Stopped Posting

I've stopped posting to this blog. look for me at Chimeran Fusion. www.chimeranfusion.blogspot.com

Happy ness

If you could make one person truly happy for just one moment who would it be and why?

5 o'clock somewhere

So here is where I toast all the good thing I've ever said but could never remember to write. So everyone who reads this and knows that I sometimes say brilliant things raise your glass! Toast to the words of wisdom all over the world because if there were no advice or wit we would be very bored and make many mistakes...

- Later

Not a skip

So as for a less exciting post than the others I will write from the Adam Scott library. This is the second period of the 18th day of April and I have a canceled class. It's such a shame that the cancledness of the class couldn't hold off for one more day. If it were as mentioned I could've gone out for lunch with my sister. I think I'll give her a call but I believe she's on lockdown, a shame. The other half to the previously mentioned female portion lest for the west coast today. She's off to go plant some trees. Little does she know that I have a summer job that requires me to pull them out of the ground. For this weekend I'll be pulling away logs and such at a friends cottage. I hope I have no assignments due for the Monday.
Speaking of which today is Tuesday isn't it? Today I get to go to track and throw around weights till my shoulder feels lie it will fall off. It's always a good time. As par usual I fell the need to waste time doing nothing and writing on my blog. Perhaps I'll get Jess to edit my story. But before I leave I have another story for you. It came upon me yesterday...

Yesterday I left the house after coming home from track practice. Much to my own bafflement I left without eating. I was mad. This particular day I had been throwing like a two year old with no technique and the coaches definitely noticed it. For the life of me I just couldn't get it right. When I came home I decided to vent my frustration on the two wheeled aluminum framed bicycle of mine. I was already tired but I didn't want to be grumpy around the rest of my family. I left for a park that's about 7km down the road. Lots of hills to go up on the way. I got there without too much trouble and I had started back about a seventh of the way home I had a sugar dive. This particular phenomena doesn't happen to me often but with 6km to bike and no energy to do it with my frustration intensified at my increasingly daunting task. As the bike progressed I found myself panting and on the verge of collapse. I strengthened my will and decided to knock on the door of a nearby house. A cup of juice would do my just fine till I got home. Even to put sugar in my water and shake it would be satisfactory. As it turns out I met a caring old couple who gave me dates and a cup of tropicana. Feeling monumentally better I set home with a renewed vigor and arrived about 40 minutes later. It was bordering 9 o'clock when I began to feel better. I thought long about the couple that could spare some dates to a fellow who just had the courage and the need to ask. Funny world we live in.


-Andy

Frame Work

The night howls and the dark wind’s prying hands snatch like thieves at the scarce heat your dress coat and tails will keep from its prying hands. A cold night; unusually cold for this time of year. Summer is over and the leaves turning red then grey: from blood to cold death like the sun not to be resurrected. I run over my itinerary and all the possibilities, walking through the ballroom doors. I take check of all my materials. I have all the things I’ll need for the night’s gruesome events. “I’ve done this before,” I tell myself.
I can hear the mass of people crowded into the large hall. The music of the band almost drowns the indolent chatter of the guests and the warmth adds a sense of security, something I’m not used to. I see the colors, effervescent in the room of spinning couples and dizzy dance hosts. I’m alone and I make my way to the bar, I order my usual Silent Sam with the lime twist. The barman, fat and red as the swirling dresses on the floor chews on his cigar and passes me my only vice. A sip and a shiver later I’m making my way to the door to the rear compound. The doorman takes me in warily, “You all right young man?”
“I’m fine thank you,” a common reply for my profession but. My life: a lie. For once I wish I had the mentality I only thought I had when I came into this job. I was fresh out when given my first assignments a few months ago and quickly came to like my profession, not on my own will. The warmth, the rush and the play are all part of it. It’s almost like it’s acted out in stills from here to there. I smile to myself thinking how wrong I was to start something I didn’t have the attitude to finish.
I’m staying sharp and I tell myself to stop this second guessing. That kind of thing can get you killed, quick. I edge to one of the corner balconies over the compound, below the city: an anthill of lights and busy workers. They won’t notice one more. Bust a blur of others on the news and families walking in black down the city streets with those wonderful tear streaming from their faces. Tears streaming from their faces, their hearts, and streaming right into my wallet. The police will lie, I’ll lie and they will lie for me. Somehow I’ll come out of it with a clean record and my family will live for another few months till they find someone else to meet me at dances.
“This place never sleeps, always a dizzy smear,” I shake my head. I’m not cut out for this tonight, not any night but I have a job to do and as my subject comes into view the blood pound in my ears as it must be pounding in her heart. She turns and quivers with an intent I can’t place. I walk, my walk seems like a dredge but must be a medium pace stride. Confidence is all I need right now, confidence and bravery.
I recall these feelings from the past, not yesterday in a veil of clouds I watched her enter a coffee shop. I followed and sat facing her on the other side of the room. It was odd that we were the only ones there besides a few slow individuals receiving the pain relievers for their constant thrumming pulse. By the by she would notice me, look and blush from memory of our other silent meetings. She must’ve known why I ‘accidentally’ found her wherever she went, though it didn’t show. For weeks it’s been a constant sight of her and she notices but doesn’t mind. Infatuation perhaps? Better that way, as long as the feeling isn’t mutual. I can’t be sure. I’m there before I’m ready and feel a tinge of regret.
“Care for a dance?” I ask with the sweetest voice I can muster. She accepts and the still audible music from the ballroom fifty feet away is perfect for a waltz on the balcony. The air is cold and the mood secluded. I begin to sweat at the sight of her dark turquoise dress and her bright blue eyes; so full of vitality. I grimace and what’s going to happen to this girl, not yet twenty and me not over twenty five. I tell her everything is alright when she asks about my missed pace in our vibrant step. She looks left and the music drops. She looks at me and I hold her closer. We share a smooth, silent and passionate kiss. I tell her I love her and she leans closer to guard what she doesn’t know is coming.
The gunshot sounds, like the breath of a newborn, with a silence that would now hush a freight train. The shot though, to me, was an explosion to my heart. I hold her close in my arms and tell her that she is beautiful and that nothing will harm her. I tell her I love her and she goes cold with each passing moment. I let her go in my arms and she tells me she feels safe there more than anywhere else. Her eyes close as her eyes close and my heart stop in unison. I see her fade away as I crowd her unused body onto near the edge of the balcony. I drape my jacket over her and tell her everything will be alright, I tell her she won’t be alone for long as I turn on my heel and exit the balcony; so much for the one-sided relationship.
The ball rages on, spinning into the night, as I walk out the front door. The doorman waves me goodnight and I thank him as I did the first time. Nothing out of the norm, I have a little indigestion I tell him. It’s not entirely a lie. I feel sick to my guts. My car revs quietly and I pull out the block and out of a horrid reality. I keep to the speed limit as not to be noticed and listen to some soft piano music to calm my nerves. My thoughts wander and I make connections more clearly. A note will be waiting for me in the mail tomorrow. The piano music switches to moderato and I see how the movements in music are like my profession, smooth then suddenly violent with acute precision and perfect timing, an instinctive meld of passion.
I come to my high-rise apartment on the fourteenth floor; they don’t have a ‘thirteenth’ floor on my building. I suppose someone got superstitious and wanted it renamed. It’s still the thirteenth floor but now is more dangerous for being a wolf in sheep’s clothing for those who believe, like me. I take the elevator and light up cigarette on the way up, losing my tie as my accent proceeds. My lifestyle can only be afforded by the wishes of others and my commitment to what family I have left. Every time I don’t do as they ask they’ll take one of them away from me, like cutting the tips of my fingers off. I peer out at my left hand through squinting eyes and see the top of my ring finger missing. “I remember that night better than I’ll remember this one,” I hear myself saying. The door slides open and I take a step out, look left and recall her face as she returned from looking in that same direction. My heart aches at the bitter reality of her freezing body, pale on that balcony. I come up on the oak doors of living place. It’s simple, a bed a kitchen and a hook for my rosary at the door. I dare not leave home without it. I slip out of my clothes and try to keep down a decent meal. I climb under the heavy and cold covers of my single and close my eyes.
What feels like seconds but must’ve been hours later my phone rings on my night table and I answer with my last name as I was taught to do. An edgy voice tells me an address for a pickup and I pull on a pair of cords, socks and a dark blue shirt. I strap my Desert Eagle .50 to my under arm holster. The cops or whoever might be waiting for me won’t see it there.
A half our later I arrive under the Main Street bridge and wait. I feel an edge creep into my mind and the shutters of my mind flash open. The hairs on the back of my neck prickle and my hand moves on it’s own to my side. I slowly fade back into the shadows of the night and wait in that secluded area. I feel someone’s prying eyes closing in on me and it makes me sweat to think from where. I didn’t see it when I came out of my car but this place has many rooftops and abandoned windows to make a clear shot from. It sickens me to think I might face the fate of the girl earlier this night. To think that one of the rounds from a long range, high power rifle could have my name on it. I sit and I wait in the darkness.
For years it seems I wait, I keep thinking I’m hearing brushing behind me or to my side. A snap of a twig here and the zip of nylon pants there. Finally I hear the far too familiar sound of a pin sliding back into position. The sound is to my right and a little ahead. I don’t need to see who I’m about to fill in but they just made the worst mistake of their life. In an instant my gun is out and firing upon an unsuspecting person in the shadows. I hear screaming and the sound of bullets shattering though bones.
It’s all over and the poor bastard in the shadows never saw it coming. I pace over and see a middle aged man with 9mm poised but with two of my shots in his stomach and one in his knee. He can’t move and will die of blood loss in under an hour. Rotten shame that I take away his gun, step on his throat and shoot off his ears and then his fingers. Pulling away I take into account that I now have one more day to provide for my dying mother and sister. They’ll never know death the way I see it.
I head home and a thought strikes me like the gunshot I can feel coming from the barrel of Tec 9 on the back of my neck. It’s a shaky voice and it must be a rookie but he tells me to drive home and stay under the speed limit.
I unlock my apartment door and he closes it just as silently as he’s sliding his gun between my shoulder blades. He asks me who I love and then beats the truth out of me. He tells me I have nothing to worry about and that everything has been taken care of. A bitter thought strikes me when I realize what this means, it means I have no family, it means I killed an innocent girl for nothing tonight and it means I have nothing to live for. He tells me he’s taken care of everything. My shoulders start to twitch at these new thoughts and his silencer on my back doesn’t help. I hear a hammer click back and feel his finger squeeze the trigger. He tells me I have nothing to worry about and that everything will be alright.
Like being struck with a cold steel bar it hits me: those good times, those bad times. They’re all so sweeter now; the times with my father, my sister and mother. Before they found out their problems and before my father was gunned down in-front of me. Those days and nights that meant everything to me and that I would kill anyone to keep. Shame, the contract that would save them wasn’t meant to be, it was their only hope.
He shows me my spattered chest on the bed in front of me. Scattered like those hopes. Scattered like my family and scattered like my dream of happiness, never to come. I close my eyes.

SHort Story

I'll be comeing out with a short story soon, just you wait.

Heartless

What do I care for your pain and suffering? Pain even agony is just information before the sences. Learn to control the input, and you shall become the master of the output.


-Andy