out the front doors of the school. The sounds of laughter echoed in his head. He ran home.

**********************************************************

Jon sat on the curb in front of his house, thinking about what had just happened. “Why did you have to throw up? You think you had it bad before? Just wait. Now “Everyone” knows you’re a wuss.” His head dropped down, hanging limp between his knees.

Jon felt a shiver race up his spine. I’d better go inside before I get sick. He stood up and walked up the driveway to the front door. Before unlocking the door, he thought, I had better go in the garage door. I don’t need to make a mess in the house, mom would kill me. He turned and moved around the front of the house to the side garage door.

Jon undressed in the garage and inspected his clothes for puke splats. “I don’t believe it”, he said as he tossed his clothes in the dryer. “Not a spot.”

He walked in the door and tiptoed through the house. Don’t need to wake dad up.

Jon brushed his teeth and washed his hands and face. He dried and combed his hair. Nothing can look wrong or mom is going to know.

Okay, all that is left is to wait for my clothes to dry. He checked everything again.

Jon felt a gurgle in his stomach. I need to eat something, he thought. He went to the kitchen and prepared himself some peanut butter and jelly on saltines for a snack with a cup of apple juice.
Jon heard the dryer buzz. He fetched his clothes from the dryer and put them on. With snack in hand, he headed to his room. He walked in, sighed and said, “Home sweet home.”

He put the snack and juice on his nightstand and looked around the room. Make it look normal. Jon walked to his toy box, pulled his Lincoln Logs out, and poured them into a tidy pile on the floor.

He walked over to his bed sat on the edge, opened the drawer to his nightstand and pulled out a book. “Okay Mr. Merrick, let’s see what happens to you,” he said looking at the cover of the “Elephant Man”.

He looked at the clock. Two and a half hours, I might just be able to finish this before mom gets home. He grabbed a cracker off the plate, scooped a glob of peanut butter and jelly onto it and stuffed into his mouth. He opened the book to the dog-eared page and tried to put the memory of the day’s events behind him.

**********************************************************

Jon heard the garage door opener strain the door open. He looked at the clock on his nightstand. Four o’clock. “Oh, only a few pages left,” he said. He dog-eared his place in the book and put it back in the nightstand drawer. He crawled off his bed to the floor.

Keep things normal. He began playing with his Lincoln Logs.

He heard the garage door opener churning again, differently than before, this time closing the door and his stomach knotted up. I hate lying to mom, but I have no choice. She can’t find out about today.

“Jon, are you here?” His mom asked. Jon snapped his head up away from his thoughts.

“Yeah mom, I am in my room playing,” Jon responded, his voice shaking. Calm down.

“Why is the garage floor all wet?” The knot in his stomach tightened as he fumbled for an answer.

Don’t wait too long, or she’ll know something happened. Nothing came to him. His breathing quickened.

“Jon?”

Unable to think of anything else, he got up from the floor and walked to the kitchen where his mom stood. She was sorting the mail with her back to him. He tried walking past her to the garage door. Get past her, clean it up and she will forget. He made a move for the garage door.

“Jon?” his mom repeated as she turned to face him. “Why is the garage floor all wet?”

Jon turned and said the first thing that came to his mind. “When I was coming home from school, a car drove past me and splashed me with a puddle. I was all wet, so instead of coming in the front door and make a mess on the carpet, I came in through the side door of the garage.”

“The city needs to do something about those damn drains backing up.”

She believes me.

“Well how did your clothes get dry?”

“Only the bottoms of my pants and my shoes got wet.”

“Okay, but how did they get dry?” she asked again.

“I, ah… I put them in the… dryer.” He couldn’t make eye contact with her, he knew how she would react to this.

“Jonathon Michael Turnball!”

His head lowered.

“You know better than to run the washer or dryer. How many times have we told you not to mess with those things? How many times?”

“A lot,” he said. He was in trouble, but at least she didn’t suspect he was lying.

“Exactly! Next time just leave your damn clothes in the utility sink and put something else on. Understand?”

“Yeah, sorry mom. I’ll go clean it up,” Jon said.

“Just go to your room. I’ll take care of it before someone slips on it.“

Jon went back to his room and sat on the floor. He picked up his Lincoln Logs and put them away in the closet.

“Jon,” his mom called from the living room, “Where’s your coat?”

My coat! Oh man, I forgot my coat at school. He replied, “I forgot to get it from my locker after school.” Jon walked out to the coat closet where his mom was standing.

She looked at him. “It’s been pouring all day long. How could you forget your coat?” His mom said. He could hear the anger in her voice.

A door opened down the hall. “What the hell is going on?”
Oh man, Dad is up.

His mom turned towards the hall. “Nothing, just go take a shower I’ll have dinner ready when you get out,” his mom said.

“Okay.” His dad said. The door closed.

She turned her attention back to Jon. “Well?”

“I was in a hurry to get home.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to get my homework done so I could play with my Lincoln Logs.”

“You got your books from your locker but forgot your coat?”

Jon’s heart swelled into his throat. “I had all my books already. I got them before my last class. I didn’t think about my coat then, cause I still had one more class. I’m sorry, I won’t forget again.”

“I don’t know what to do with you,” his mom said shaking her head.

Oh man, here it comes, Jon thought. He looked at the red carpet between his feet.

“If it wasn’t for the fact that it is attached to your neck, I swear,” you would forget your thick head sometimes. “You need to be more,” responsible, “Jonathon. Stop and think before you act. You’re eleven years old and” its time you start acting like it.

Jon nodded, “Okay.” He knew the speech. He had heard it a thousand times before.

“That coat better be here tomorrow or you will be grounded to your room for a week. Do you understand me?”

“Yes.”

“Good, now go clean your room. I’ll call you for dinner.”

**********************************************************

Jon left his house just in time to hear the first warning bell from the school. Good. Everyone will be in class before I get there. It wasn’t raining, which made his walk to school a little less miserable.

He walked the two-blocks to school at a slow pace, counting the cracks in the sidewalk. He knew how many cracks there were and even where they were, but counted them just the same.

One Hundred and sixteen, Jon’s neck tightened. One hundred and seventeen, His stomach cramped with a hundred knots…One hundred and eighteen, his heart thudded against his chest. One hundred and nineteen, he fought to breathe normally.

Jon stopped, looked up and peered through the glass doors of the school. A few people sprinted through the hall trying to beat the tardy bell.

“Hey there shit stain,” a voice sounded.

Jon flinched. Robyn. He turned and confirmed it. Robyn Woodard stood six inches taller than the other girls in his class did and could kick the crap out of most the boys in the next grade up. She lived across the street in the low-income apartments known by locals as “The Zoo”.

“Nice job repainting the cafeteria yesterday,” she said still moving towards Jon, throwing her cigarette on the ground and blowing a lung full of smoke into the air.

Jon tried to step out of her way, but stumbled over his own feet.

“Get out of my way,” Robyn said as she shoved him.
Jon was already on his way down but Robyn's little shove made the fall even worse. Jon fell on the rough concrete and winced as he skinned his elbow.
“Careful shit stain, you might hurt yourself,” she said with a laugh. She opened the door and walked in. Jon could still hear her laughing as the door closed again.

Jon sat up and looked at his elbow. Skin was missing and blood started seeping to the surface. Robyn’s smoldering cigarette burned on the ground next to him. A white-gray cloud of smoke billowed from the red ambers into his face.

He shook his head back in forth, “I can’t do this.” He picked himself off the ground, and started walking home. Suddenly his mother’s voice sounded in his head.

That coat better be here tomorrow or you will be grounded to your room. Do you understand me?

Jon turned around and headed to the front door.

Saturday, September 15, 2007

Davey Jones' Ladder


This photo taken from a local waterfront was shot using a Kodak 800 series digital camera.

Friday, September 14, 2007

The Bridge

This is one of my personal favorites. One of the few times I used an instrument other than a pencil in my drawings. I actually used a ruler to ensure the parallel lines of the bridge were crisp.

Thursday, September 13, 2007

The Beach

Third post is a charm. This is my third post of the evening. I also posted a drawing and a short story tonight.

The beach as a storm front moves in. The photo was shot with a Kodak 800 series digital camera.

The Lake House


This was an early attempt at drawing something with water in the sceen. it also uses simple shading techniques. It is a raw drawing, but one that I have always appreciated.

Fifteen

It’s not as if I woke up one morning and said, “I think I will the kill the president.” I would be crazy if that were the case, but I am not crazy. I am a cleaner. I did not choose the life of a cleaner; I was born into it.

I have the ability to see the creatures for what they are and over time, I learned of their purpose here, as well as mine. They look human. They smell human. They act human in every way. Only, I can see them for what they are.

I am not the first cleaner in history and this president will not be the first killed by a cleaner. Garfield, Lincoln, Kennedy, both John and Ted, and William McKinley were all victims of cleaners. Reagan’s would be assassin was not a cleaner. He was simply loony.

No cleaner in history has ever shared his or her knowledge before this. I am sharing now, because I believe that the people of the world need to know the truth. The truth is this. Aliens have not only lived among us for years, but they are the reason we are here.

To put it in simple terms, we are their little science experiment. We did not crawl from the seas, evolve into monkeys and then suddenly one day walk upright. No, they have been involved in our lives since the beginning. They have been guiding our actions, directing our future and dictating our lives since day one. I am here to stop them and to set the human race free.

I do not have a God Complex. Nor do I believe I am a savior of any type. I am the antivirus to rid the world of a plague. I am the antidote to their poison. I am the cure for what ails the world. I am simply the cleaner.

I am sitting in a room on the top floor of the Ambassador Hotel. Across the street, people are slaving away preparing for a campaign rally for Allen Corbin’s reelection. I have been following Corbin’s movements for years, planning and waiting for the right time to clean him.

With less well-known targets, I do not have to be as careful. Crimes happen every day, which help me to cover my tracks. With a target as publicly known, as It is, I have to be extra cautious. I do not wish to follow in the footsteps of Booth or Guiteau. I want to continue with my life’s work.

Even if the government caught or killed me, my job would pass to the next cleaner. It is the way of things; the way things have always been. But I want to continue. I want to fulfill my destiny. I must clean the world of the last of them.

In fifteen minutes, It will take the stage. Fifteen seconds after that and It will be dead. I am more than prepared and have some time on my hands. I thought I would take a this time to explain a little about the life of a cleaner. This is for your understanding. See, you are not the next cleaner ad therefore don’t have the capacity to understand this life.

A cleaner’s life is a life of fear, suspicion and self-induced solitude designed to protect mind and soul from being corrupted. I was born this way, which I said I didn’t wake up one morning and decide to do this.

My fear of everyone is a real fear. My species, the few remaining pure-bloods left, is just as much my enemy as the creatures are. In the eyes of everyone, my job is murder according to the laws. Because of this legalistic, albeit blind, view of the world, no amount of explanation will justify what I do to the rest of the world. I would show them the proof, but only I can see it. Can you see the conundrum?

My suspicion of everyone is real as well. You see, it can take a while for the true nature of one of them to present itself. I had a friend once in grade school, literally once. Joe was my best friend for six months. Then one day, on the playground, Joe fell off the monkey bars.

That was when I saw Joe for what he was. When Joe’s arm broke, I saw it. I saw the translucent being under his skin come through. The creature radiated in the pale-pea-green color. I wasn’t until six years later that I cleaned Joe. I was sixteen.

Joe’s broken arm on the playground set my vow of solitude in concrete. I have not known the joys of love or the heartbreak of loss. I have not since experience the warmth of friendship since. A cleaner’s existence is a lonely existence, but it is a fulfilling life nonetheless. I have no regrets and would not change a thing.

They come in all shapes and sizes. They are men, women and children and rarely even some animals. I know what you are thinking and I will tell you that although cleaning a child was difficult at first, it is just like any other job when it was done. The next one was easier as was the next and the next. It helped when I learned to not think of them as children at all but to think of them for what they truly are.

They are everywhere and their population is growing at an accelerated rate. The are a parasite. They have increasingly consumed the resources of this planet and are the primary cause of global warning. Why do you think the government still denies global warming is happening?

They come from a solar system that lies on the outer rim of the galaxy known as NGC 6118. NGC 6118 lays in the Serpens constellation, which is the snake constellation. NGC 6118 is one of the hardest galaxies to view from earth, making it easy to conceal their home planet’s existence, even with today’s next-generation telescopic advancements.

Their purpose for making us and placing us here is similar to the reasons we use lab animals. We are here because they needed to know if this planet was inhabitable. Research has shown that they tried similar experiments on Mars, but failed in every attempt due to Mars’s climate as a result of it’s distanced from the Sun. That factor alone accelerated the greenhouse effect on Mars and the species inability to adapt rapidly cause the species to die off when the planet did. If you want to know the what future lays ahead for Earth, look to Mars for the answer.

After Mars they bioengineered a more adaptable species, us, to inhabit this planet. This is how humans came into being. The one thing they failed to account for was our ability to adapt. This adaptation, not evolution, enabled us to mutate from their original design and developed free will. With free will came the need for freedom. This need for freedom complicated their plans.

Their race is similar to our race a few ways. They have been expanding and populating planets for millions of years. Our race has been living on the moon for over ten years now, not quite planet colonization, but you can see the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. The one thing that sets our species apart from the rest and prevents them from enslaving us is our free will.

Although they have the technology to destroy our species, in doing so, they would destroy the planet’s ability to support life. This planet is an important location in the universe for them. Our galaxy put them within easy reach of hundreds of other galaxies each with a few planetary systems like ours.

Instead of destroying Earth, they are matriculating here slowly using a form of molecular fusion. They fuse a human subject with one of their own. The human subject acts as a host for the alien, like a shell. Once the fusion has taken place, every ounce of human life in the subject is gone forever.

In the old days of cleaning, the cleaners never actually destroyed the creature hosted by the shell. Destroying the host only forced the creature to return to a rendezvous point for pick up and redeployment. Today’s cleaning is efficient and gets the job done. Ince clean they never return.

With advances in technology, building my cleaning weapon takes less than an hour and costs less than holographic display device. It uses a form of reverse-polarity cold fusion with a particle accelerator that starts and accelerates the growth of cancer. Cancer is one of the few Earth-based diseases they are susceptible to. It takes only 15 seconds from start to clean.

I have two minutes remaining.

I can see them now. Secret Service as they call themselves. They are not all that secret. How many people actually carry pulse-plasma rifles and wear suits, ties and dark sunglasses moonless night?
I minute remaining. I must go and finish some last minutes preparations. If you a reading this, it means that I died honorably. It means it is your turn. Do not mourn me. You are the cleaner.

Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Water in various forms of falling


A rainy day gutter-spout. This picture was taken with a Kodak 800 series digital camera.


Multnomath Falls from the parking lot in the late afternoon. This photo was taken with a generic 35MM camera using 200 ISO film.


Silver Falls, South Fall taken late morning. This photo was taken with a Kodak 800 series digital camera.


Silver Falls, North Falls taken mid afternoon from under the falls. The photo was taken with a Kodak 800 series digital camera.



Silver Falls, Upper North Falls taken late afternoon. The photo was taken using a Kodak 800 series digital camera.

The Faces of Life


This is my first success at drawing any type of face. I say success because if you were to ever see any of my other attempts your definition of success would match mine.


After drawing the face I attepted a seagull's head. I wanted to try something a little less dark than the face above. I am not as happy with the seagull, but it was a first attempt. I generally haven't had any luck drawing living things.

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

The Walker


A drawing I made from an exampl in a book. I don't do living beings well (people, animals and such), but wanted to attempt something out of my comfort zone.

Monday, September 10, 2007

A Study Of Gulls

Playing with the natural light of the late afternoon February sun, I captured this off-center photo which I chose for posting because of the Ying-Yang imagery.



This picture was taken with a Kodak 800 series digital camera during a late February afternoon. There has been no post editing.




This photo was taken during an early afternoon feeding of a flock of gulls using a Kodak 800 series digital camera.





In an attempt to capture some detail in the Gull's face, I got as close as possible, without startling the bird, then used a full 10x zoom on a Kodak 800 series digital camera.

Sunday, September 9, 2007

The Hunter

The Hunted

The raindrops are fat, cold and plentiful today, The Hunter thought as he wiped the wind-propelled rain from his face. Just adds to the challenge of the hunt. He surveyed the ridge across the canyon. Something moved. It begins.

The soil refused to absorb anything more. The frenzied flow of rain pooled up under the shoots of grass and unkempt shrubs that grew into the narrow path atop the canyon ridge. The muddy surface of the path surrendered under the pressure of The Hunter’s boots and caked onto the sides of the soles like barnacles to the hull of a ship. He stopped and looked at the tree line across the canyon.

It’s going to get away, he thought.


*******************


It was unusual to be hunting alone, but Randy’s normal hunting partners decided not to join him. Don’t want to go out in the storm, he recalled them saying. They’re just a bunch of pussies afraid of their own shadows. He didn’t believe the myths and wasn’t going to let local superstition stop him from filling his tag. Their loss. I’ll fill my tag this year and that’s what’s important.

Randy followed the set of tracks in the deer trail through the trees. The branches of the old fir trees provided a welcomed canopy from the rain and kept the tracks from ruin. The trees didn’t completely stop the rain. Instead, the rain collected on the branches to form huge drops. Damn water bombs, he thought as he wiped a strike from his cheek.

Randy heard a rustle up the trail and drew his rifle up to a ready position. His veins strained against the blood flowing at a furious rate. He stopped for a moment to calm down. Basic instincts are not what I need controlling me. Now calm down.

He held his breath and listened for more sounds. I wonder if it has moved on. He turned around and surveyed his surrounding. A scraping sound pierced the otherwise rain muffled air and he flinched. Over there, he thought turning towards the break in the trees. His heart thumped against the rhythm of his lungs as another shot of adrenalin flooded his saturated body. What the hell is going on? I’ve been doing this for years. I don’t get buck fever. He closed his eyes and shook his head. Calm down and take your prize home.

Randy inhaled deeply. The light scent of pine trees and decaying needles reminded him of home. He held the cold moist air in for a moment and released it. That didn’t work; he thought. He looked around, expecting to see something. There’s nothing to see dumb ass. I’m the only one here and I have the rifle, he thought, as he looked at the Winchester in his hands. He moved towards the sound, released the safety on the rifle and raised it to the ready position.

Randy broke through the trees and looked down for tracks. The rain all but destroyed the unprotected prints in the muddy soil. Still warm, he thought bending down to look at a pile of steaming deer droppings. Must be close, he thought. He stood up and continued the stalk.

He rounded a sharp bend in the trail and there it stood a trophy buck with two doe grazing in tall field grasses. One, two, three, he counted the points of an antler. Six point buck. Today is my day! He crouched down and moved to a bush for cover. The buck and doe faced away from his position and the wind blew rain in his face. My advantage, he thought.

Randy stopped breathing suddenly as his flesh crawled. He snapped his head left, looked, then right and looked. Quit being such a puss, he thought to himself. Concentrate on why you’re here. He closed his eyes and turned to face the buck.

I have all the time in the world, he thought. He raised the rifle, opened his eyes wide, inhaled deeply, exhaled partially and peered through the scope. He could not acquire a clean spot to place the shot. I can’t waste any meat with a shot in the ass. He lowered the rifle and finished his exhale. He looked for a better position, keeping one eye on his target.

Right there, Randy eyed a spot between a large fern and a maple tree. He rose to a stoop and stepped towards the fern. The buck turned and started eating a tall patch of grass. Randy stopped and watched. Today is my day, he thought. It doesn’t get any better than this. He turned back to face the buck, raised the rifle and crouched down to stabilize his aim.

Randy placed the crosshairs two inches left of the front-right shoulder blade of the buck. He inhaled deep and held it for a moment. He squeezed the trigger in unison with a slow exhaled. The ground in front of him exploded with a bright flash and thunderous concussion knocking him to the ground. A roar sounded from behind him and he scrambled to recover.

Randy got to his knees, disoriented and confused by the event. Ozone, the smell of electricity permeated air, was that a lightning strike? He looked to where the deer were. That figures. The buck and doe were gone.

Randy scrambled to his feet and looked up to the sky. He squinted as dark-gray clouds dropped rain on his face, but no thunderheads, he thought. What the hell was that?

Randy turned his attention to the direction of the roar. His heart skipped several beats as a flash of blinding light appeared from the end of a weapon in the hands of an unearthly creature. The light enveloped him.

Randy’s heart seized. His muscles contracted. His ears garbled with static. His vision blurred. His nose burned with the smell of electricity and hair. He collapsed to the ground as an explosive roar enveloped him and rattled his core.

Randy looked at the clouds, his eyes no longer squinting to keep the rain out. The clouds lost their marshmallow definition and blurred into a black mass as darkness settled in on him. The sound of static faded to silence and the smells of forest vanished with his last breath.


*******************



“If not for the rain in my face, it would have been a one shot kill,” The Hunter said.

He leaned over his prey for closer inspection. “It’s not a trophy kill by any means,” The Hunter said wiping the rain from his face. “At least I have something to take home.” He holstered his weapon.

The Hunter lifted his armored right hand and reached for a smooth pad strapped to his left forearm. His long, narrow finger drew an invisible, but ordered pattern on the pad. “Time to go home,” he said and waited for the arrival of his ship.

A moment later, the angular, black craft appeared through the clouds and landed in the grassy field. A ramp and door appeared and The Hunter snatched his trophy by the waist and carried it up the ramp of the craft. He stored his trophy in the preservation bay for the ride home. Hunting season was over now. He would be back again next year, for Earth is a plentiful preserve for The Hunter.

First Few Drawings


This was one of the first barns drawn by me.


My first attempt at an apple. I was really focuses on the shading which didn't transfer well from paper to digital photo.

Florida Sunrise



A mid-May Florida sunrise. This was shot using a Kodak 800 series digital camera through a hotel window without any lens filters or post editing.

Storm Patrol


This photo was taken in late afternoon on a stormy February day using a Kodak 800 series digital camera using the Auto setting.

Sex Candy


The above picture is an unmodified box of Junior Mints, purchased in the mid-80s. Again this is absolutely unmodified.

The below image is only modified to point out the word Sex in chocolate swirl. Now that it is pointed out, look at the top image again and see if you can see the word for yourself.


Needless to say, Junior Mints has since changed the swirl on the boxes.

Enlightenment

This picture was taken as the result of a bet with my dad while visiting my parents in Fort Collins, Colorado. My dad said it was impossible to take a picture of lightning "because by the time you see the lightning and pressed the button it will be too late." I bet him $20 I could get a picture of lightning and he accepted. Using his camera and four rolls of his film I snapped this and a series of less impressive photos of lightning. Needless to say I made $20 and he was out four rolls of film, development cost and the $20.

This was shot freehand standing in the backyard, not the smartest thing to do during a storm. I used an Olympus 500 series 35mm camera with a five second delay on the shutter and stood next to a short fence to limit the amount of blur. You will see some blurring around the street and house lights as a result of not having a tripod, but I was happy with how this shot turned out none-the-less. This particular photo spawned my interest in photography as a hobby.

Sunday, September 2, 2007

Randomizing the Chaos Called Life

This is my third attemp at a blog. I am going to use this particular blog for writing and drawing projects and see where it goes from there.