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Standing on Ryker beach, I find myself skipping stones across the misty waters, and I have a massive headache. Where was I, what did I do? Japanese beer bottles litter the sand around my feet and there is a black hump floating in the water near the shore. I watch for a half hour as the tide floats it away and drags it under, I'm still skipping rocks. I listen to the seagulls for a spell. What was that girl's name again - the one I met on monday? I can't quite recall. I'm a totally different person when I drink.
I heard my father cry for the first time. It was a pathetic sob of pain. I didn't know how to deal with it. His mother is getting worse, and it looks bad for her. For the first time I see a crack in the strength. I wish I could talk to him, hug him and tell him it will be alright, but his mother is near death, and my thoughts are lost. I feel so sad and helpless. He has done much for me and I can do nothing for him. Fuck you, world. Fuck you straight to hell.
I guess I'm stuck in my ways when it comes to musical taste. I don't like rap, I don't like dance, I loath techno. Over use of samples and computer bleeps, idiots plugging away at their synth sounds, braindead fools scratching records and pretending it's 'music'. The hell with that load of crap. It's not music. It's background noise for the mentally stunted. Pulsing electronic beats for raver scum and pill-popping rape victims to be. Give me my rock and roll. Guitars, a bass, drums, and a singer. It's the one thing I don't mind being close-minded about.
My parents and brother are away to be with my grandmother. Apparently she's going to pull through. I couldn't go because I couldn't get out of work. Two night shifts this weekend, one done, one left. I'm tired and lonely in this empty house. My only company is the cat and he's all bent out of shape over mom and dad being gone. He searches the house and the yard about twenty times before giving up and sleeping. As he searches he cries patheticly . Poor little guy. I wish I could tell him I feel the same when I'm left alone.
I'm very tired. I have to stay up for a while yet or I'll never be able to get to sleep later on and I'll be a zombie tommorow. Anyway, my mind is going all over the place. The need for sleep is smacking my brain into goo, so I can not really direct my writing in any specific direction tonight. I think I'm going to go outside and take a walk, maybe smoke a cigar and fall down in our back lot and look at the sky for a bit. Maybe even stay there untill the stars come out.
Coffee does not like me. It makes me hyper, gives me gas, and stains my teeth. I don't drink coffee anymore. So coffee likes me even less. At work, we have a "coffee island". It has coffee jugs that you sit a cup under and fill by pressing a button. This weekend a button got stuck and slowly overflowed, making a lovely mess. Later, a lady bought some coffee and some snackfood. I asked if she wanted a bag for her other items. "No, thank you", she said. She then spilled her coffee all over the floor. Coffee hates me.
I really love the word "satyr". It's unusual and slick. Well, I think so. It fills my head with pagan thoughts of dancing naked in open green fields and shadowed woods. Chasing young maidens with red hair and shapely white bodies. Yep, I really love that word and felt the need to include it somehow in my post without it having an over-importance and slyly hiding the fact that I really don't have anything to say today. Oh look, I think that I just managed to accomplish my task. Full on, I'm a totally awsome, bloody, post-wasting mastermind!
Sometimes I really hate writing. I want to get better at it, but sometimes I think I'm right back where I started. I write reviews of movie and music albums for my website, but when I read them after they are posted, they look stupid, borish, and silly to me. Is my writing really that bad? Do I really sound that stupid to other people? How about in real life? Am I such a fool? These things eat at me. I've always had a dreadful amount of self-doubt inside, kicking my brain to mush. Still, I must go on.
It feels good to sit in front of an open window and drink beer again. It seems like it's been a long while since I last did so. It's been a year, has it not? Bloody hell, I think life is short in some respects yet simple pleasures take so long to come around. If only the whole summer could be this nice. Slight heat, cool breeze, a legion of women wearing little clothing. Out of the seasons I love fall best, but summer has a special place in my heart. I feel like heaing "sleepwalk" by Johnny and Santo.
This is sort of a write-off post because the setting sun and a cool breeze are calling me outside with their siren songs. I must obey and dash my ship on the rocks of a friday night walk. I was going to pile through the insane amount of work I need done for my website tommorow, but sitting in front of this old computer just isn't healthy. Plus, I'm getting a new computer. I can finally retire this old hulking brute to the easy task of file storage. Rest old girl. You'll soon be taking your final evening walk.
For the first time in weeks I don't feel down. No, I'm under no stress that I can detect. Maybe it was the three cigars I had last night, maybe the thought of having the big one I bought last night. Sometimes I think I love cigars more than I do women. But no, that's just a flight of fancy, a childish notion. I'd take a lovely pale-skinned redhead over a cigar anyday. Oh, or a lovely pale-skinned raven-haired beauty. That two would enchant me and make me forget the sweet smoke of my friend the cigar.
My topics have dried up, it seems. I very honestly was close to using the best post from my last independent one hundred words series, a series I aborted a third of the way through, to fill up the space for this post here tonight. That would be cheating, but it's also a damn shame because I think it's one of the best things I've written under the one hundred words design. I don't think I've been able to top it, nor do I expect to, and that depresses me because I'm starting to feel like I'm wasting my time.
Climbing out of sleep into her embrace. Her head and arm rose and fell with his chest. Her long red hair was messy, covering much of her face. It felt good on his skin as she made small uncontrollable movements that brushed her hair in different directions. A cool breeze was coming through the window and rose goosebumps on her skin. He caught the flicker of a green eye. The little devil had been watching him, too! He hugged her and she responded in kind. He had learned that talking was not the best way to say "I love you".
So my brother and I went to buy a new computer today from Radio Shack. They have a pseudo credit card you can get that allows you to make payments on the computer on a monthy basis for twelve months intrest free. Good deal, right? Well yeah,
you can get approved for the damn thing. My brother and I have no credit history and using our dad to jointly sign proved to be just as useful, dispite the fact he has perfect credit! Fuck, it's like they don't want us to buy a computer. Oh well, there's always tommorow.
We have are new computer and, man, is life suddenly...faster! It's not something that can be explained. I'm just going with it. Anyway, I'm getting the hang of this new computer stuff a lot quicker than I thought I would at first, and that's good. I suspected that I'd be bogged down in details and software problems and the like. But no, Windows XP is made specificly for dumarses like myself and that's comforting. I can sit back and surf the web or go shoot-up Nazi soldiers or Russian soldiers and not have to worry about everything exploding.
I'm extremely tired today. I had about four hours sleep due to falling deeply in love with my new computer. I'm sore and tired, but it's worth it. Anyway, the new computer has pretty much sucked the brains out of my head, thus this post is lcaking any point or thought to drive it. In fact, I might just declare this a total write-off post. Yeah, that will work. Oh geeze, thirty words to go still. Good lord, usually I find it hard to restrict myself! So tell me, did this post just kill your buzz? Good, you jerk!
With this new computer I can start to build a webpage that looks half decent. I can make and add graphics that look good. I finally have the tools. Oh yes. But where has my bloody imagination gone all of a sudden? Suddenly I can't think a of a damn thing to draw or write for my little spot on the web. Right now it's just sitting there, half done and ugly-looking. It's like looking in the mirror and seeing a very large and ugly scar on your face that you can't make go away. Come back, ideas, please!
Do I have a right to feel happy? I think so. However, whenever I start to, something always comes up. Something bad. It's usually some sort of health or money problem in the family. This causes me more stress than I can take sometimes. I've reached several boiling points over the last seven years. Right now everything is good. I'm getting more hours at my job, I should be able to attend some college this fall, my family's healthy, the new computer is working out great. However, I just can't feel happy. I expect the worse at times like this.
They went up to Ryker beach for an eary morning walk from their cottage. It wasn't long before they came upon a short young man, obviously a bit drunk, looking out at the water. He didn't seem to notice the couple. In the water was a body. The man, even in his sixties, could still see worth a damn dispite the face he couldn't hear worth a damn. He turned to the woman.
"Edna, I think that young man killed someone."
The couple sprinted faster than they had in years, back to the cottage for the nearest phone, hearts racing.
I really love the television show "Buffy:The Vampire Slayer". Go ahead, laugh. That's right, get it out of your system. Dispite the name and the campy movie the series is based on, it's actually a very well-written drama, filled with deep characters and drawn out story arcs that actually build and (for the most part) pay off in spades. The acting is wonderful. The stories are wonderful. It just happens to have one of the worst titles for a series. I can't praise the show enough. It's one of the only things that's actually worth seeing on TV.
Today my mother asked me a simple question.
"Have you lost weight, Dear?"
Yes, indeed, I have. I'm not fat, tubby, chubby, or any other of those lovely related terms, but I have put on a nasty little beer gut more than once in the last few years. I've constantly fought to keep it in check. I'm one of those people who is not that comfortable with their bodies, so if anyone else had said what my mother had said I'd have snapped at them. But when mom said it, I actually felt good about myself all day. Thanks mom.
Some people are pushing our provincial government to ban smoking, or at least ban it in public places. Why? Do most of the ones who want to ban it even know? I think a lot of morons do it because they get caught up in the scare tactics. "Let's do it to protect our children". "Let's do it to better society". "Let's do it because the people who sold us smokes lied to us, making us think they were safe!". Boo-hoo, you morons. I wish people would have the balls to take some personal responsibility for their bad habits.
He was close to Ryker Beach, so he had to take the call. Just what he needed: a possible maniac. He stopped the squad car up the road a hundred yards up and got out, setting off down the road on foot. He was hoping to get the jump on this suspect. As the beach came into view he saw a lone figure heading up the road. He was short and young. Officer Robard left the road from the left side and hid in the thick bushes, waiting for the moment to spring. The young man was holding a gun.
I heard those two old people at the last moment and managed to see them running away. I guess they realized what I had come to realize. The shape in the water was yet another girl. Well, there was yet another fine mess I had put myself in! I pulled out the little nine millimeter I had bought in the city. I had only noticed one cottage in the area that had looked recently lived in. It must belong to those two. I know what I must do. I have to go and shoot them both to shut them up.
They clung together in a scared embrace. George had dropped his cellphone after the call to the police. His mind went on him sometimes, but half way back to the cottage he recalled that his cellphone was in his pouch he had on his belt. He never liked it that much but it was a gift from their daughter, so he used it. They now sat down together in the bushes off the road, George silently singing the praises of the cellphone while trying to catch his breath.
"Do you think he saw us?", asked Edna.
George honestly hoped not.
So now I head up the road. Those old coots couldn't have gotten far without stopping to rest or die of a heart attack, I imagine. That gives me time to catch up and end them. Sure, I've got problems, everyone does, but I deal with my own problems by myself. I don't need those two rejects from "On Golden Pond" buggering up my life. A life I know I can fix. No, all they are doing is adding more problems. But I'll deal with that. Hello, what do we have here? I see a cellphone laying on the road.
Officer Robard could see the young man advancing. A moment ago he noticed two old people, a man and a woman, hiding in the bushes a few yards from his position. They were well hid, at least. The young man stopped to pick up something from the side of the road. Looked like a phone. Officer Robard let the pieces fall into place. The old couple had made that call. Mr.Psycho down there had seen them. Now he was on the hunt for them. Great, just what Robard needed: a bloody monkey wrench that could get them all killed.
The phone looks expensive, a gift maybe.
"Want your phone back, gramps?", I say.
I'm not going to shoot these two, I think. I think it will be much more exciting to brain the old man over and over with the butt of my gun, eventually caving in his weak old skull. All the while it will be a joy to watch the terror on the old lady's face. I love the unexpected, I really do. It will be interesting to see what she does. Will she run? Will she attack me? Will she freeze right there on the spot?
Officer Robard cursed under his breath as he watched the psycho get within feet of the old couple. He couldn't ambush him now. He had to make himself seen and hope he could end this without shooting. Sweat streaked his face and his uniform. He knew he should have called for back up, but that was not an option now. Officer Robard stepped out from the bushes and pointed his gun, the psycho still unaware of him.
"Drop the weapon, son. Now!"
He hoped to hell that he was still fast on the draw like he was as a rookie.
There they are! I see a slight movement from a shadow on the side of the road. All I can see there is bushes, but there is no wind blowing, so it must be them, shaking with fear no doubt. Here I come you old shits, come to ruin your day and make mine. Suddenly a voice. What? A man...a police man, with a gun. I know what I must do. Just raise the gun and shoot. Another shit to snuff. Here I come, shits. Here I come. I'm here to deal the death like always. Eat this, you...
The psycho had seen Officer Robard. Robard saw him bring his gun up to fire as he sprinted towards him, ignoring the old couple. Two shots passed by Officer Robard, one near his head. Officer Robard kept his cool and fired. The psycho was dead before he hit the ground, the bullet entering and leaving his head. Officer Robard went to check on the couple. They were okay. That was good, thought Officer Robard, because he wasn't. He'd never shot a real person before. George saw it on his face.
"Don't feel bad, Officer. He wasn't no person at all."
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