music soothes the savage beast
but can it cure the sordid soul?

the notes are electric, pulsing, raw
clawing through flesh, bone, tissue

miraculous melody, salacious song
carving the rot that swells by day

if the mind and soul are truly one
our greatest feats mere buzzing synapse


is there truly any god greater than song?

Anika - Chapter Five

Index:

• Prologue
• Chapter One
• Chapter Two
• Chapter Three
• Chapter Four
• Chapter Five
• Chapter Six
• Chapter Seven
• Chapter Eight
• Chapter Nine

Chapter Five

“A” is for “Adrenal Gland”;

“B” is for “Basal Ganglia”

Today

New York City -- Winter

          “HOW IS HE?”

          “Good, all things considering. The nurse stopped him before he… before anything too serious could happen.”

          Raiku blinked, bright light streaming across his face as a nurse fiddled with the blinds—who? He knew her from… when? His last visit. Yes, that was right. Ma… Matha… Mathania, was her name, right? A Haitian immigrant. Yes. He remembered her from his last visit, when he broke his arm. She was a kind woman, but right now, she was searing his eyes.

          He tried to reach for his face, but his hand was stuck.

          Stuck?

Anika - Chapter Four

Index:

• Prologue
• Chapter One
• Chapter Two
• Chapter Three
• Chapter Four
• Chapter Five
• Chapter Six
• Chapter Seven
• Chapter Eight
• Chapter Nine

Chapter Four 

 The Olive Branch

          She’s always been so strong.

I was in high school when I first met Vala.

               Well, saw. Stole a look, more like.

                     My boyfriend was with me. 

                          The boyfriend I had never kissed.

             The boyfriend I had told so many times, 

                             “Not yet,” and never known why.

       He was talking about cake, or video games, panties, 

                       something like that. Whatever was glued to his 

         mind that afternoon. He wasn’t much of a thinker.

                   Vala was walking quietly down the hall, 

                             books hugged to her chest.

          Her hair was short, back fanned out to one side. 

                 She wore a plaid button-up, short-sleeve, 

             and a knee-high tan skirt, canvas. Both ears pierced

        five times over. Rainbow bracelets stacked six or seven high.

Weird. Modest. Authentic.

           

            Any other girl would have seemed… small, scared. Like they were trying to

                   prove something to the world.

But she was just… Vala.

                     Indifferent.

                 Unconcerned.

            As if she were simply separate from the rest of the world.

                     As if she knew exactly who and what she was, 

                            and knew just as well

                      that the rest of us were lying to ourselves.

My eyes met hers. She paused.

Smiled.

                               I looked down at my shoes.

                                               

                                            My cheeks burned.

My boyfriend pointed at her, nudged me in the shoulder.

               “Dude, Bekkah. That dyke is totally into you.”

I didn’t look at him. I’d never hated anyone more in my life.

Today

West Palm, Florida – Winter

          REBEKKAH’S FEET FELT like lead and air. The floor beneath them was long forgotten, her chocolate eyes scanning her cupboards for the perfect spice, the perfect side. It had been hours since she’d left the kitchen, but there was so much more to do.

          She shivered, cinnamon skin covered in goose bumps. The window was open; odd as it was, she had never cared for how the kitchen smelled after so much use. The frigid humidity had frozen her to the bone, but the fresh air was invigorating, stinging her lungs as she breathed in deep. As she fiddled with her heavy jacket, she quietly worried that this was the right thing to do. Would she rather go out? Would she rather order in? Would she be too tired to bother? Would she feel obligated?

Anika - Chapter Three

Index:

• Prologue
• Chapter One
• Chapter Two
• Chapter Three
• Chapter Four
• Chapter Five
• Chapter Six
• Chapter Seven
• Chapter Eight
• Chapter Nine

Chapter Three

Worn Out Faces;

Worn Out Places

My ma, she… never really had t’ say it.

                

                  She’d just… look at me, y’know?

And I could see it on her face.

                                I mean, yeah, I knew she loved me.

            Loved me more’n she loved her own stupid, sacred self.

                                 Always said nothin’ would change that.

         But every Sunday, she’d just…

               Smile.

Today?

            The room was bright. The sterile, white-wash walls seemed to raise the quiet humming and beeping behind him to a cacophonous pitch, each note like a drop of water centered on his forehead.

            Raiku looked around, eyeing the innocuous bathroom door, the curtain drawn on the empty bed beside him, the handrails fixed to the walls.

            How did he get here?

The High Cost of Wal-Mart -- and Everyone Else

This is just a project written for my Sociology of Economics class. Hiding the entire thing behind a break because it's fairly irrelevant to the fiction-centric nature of this blog, but I wanted to throw it on the interwebs.

Anika - Chapter Two

Index:

• Prologue
• Chapter One
• Chapter Two
• Chapter Three
• Chapter Four
• Chapter Five
• Chapter Six
• Chapter Seven
• Chapter Eight
• Chapter Nine

Chapter Two

  

A Modern Way of

Living with the Truth

I remember the day I first noticed Louis.

He was sitting by himself at recess, detached, coloring in a book he’d hidden under his

shirt all day.

He was always better at staying inside the lines.

I was within earshot, practicing my swing, when my foot caught the gravel.

I took quite a spill. There was a chunk of branch between my face and the ground.

I covered my face; my father told me later I’d had eleven stitches in my arm.

Of course, one of the nearby boys did his best not to help.

Point, laugh, etcetera.

That’s when Louis looked up.

He didn’t move to help; a teacher had already come running.

He took his crayon, and drew what I later learned to be the other boy’s face.

The next day at school, dozens of copies of his picture were strewn about the school.

            The accompanying copy read:

My name is Richard and that meens Im a Dick.

I lauf at Girls who are hurt becuz my mom calls me Stupid.

Pleese dont call me Stupid or I will hav hurt feelings.

Months later, he gave me the original as a birthday present.

            I still have it.

Today

Lexington, Virginia – Winter

            Strong, firm, and confident. The hands around her waist were everything a man’s hands were supposed to be. They led her step gently, conscious of her awkward feet. When her toes caught the polished floor, they’d steadied her before she had even stumbled. When she was to turn, to spin, or to take a step back or forward, they gave her silent guidance, communicating in tandem with only his eyes—green as an emerald forest, they had always been a hair too big for the rest of his face.

Kalua and Nako - Sketch 1

                A massive, metallic-grey paw patted at the orange bottle. The ensuing rattle was honest and pure, but gripped his stomach nonetheless. A lamb in wolf’s clothing. Nothing was as simple was it really was. Age begot not wisdom, but association; sin was an invention whose very creation relied upon drawing a box around what is good and right.

Life as fenako had remained simple, if listless. Humanity’s spread had brought technology to a great many people in a great many places—people whose existence had been, until recently, a foreign concept to his people. As a pup, he had witnessed his pack’s prized faith fall victim to steel, glass, and oil. The wonders of the new world necessitated the destruction of the old.

Stars that had once been gods became swirling balls of gas, as tangible as the floor beneath his feet. Miracles became chemistry. The ability to survey and measure had swallowed what, for millennia, had been his peoples’ way of life.

Once, he had aspired to be a great hunter, like his father and mother before him. The hunt itself had been central to his pack’s daily life. An ample meal had remained inseparable from the blessing of the stars above for countless centuries.

Months after leaving his home, he had found himself in a supermarket. Neatly severed chunks of domestic animals—creatures deprived of their own nature—had lined countless freezers. Food came wrapped in the flesh of trees and the modified remains of some planet’s rich, dark blood.

No less jarring, he now received his meals in the lunch line designated for humans and their ilk. Even if he wanted to, he could never return to his kind. He had been cast out. Humans had invented sin. He had embodied it.

Kalua - Sketch 1

                Panting softly, the large quadruped lumbered his way through the mess hall. Training always took a lot out of him, but by this time of day he was usually ravenous, anyway. Squeezing his way past the long lines of humanoid crew, he found the door to the kitchen and pushed it open with his head.

                As usual, most of the kitchen crew gave him looks ranging from amusement to disdain, depending on how much they treasured regulations about cleanliness. He was not a dirty creature, but in between the patches of bone plating that protected his most vulnerable places, he was covered in metallic-grey fur with jet black stripes and swirls. He was also shedding.

                Sniffing about for a familiar scent, a pointed ear perked when he picked up a familiar voice, instead. Waltzing up behind his favorite cook, he sat behind her, his head almost level with her ribs. Reaching forward, he grabbed the back of her shirt in his teeth and tugged.

                The woman whipped around, startled, only to take a deep breath and frown when she saw who it was. “Kalua! How many times have I told you not to come back here?!”

                The quadruped smirked, green eyes narrowing accusingly. “And yet, Jenn, every time I show up, you feed me. You’re not dissuading me very well.”

                She sighed, shaking her head as she turned around. Skilled hands tended the stove as she spoke. “Yeah, well. I know what a pain in the ass self-serve has to be. But you’re still not supposed to be back here.”

                “Oh, I know.” His sharp tail flickered behind him, conveying his amusement. “As much as I enjoy getting fur in your food, I would be happy not to bother you if someone would prepare a meal ahead of time.”

                Jenn gave him a coarse look over her shoulder, shook her head, and turned back to her work.

                He tugged at her shirt again. “That was a hint. You know, a clue.”

                Sighing heavily, Jenn reached for a burger patty and flipped it into the air over her shoulder. “Catch, puppy.”

                Kalua did just that, hardly chewing the meat before inhaling it. Smacking his lips, he gave Jenn a sour face. “If you weren’t feeding me, I’d say something really rude right now.”

                She smirked. “Go pester Roger. He’s on break. He can get you a tray and load it up. I’m busy.”

                “Gotcha.” With a self-important smirk, Kalua trundled off through the rest of the kitchen. He was sure to accidentally-on-purpose bump into his least-favorite chef on the way out, knocking his cell phone into the pot of boiling grease he was supposed to be tending.

Nako - Sketch 1

                Slamming her credit slip on the bar, the young woman plopped herself on a stool with a heavy sigh. Casting her yellow eyes on the barkeeper, she grumbled something about a gin and tonic before reaching back to peel her thin black top away from her sweaty back. Large, but slender hands plucked at the fabric before tiredly landing on the bar, and she leaned forward on her elbows. The short bone spurs jutting out of her elbows—surrounded by small patches of black scale—dug into the wood below, but she gave no sign of caring as her drink arrived.

                With a grateful nod to the barkeep, she downed the first half of her glass in seconds, making a face. Her head lowered until it met the bar between her arms. She drew in a slow, deep breath, and let it out even slower. Bare, claw-tipped toes gripped at the stool below them. Heavy eyelids closed, her mind on fire but her body weary.

                Just as she began to relax, a voice tickled the membrane just inside the unadorned hole in her head that passed itself off as an ear. A tired eye cracked open, peering past her pale, earthen-colored skin. She frowned. Them, again. No doubt they were here to talk about her at a distance they clearly believed to be just out of earshot. It wasn’t.

                Jason, Marcus, and Sam—the fat-ass, the muscle-head, and the closet case. All three of them were, unfortunately, vivid examples of the human soldier stereotype she worked so hard to ignore. Jason spent as much time eating greasy fried food as he did working out and cracking jokes about women and ‘aliens’. Marcus had biceps nearly as big around as his head, and held more affection for his own physique than he did his own mother. And Sam, easily the most obnoxious of the lot, spent nearly every waking minute working tirelessly to avoid any potential confusion about his sexuality.

                Sam was currently inhaling as much cheap beer as Jason was faux chicken—real chicken never made it this far from human colonies. In between swigs of beer, the pale, surprisingly fit male was blathering about what a fag anyone was for touching her. Marcus seemed to be ignoring him, his eyes off in the distance, trained on some busty, elf-like girl. Jason was laughing, a noise as deep as his gut was wide. To be fair, underneath all of that mass was a fairly healthy, tremendously well-trained body, but it was more comforting to mentally dress him in a marshmallow suit.

                She sighed again, killed the second half of her drink, and ordered another. Sharp teeth clenched tight. She was sick of this. A few weeks ago, she’d politely turned Sam down for a date. Sure, she’d thought really hard about vomiting on his shirt in response, but her actual words were closer to ‘no, but thank you’ than they were to ‘die in a fire’. Yet so convinced had he been that she held some ulterior motive for turning him down, some deep secret, that he’d spent the next few days obsessively digging for dirt about her.

                It hadn’t been terribly hard for him to find what he felt was an incredibly juicy secret. A quick search in the ship’s public registrar revealed the basics. Her name was Nako Terral. She was twenty-eight years old. She was born on a small moon orbiting a large, uninhabitable gaseous planet. She wasn’t human, obviously, but hélu. She wasn’t quite a she.

                The second drink arrived, and she made short work of it. Small, sharp claws emerged from her fingertips, drumming the bar impatiently as Sam went running his mouth about how gay she was, no matter what sex her date might be. Jason was still laughing; Marcus still seemed ambivalent, but he was casting the occasional glance and smile in her direction.

                The homophobe’s discovery was not exactly a terrible secret. As five minutes on Overnet would reveal, there was only one sex of hélu. Male and female never entered into the equation. Their physical features were, like hers, predominantly female, and most people—most reasonable, intelligent people—were satisfied to address them as female regardless of any discrepancies in their genitalia. Then again, most reasonable, intelligent people probably paid enough attention in primary school to know that not every species across the galaxy reproduced the exact same way.

                After calling for a third drink, Nako reached her decision. As embarrassing as it was, and as afraid as she was that her superior officer would be just as thick, she was going to report them. She shouldn’t have to put up with this. Most of her fellow soldiers—male or female, human or otherwise—were either ambivalent about her anatomy or respectful enough not to make an issue of it. After all, she wasn’t about to sleep with them, and at first glance she looked a bit like a human of Asian descent. Except her grandfather was either an iguana or a lawnmower.

                No sooner than her third drink had arrived, she slaughtered it, stood, and slapped down a tip. Blood rushed to her head as she tried to take a step, her footing faltering slightly. Taking a deep breath, she willed herself to walk straight. As loathe as she was to admit it, her species was not terribly famous for its constitution. Her empty stomach didn’t help, either, nor did weighing just over a hundred and twenty pounds. But she was, if anything, well versed in acting sober, regardless of her actual state.

                Ten steps. Twenty. She smiled a bit to herself as she settled into a steady gait toward the door, but before she could leave, she felt a tap on her shoulder. It was Marcus. Her right hand slid behind her back as she turned around, clenching the grip of her holstered dagger. “Yes?”

                A large, dark-skinned hand gestured back toward the bar. Marcus smiled awkwardly. “I saw you were drinking alone. I, uh… was wondering if I could fix that.”

                Her grip tightened around her dagger. “I’ve had three, Roid Rage. I’m going to my room.”

                Scratching at his stubbly black hair, he shrugged. “So I can… get you a drink to go?” he offered. “Come on, it’s on me and—”

                Nako scoffed, rolling her eyes. “I want nothing to do with you and your shitty friends. All of you can catch fire. Could I make that any more clear?”

                Marcus smirked, exhaling slowly and eyeing his feet. “Nah, I know. Look, Sam is a cunt, and Jason isn’t too bright. But I’m not asking you to sit with them.”

                She glanced toward Marcus, at the table he had come from, and back at him. It wasn’t like all of her ‘friends’ were the best people in the world, either. This was a rough place. Good company could be hard to find. With a deep, frustrated breath, her shoulders slumped. Behind her back, she released her dagger. Her hand fell to her pocket. “Fine, fine. But o—”

                “Man, really?? I really didn’t exp—”

                “But,” she interrupted, “only if you can gimme an actual reason.”

                Marcus bit his lip, making a face. “Oookay, pressure pressure, ummm…  I think you’re really, uhh…”

                “Interesting.” She raised an eyebrow, amused.

                “…Shit. You’re about to tell me that’s a bad answer. No! Totally not because you’re interesting. You’re just….” His feet fidgeted again, and he looked for all the world like he was in pain. “Fff…. Nnn… neat?”

                “Neat.” A quiet laugh slipped past her defenses, and she found herself shaking her head. “Neat, Marcus? Try again.”

                “Fuck! See, this is the part where I have to come up with a really great excuse, really fast, or I’m S.O.L.”

“Yep.”

He frowned dramatically, hands waving about as he choked on every possible answer. “…you’re… hot?” He winced, prepared for the worst.

Nako’s face screwed up, and before she could help herself, she cracked. A coarse cackle burst from her lips. “Ohhh, lord. See, Marcus, herein lies the problem.” Her hands fell to her hips, and she smirked as she savored the look on his face. “Pretend I did let you buy me a drink, as if I were actually one of your human ladies and gave two shits about your elaborate mating rituals. Now pretend, having consumed just a bit more alcohol, I’m suddenly so inebriated that I’m drooling on myself and unable to form coherent sentences. Then pretend you do what you want to do, and drag me off to bed while I’m incapable of making sound decisi—”

“I… but—”

“There’s still the fundamental issue of anatomy. Let me spell this out for you, Marcus.” Taking a step toward him, Nako leaned in close, holding her hands in front of her face. Her left hand formed a circle, and she stuck her right index finger through that circle. “This is what you’re after. And believe it or not, I am capable of that part. Lucky you! Buuut…” she trailed off, waving her hands in a circular motion, demanding the answer from Marcus.

He sighed, giving her a cross look. “Look, don’t be a bitch. You think because Sam is a homophobic imbecile, I must be stupid, too? I actually paid attention in primary, thank you. And for shit sake, if I don’t know what a girl from another system has got crawlin’ in her panties, I am not gonna find out the hard way.”

“Good.” Nako blurted flatly. “In that case, Mr. Science, you’ll understand when I tell you that I think your buying me a drink is fairly pointless. I am not a woman. So—”

“So you just strung me along. Thanks! You’re doing a gr—”

“So, you’ll understand when why I’m offering to buy you a drink.” She grinned, challenge in her eyes.

Marcus blinked. Leaning his head back, he brought his thumb to his chin, eyes narrowing as he considered the situation. After a short silence, he smirked. “Why don’t you buy your drink, I’ll buy mine, and we can engage in civil, unbiased discussion about the, uh… I don’t know, the current state of intergalactic affairs?”

                Rolling her eyes, Nako nodded toward the bar and took a step past Marcus. “At a bar? Fuck that. I’d rather talk about titties and porn.”

                

When I asked about her day, and received a monosyllabic grunt in response--that's when I knew it was love.

The Gov'ment and the E.P.A.

For a class on social problems, I was required to document my (real) interaction with the environmental protection agency in submitting a freedom of information act request. Long story short, they asked me for money, twice, and then told me they had no information on me. At all.


This is that document.




The screen was shining on his face,
Shining with all its might:
The son did his best to tell
The E.P.A. his plight--
She thought this odd, because he was
No villain of the night.


The government spoke sulkily,
Because she thought this son
Had got no business to request
What she knew he’d done--
"It's very rude of him," she said,
"To ask to hear what’s done!"


Though FOIA form was meant to be,
As cumbersome as dry.
He’d filled one out with doubt, because
His scholar said to try:
While no sense was to be seen--
There was a reason why.


The gov’ment and the E.P.A.
Were walking close at hand;
They wept like anything to see
An inquiry so bland:
"If this were only cleared away,"
They said, "it would be grand!"


"If seven clerks with seven stops
Delayed it for a year.
Do you suppose," the gov’ment said,
"That they could get it clear?"
"I doubt it," said the E.P.A.,
And shed a bitter tear.


"O Filers, come and walk with us!"
The gov’ment did beseech.
"A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
About this pleasant breech:
We cannot take all these requests,
So give us cause to reach."


The flustered son, he looked at her,
And with simplest words he said:
“This flustered son, his scholar suggests,
You’ve cameras in my head--
Meaning to say, you should well know
My actions live or dead.”


But four young clerks, they hurried up,
All eager for a treat:
And sent an e-mail, prepared with haste:
“We’ll hurry, this is neat--
And this was odd, because, you know,
None had left their seat.


Four secretaries followed them,
And yet another four;
And thick and fast they came at last,
And more, and more, and more--
All hopping through the cubicles;
His request they must store.


The gov’ment and the E.P.A.
Spent an hour or so,
Discussing how to best become
Conveniently slow:
And all the while, the son did wait
To find out what they know.


"The time has come," the gov’ment said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes--and ships--and sealing-wax--
Of cabbages--and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot--
And whether pigs have wings."


"But wait a bit," the son he cried,
"I’ve no desire to chat;
For this is not of what I’ve asked,
Your words of this and that!"
"No hurry!" said the E.P.A.,
“I swear, we’ll get to that.”


"A bit more time," the gov’ment said,
"Is what we chiefly need:
To hunt and search, here and there
Takes very long indeed--
But if you're patient, O Child dear,
We’ll sew this very seed."


"Do please use haste!" the son he cried,
Turning a little blue.
"I’ve filed so much paperwork,
A dismal thing to do!"
"The night is fine," the gov’ment said.
"Don’t you have things to do?


"Study, slumber, or watch late news!
FOX is so very nice!"
The E.P.A. said nothing but
"Please decide a price:
I wish you were not quite so deaf--
I've had to ask you twice!"


"This game’s a shame," the son he said,
"To play me such a trick,
After you’ve dragged this out so far,
And refused to be quick!"
The E.P.A. said nothing but
"His folder’s just too thick!"


"I weep for you," the gov’ment said:
"I deeply sympathize."
With sobs and tears she pointed out
She really, truly tries,
Holding her pocket-handkerchief
Before her streaming eyes.


"O Child," said the E.P.A.,
"We’ve done what can be done!
We searched on rocks and tabletops,
But answers came there none—”
And this was scarcely odd, because
They'd hidden every one.

Anika - Chapter One

Index:

• Prologue
• Chapter One
• Chapter Two
• Chapter Three
• Chapter Four
• Chapter Five
• Chapter Six
• Chapter Seven
• Chapter Eight
• Chapter Nine

Chapter One

  

 The Cost of Concession

    Light.

Dim light.                                                                                   Day light.
Bright light.

                   Night light.                                                    

Sun light.

            Sunlight keeps the vampires away, supposedly.

Werewolves, too, now that he was thinking about it.

Not to mention…

          G

       S   a   S                      

     I    u   r   i   G            

      n   c   g   r   h   T      

       c    c    o   e  o  r       

           u    u   y  n  s  o  

              b   b    l  s. t  l      

                 i.  a   e   s. l       

                       e.  s.  s.      

                   Were there werewolves in Alaska?

                                      Did they…

 …stay fuzzy?

for weeks

on

end?

Today

New York City -- Winter

          HIS HANDS WERE trembling. The stall held the sour stench of vomit and the residual tang of urine, caked in the grit and rusting the bolts that held the toilet to the floor. It was worse where he sat, he was sure—crouched in the largest, farthest stall, his back to the wall. His shoulders were wedged between a trashcan and the porcelain bowl holding the scant contents of his stomach. It was the farthest thing from comfort, logic, or sanitation, and it was sure to ruin his suit jacket and matching pants, yet he felt not the slightest inclination to move.

Glass surrounds me. I stand here, watching the world pass me by without the slightest hint of cognition. Am I the outsider looking in? Or am I trapped so deep within, I choke even the sun?

There is beauty in this place, from time to time. Worlds that fill the heart with awe, that touch the deepest regions of the soul. People with hopes, dreams, and fears all their own, with triumphs and glories unique.

Yet if these worlds are but a product of my mind, a defense against the world outside the glass, what purpose do they truly serve? What good do they accomplish?

Am I keeping myself here, locked away?

clouds

all this mopey frowny sad

you'd think life was pretty bad

truly now, things are rad

i just really hate plaid


up and down and all around and whoopsy daisy doodle, bet you never thought about why you love that noodle

msg, for you and me, makes you crave that sorry stick shtick
smear it on your groin to catch every single chick
unless you're fem, like all of them, inverted penis bearers
what rhymes with bearers?

shit

not enough

the endless cycle of settling

misery and discontent, clawing, tearing, ruling my every waking hour, standing above me and laughing as I try and try again to scratch my way out of this existence

every person I grow near to, every soul I draw close to mine, eventually reveals the same wretched secret

I am addiction. I am drug. I am a bright, shining star full of hot, poisonous gas, a beautiful concept with a truth so ugly and bitter it turns the warmest smile against me.

in truth, I could move on

I could reach again, try once more, put myself on the line and hope for the best

but undoubtedly, no sooner than they reach my core, they would spurn me

I am beautiful
I am ugly

I am warm
I am cold

I am entrancing
and I am unlovable

ouch

coughing and sneezing
and occasional wheezing
achy and whiny
it hurts on my hiney
blogging while sick
and deprived of my nap
i want me some sleeps
cause i feel like crap


my thoughts, so profound

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