30 Days of Fiction: 18

A single dim light could be seen in the darkness. I could see it pulsating in and out as I drew nearer to the source and it grew brighter. A tall figure began to take shape and soon I stood a few feet away from a tall man in a long dark overcoat. His face was covered by the brim of a wide black hat until he lifted his face as if he just realized I was there.

"You him?" he said as he lift the right side of his coat to reveal a Colt peacemaker. He put the cigarette out on the leathery holster and looked up. 

"I'm the one you've called for. To come out to the edge of this field. In the shade of these trees to meet," I said, hoping he would mistake my nervous chatter for rugged indifference. 

The man looked me up and down with distrust and curiosity and then said, "Well, alright. Come with me, then."

"I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what this is all about, Mister Carter," I said and added quickly, "with all do respect."

His face softened slightly after my "with all do respect" and he walked forward and leaned in close. He took a firm grip on my shoulder and whispered, "You'll see." He smiled as he turned and started to walk into the darkness of the forest. I was compelled to follow. After about twenty minutes of slow, silent meandering through black cottonwood and red alder another glowing light was beginning to grow and widen. 

Approaching the raging bonfire my heart quickened as the figures of men began to take shape against the light. They circled the fire, all with the same hats, jackets and soulless eyes and among, somewhere, was the one I had followed here. Stepping closer to the fire, almost joining them, I began to notice that they were all the same. Not just in dress but in their faces as well. Fifteen clones all looking at me, waiting for me to take that last step. 

What happens if I join them, I asked myself. Would I become one of them or would they devour my flesh and through my bones in the fire? Or should I run for it? 

Just then a voice came from one of them and none of them saying, "All you need to do is take one more step and we will tell you why you are here. Why you have been chosen.  I will tell you everything. But first, you must join us in the circle."

They stared and my foot began to rise up and I stared at it as it dropped forward compelling the rest of my body forward. As soon as I felt the ground underneath me the world began to spin and the bright light of the fire faded sharply to black. 

A moment later I was back in my room, my eyes adjusting to the darkness and my mind adjusting to the rude awakening of reality. 

30 Days of Fiction: 17

Thomas Kilborn sat as far back as he could in his lazy boy recliner thinking about what to do next. He'd been staring at the ceiling for about twenty minutes but was no closer to making a decision then he was thirty minutes ago, which was when he put himself in the position of having to make this decision. Was it to be the pink one or the black one? Ultimately he would have both soon enough but this exact opportunity would likely never present itself again. There might be more opportunities to bask in the glorious feeling that indulging himself in these delights lends itself but it would only be an attempt at impersonating this event and therefore never be as sweet. This was it. His only chance to make the right decision and he had to make it soon.

He dropped his head suddenly sending his body down and his head forward as the chair rapidly transformed from a pseudo-bed into an infinitely plush chair. He stood up and waved his finger at the sky swiftly, shaking his head from side to side in a fevered show of positivity and revelation. He meandered around the coffee table and slinked into the next room where the source of his indecision and resulting apoplexy was now residing. He fixed his gaze on the pink one and he couldn't tell if it was mocking him or not. It seemed to be mocking him with it's feminine brightness and judging undertones but maybe not. He did not like the pink one. Of that he was sure.

Just then, in a moment of weakness he entertained a peripheral temptation and focused his gaze on the brown one. It was just as menacing as the pink one and he began to pace faster around the table where his potential victims lay helplessly. The brown one was so dull and ugly, how could he not eat that one? He was thinking this when another thought came barging into his mental mayhem that was his mind and he was struck with another revelation. Was it inevitable that he would devour one or more of these mortal creatures or could he spare them, just for now, and take them later? It would be a good exercise in self control.

He squirmed out of the room as swiftly and clumsily as he had entered it a few minutes earlier and into the living room. Back in his chair he sat with his head cradled by his soft hands and he did his best to think about something else. Cars, no. Baseball, no. But when knives came up he began to follow a train of thought through a winding trail of brands, steels, materials and purposes, which ultimately led to knowledge that knives are used to cut things. He remembered how much he wanted to cut one of them or maybe, if he had no self control this time, he would cut into both of them and pay no mind to the satisfaction of taking them slowly. He wanted to just take them both now and be done with it.

Slowly he arose like a devious demon and slinked over to the counter as quietly as he could. When he felt how well his socks masked his steps he smiled and in no time he was grasping a long silver blade. As he brought it up it shimmered for just a moment before Thomas began his final trek toward the culmination of his contemplation. The end to the torment caused by his own indecision. His heart began to beat uncontrollably in his chest and his eyes widened as the two of them came into view. He felt the power of the tightly gripped knife in his hand and the anticipation of that wonderful feeling he would feel during the act was intoxicating, filling him with warmth.

Without hesitation the strong blade slammed down on the pink one severing it in two, nearly equal, parts revealing it's insides and a red paste began to ooze onto the table. Then, with another swift, vertical blow the brown one was split in twain but this time a dark brown liquid began to poor madly out of the wound mixing with the red paste, conducting a kind of sick alchemy of sweet, sticky goodness. Thomas began to cackle and dance around the table chanting, "hey yuh, hey yuh, hey yuh," like a barbarian at a victory feast as bits of red and strings of brown spattered onto the ground and cabinets.

He stopped his triumphant dance when he felt the event had been properly celebrated, which turned out to be immediately after he noticed the mess he was creating and remembered how much he hated cleaning up, and then looked down on the soft, gooey, clumps on the table and realized that he hadn't solved his problem at all. Now there were two pink ones, and two brown ones, which was worse than before. Then, Thomas remembered that there was a quarter in the drawer at his six o'clock and in one quick jump he twisted around now facing the opposite direction. The drawer was full of miscellaneous items, odds and ends and just a second after he pricked his hand by something sharp he felt the quarter lying on the bottom.

In another death defying spinning jump move he was facing his victims once more and his mouth began to water. The coin flipped precipitously and in slow motion toward the sky, then back down and spun on the edge of the counter for just a moment before falling to the floor. Thomas lurched downward nearly impaling himself on the blunt side of the tabletop and looked at the coin. Heads it was and with joyous resolve he stood up, also in slow motion, and grabbed the top half of the chocolate filled eclair and with generous gusto jammed it into his gaping mouth. For minutes to come, underneath the sugary treat, could be heard the sound of many muffled and glorious giggles.

Mosquitoes and Pride

Zen and the Art of Mosquitoes

We had been seriously planning the trip for a couple of weeks and the anticipation and excitement grew as the day came closer. By Thursday, the day before the big trip, My brother, his wife, their son and I were all ready to backpack and camp at Waldo Lake. I bought a new hatchet, sleeping pad, pillow, buff and my brother had given me a new sleeping bag and I do enjoy new gear. (Side note: I continue to confuse the word sleeping bag with the word backpack. They are related but distinct items and yet they are inexorably connected in my mind.) Josh and I had been there before and it was amazing. My brother, his friend Martin and I arrived at the boat launch at dusk, traveled by boat in the pitch black, slept on a peninsula, found a beach the next day, canoed around the crystal clear lake and went on an epic day hike. It was an amazing trip and one that I was not hesitant to duplicate in any way.

We drove for four hours and at the end of an extremely long and rock strewn road we stopped at the Koch Mountain Trailhead in the Willamette National Forest. (Side note: A mid sized black bear crossed in front of us on the way up and I will never forgive myself for not catching it on film. I had the camera right there, plenty of battery and tons of storage. I guess you never know what will happen out in the Pacific Northwest Wilderness.) If I had the predilection for being loyal to a particular plot of land it would be to the PNW even though it can be a scary and unpredictable place. 

At the beginning of the trailhead we noticed a few mosquitoes buzzing around so we quickly sprayed and lotioned ourselves and each other with repellent and made our way down the trail. It was about a mile and a half to our prospective campsite, which was a site to behold, with it's easy access to swimming, hiking trails and it's wide open floor plan with ample enough space for a tent or two, a hefty fire pit and what not. Or at least it would have been if we had a moment to enjoy it. 

An hour in and the group's enthusiasm was still intact and when we made it to the site we looked at the beautiful lake, made camp and then jumped in the freezing water to cool off. I'd be willing to guess that this particular lake was the remnant of a long dead glacier and I'm certain it is about 5,500 feet above sea level, so it was cold as fuck. Also, it was barely summer so it hadn't had any time to warm up from the previous season. 

Back at camp we made fire and food and quickly realized the fire was not enough to ward off the thousands and thousands of mosquitoes that were frantically attempting to suck our blood. While smacking and slapping ourselves crazy we decided to wait them out in the tent, assuming that these things probably had a bedtime. Later in the evening we found out they don't really give a fuck about anything other than eating you.  Other then to make one mad dash to get supplies, put the food in a tree, stoke the fire and try to pee while persistent buzzing and whirring beasts pecked at every part of you, we stayed in the tent all night. Our only hope was that they would lessen in the morning.

View From Waldo Lake

They did not. The morning was no better and I would have sworn that these mosquitoes were freshly born and doubly motivated. So we planned our escape. My brother and I packed everything outside the tent while the other two packed everything inside the tent. We did have some effective deet repellent which made it more bearable but it was still a frenzied race against the hordes. We worked as a team and packed up in record time. The trail back to the safety of the car was mostly uphill so we had to take a couple of quick breaks before we made it to our sanctuary. Tired and weary we drove back in solemn relief. That first coffee was delicious. 

Back at home we compared bites and looked up remedies online. It became a disciplined practice to refrain from scratching all the red pestering bumps and I found myself trying to find anything to distract myself from the desire to scratch. We looked at pictures and video from the trip and generally chilled out. It was an arduous adventure and it was too bad that the mosquitoes won the day but we all learned something about camping at Waldo Lake in the early summer. 

Creeks and Pride

The next day my brother and I decided to make the most of the sun and day off so we got our swimming gear together and made our way to Sandy River. After searching for the perfect spot we ended up finding something very off the beaten path. We parked by a trail off the road, away from the masses of summer enthusiasts and found a creek flowing toward the main river. We followed the creek a ways until we found a spot that was just deep enough to shallow dive and keep cool. I have always enjoyed diving into rivers and lakes and to me there are few activities I enjoy more. I remember when I was a teen my friend Anthony and I would spend hours on the extremely dark and deep river that flows alongside the small, rural town of Elkton, where he lived. The idea of just laying in shallow water seems mostly pointless so I was very excited that we could find such a cool spot and the fact that not many others knew about it was even better.

The water was somewhat murky and dark but not too deep. Maybe a little over four feet but a shallow dive was all I wanted. As we began to swim my brother divulged his trepidation and anxiety induced by the potential dangers of swimming in such an environment. He was worried that there might be something "down there" that might cause harm which was something that I almost didn't think of at all. All I wanted to do was make sure I wouldn't hit my head on a rock and other than that I was ready to go. I suppose I was surprised to find out that there was something that I was not anxious about but that my brother was. He was always the brave one, the risk taker and certainly someone I look at as being capable of anything. For most of my life I've felt nervous, anxious and awkward so finding out that I contained a superior amount of chutzpah in regards to a something gave me just a tinge of pride. 

Overall I really enjoyed the entire weekend, mosquitoes and all. There is something about self inflicted adversity coupled with the pride of overcoming that adversity that helps redefine what is possible and how strong you can be.  Consciously attempting to maintain a positive attitude when things don't go as planned is a worthwhile endeavor and something I want to discipline myself more to do. As I sit and look at all the red bumps all over my body I can look at them with pride and know that they are just another example of how I can work harder to develop myself as a strong and capable person. What doesn't kill you can make you weaker, it can make you stronger or it can make you the same, because those are the options. Or it can make you weaker in one area and stronger in another, maybe? Maybe it was just the boost in vitamin D that influenced my positive outlook over that weekend. No one will ever know.

Media Supplements:
My first trip to Waldo Lake:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w1Az1t31H8s

This year's trip video:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xotcZE08oFo&t=2s

Waldo Lake

Creek Trail

30 Days of Fiction: 16

He walked into the dingy bar like he owned the joint, partly because he was the owner and partly because he was so full of self-made confidence that most people thought he owned things when he was around. He loved owning that bar, even if he wasn't there more then once a month lately it was still his favorite. The bar was his baby, his first business and his first real love. The place had a smell all it's own and it reminded him of long nights serving drinks and the many drunken bastards that he had dispatched during the early years. Those were the days.

He had made something from nothing and now he owned a string of bars and restaurants spanning three states and over twenty locations but this was the only one that looked like it hadn't changed since the 90's and he liked it that way. All of his other properties were new and had a theme of some sort that his marketing managers cooked up but this one still had the barely working jukebox in the corner and graffiti covered bathrooms. It was everything he used to be and still was.

"Hey, Jack!" the man with a fine navy blue suit said as he walked up to the bar tender Jack.

Jack had been there since the beginning but never wanted more than to tend the bar and he loved him for that. Jack wasn't ambitious like he was and he didn't talk much but he was strong and smart. They met in boot camp and after their respective stints on the front lines against totalitarianism were over the man had called him up and offered him a job at his newly purchased bar. Jack said 'why not' and hadn't left the place since. The man made him part owner a few years later after he had moved onto purchase more and more properties.

"How ya doing you old fuck!" the man said with a smile as they shook hands.

"Same as always," Jack said with a smile that most of the patrons would never see.

They both looked around the bar to make sure nothing had changed and when they were satisfied the man looked at Jack, nodded and went to the back room to check the books. A few moments later a couple of leather clad bikers came bursting through the door which slammed against the wall. They continued their raucous conversation as they made their way to the counter where Jack was waiting.

"So I stabbed him in the gut and stood back to watch him bleed," the shorter of the two bikers finished his sentence and then looked at Jack who was not smiling anymore. "Two Whiskeys," he said and then turned to the taller biker to continue his story. "I got three days in the hole for that one," he said and his friend laughed with approval.

Jack poured whiskey into two shot glasses and handed them over but as he turned to put the bottle back the taller biker grabbed at the bottle and said, "leave the bottle." The biker was surprised when Jack's grip did not allow this to happen.

"Don't make trouble," the smaller one said doing his best to look tough. "We'll pay," he said resting his right hand on the top of a very large knife on his belt.

Jack noticed the hand gesture and reluctantly release the bottle to the biker who thought this was a distinct victory.

The smaller one was the talkative type and continued telling story after story about exploits in violence and mayhem while the taller one continued to laugh and agree that his friend certainly was a tough son of a bitch. They drank most of the bottle before they got up to leave. The taller one stared at Jack and pulled his jacket to the side to show a gun tucked under his armpit. Jack looked at it and continued cleaning a glass unimpressed as the two turned with their pride intact, for now, and walked out into the sunlight.

As they approached their Harley Davidson bikes they found that the tires were flat and were outraged. In a huff they turned around to see a man in a bright Navy suit standing in their way.

"Hello boys!" the man said grinning like a school boy in a candy shop. "I was listening to your conversation in the bar and I just had to meet you. You are my kind of people," He started slowly walking forward as he spoke. "You take what you want and you step on those that get in your way. Reminds me of me in a way. I took what I wanted and I made my fortune stepping on those that got in my way. Maybe, one day, you two will do the same."

Just then the taller man began to reach into his coat but the man in the suit was too fast. He ran a few steps, lunged forward and hurled his shoulder into the biker's chest as the gun made a loud pop under the jacket sending a bullet through the biker's left bicep. With a thud the two hit the ground and dust exploded into the air around them. The man in the suit reached over and grabbed the gun off the ground next to him and hit the biker in the head with it knocking him out. Before he could stand up the other biker was on his back, a large knife nearing his throat. In a flash he grabbed the biker's wrist stopping the knife within millimeters of his flesh. With the silver pistol in his left hand he wrapped the pistol against the biker's head rapidly until he too fell to the ground unconscious.

The man stood up, brushed his navy blue suit off and looked down at the two men lying in the dirt. He searched them and found one more knife and a wallet, which he took thirty dollars out of and walked back into the bar. Jack was cleaning the counter and looked up to see the man holding two knives, a gun and some cash.

"Call an ambulance, will you Jack?" the man said as he dumped the items onto the counter.

Jack looked at the man, nodded and walked over the wall where a phone was hanging. The confident man in the suit sat at the counter where a shot of brandy, a cigarette and a lighter were waiting for him. He took the shot, lit the cigarette and examined the shiny pistol while he smoked.

Jack finished the call and walked over the man who looked up and said, "This is a piece of shit. Why do douchbags always have piece of shit firearms?"

"Because they're pieces of shit," Jack said nonchalantly.

They both turned and gazed at the bar contently to make sure nothing had changed. It hadn't.