Week Forty Four: December 27th - January 2nd

Overture for Worms

     Before I have you step into this story, allow me to first explain a little about our antihero: Arthur Donaghy. Arthur is born into one of the worlds greatest shadows – the infamous robber baron Ernest T. Donaghy. Toss perspective into the wind, and consider this political tyrant based only on his merits, in that he has forged a ladder to the top of the world by himself. Cool, calculated, ruthless, and strong – Ernest T. Donaghy is a man seldom loved, but always respected.

     Nora Donaghy is the quintessential image of a 1920's “perfect wife”. No job, or aspirations, Nora's life consists of making sure her husband is happy, and entertaining guests brought home to the house. Elaborate parties are thrown, and large amounts of alcohol suddenly vanish, leaving only a sad, laughing shell of a woman who has disillusioned herself.

     Enter Arthur Donaghy, our antihero. A cold father, who is rarely home, and a drunken mother who acts more often as not as a 16 year old show him very little affection. I wouldn't quite say he was unloved, but rather both his parents weren't made to exhibit the love needed. They would buy him a great deal of toys, and push him off to the corner to be quiet.

     You could not blame Arthur for the way he acted, but at the same time, you can not excuse someone of his nature. You can only excuse a dog's digging in the trash as “nature” so many times before punishing it. Just the same, Arthur never even got that punishment. Even when he started to lash out, craving that punishment, he was just given more toys. Perhaps this was a punishment worse than a spanking, but regardless, it was a factor to who Arthur would become.

     Our story queues by the sound of broken glass. “Oh Arthur, you mustn't keep doing this. Those vases were expensive” a woman with sleepy eyes, and close cut dark hair, sitting in a bob on her head says to the boy. Smirking, the child pushes another off the shelf, and arrogantly strolls from the room. Slowing for only a second in hopes that the harsh echo of shoes on wooden floors would start to chase him. However, as usual, only fading shouts for a maid are heard as he walks into another room of the house. 

     For nearly an hour, he completed his daily ritual of kicking the shins of the butlers, and pinching the behinds of the maids. For nearly an hour, he received haughty stares that melted into fear as they realized who he was, and went back to worth, trying their hardest to ignore him. More priceless antiques were broken, meals were ruined, clean floors were covered in dirt, and more servants were regretting their job choices before Arthur found himself outside. With a heavy magnifying lens, and sweat dripping from his forehead against the harsh Georgian heat, Arthur walked around the large yard, searching for something destructive.

     Some of the smallest creatures in the yard held the largest part of Arthur's attention today. Dropping down next to a fairly large anthill, Arthur drummed his fingers on the soil outside the hive to get their attention, and then held up his lens. Ten by twenty, the ants started to pour out in larger increments, only to be hardened and smoke by the large disc of glass above them, impossible for their eyes to even comprehend. Squeals of childish glee set of a both haunting, and innocent background music.

     After a time, the flow of ants started to dwindle down, and as Arthur started to rise, he saw a small speck of black crawl its way onto his hand. Bringing it up to his face, Arthur bends down his middle finger, and prepares to fire the ant out into the yard, but stops short when the ant just sits there. Tapping near him, blowing on him, and even nudging him does very little to move the ant – Arthur grows furious. “I am human” the boy whispers, “I want you to fear me”. Arthur becomes startled to hear a “why?” whispered back to him.

     Regaining his composure, Arthur turns to the ant, and lowers his eyebrows in anger. “What do you mean why? I am much bigger than you, and just killed a bunch of your friends” the boy says. Just staring back at him, the ant looks confused for a while before answering, “what reason is there, to fear that “death”?”. Incredulous is the only way to explain Arthur's face. Sputtering, Arthur starts to raise his voice as he says “what reason? I could kill you at any moment! Doesn't that worry you?”. The ant just keeps staring, and replies “anything could kill me in this moment, why should I show fear? Do you fear that the sun will rise and set?”. 

     The knuckles of the boy's hands go white as he clenches them in preparation of the anger he subconsciously feels coming. “No, of course not, the sun is the sun. I'm talking about life and death you stupid ant! Heaven and Hell! If I kill you right now, you're entire life is  done, and you'll end up in heaven or hell depending on how you've lived your life. You'll never get into heaven without a little fear, without any belief. Doesn't that worry you!” the boy responds matter-of-factly. A long silence passes as the ant just stares at the boy.

     “Heaven?” the ant repeats, testing the word in his mouth. “Hell?”, he says, awkwardly emphasizing the “e” and almost forgetting the “l”s. “When my time comes, I know what will happen to me” the ant responds – humbly, and without any tone of mocking to the poor boy. Arthur starts to go wide-eyed, but asks the ant “what will happen?”. The ant raises his head a little, to allow his small voice to fully carry to Arthur's ear. “I will finally stop working, and pass on. My colony will use my body anyway they need to, and when they are done, they will stuff me aside, and I will decompose into the dirt”. 

     As the ant continues to talk, Arthur starts to look angry, but more and more, his face shifts into one of fear. “Worms will tunnel through, and devour pieces of me for nutrition. They will dig to the surface, and be eaten by creature, who will in turn be eaten by another creature, and so on, and so on, until finally one of those creatures dies, and places me back in the soil, and the worms start all over again. I start off as an overture for the worms, and I rise up from there. I can be taken freely in the skies, or tranquilly into the sea, but I will always end up back in the soil. There is no finale, because there are no endings you see. Every ending is just another overture in disguise.”

     Weeping now, the boy uses his free hand to wipe away his tears. When his hand drops down, rage envelopes his face. “lies!” the boy yells. “Stupid lies. You go to either heaven or hell, and you should be afraid!”. With that, the boy starts using his free hand to dig through the mound, and killing ants he pulls up. “Was that your friend? Maybe your uncle?”Arthur babbles out through crying. Switching up to pounding his fist, Arthur looks down, and sees the ants just laying there watching him now. Fear becomes him. “Why won't you all fear me!” he screams, his human voice drowning out the ant on his hand trying to explain. 

     The pounding doesn't stop until all visible ants are dead, and turning towards the ant on his hand, his face holds a look of a last hope; desperate, yet strained. “I've just killed your entire colony ant, now show me that you fear me” Arthur pants. The ant just stares at him, and says “I'm sorry you have such a burden on you”. Arthur's head snaps up and his eyes could bore holes through a mountain. Raising the magnifying glass, Arthur poises the ray next to the ant, and says “I'm giving you one last chance ant, tell me you fear me!”. The ant presses itself against the skin of his hand and says “I'm sorry, but I just do not understand”. 

     Arthur moves the glass, and braces himself for the screams, but nothing comes from the ant. In a second, the ants body is fried, and Arthur is sitting alone in his yard again. Weeping, he falls to the ground among the now impossible to pick out ant bodies, and just cries. In the morning, Arthur would go on to break more vases, but something inside him started to fester and grow. You see, the seed of doubt had been planted inside of him, and no mater how adamantly he rejected it, the boy saw the truth in the ants words. For a long time, he felt lonely. Without a family, and even without faith, the boy stopped lashing out, and instead spent him time alone, thinking.

     It wouldn't be until many years later that Arthur grew into a man, and learned to live without fear. He accomplished much in his life, and even raised a family; making damn well sure to give his children all the affection they needed. Together with his strong philosophy, and the knowledge from the finest college money could buy, Arthur grew into a very successful business man, some say even passing up his father. When asked what his secret was during a report, Arthur merely looked at the camera and said “think free, and live without fear”. Arthur lived a great life, and right now is part of a symphony underground, orchestrated by worms. Arthur was noted to be laughing before he died.

Week Forty Three: December 20th - December 26th

No one reads these anymore, but Holiday break from writing :]

Week Forty Two: December 13th - December 19th

Working 36 hours. Not much, but enough to fry me this week. Sorry guys.

Week Forty One: December 6th - December 12th

Tales Told by Lost Shadows



     Our tale starts off on a green stretch of softly rolling hills, running in every direction as far as the eye can see. The wind - delicate today – picks up blades of grass the length of a hand, and gently sets them back in place. Gracefully, it dances on deaf toes in many different directions, forming gorgeous patterns of intertwining shapes pressed into the blankets of grass. The designs serpentine together as they joyfully run across the field, until being momentarily divided by a little girl standing in the middle of this never ending expanse.
     The girl – a child in fact – appears to only be five or six. She wears a long sleeved blue jacket, with a brown skirt. A typical school uniform, in an untypical setting. Walking through the grassy field, she looks over her shoulder irritably, and stares behind her. “Go away” she whispers, as she starts to trudge ahead. After a few feet, she looks behind her again, and says “Go away”, this time a little louder than before. Seeing movement in her peripheral vision, she begins to run as hard as she can. Thinking she has outran it, she slowly turns her head, only to see that she had not gained any ground on him. The anger in her eyes flares for only a brief second before shock takes over as she plummets to the ground.  Turning around, nothing can be seen in the field except for her shadow, dancing on the waving grass. Desperately, she starts to hammer her tiny fists into the ground where the shadow is, and starts screaming “Go away! Go away!”. Aggressive shouts quickly melt into weeping pleas, as she tries to crawl away, crying out “Please... please just go away. Please leave me alone”.
     The dancing shadow just stares as the little girl grips tufts of grass with her hands, and sobs into the dirt. Unaware, she continues to cry as the shadow starts to stretch out and break away from her. Tiny hands break from the shadow's side - their fingers trying to lace themselves with hers, but coming up short. The sound of a hammer striking an anvil starts to loudly echo inside her head, sending her on her back, kicking and screaming for it to stop. Only a few moments pass before she feints, laying there in that field with the wind – delicate today- as it picks up strands of her hair, and gently sets back in place.


     For those of you unaware, the human spirit is a fragile house of cards, made up of astronomical coincidences; each part playing its own respective role. Removing even the smallest, most insignificant piece will change it. Its as if completing a puzzle, and then removing a small piece from the middle. Perhaps nobody on the outside will notice, and perhaps it will still look fine, but the puzzle is still incomplete. That missing piece will make others close to it loose, and soon, they too will be gone. Its only a matter of time before it all crumbles, and the puzzle is nothing more than a pile of broken pieces. When Amissa removed her shadow, she in turn removed a small part of herself. She now roamed the countryside, searching for something she was never quite sure of; walking ahead, growing increasingly weary with life. 


     Her shadow was cursed to live life as a shadow of a shadow; close enough to see, but too far to reach out and feel. He knew if he could say just one word to her, they could be together again, but she would never look back. One foot in front of the other, she stared straight ahead and never saw him. For years, she walked from town to town, always searching for that forgotten something, long since forgetting why she was even looking in the first place. Her shadow had given up trying to reach her, and instead finally came to terms that he would never have her back. After all this time, even he couldn't walk without his head down, staring at his feet and marching in line – nothing else mattered anymore. 
     Our tale concludes three months later, on Amissa's 21st birthday, in the field where she first lost her shadow. Mirroring their appearance, the sky above was cloudy and gray. There was no wind today, and the rain fell heavy straight down. Eyes on the ground, the shadow started to speak to himself for the first time in over a year. “That's right” he says with a small laugh, barely recognizable as such. "Today is Amissa's birthday isn't it. Happy birthday dear” he spoke softly. He somehow found the courage to lift his frail neck, and tried to yet again reach her. To be honest, the shadow didn't really expect to reach her anymore. He had long since given up such ridiculous hope. This was just merely a routine that kept him going. The heavy patter of the rain is broken by a dry scream, as the shadow runs ahead like he never had before.


     “It's my 21st birthday today” Amissa said to herself sadly. “16 years of searching for nothing, when is it time to rest?” “I'm so tired” she whimpers to herself. “I'm so damn tired.” As per usual, she walked forward, staring at the ground in front of her. Her voice is drowned out by the sound of waves furiously crashing against the side of the cliff, but she never hears them. It's been a long time since she's really listened to anything. In a few minutes, she feels the ground disappear from under her, and she plummets from the cliff into the ocean. If you don't look up every now and then, you have to deal with the consequences of your actions. She never opened her mouth, fore she no longer worried about fear, yet something surprising happened. She could have swore she heard a familiar voice scream, but it wasn't hers.
     Her arms are suddenly lifted as a black figure wraps his own under hers. “Absum, you're back” Amissa sleepily says. “I am, my love, I am” the shadow responds. Wrapped in his arms, she places her chin on his chest, and peers into his dark face and starts to softly weep. “I'm tired Absum, I'm so tired” she manages to get out. Turning her head sideways, he presses her cheek against his heart, and begins to drag his fingers through her hair. “Shh, we can go to sleep now my love.” he whispers into her ear. Through a yawn, she manages to get out a “I've missed you so” before falling asleep. Like a long lost friend, Absum's smile appeared on his face for a moment, as tears streamed from his cheek and onto her sleeping face. He held her close, and closed his eyes, and for a brief second, felt as if flying before slipping off to sleep as well.
     Smiles plastered to their faces, and their minds soundly asleep, they never felt the rocks at the bottom as they crashed upon them. Death came instantly, and although quick, in it, held more meaning than a lifetime of searching. If you ever feel that you are wasting your entire life searching for something you can't explain, just look over your shoulder my friend. Chances are it's the only place you haven't yet looked.

Week Forty: November 29th - December 5th

   Profits for Prophets

     Billows of wind hitting your face force you to open your eyes, and see the countryside quickly melting by. You crane your head to the side slightly, and match up the sound of metal on metal with the spinning steel circles next to you and realize you're on a train. Frightened, you try to move your body, but are restrained to the side of the car. Blinking does you no good, for this isn't a dream.

     Minutes pass by with the landscape, and find yourself crossing a bridge over a large body of water. A loud whistle pierces your thoughts, and with a large percussion, everything turns black and white. Time stops, and a small monument on the side rail of the bridge reads “1864: In memory of Clairvoyance, North Carolina. Oculi Caeci Clausa”. Staring at the water beneath you, the charred skeletons of long since burned houses reflect from the lake's silvery surface, but no building are to be seen on land. 

     You scream as your body is ripped from the restraints and you plunge down into still-sitting water. You feel the surface ripple - as if alive – when you come into contact with it, and then everything fades to black. When you come to, you're laying in the street of a dusty little town, full of bright wooden buildings. A banjo twang in the distance sets off a stereotype that makes you name this place south. Two well dressed, yet grimy boys walk in front of you and step into a general store, boldly walking away from a storm of laughter. 

     The eldest boy wore a black derby hat, and a wrinkled, button up white shirt under a tattered black vest. Baggy black pants held up by a length of rope marked them as either hand-me-downs, or stolen property. The youngest brother was much more a sight though. Wearing snugly fitting pants, he had no pockets to be seen on them. Even more peculiar, was the tight, sleeveless shirt, and chalkboard hanging from around his neck. The eldest's eyes spoke of grim determination, and courage, whereas the younger held a ludicrous grin, and distant eyes; almost as if staring off as something unseen, and finding it to be particularly amusing. 

     An elderly man in his best Sunday suit walks by you and says “little fools claim there's a war a comin'”. Spittle leaps from his lips as he roars towards the children. “They said for a pound of sweets and toys, they would tell us where to run. Can you imagine it? Children thinking such ridiculous things. What little cons!” the man says, before turning around to go back to his daily routine. You look towards the general store, and struggle between gnawing curiosity of the boys, and impending fear of where you are. Standing up, you walk to a railroad, and follow it, not knowing where you're going or why.

     Pushing open the door of the general store, a small bell rigged to the frame let out a weak chime as they step into the building. Julius holds the door open as his younger brother Freddy walks in. Pulling out a small coin, Julius grabs Freddy by the shoulder, and looks him in the eye. “Fingers, I'm going to go buy us a gumball and talk to the owner. I want you to stand right here, and don't even think about touching anything!”. 

     When Freddy finally nodded his head in agreement, Julius reached into his bag and pulled out a headband. On top, were fake cat ears, and reaching out, he placed them on top of Freddy's head. “Alright Fingers, I gave you your ears, and told you not to touch anything. I'm serious this time, if you steal one more thing, I'm going to wallop you good.” Attention already gone from the current conversation, Freddy shook his head up and down as he stared at the fake cat ears on top of his head, and waved his hands in a shooing manner towards Julius.

     Laughing to himself once his back was turned, Julius walked to the front of the store, where an old man in a white shirt and black apron stood behind a counter. “What can I do for you boys?” the elderly man asked in a voice that spoke of strength despite all the years resting on his shoulders. Rolling the coin on the backs of his fingers, Julius snapped into character, and set the bait. “I've got a proposition for you my good sir. I have reports that General Sherman is on his way to this very town with a whole platoon of Union soldiers, and for a pound of your finest sweets, and craftiest toys, I will tell you the only way to escape”. Eyes wide in disbelieve, the owner swallowed several time before responding to Julius.

     “That's absolutely ridiculous” the man responds. “My name is Edwin Isaiah Black, and I've ran this store since my father built it in 1803. Never in all my years have I heard such a peculiar thing from a child's mouth. How old are you anyway?” Edwin asked Julius. “Why, I'm thirteen and three quarters I am, sir, and my brother over there happens to be six. I know it must be a lot to swallow, but we are but merely humble prophets, here to speak the truth, and help ourselves where we may.” Julius responded, most charismatically. “Where are your parents?” Edwin asks. Julius breaks character and allows a small flame to show in his eyes.

     Edwin saw the spark, but was surprised at how quickly the young boy composed himself again. “Our parents are a days trip away from here. We walked here on our own accord to help out the villagers, but it seems this town is full of people who don't want it. You however, look to be a wise man, and for only half a pound of the discussed items, I will tell you the information I know.” Julius says, with an air of confidence. “You know the law around these part don't allow orphans to run around on their own, don't you?” Edwin says softly. Years of dealing with the public allow him to pick apart the impressive show the boy was putting on, yet even he was surprised when the boys small hands threw a small display of soap from the counter. 

     “Don't you dare call us that again old man!” Julius shouted up to Edwin. Slapping his coin on the table, he pointed to a small bowl of red gumballs, and said “give us two of those green gumballs, and we'll be on our way”. Puzzled over the boys explosive personality change and overall character, he scratched his head and muttered half thought out words while looking at the bowl. “Son, I don't know who you are, and even though you need to be taught a lesson, I'll sell you the gumballs, but were you talking about the red ones here?”. Face turning as red as the gumballs, it was all Julius could do to stare at the bowl incredulously, and then at the old man accusingly. 

     Crawling up on top of the counter, turning, and squatting down, the younger brother lets out a few light taps as he scribbles on his chalkboard, and turns it to reveal “He's colorblind” printed in dusty white words upon the board. Julius turns and starts to yell at Freddy, but he is already gone from any conversation, chewing on the corner of the board, and silently laughing to himself. Eyebrows climbing to the peak of his forehead, Edwin turns and stares Julius directly in the eyes. “I don't know what you boys are up to, but I want you out of this store, you hear?”. Scowling at the bowl of gumballs, and then the man, Julius snatches his coin from the table, and grabs Freddy by the arm as they storm out of the building.

     When they step outside, Julius looks over at Freddy, and sees him looking away, and fearfully eying the older brother. “Fingers?” the older brother asks. “What are you hiding from me?”. Holding up his hands and looking at both of them intently, and then lifting up the sign to look under it, he looks back up, and with a shrug, smiles and starts to quickly walk away, but is caught by Julius. Holding out his hand, Julius looks at Freddy and says “Fingers, I know you have a problem with stealing things, but you're going to get us in trouble if I don't return everything you take, now put what you stole in my hand!”. Freddy stares at the open palm for a second, and a face-splitting grin starts to grow.

     Opening his mouth, Freddy spits two gumballs and a small coin into Julius' hand. Looking down at his saliva covered hand, he looks up at Freddy's grin, and roughly smacks him upside the head, and turns to wipe his hands off. When he turns around, Freddy is crouched down on his tippy-toes, and is squinting his eyes at Julius' hand and then face, back and forth; the hand holding the gumballs. Shaking his head irritably, Julius throws one to his younger brother and says “Just this once, and only because that old man was so rude to us”. Julius picks up Freddy, and together they walk on down the road.

     Walking over to the telegraph, Edwin sends a message to the sheriff about the boys, and stands in front of his store and watches the boys walk down the road. After a few minutes, a cop car shows up, and a chase starts. The youngest silently screams as he flings his hands out to his brother, but the eldest brother stops for only a second before disappearing inside the large crowd in the street at this time. “Wouldn't even stop for his brother, how shameful” Edwin mutters to himself. He heads back inside, and finishes his day like normal. Julius would never end up knowing how Edwin died that night, but perhaps he wouldn't have cared either way.

     Darkness sleeps over the city, and Julius finds it easy to walk through town unnoticed. While scrawling a message on the front door of the general store, he spots a wagon at the other edge of town, and runs to it, hoping it is the sheriffs vehicle. In the dim moonlight, the writing can not be identified. Dust is kicked up from the shoes of Julius as he charges toward the dimming light of the wagons lantern, until he is close enough to creep along behind it. It isn't long before he finds the police station.

     Inside, the sheriff, and a younger man also in uniform are talking to Freddy, as he kicks his legs back and forth on top of a desk. The younger man has his head down on his desk, and the sheriff is holding his in his right hand, massaging his temples as if developing a headache. “For the last time son, where are your parents?” the sheriff asks. Biting his lip, and staring at the ceiling, Freddy looks to be lost in thought, and then a mischievous grin envelopes his face. Tapping on the chalkboard, after five or so minutes, he turns it over, and it reads “you tell me” with a cat playing with a ball of yarn drawn in the corner. The sheriff throws up his hands in anger, and a groan escapes from under the arms of the deputy at the desk.

     Throwing on his coat, the sheriff mutters something about going out for some fresh air, and the deputy lazily waves his hand in acknowledgment. Fifteen minutes pass, and the soft snore of the deputy can be heard. Julius steps over to an open window, and decides now is the best time to break out his brother. Letting out a whistle in mimic of the Black-capped Chickadee, the brothers favorite bird. Turning around from his seat, Freddy smiles, and gets up to talk to Julius, but sits back down as Julius points his finger through the window. “Freddy!” he whispers. “Quietly grab the keys from his belt, and let's get out of here!” Julius says. And with that, disappears from the window. 

     Freddy waits a moment for Julius to return, and when he doesn't, quietly hops down from his desk, and tip toes over to the sleeping deputy, and locates the keys. The deputy loudly snores, and doesn't move a muscle as Freddy's deft fingers skillfully pluck the keys from the man's belt. Walking over the the door, Freddy starts to tap on his chalkboard as he waits for Julius to appear. 

     Julius finally shows up at the front of the building, and motions for Freddy to hurry up. “What are we going to do, brother?” is written on Freddy's chalkboard, and a small amount of fear shows on his young face. “I broke into that general store, and stole as much as I could, so we should be set until the next city.” Julius replies anxiously. Raising his eyebrows, Julius mutters that his stealing was different from Freddy's own, and luckily before an argument broke out between facial expressions and well articulated words, Freddy snapped out of it. Putting the keys in the lock, and giving them a heavy turn, the clank of the metal falling inside echoes in the room, and the deputy softly rolls open his eyes and sees the boys. 

     “Hey you two!” the deputy shouts, “Get back here!”. Quickly rushing out, Julius grabs the keys, and slams the door shut again, locking it in place. The deputy begins to shout for help, but Julius dangles the keys in front of him, and defiantly laughs as Freddy smiles at the deputy. Gunshots are heard, and both parties stop their shouting to peer at the city, now a burning candle in the countryside.

     “General! We've found confederate soldiers in a general store four streets down.” a nameless soldier shouts to his commanding officer, General Sherman. “Excellent work soldier, has the man responsible for these leaked any more information on the whereabouts of the fractured confederate army we fought last night?” General Sherman replies. “Well sir, that is the issue. We found an old man, the owner, and he swears we're making a big mistake, and... there is something else strange about this too.” the soldier says with his head down. 

     “Well spit it out, boy! What happened?” 

     “It appears as if someone ransacked the place before we got there. Perhaps in a panic more soldiers escaped?”

     “Very possible, is the old man confined for questioning?”

     “Of course sir, but he is very hostile. Follow me and you'll see for yourself.”

     Arriving at the scene, a fierce eyed elderly man writhes on the ground with his hands tied behind his back screaming at the union soldiers around him. “This town's going to burn” is scrawled in hasty handwriting on the broken remnants of a front door. “I don't know what you people are doing, but I want to talk to whoever is in charge. For God's sake, let me go! My name is Edwin Isaiah Black and I've done nothing wrong!” he shouts. Stepping next to his face, General Sherman crouches down, despite the warning from the nearby soldiers, and looks the man in the eye. “Hello Edwin Isaiah Black. My name is General William Tecumseh Sherman, and I'd like to have a talk with you.”

     After calming down, Edwin finally spoke to the general, and despite his best efforts, he could never talk him out of the evidence found at his place. It turns out he was a southern sympathizer, and a broken floorboard in the back of the store revealed a large cellar full of confederate uniforms and weapons. Five wounded soldiers were found in a guest bedroom, and a quick scan of the city turned up 432 other soldiers in hiding. General Sherman was so furious, he set fire to the entire town, and hundreds died in either waves of flame, or showers of lead bullet casing. 

     Although the boys were only lying about the army in order to con items from villagers, it seemed for once their prophecies were true. The city decided that they could safely house wounded soldiers from a nearby battle, but never expected General Sherman to storm directly into their own city. One of the worst massacres of civilians the Civil War saw, and Julius and Freddy were lucky enough to never learn of their unfortunate coincidence, and what followed that horrible night. They would lead happy, albeit poor, lives, and never think about that night again. Some say "as is life" I suppose.

     Days later, you find yourself terribly hungry, and starting to grow cold with the onset of autumn. A whistle behind you announces a train, and you don't even look back anymore; you are much too tired to care. Motion catches your eye as the train begins to pass, and you see the two boys inside one of the cars atop a mound of sweets, toys, and other items. The smaller boy is drawing on the walls of the car with large, blocky colored pieces of chalk, and the older brother is sitting on top as if on a throne, reading a copy of “Les Misérables”. 

     Running to catch up with the boys, you throw your arms onto the train, and start to hoist yourself into the car. Turning your head up, you open your mouth to tell the boys you are sorry the town laughed at them, when suddenly the bottom of a boot meets you between the eyes, and sends you tumbling down the hill the railroad was on. Landing next to a small creek, you rub your face and start to rise, but slip on loose rock, and fall into the water. A deafening whistle covers up the noise the splash should have made, and a loud percussion drowns out your attempt at screaming. The sky turns gray, and a black sun stares down on you menacingly. Like the aperture of a camera, the sky spirals shut, and it's just blackness again.

     “Honey, are you alright?” a sweet voice whispers to a sleeping man. “What? Of course I am Emily, but where am I?” the man responds. Laughing to herself, Emily puts a hand on the side of his face and coos “with the most beautiful woman in the world, on our way to your mothers house for vacation, why do you ask dear?” she replies. Despite the eighty degree weather, he shivers and rubs his arms with his hands. “Nothing, I just had a most peculiar dream is all.” he says. Looking out the window, he sees that same bridge, and looks to the waters. Waves now gently disturb the surface, and fishermen span its length. “How peculiar” he says.

     Looking at his wife, the man kisses her on the cheek and says “You know, my dream reminded me of a story I heard once as a child.” he says. 

     “An accomplished clockmaker in London lived to be 110. He outlived his children, and even some of his grand children, and on his deathbed, he was asked by the local paper if he had any regrets. Looking around his room, he stared at some of the finest made clocks the city had ever seen, and said “despite several lifetimes of good fortune, love, memories, and a passion for clockmaking that has kept me going for so many years, it seems I have ran out of time.” 

Laughing to himself at the silly little story, Emily puts on a serious look, and asks him if he's alright. Smiling, he wraps his arms around her and says “Yes dear, and when I get home, we're going to make some changes. My life could end at any minute, and I plan to make use of every second in between.

     

    

Week Thirty Nine: November 22nd - November 28th

3 times in a row. I am no writing right now to work on this weeks submission. I don't think anyone even reads these anymore, but oh well, I'll have a new story soon I hope.

To be fair, My Gregory Faust story was much longer than any of my other stories, so I was sort of burnt out on writing (excluding Falling Sand which didn't have the grammatical and syntax work Gregory Faust was given).

Week Thirty Eight: November 15th - November 21st

Another no show. Friends were home on break, and I'm working on plans for moving out, so I was just too distracted to work.