Part 2: The Outsider

And so I drove right by that park bench, glad to be liberated from its clutches. The man introduced himself as Chuck. He was mostly a quiet person, but we talked a little bit as we made our way through the outskirts of town towards the slightly battered and unkempt (but not unwelcoming) home of Chuck's. On the contrary, I found the hot water, soft furniture, and fresh food simply heavenly. I was given clean clothes in which to change into after a long wash to detox all the shit nestled in my skin. When I came out of the bathroom, clean shaved, I noticed that Chuck had brought all the boxes from his car inside, and in his hands was a small card. He walked up to me and handed me the card. I took a glance at the text written on the card: "There ain't no motive for this crime, Jenny was a friend of mine- The Killers". As much as I wanted to forget about the park bench, and the situation with the police, this card reminded me that I wasn't here to lay low until everything blows over, I'm here to find the truth and bring justice to the death of Mr. Westacott, and his family. His wife and daughter died shortly before he did. The trail of evidence lead me to believe that the deaths of Jenny and Amber Westacott were caused by John, but it's clear that a murderer is still out in public, posing a threat to myself, to the police, and from the considerable amount of information Chuck has spilled to me, I'd say there's a good chance that he has a target on his back, too.

Chuck had started spreading the contents of one of the boxes out onto his dining table, and he seemed eager, ever ready to get down to the bottom of this mystery. It was a shame that three people were dead, but it's times like these that you need to keep your head on straight and bring some justice towards the people who were wrongfully robbed of their lives. It was with that motive that I pulled my mobile out of my pocket and called my (former) boss, Senior Sergeant Michael Lincoln, after all, I've found myself to be in an uncomfortable situation.
"Hello, Senior Sergeant Lincoln speaking" the all-too-familiar voice droned through the speaker of my low-tech shitty mobile phone.
"Hey, Mike. Ol' buddy ol' pal!" It was hard to hide the sarcasm in my voice, but I think it worked.
"Who is this? Do I know you?"
"How about I give you a hint. You stuck me on a park bench, and left me there for months! Looking for a man who was already dead! Do you know who I am now?! Guess who, Michael, guess fuckin' who?!" Okay, I was in a cynical mood, so sue me.

"David. David, David, David... what were you thinking?"
"What was I thinking? What were YOU thinking?! Why did you do this to me, why did you have to stab me in the fuckin' back?!"
"Stab you in the back?" He cried, voice growing more irritated by the minute. "I did no such thing. You stabbed yourself in the back. You stabbed yourself in the back, you stabbed all of us in the back right about the time when you started handing information to this Westacott guy, served on a platter! You turned your back on us, David, and now you have to accept the consequences."
"Bullshit. I was one of the few people who actually gave a damn if we caught the prick or not. I wasn't about to hand him inside information on a platter. I could have caught him, I could have caught the sonofabitch. But you... why did you have to be so paranoid about me? Why did you throw me out of the circle, no questions, no inquiries. The least you could have done was talk to me about it. And now Westacott is dead. He's been given the easy way out. He deserved to rot in a jail cell for what he did, but you had to stir this shit up, well now it's a mess, Mike, now it's just one huge fuckin' mess. And what's more, you've got your head so far up your ass, I wouldn't be surprised in the least if you were the one that pulled the trigger and killed Westacott. Good bye, Michael. Good fuckin' bye." I hung up, hands shaking with rage, this bastard ruined my life, and I wasn't about to forgive or forget any time soon.

For a moment there, Chuck had stopped re-organizing John Westacott's possessions, and was staring blankly at me. I guess I shouldn't have snapped like that, but what else was I to say to the man that had ruined my career, and perhaps my entire life? Needless to say, I was hardly going to have a civilized chat with the man anyway... why not give him a large slice of the David Bradshaw mind?
But it wasn't a major concern for Chuck. He just bent over the table again, reshuffling papers, he called across his shoulder "That should be the last time you contact these guys, okay?" I nodded. "As you damn well know, they'll be organized. They could easily track your call, not this one, but any time from now on. I'm certain they already recorded this call, although it'll be no use to them. They don't know where you are, they don't know all of what you know, and they don't know that I know you."
I nodded in agreement. I knew (or thought I knew) Senior Sergeant Lincoln so well. I could easily believe that he would be examining my case file under a microscope, using all the resources he could to track me down. Well, here I am Michael, don't expect me to go down without a fight.

I sat down at the table with Chuck, and watched him methodically work through the belongings. After I decided that I had no place to assist him, I picked up Chuck's keys and made for the door.
"Where are you going?" Chuck asked suspiciously.
"I'm just going to go to my apartment and gather a few things..." I didn't like the look he was giving me, but I wasn't going to let that stop me. I turned the handle on the door.
"Are you fucking nuts?!" Chuck was now on his feet. "I'm sure your apartment is already swarming with cops already, if you go there, you're a dead man."
"If there are cops there already, it'll be damned obvious, they'll be out the front, they won't be expecting me. What significance is another car driving past the building?" I had my foot out the door.
Chuck stepped away from the table. "Look, if it really matters, I'll come with you. Think about it, what if your guys showed up while you were in the apartment. I'll be another pair of eyes. You can gather your shit, and then we can get back to the task at hand." He then strode towards me, picking his coat off the hook next to the front door.
"Fine, but I'm driving" I said. I had a hunch that he already knew where I lived, but it put my mind at ease to drive myself, and keep the extent of his knowledge unknown. After all, I was stuck with this guy, the last thing I want is to have doubts and trust issues...

So I drove with Chuck across town to my small apartment home. It was with some relief that I pulled into the driveway to find everything appeared just how I had left it. No police cars, no busted doors or broken windows, although if I remembered correctly, the guys back at the police station had a copy of my house keys. Wasting no time, I unlocked the front door, and welcomed myself back to home. Everything still looked to be in order. Nothing obviously missing, and the only messes were the ones that I had left there myself. I went from room to room, checking to see if nothing was disturbed, moving through the apartment to the master bedroom, where I was hoping and praying that everything remained undisturbed. Chuck mostly wandered around behind me, mostly uninterested, and with a feeling of impatience about him. I was at the door of the last room, and I grasped the doorknob, giving it a twist.
"Hey David?" Chuck spoke from the kitchen.
I pushed the door open as I turned to face Chuck (somehow that mattered, even though a wall divided us). "hmm?"
"You've got a new message on your answering machine." Chuck said.
"Okay, play it then." I called back.
"Hello David" The anonymous voice spoke with a chilling, mirthless tone.

"I'm sorry things had to turn out this way, but it's the only way you'll ever learn, after all, that which does not kill us, only makes us stronger, isn't that right? I hope you don't take this as a personal attack, after all it just comes down to the survival of the fittest mentality. Don't lose, David, and you could still make a name for yourself." There was a click, a beep, and then there was nothing. The words echoed in my head, what on earth could provoke an anonymous caller to leave such a cryptic message? I turned back to face my room, and it became more evident as to what he was talking about. There, sprawled unceremoniously upon the sheets of my queen sized bed was a brutally lifeless corpse. I turned away as a convulsive reaction, with an initial reaction to gag, but I knew I couldn't afford such weak moments, so I took a deep breath and plunged into the room, trying to distance myself from the body, but knowing there was no point. From the amount of dried blood on the mattress, I knew two things; that this victim was definitely dead, and that he had been dead for a while, probably more than one or two weeks, and probably no longer than a month, a month and a half. The body hadn't decomposed too much as of yet, but there were significant signs that it wouldn't have been long before this process was well under way. The body was male, but who, I couldn't be sure just yet, he had a heavy duty plastic bin-bag wrapped around his head.

The sight of this lifeless, this dead weight... this sort of sight comes around frequently enough with this profession, but it never gets any easier. In fact, this time it hit me harder than it has in the past, it wasn't just another faceless, nameless stranger, this was a warning, a threat, a personal attack on me. The words were running through my head; "...It's the only way you'll ever learn...".
I sat down on the bed and nested my head in my hands. I could hear Chuck walking around in the kitchen, but I took no notice, I heard his voice, he was talking to me, but all I heard was a jumble of noise. Everything just felt so surreal, I had no idea what to think, I had no idea how to feel, I was at a loss as to what I should do.

Then Chuck walked into the bedroom and saw me sitting on the bed, or rather, saw the empty shell of me, my mind had regressed to foetal stage, and I probably would have stayed there for hours, days, maybe even weeks before I'd move, if not for Chuck. He had noticed the body, obviously, but unlike me, he seemed to burst out in pure, destructive, energy. He shook me violently, and yelled words I couldn't comprehend, next thing I know, I'm not the four month old foetus any more, and I'm yelling back at Chuck, I'm yelling things even I can't comprehend. He's at his wit's end, and he decides to drag me from the bed struggling and screaming what I could only imagine as profanities, and he drags me through my own apartment into the bathroom and runs me through and ice cold shower to bring me back to reality.

I sat in the shower on the hard tile floor, in my soaked clothes, and an icy wet chill running deep into my bones. Chuck stood over me and I looked up at him with pleading eyes. He switched the taps off and lifted me to my feet.
"What should we do about the body?" I asked in a somewhat croaky voice.
"What should we do? What can we do?! What did you have in mind, that we take it with us, that we hide it from your cop buddies, that we bury it somewhere in the middle of nowhere?"
"Well we can't just leave it here!" Warm blood was starting to circulate through my body again.
"Yes we can, and yes we will. All we can do is take notes and hopefully find out a little more about who it is and why it's here. You're a detective, detect." Chuck appeared to be running short on patience. And for good reason too, we were both distracted, there was a corpse at our disposal and we'd well overstayed our welcome.
I knew he was right, we couldn't do much with the actual body, but whatever else we did have, we had to capitalise on it.

So, with a sense of determination, I went back into the bedroom where the corpse was, first and foremost to complete my initial objective. This time, I made the effort to glance away from the corpse as I strode past it towards my wardrobe. I pulled the doors open and got to my knees. There, in the deep corner of the wardrobe, there, standing strong and tough, away from prying eyes, was my safe. It was quite scarce in terms of prized possessions and family heirlooms, but it served its purpose for me. I had placed inside my safe all my police standard equipment, before I started my undercover investigation, my badge, my gun, my standards which had given me so much leverage and authority over the years. It was an essential requirement of my role in the investigation. I thought it was a bit ridiculous at the time, but now I understand that the request was not just a bit ridiculous, it was completely fucking diabolical. Luckily for me, I opted to take care of the safe keepings of my own means, rather than handing my badge and gun over to Lincoln, as was the ideal he was pushing for. Of course, he couldn't force my decision without raising suspicions.

I spun the combination lock on the safe, and heard the resounding click as the safe swung open. Click. This was a sharper, more aggressive click, like that of a police issue pistol being cocked. I looked over my shoulder to see Chuck kneeling at the mercy of a masked stranger, who was holding my gun. I glanced back into the safe. It was empty.
The man kept the gun pointed a Chuck and said "What the fuck are you doing here?"
I gazed into Chuck's eyes. He was shaking from fear, with a desperate pleading shining off his eyes. "We were here to pick up a few things, that's all" I said. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?"
"I was here to get rid of this body, but I'd have thought that you had been here already. I came, saw your car out the front, and thought I'd make a formal introduction. All you need to know is that they call me 'The Grim'."
"What did you need my gun and badge for?"
"I don't. I just needed to keep them from you. I suppose there's no use for me holding on to your badge..." he tossed it at my side "... but I'm keeping your pistol. And I'll be taking your car, too. There's no way I could move this corpse without it." He acknowledged the body tangled in my blood soaked bed sheets.

The Grim continued to aim the pistol at Chuck's head. He instructed the both of us to get to our feet, and then, following us closely, he forced Chuck and myself to carry the corpse (wrapped loosely in my bed sheets) outside to my car. How fucking obvious would that look, if anyone should pass by the house? I popped open the boot, and we heaved the body into it. The Grim, holding the gun inches from Chuck's head, extended an open hand for me to hand over the car keys. Knowing I was helpless, I dropped the keys into his hand, and stepped back towards the house. He pushed Chuck back towards me and hopped into my car, driving off down the road leaving us to fend for ourselves.
"What the fuck was I thinking, letting you come back here!?" Chuck shouted at me and strode back into the house.

Okay, so my previous two music recommendations blogs have had a few Aussie bands playing some awesome music, so I thought this time I'd go all out Australiana and pull out some great home grown tunes that are overflowing with awesomeness.

This first song is from a dance music duo from Sydney, Pnau. The song is called embrace, and I LOVE THIS SONG SO MUCH. Seriously, get your dancing shoes on or go away and never communicate with me again. It's catchy as fuck, how can you not dance to it, or at least nod your head and shake your body in your chair a little?

John Butler Trio. Better Than. John Butler is a brilliant guitarist (actually, in this case he's playing the banjo). He's a bit of a hippie, weaving some meaningful lyrics into the music, and the John Butler Trio have stuck to their roots and remained as humble musicians trying to make the world a better place.

Now for some hip-hop. I used to be pretty anti-hip-hop, but I like listening to some of these Aussie hip-hop artists/groups. Hilltop Hoods, the Herd, this one's by a hip-hop singer from Perth called Drapht. The first song of his I heard was called Jimmy Recard. It was pretty catchy, but it didn't really hook me in. This one did. It's a more serious song, but he doesn't have that "yo I'm so badass" pretentious asshole tone to his voice that other hip-hop acts do, so his voice sounds more genuine and real. This song's called Falling.

The Presets. Another electronic duo who are, like Pnau, from Sydney. These guys are pretty awesome, the music having a strong driving beat, dancefloor tunes that are kinda badass. This song's off their latest album Apocalypso, it's called Talk Like That. Energetic, a little dark, a whole lot of fun.
Oh, ohh.

Now here's my all time favourite Aussie band, Melbourne trio The Living End. Part punkabilly, part alt. rock, these guys take their music to the max. Hollow bodied guitar, double bass, drums. They're brilliant musicians, in performance and composition, I haven't heard many bands that come close to what these guys have.
Here's "West End Riot" off their self titled 1998 debut album. Every time I hear this song I feel compelled to sing along. It's damn catchy, in that anarchistic punkabilly way. It's one of my favourite songs by these guys. Listen up, and listen loud.

And here's another mellow tune by Melbourne mellow pop rock band Augie March. This one's off their 2000 debut album, Sunset Studies. Here Comes the Night is a song that fluctuates and grows into the very thing that slow dances are made of. The vocals are warm and delicate, lyrics rolling sweetly off the tongue of lead singer Glenn Richards. This song is one you can easily close your eyes and drift away on.

Fourth Floor Collapse. These guys are from Perth, and they're not too well known, I'm afraid to say. They have some brilliant songs. They usually have quite a soft and slow style, not your typical radio hits, but they're a rare gem worth listening to. They've just released their fourth album, called Victoria, I'll definitely keep an eye out for it, as should everyone else. Here's their song; Sun, from their album "From the Cold". The sound quality is a bit of a bummer...

Another band out of Melbourne, punk rockers Bodyjar. They've been around for about 14 years, Lights Out is one of the string of catchy tunes off their self titled 2005 album. They're loud, they're riff-tastic, they're fun to listen to. Check it.

More Perth. More Rock. Birds of Tokyo. They've climbed quickly to mainstream success with their two albums, Day One and Universes. I can vouch that these albums are VERY good. Go buy them. ;D
Here's "Get Out" from Day One.

The Butterfly Effect. A hard rock/prog. rock band from Brisbane. They've just released a new album "Final Conversation of Kings", and this is the title song, "Final Conversation". It's damn awesome music, if you ask me.

And here's some good ol' West Australian folk rock. It's got a nice groove, it's got sweet vocals, it builds into a great song. The guitar is nice, and there's a harmonica! Lighthouse is a brilliant, catchy, exuberant song from the album "Up All Night". Enjoy! :)

Back into the rock music again, here's Karnivool. If you think the vocals are familiar, yes, that's the guy from Birds of Tokyo, he's just in a slightly heavier band. Off the album Themata, the song is Themata. It's like one giant chunk of awesome. It's heavy, it's powerful and driving. I love it with an almighty passion. It's got a huge sound, I'm half expecting massive beasts to lunge out and rip off my head. It's that awesome.

From Perth, all the way across the country to Sydney, here's Cog with the song "What If". It starts out pretty slow, and builds into a killer rock chorus. This song's off their second album, Sharing Space.

Some light punk music with Something With Numbers. Off their "Engineering the Soul" album, here's their song; Stay with me Bright Eyes. The music is upbeat and fun, the vocals are pretty cheesy, but catchy as hell. The chorus is a wonderful blast of music. It's a cool tune to listen to. This band's pretty good, but I don't like the lead singer's hair. =P

That's just about it. I'll hopefully see a few of these bands live on February 1st in Perth for the Big Day Out Show. The Living End, Birds of Tokyo, Cog, Pendulum's going to be there too. I can't wait for BDO '09, it's going to be awesome.

Also, here's something by an unsigned Australian artist, based in Western Australia, this is Prologue, by WritersBlock. LOLZ. Hope you enjoyed all the music. I <3 supporting the Australian musicians.

Ok, so lately I've been in a story writing mood, and it was only a week (or so) ago that I decided to compile the 6 short stories I've written this year, and print and bind them into a book. I've got all the supplies (see this thread for more detalis and information) and I've drawn some concepts for art I'd like to sprinkle through the book. All that's left is to finish the last story. I've got 1 part (or "chapter") done already, for a story I started a while ago, called "The Beating Heart of Mr. Lincoln", which is a kind of crime/thriller story that takes a while to evolve and develop characters. Character development was the main target for this one, and I think I'm going alright thus far. I started chapter 2 a while back, but then got distracted by other things. Today, I came home from work, turned on my computer, got myself a packet of chips and opened a can of Jim Beam and picked back up on where I last stopped (I thought it was the most sensible place to continue from...). My plan is to give this story 5 chapters, the chapter langths of which will probably be all around the 3-4 page mark, making it my longest story to date. Maybe one day I'll write that novel I've always wanted to write. But for now, it's short stories. So, the idea is to get the book's art drawn up, and the story finished, so I can print and bind 2 copies of the book at first. One of which I'll mail to myself to copyright the book, and one to keep to myself, so I can take pride in owning my own work. Next thing will be to print several more copies for friends and family.
If these goals become a reality, I also think sending a copy to the Newgrounds office, to see what the guys there would think would be a good idea, and maybe running a writing competition (much like the one gumOnShoe ran a while back, which got me back into writing) and offer up a copy of the book as a prize. From then, perhaps selling/giving away a few copies to the Newgrounders I've come to respect and befriend. I'm not sure if hoping to see the book for sale in the NG store would be a bit too much of a stretch...

I've also put serious consideration into adopting a pen name, at the moment; "Arthur Blane", a few incorrect letters from "Author Blank" which has sysnonims for "Writer" and "Block", so it's a little twist on my username.

The book is currently at 54 pages of text, and it'll probably easily go up to 80 (or so) pages once completed. I'm considering, once I'm done handing out copies, of just opening things up for sale, if there's a demand for it. The materials cost me $70 AU to get my gear together, so it'd be nice to get some of that back. I'll probably be able to print 10-12 copies from what I've got, but the cost to make more should go down.

Part of me thinks it's all wishful thinking, I really should print out the first copies before I start making goals that up until that point of first succesful printing/binding are little more than vivid dreams, trying so hard to become true.

On another note, I'm just about finished reading "Misery" by Stephen King. At points, it's pretty sick and twisted. And to read such comments about him being a brilliant author, it's somewhat comforting to know that that is the perception some people take on such dark, psychopathic material, it makes me feel a little more normal, as I see quite a bit of Stephen King in myself. I'll probably finish the book today or tomorrow, and then buy another of his books, or go back and read a bit more H.P Lovecraft. Or finish the beast of a sci-fi novel that I've been trying to bite down on for ages, but as with everything, time has escaped me, and I'm left at the same page as I was when I last put the book down some months ago. Which is a shame, because the author of said sci-fi book is brilliant, and I hate that I haven't finished this book, let along the following two in the trilogy (of which I mercilessly hunted down to get my hands on them).

So, yeah. I'll now reflect on the time taken to write this blog. I could have spent this time working on my short story.
Oh wait, gtg pee, it seems the two Jim Beams I just crank have travelled right through me.

So, yesterday I showed up to work at around lunchtime, and I did my usual thing, collecting trolleys from the car park and putting them in the trolley bay, but one trolley had a plant in it that a customer had obviously left behind. It was a herb, "lemon grass". So I took it back inside and showed it to the other cashiers, and it turns out that the guy that had bought it had left about 5-10 minutes before I came to work. And it also turns out that this guy had bored the brains out of the cashier that served him by talking solely about the herb for over a quarter of an hour. So the staff (or "team members" as we're called) made a bit of a joke about it throughout the day. A cashier would say "herbs" and then someone else would say "herbs" and the next thing you know, everyone who works here is saying "herbs" to one another. Sounds like a pretty poor joke, huh? Well, it doesn't end there! I had the closing shift, along with two other guys. We shut everything down, and then one of the guys walks over to the PA mic and flicks the switch on and says "herbs" for the whole store to hear. The other guy had gone into the office. We hear the pager on the phone network beep, and then we hear him yelling into the phone "HERBS!!!"
It was so unexpected it was funny. And now, as an inside joke, I find the word "herbs" funny. So sue me.

[Edit] I've got a new song out in the portal, Circle of Flight and I'd appreciate a listen and a vote or comment on it. It's for this month's MAC, and there's plenty of time to submit a track for it, or, if you don't think you can write something for the competition, I'm sure Maestro would love all the assistance he could get with some good, reliable judging. Seriously, he busts his ass off for NG, it's the least you could do.
[/Edit]

Same deal as Vol 1, I'm just going to post a bunch of awesome songs that I think are awesome.

This first song is called Pennywhistle. It's a single off the brand new album from Melbourne band Augie March, the album's called Watch Me Disappear, named after the lead single. The lead lyricist/vocalist in the band is a real poet, he's got a real gift for words, and listening to the flow of these words in the soothing melodies that Augie March makes, the songs have a captivating finesse about them. I wouldn't call Augie March an "awesome" band, "beautiful" would be a better term. You wouldn't be ashamed to invite these guys home for a Sunday lunch with your mother or grandmother.

This next song is also a very recent release. The official vid's been disabled for embedding, so here's a vid with just a slide show. ;D
It's called Re-Education (Through Labor) by Rise Against, from their 2008 album Appeal to Reason.
I got into these guys after hearing "Like the Angel" on one of the Tony Hawk skating games (THUG, I think it was?).

Australian Hip-hop? I'm not a huge fan of hip-hop, but the content material in this song had something drawing me in. It's called Clockwork by Australian Hip-hop artist, Phrase.

I was going to put in a song from Metallica's new album, Death Magnetic, but there are a few Metallica songs that I absolutely love. So here's Unforgiven II, from ReLoad. It's songs like these that got me into Metallica in the first place.

Band: Kings of Leon
Song: On Call
Album: Because of the Times

Starlight, by Muse, from Black Holes and Revelations. This was the second song I heard of theirs, and from there on I've been a fan. It's still one of my favourites of theirs.

Pendulum's Slam, from Hold Your Colour. Love this vid. <3
Also, these guys are touring on the Big Day Out tour '09, I should totally try and get tickets for the Perth show.

3 Doors Down: Kryptonite
This song is pure awesome.

Placebo: Meds

Love Hurts, off of Incubus' album Light Grenades.

Aussie rockers, Bodyjar, with Too Drunk to Drive. A catchy song with a duet vocal line that sounds kind of retro.

Another band and another song I first heard from the Tony Hawk skate gaming franchise. The song: Armageddon. The band: Alkaline Trio.
Lol at 0:15 He slits everyone's throats.O.o

I also really wanted to embed this song but I couldn't find a good video that didn't have the embedding feature disabled. >:(
I was around 10-11 years old when I first heard a few songs from these guys.

That's pretty much it. I'll leave you with one last video, Schubert's Der Erlkönig. I heard it last year in music class, and I've got nothing to say other than it is completely brilliant, the vocals are imaginative (4 different "characters" sung by the one vocalist) and the piano accompaniment is off the fucking chart.

...

The Delusion Duology: Little Chickadee's Emporium of Wonders and A Surgeon's Lament (working titles)

The deal: I'm doing a collab with Lochie (Night-Mare) and I'm doing a collab with Whirlguy. The fun part is, they don't know they're doing a collab with eachother! Oh, wait... yes they do. I'm writing a wicked horror story for dems then cutting it into 2 "chapters" so that they can each animate their individual chapters and submit two flashes for the halloween competition that work fine on their own, but become completely awesome and makes sense played one after the other.

The plot: Because of the way I write, I won't say a lot, only that part 1 is in an abandoned toy warehouse and part 2 in a hospital. I want plot twist, Plot Twist PLOT TWIST!!! Like putting your head in a vice and tightening it until it won't go any further, and then keep on turning it. Muahaha *lightning/thunder*.

The style: Because of the wishes of the two animators and their styles, I'm factoring that in to their respective parts. Lochie's part has some over the top tension builders, some Lochie style cliche jokes that overall will hopefully work as a good builder of tension, so that you're expectimg more jokes when BAM! Shit your pants. As much as Lochie's part will build tension slowly through horror comedy, Whirlguy's part will be scripted with a more serious approach. Hallucinations, more brutal and shocking, confrontational in a way that humourous horror can't be confrontational. Whirlguy's shown me some psychological horror (or "soft horror" as Lochie calls it) videos that I'm using to inspire me. I'm really looking forward to writing Lochie's part of the story, because it'll be fun, whereas Whirlguy's part will just be like, messing with your heads, in a completely awesome insane way. Needless to say, it'll take more finesse and careful plotting to get WG's part to sit just right, so there's more of an expectation to get that part right.

The writer's block: I feel like writing something like this would really mark a testament to my skills as a writer, but such is the brutally dark nature of the project, I've found myself questioning why I'd attempt to write something so repulsive and angry. At first I thought it would be cool, but then a bit of dread and fear kicked in, and I was really feeling messed up, like I could understand the thoughts of the coldest of killers, but now I think I'm settling down to get to it and have some fun exploring a style that leaves the reader at their most fragile state.

The story: Can you read it? No. Not at first. It'll be for Lochie and WG's eyes only, maybe a few of my RL friends, and even maybe a few NG users that I trust and value their opinions and friendships (you'll know who you are). I'll post the story as soon as both flashes are up, so you can read it then.

Got any ideas? Well I don't want them! Not unless you're Lochie or WG. I've pretty much got the whole thing plotted out now, just needs writing. :)

Here's a story I wrote for Rucklo's departure. It's short and sweet at 1000 words. The ending could be interpreted two different ways. I was going to go for the happy ending, but I decided to leave it open.

To the Ends of the Earth

I sat here, faced with my life well lived. I didn't always make the right choices, but in the end, I knew what was best for me. I was a well respected person, a person of authority and trust. It was with the utmost confidence that I stood at the Burleigh Cliffs with my badge, my baton, my taser and the other belongings of mine that I had stockpiled from the office. I cleared out my desk and locker this morning, and here I was, on the edge of the world, the wind blowing through my hair, not another person as far as the eye could see. There was a small fishing boat out on the horizon, but other than that, other than myself, and my car, which I took on a brutal off-road adventure, there was nothing else. I left the road long ago, and all I had with me was a box of the things that meant the most to me, and the injection of fresh adrenaline that reminded me that I was very much alive.

I sat on the rocks, my feet dangling over the edge. It was a very long drop to the jagged rocks below, waves bashing up against them, like starved, ravenous wolves snapping at the child being lowered into their cage. It wouldn't be much to just shift forward a little more and plummet into extinction. But I just sat there, with my box beside me. I picked up my files and papers, and ditched them off the cliff. They fluttered down and blew in every direction, a free form ballet into the unforgiving ocean. I had taken enough of this life, and I was willing to make a change of plans. Everything had changed in an instant, although I felt that this choice I made would be something inevitable, something I couldn't put off forever.

The baton, just an accessory. What would I want with it where I was going? I would need nothing other than a name where I was going, although, now that I come to think of it, I'd probably end up throwing that away too, and going somewhere completely different from there. My taser. I pulled it apart, and threw it to the ocean too. I could see the papers simply floating out along the ocean, out into the vast untamed blue. My passport, just another possession. I wouldn't need it to start my new life, I wouldn't need much physical distance from home to give me comfort, just a spiritual distance. And down the passport fell, down onto the rocks. I doubted that anyone would find the passport, as the thought of my family seeing a report on the news would just tear them apart, and I couldn't do that to them. It was tough enough, what I was doing now. But I continued to lay bear my soul to the ocean, the great expanse of water accepting my gifts but offering no comfort or condolence, this burden was mine to bear, and mine alone.

My shirt, my shoes, my tie, socks, belt and pants. All gifts, part of the duties of the job, maintaining image. They all fell down, more victims to the ocean, more memories I can liberate myself from. There were only a few items left in the box now, just my badge, some family photos and my gun. I picked the badge up, and, holding it in my hands, I felt an undeniable force of responsibility, power and trust. There was so much expectation to live up to, all because of the title connotative to the badge. I held the badge high behind my head, and with half a sense of sadness, and half a sense of relief, I threw with all my might, the badge that had been my life, all I had worked for, worked to obtain and maintain. A burden no longer on my shoulders, the badge soared through the sky, as if it would carry on forever, but like everything before it, the badge too sunk into the velvet blue depths.

I reached into the box, still gazing into the place where the badge broke the surface. I felt my way towards the photographs, and clenched my fist around them like a child would around its comfort toy. My parents, into the ocean, my wife and friends, into the ocean, my one and only child... into the sea. I knew it was a huge thing to give up on these people, but it was the only thing I could do, there was nothing more I could get out of that life,nothing more I wanted. And I didn't want to live the rest of my life in that same place, an empty shell, holding me back from destiny.

The breeze was beginning to pick up, and the sun had begun its descent into the night. The fishing boat had gone back, and I was entirely isolated. It was some time before I reached into the box for the last of my possessions. The gun. To serve. To protect. It had served it's purpose, and now it had a new purpose. I fired the gun several times into the sky. I squeezed the trigger for all but one. I closed my eyes, my grip on the handgun tightened for one last shot. It was the end. My gun fell into the ocean, and I sat there, waiting for my new life to begin. I would hitch a ride with a stranger, catch a train, change my name, and do everything on my terms. Hell, if it all feels right, I could do the whole police thing again, but as I've experienced, nothing is certain, only time will tell what will happen. And my past will forever more be lost in time, fallen to the depths of the ocean, far from forgotten in my mind, but void of relevance, never to be seen again...

This is the story I wrote for MaestroRage, had the theme of the coming MAC been "Story" rather than "Picture", so I'll just post it up here for you all to read. It's actually pretty nice, I think, albeit a bit rushed. It has a happy ending, so savour the moment, it's not a common thing for me. >:D

Scrabble

I'm not an unintelligent person. Nor am I an ignorant person. But if you asked any member of my family what they thought of me, on a good day, they'd say that I have "special needs" or that I'm "not your ordinary human being". On a bad day? Well, behind closed doors, they'd admit to thinking that I'm a "freak of nature", and they'd make off-hand comments like "he's not right in the head". These are things my mother and father are saying about their only son. How dare they? How dare they belittle me in front of friends and family, as if I don't understand them, as if I'm a house-pet, as if my limitations are sitting, begging, rolling and playing dead at the commands of my owners.
I'm not a hostile person, and I don't try to be, but I'd freely admit that I feel like my parents are raising me poorly. Sure, they feed me, and give me shelter and the possessions that I require, but other than that... nothing. My relationship with them seems to be only materialistic. No love, no family bonding, just a hostility, as they can't accept me for what I am, for who I am.

It wasn't always like this. They tried to raise me normal, pretend that my problems didn't exist. They tried forcing normality down my throat and raise me like the son they so desperately wanted. I would have gladly done what they asked of me, I would have gladly carried on the family name, following in my father's footsteps, if only they had accepted me for me, not for who they wanted me to be. It was only after they accepted the fact that I was the way I was, and I wouldn't be changing any time soon that they started giving me the possessions that I craved, to pacify me, to make me somewhat less of a burden they had to bear.
And they did soothe me, and for a moment I thought that these parents of mine were capable of emotion, that they did care about me, but I was lost in a dream world. They only cared about maintaining a certain level of civility in the household. They mostly keep to themselves now, and let me carry on "in my own little world", which I've come to accept just fine.

I've found that I can escape my emotions through a determined focus on my daily rituals. As I've got no job, nothing to do all day, a standard schedule keeps me feeling like I could almost lead a normal life. At 7:00 every morning my bedside alarm goes off, and I wake up. 5 minutes later, my secondary alarm goes off and I slip my red non-slip shower shoes on. Red for Monday, Wednesday and Friday, blue for Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday and yellow for Sunday. I go into "my" bathroom (in "my" corner of the house) to get showered and dressed. At 7:15 my bathroom alarm goes off and it's time for breakfast. Friday, marmalade on toast day. A loaf of bread would be sitting on my kitchen counter, waiting to be sliced. It was freshly baked for each 'toast' day, Tuesday and Friday. The loaf would cover my breakfast, lunch and afternoon tea meals. A pitcher of freshly squeezed orange juice, and a jar of home-made marmalade would be placed beside the bread. I would pour myself a glass of the juice and take my daily medication pills with the first mouthful. I would continue on these schedules all day, every day.

Each Sunday, my parents would go to church in the morning. I used to go with them, but I didn't want to be there, and they didn't want to be embarrassed. My Aunt Josephine would come to the house and keep me company. She was good company, she really cared for me and I always enjoyed her visits. It had become the Sunday ritual that we would play scrabble on the back veranda in the antique rocking chairs. It was fun because my parents had made it clear to me that those chairs were "out of bounds". Aunt Josephine knew about this, and I think that's why she was so fond of the idea, too. At first she said it would be good for my psyche, but now it's just become another routine in my life. Dear Aunt Josephine, always trying to get me to come out of my cocoon and see more of the world. On the days that were too cold and wet to be outside, she'd bring over the photo album, and show me the places she'd been on her world trip. She would have been about my age when she visited all those wondrous places.

Aunt Josephine was the one who made the loaves of bread for me, and the marmalade, she was the one that looked after me and cared for me. She was always coming to the house to check up on me, even when it wasn't Sunday. But the Sundays were the best. My parents would come home from church and they'd pretend to be interested, and they'd always ask "who won today's Scrabble?", to which Aunt Josephine would reply "Who do you think?" I always won, but my parents never believed it. They had convinced themselves that Aunt Josephine was just saying things to make me feel "special". But then she'd go back home and I'd go back to my routines again, and I'd feel a loneliness and longing for company that I knew only my Aunt could bring. It wasn't until my mother came into my bedroom while I was reading, that my life started to change for the better. At first I was annoyed and defensive, but when I heard the words "phone" and "Aunt Josephine", I felt pacified. It turned out that Aunt Josephine just wanted to spend more time with me.

She sounded quite upset at first, she mentioned something about her fish and chip shop, and someone quitting their job. Next moment she was telling me that she would love it if I would work for her, maybe one or two nights a week. The quiet ones. I was apprehensive, nervous of the thought. Although I wasn't really agoraphobic, the prospect of leaving the home, and leaving the safety of my routines, it was a scary thing. And I told Aunt Josephine that. She was very comforting about it, adamant that I come and work for her, she'd give me a lift from the house to work and she'd never leave my sight. And so it was settled, I would start my very first job on Tuesday.

I walked in to my parent's lounge room to deliver the news, but they were watching their shows. I cleared my throat. My mother threw me a look that said "what do you want, boy?"
"Hey mum? Uh, Aunt Josephine gave me a job at her fish and chip shop. I start on Tuesday."
I got an irritated nod from my mum, which I assumed to mean "yeah okay, whatever. Now scram, I'm watching my shows." So I went back to my reading, thinking about Tuesday. My routines became a little less focused, as I was mostly just waiting for that day to come. But when the day and time came along, I felt unprepared to make the leap out of my comfort zone.

But Aunt Josephine was really great about it all. She had the uniform for me, just a plain shirt with "Josie's" written on it. And on the car ride to the shop, she gave me a crash course on what my job was, although for the first half of the shift, I'd just be watching her, and she'd pass the work on to me when I felt up to it. It was pretty quiet, there was only four of us there, and after about half an hour, Aunt Josephine had given me a full run-down of everything in the shop. So we talked about other things. The other two guys working there were friendly, and they had some interesting stories to share. It wasn't long before I donned the hair-net and latex gloves and took on the work for myself. I was nervous, but with Aunt Josephine's soothing voice backing me all the way, I handled myself pretty well. We closed the store a little early and the other two left. Aunt Josephine took me into the small office in the back, because she wanted to show me something. I sat down in the chair across from hers. She held in her hand a photograph. She let out a little sigh, before turning it around and passing it across to me. It was a picture of her and her ex-husband, standing outside their little cottage home, and Aunt Josephine appeared to be pregnant.
"I never knew you had a child" I said.
"Yeah, I gave birth shortly after he left me. I was depressed, I was left with almost nothing, so I didn't keep him." She spoke with a tone of regret. "I gave him away to a family who could afford to look after him."
"So, I've got a cousin?"
"No, the child I had... it was you. And now, well, you're old enough to make your own decisions, so, if you want, you're welcome to live with me."
I hadn't anticipated this, not at all. Yes, I would love to live with my birth mother. I would love to leave the people who raised me without affection nor sympathy. And I would love to know the feeling of a mother's love, day after day after day.

It turned out that my foster parents only found out that I had "special needs" after they had taken me in. But it also turned out that those special needs stemmed from the depression of my mother, and the overall lack of comfort and love that I had yearned throughout my first years. Now that I have my mother in my life again, and the emotional balance has more or less rectified itself, I can lead a somewhat normal life. I still have some rituals and habits that I stick to, especially when I'm away from home, but it's nothing like what it used to be. I took a trip around the world with some friends from college last year. I was terribly homesick, but I sent letters and photos almost every day, and my mother added them to the photo album. She says to me every now and then that we should take another trip around the world, just the two of us, but the right time hasn't come yet. Our lives have completely changed for the better. But there's one thing that's always stayed the same, each Sunday morning, we still go out onto the porch, and sit in the rocking chairs (these ones mum bought just for us), and we play our game of scrabble.

I'm an audio mod now. Yeah, just posting this so it doesn't clog up my story post on the previous blog. Also, congrats to B0UNC3 and snayk, who are also now audio mods, and SBB, who is now a BBS mod as well as audio mod.
From one BBS mod to 3 in the audio forum, those self-whoring, zero-vote-whining, etc etc threads will never see the light of day >:D