Reddit user Muezza submits:
"a cat sets off a series of events that lead to its owner's violent death"
His owner called him 'Whiskers' but that wasn't his name. His name was Leon, not that it mattered because Leon was of course a cat and therefore lacked the capacity for speech.
When Leon awoke in the morning, he set about his day's work. First there was a dump to be taken, then a walk around his small territory was to be had. The walk around his domain was the most important event of his day, necessary to keep that prick Jack Combs in check. Leon knew that his owner had left a piece of cheddar on the counter the night before and Jack would surely be planning a heist. By walking past the mouse hole in the morning, he let Jack know that he would not be fooled.
His mousy rival had his head out of the hole when Leon approached the kitchen. Upon making eye contact with Leon, Jack ducked back in his hole. Leon's domain remains within his possession, at least for the time being.
Next on his morning task list was the daily protest. Like all cats, Leon despised his owner with a fiery passion equal to that of the flame of one thousand suns. To show his hatred, Leon would enter his owner's room early in the morning and walk all over him. Despite Leon's best intentions to disturb his owner, the poor soul seemed to enjoy it most of the time.
Today was different, though. When Leon jumped up the bed, he landed on a strange object. Unbeknownst to his cat brain, this was a cell phone, and Leon had dialed a number his owner didn't want dialed. Furthermore, with his owner asleep, Leon didn't realize that the screaming man on the other end of the line was a cold-blooded killer.
Thirty minutes later his owner was awake and about the house, sorting his powders, pills and leaves as he did every day. Leon figured he was some sort of botanist but Leon being a cat, had bigger concerns. Just as the mobster he had inadvertently called was arriving at the house, Leon awoke from a short nap and headed toward the kitchen to check on Jack Combs.
As Jack exited the mouse hole and spotted Leon, Leon knew he was going to get a meal today. Leon however, was unaware that the man who had just come in had a gun, and was demanding his owner's entire stash of 'botany materials.' Like any cat, Leon ignored the increasing volume of yelling between the humans and focused on the mouse. Leon was in the zone when he lunged at Jack Combs and just as the meal was in his reach...
BAM!
Leon's owner was dead.
Click here to see the sequel/second side to this story
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
Monday, December 24, 2012
Reddit Challenege #32
From Reddit user Papie:
"A story from the perspective of a mouse living in a house where a violent crime happens."
For Jack Combs this was a normal day, nothing out of the ordinary. Like any other mouse, he knew there were things to do, places to go, cheese to snatch. Specifically a piece of cheddar on the counter in the kitchen. He had seen it earlier while scurrying across the floor to snatch a piece of dried onion that he spotted the day before.
Jack wasn't quite your average mouse, mind you. He had the capacity for sentient thought and reasoning, rather unusual in a rodent. Though he could not articulate his thoughts he certainly had them. His thoughts however, rarely ventured past the thoughts that a normal mouse would have, rather he simply took about his mously duties in a far more calculating manner than most. Instead of scurrying where his nose directed him he would plan out his capers into the wee hours of the night and execute them with blinding speed and precision.
Today was just another day to execute another one of his grand plans. The cheddar was in plan sight, he had an entrance and exit strategy and his family sure as hell needed the food. That damn cat, he thought. The feisty feline had eaten his best friend and partner in crime Terry McDonaugh, leaving Jack alone to provide for not only his own family, but Terry's as well. All in all there were 12 tiny mouths to feed. Expletives passed through Jack's mind as he cursed that wretched cat.
He knew the cat would be napping at 6:00, so he planned to make his move then. As the hour approached, Jack pumped himself up by listening to some Jay-Z on the world's tiniest ipod. He still could not believe he had gotten Steve Jobs to make the thing for him- it had been his greatest con yet- and he could not understand how they fit 32 gigabytes of storage into something so small. Nonetheless as he mouthed along to the lyrics of '99 problems' and replaced 'bitch' with 'cat' he prepared to make his run.
After carefully wrapping up his headphones to prevent them from getting tangled, he set down his ipod and burst out of his mouse hole with blinding speed. Getting to the cheese was a breeze and as he prepared to pick it up, something gleaned from the corner of his eyes that made him freeze. It was that fucking cat. Wide awake and standing in the doorway with a wicked smile on his face, Jack knew his only option was a mad dash to his hole. Both of them still perfectly still, Jack counted to three in his head and then made a run for it. Jack jumped off the table and the cat lunged forward, 5 feet separated them when it happened.
BANG!
It was the loudest noise either of the animals had ever heard in their short lives and even though they were so close together, and the car just moments from a meal of his own, neither one moved a muscle.
THUMP!
The thump wasn't as loud as the bang, but as both creatures turned in the direction of the noise, the next thing they saw rang as loudly in their mind as any noise. It was the owner of the house. His head and chest, bloody and lifeless, were sticking out of the doorway where the cat had just been. Jack Cursed his maker and the cat did too. Suddenly they were a team.
The two rival animals looked at each other and nodded, the cat knew that Jack's family was important. Jack ran as fast as he could toward the mouse hole in the kitchen and the cat followed close behind. Without any explanation, Jack demanded that the whole group exit the hole. None of them understood what he was saying or why they would ever ride on the cat's back like he suggested, but the look on his face was one of truth.
The mice and Jack all scurried out of the hole and climbed up. As soon as everyone was grabbing on tight, the cat made a break for the door of the house.
Running as fast as he could, the cat didn't even bother to look at his owner or the man standing over him a gun who was at present witnessing the strangest thing he had ever seen in his life: 12 mice riding on the back of a cat running out of a drug dealer's apartment.
"A story from the perspective of a mouse living in a house where a violent crime happens."
For Jack Combs this was a normal day, nothing out of the ordinary. Like any other mouse, he knew there were things to do, places to go, cheese to snatch. Specifically a piece of cheddar on the counter in the kitchen. He had seen it earlier while scurrying across the floor to snatch a piece of dried onion that he spotted the day before.
Jack wasn't quite your average mouse, mind you. He had the capacity for sentient thought and reasoning, rather unusual in a rodent. Though he could not articulate his thoughts he certainly had them. His thoughts however, rarely ventured past the thoughts that a normal mouse would have, rather he simply took about his mously duties in a far more calculating manner than most. Instead of scurrying where his nose directed him he would plan out his capers into the wee hours of the night and execute them with blinding speed and precision.
Today was just another day to execute another one of his grand plans. The cheddar was in plan sight, he had an entrance and exit strategy and his family sure as hell needed the food. That damn cat, he thought. The feisty feline had eaten his best friend and partner in crime Terry McDonaugh, leaving Jack alone to provide for not only his own family, but Terry's as well. All in all there were 12 tiny mouths to feed. Expletives passed through Jack's mind as he cursed that wretched cat.
He knew the cat would be napping at 6:00, so he planned to make his move then. As the hour approached, Jack pumped himself up by listening to some Jay-Z on the world's tiniest ipod. He still could not believe he had gotten Steve Jobs to make the thing for him- it had been his greatest con yet- and he could not understand how they fit 32 gigabytes of storage into something so small. Nonetheless as he mouthed along to the lyrics of '99 problems' and replaced 'bitch' with 'cat' he prepared to make his run.
After carefully wrapping up his headphones to prevent them from getting tangled, he set down his ipod and burst out of his mouse hole with blinding speed. Getting to the cheese was a breeze and as he prepared to pick it up, something gleaned from the corner of his eyes that made him freeze. It was that fucking cat. Wide awake and standing in the doorway with a wicked smile on his face, Jack knew his only option was a mad dash to his hole. Both of them still perfectly still, Jack counted to three in his head and then made a run for it. Jack jumped off the table and the cat lunged forward, 5 feet separated them when it happened.
BANG!
It was the loudest noise either of the animals had ever heard in their short lives and even though they were so close together, and the car just moments from a meal of his own, neither one moved a muscle.
THUMP!
The thump wasn't as loud as the bang, but as both creatures turned in the direction of the noise, the next thing they saw rang as loudly in their mind as any noise. It was the owner of the house. His head and chest, bloody and lifeless, were sticking out of the doorway where the cat had just been. Jack Cursed his maker and the cat did too. Suddenly they were a team.
The two rival animals looked at each other and nodded, the cat knew that Jack's family was important. Jack ran as fast as he could toward the mouse hole in the kitchen and the cat followed close behind. Without any explanation, Jack demanded that the whole group exit the hole. None of them understood what he was saying or why they would ever ride on the cat's back like he suggested, but the look on his face was one of truth.
The mice and Jack all scurried out of the hole and climbed up. As soon as everyone was grabbing on tight, the cat made a break for the door of the house.
Running as fast as he could, the cat didn't even bother to look at his owner or the man standing over him a gun who was at present witnessing the strangest thing he had ever seen in his life: 12 mice riding on the back of a cat running out of a drug dealer's apartment.
Reddit Challenge #31
Reddit user Basman_ submits:
"A thirsty man walks to his kitchen, pours a glass of water, drinks water."
"Water"
The thought penetrated his mind like an arrow striking its target with tremendous speed. He could almost feel the fleshy grey matter shift out of the way as the projectile entered his brain and embedded itself in his consciousness.
"Water"
How long had it been since he had last had a drink? Two hours? Two days? Two weeks? A concerted effort to determine the answer to this question brought upon a chilling conclusion: he simply did not know. Since his wife passed away time's role in his life had become altogether different; altogether more meaningless.
"Water"
Perhaps it would stave off the feeling, perhaps it would lessen the pain. Maybe, just maybe if he could have a drink he would remember what it felt like for time to pass, for life to be lived, for smiles to be had. He could see her face, the moisture in her eyes, the tenderness in her lips.
"Water"
What was worth doing once no longer felt worth doing now. Was the drink worth having? Was the bed worth leaving? Was the television worth abandoning? He looked wistfully at his sole companions for the past month, they could say nothing of how they felt and if they could he was sure they would say the same thing everyone had been saying.
"Water"
It was time to get up. It was time to move on; she would have wanted it that way. All those many years ago it has been her who showed him how to laugh and mean it, it was her who showed him the face of God, it was her who showed him life was worth living. It was time to get up.
"Water"
He sat up in the bed. The television seemed to call to him, crying "don't leave me" just as she would on restless nights when her dreams kept her awake. But he knew better, he could hear her true voice calling him, telling him the truth. He turned off the television.
"Water"
His legs hit the floor and for the first time in so long- he wasn't even sure how long- he felt the weight of his body on his feet. Steady. His strength had diminished but his love still strong; he willed himself to lift up and get out of the bed. He was standing on two feet and facing the door. Opening it, he turned around to see the cavern his body had created in the mattress. However long it has been, too much time had passed.
"Water"
Those first steps were shaky but within moments his confidence returned, his smile shown. Thoughts turned quickly to the best times in his life, they were all with her but he knew that she would not want him to stop and he knew she would want him to move on and be happy.
"Water"
Her voice still echoed in his mind as he approached the sink. He held the glass in his hand and let the water flow into it. The feeling of cold on his hands through the glass as the water rose up its interior made him smile again. He could hear her speaking to him, and at that moment he finally felt that everything would be okay. Calmly, she said to him:
"Drink"
And he did. And all was well.
"A thirsty man walks to his kitchen, pours a glass of water, drinks water."
"Water"
The thought penetrated his mind like an arrow striking its target with tremendous speed. He could almost feel the fleshy grey matter shift out of the way as the projectile entered his brain and embedded itself in his consciousness.
"Water"
How long had it been since he had last had a drink? Two hours? Two days? Two weeks? A concerted effort to determine the answer to this question brought upon a chilling conclusion: he simply did not know. Since his wife passed away time's role in his life had become altogether different; altogether more meaningless.
"Water"
Perhaps it would stave off the feeling, perhaps it would lessen the pain. Maybe, just maybe if he could have a drink he would remember what it felt like for time to pass, for life to be lived, for smiles to be had. He could see her face, the moisture in her eyes, the tenderness in her lips.
"Water"
What was worth doing once no longer felt worth doing now. Was the drink worth having? Was the bed worth leaving? Was the television worth abandoning? He looked wistfully at his sole companions for the past month, they could say nothing of how they felt and if they could he was sure they would say the same thing everyone had been saying.
"Water"
It was time to get up. It was time to move on; she would have wanted it that way. All those many years ago it has been her who showed him how to laugh and mean it, it was her who showed him the face of God, it was her who showed him life was worth living. It was time to get up.
"Water"
He sat up in the bed. The television seemed to call to him, crying "don't leave me" just as she would on restless nights when her dreams kept her awake. But he knew better, he could hear her true voice calling him, telling him the truth. He turned off the television.
"Water"
His legs hit the floor and for the first time in so long- he wasn't even sure how long- he felt the weight of his body on his feet. Steady. His strength had diminished but his love still strong; he willed himself to lift up and get out of the bed. He was standing on two feet and facing the door. Opening it, he turned around to see the cavern his body had created in the mattress. However long it has been, too much time had passed.
"Water"
Those first steps were shaky but within moments his confidence returned, his smile shown. Thoughts turned quickly to the best times in his life, they were all with her but he knew that she would not want him to stop and he knew she would want him to move on and be happy.
"Water"
Her voice still echoed in his mind as he approached the sink. He held the glass in his hand and let the water flow into it. The feeling of cold on his hands through the glass as the water rose up its interior made him smile again. He could hear her speaking to him, and at that moment he finally felt that everything would be okay. Calmly, she said to him:
"Drink"
And he did. And all was well.
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Reddit Challenge #30
Reddit user vanatanasov submits:
"An archaeology student is helping his lecturer smuggle fossils and artifacts from Egypt into the UK. But things go terribly wrong when one of the fossils turns out to be alive and runs off into the streets of London.
Edit: Actually, Egypt is too cliche. Make it Tibet or India or some other oriental country."
The tube train was crowded, or at least far too crowded for the task at hand. Professor Alvin Clarkson and his graduate assistant Nigel Hammersmith were doing something they knew they shouldn't: smuggling. As Nigel clutched the box of precious items in his arms, he wondered if they would make it to King's College in one piece.
It began in the rolling hills of China's Tianjin Province, where Clarkson and Hammersmith were on an archeological expedition. Of course, the Chinese didn't know that; they simply thought the two men were tourists- likely homosexuals as they assumed most British to be. The reason for Hammersmith and Clarkson's lies were because of antiquated Chinese laws which expressly forbid the removal of fossils from so-called 'sacred Chinese soil.'
However, Clarkson knew that there were more important things than chinese law at stake, specifically the evolutionary history of dogs. Recent DNA evidence discovered by American scientists indicated that Canines likely evolved in their modern form in southern China. Clarkson, being the preeminent ancient canine researcher in the world, knew he had to get to china and recover a fossil. So he took his best graduate student and did just that; lying to the authorities about their purpose, they broke off from an organized tour and found several magnificently well preserved canine fossils in the remains of an ancient village. The next day they were on a flight back to London, with their finds tucked carefully inside Chinese wine boxes.
Passing through security in China turned out to be far simpler than expected, but on the tube underneath London, Hammersmith and Clarkson began to get worried. With so many people around they were concerned for the integrity of their finds. A sudden shake, a wrong hit to the boxes and all of their work and research could be foiled, and this exact thought passed through Hammersmith's mind just moments later.
A sharp jerk on the train as it passed through a curve threw one of the passengers directly into Hammersmith. The young student dodged out of the way with cat-like precision, but he was unable to prevent the man from bumping the box. As Clarkson looked on in horror, their work fell to the floor. The box's top popped open precipitously as Hammersmith screamed, but before he could reach to grab it, the fossilized remains of the dog let out a strange sound.
It was a bark.
Clarkson's jaw dropped to the floor as he heard the bark. There were no other dogs on the train. Barely able to comprehend the nature of what he had just heard, his mind was sure his eyes had played a trick on him when he saw what happened next. The fossilized canine stood up from its cage and jumped out. The passengers screamed and gasped as the bones-dry ancient animal bounded about the train car just as it pulled into the station. as the passengers rushed to exit the train which they surely thought was haunted, the curious and playful Chinese pup followed them.
Excited, the dog followed the terrified passengers all the way out of the station and on to the streets of London. Trailed by a breathless Clarkson and Hammersmith, the dog bounded and jumped about on the streets of Kensington where they had arrived. The astonished researchers watched in horror as the fossilized dog ran across the street and right through the doors of the science museum. The two men made chase, pushing people out of the way as they tried to keep their eyes on their find.
Soon they lost track of it, but a woman's shriek gave them an idea of where to go next. As they approached Watson and Crick's original DNA model, they saw it: the dog was sitting patiently in front of the model, barking at it like a dog would to its owner when it wants to come inside.
"Looks like we found your home" Clarkson jested as he picked up the dog.
The two men shared a relieved laugh and just as Clarkson placed the happy puppy back into its box, he heard the click of handcuffs on his wrist. Looking up, he saw two policemen.
"You're under arrest for conspiracy to commit terrorism on the London tube."
"An archaeology student is helping his lecturer smuggle fossils and artifacts from Egypt into the UK. But things go terribly wrong when one of the fossils turns out to be alive and runs off into the streets of London.
Edit: Actually, Egypt is too cliche. Make it Tibet or India or some other oriental country."
The tube train was crowded, or at least far too crowded for the task at hand. Professor Alvin Clarkson and his graduate assistant Nigel Hammersmith were doing something they knew they shouldn't: smuggling. As Nigel clutched the box of precious items in his arms, he wondered if they would make it to King's College in one piece.
It began in the rolling hills of China's Tianjin Province, where Clarkson and Hammersmith were on an archeological expedition. Of course, the Chinese didn't know that; they simply thought the two men were tourists- likely homosexuals as they assumed most British to be. The reason for Hammersmith and Clarkson's lies were because of antiquated Chinese laws which expressly forbid the removal of fossils from so-called 'sacred Chinese soil.'
However, Clarkson knew that there were more important things than chinese law at stake, specifically the evolutionary history of dogs. Recent DNA evidence discovered by American scientists indicated that Canines likely evolved in their modern form in southern China. Clarkson, being the preeminent ancient canine researcher in the world, knew he had to get to china and recover a fossil. So he took his best graduate student and did just that; lying to the authorities about their purpose, they broke off from an organized tour and found several magnificently well preserved canine fossils in the remains of an ancient village. The next day they were on a flight back to London, with their finds tucked carefully inside Chinese wine boxes.
Passing through security in China turned out to be far simpler than expected, but on the tube underneath London, Hammersmith and Clarkson began to get worried. With so many people around they were concerned for the integrity of their finds. A sudden shake, a wrong hit to the boxes and all of their work and research could be foiled, and this exact thought passed through Hammersmith's mind just moments later.
A sharp jerk on the train as it passed through a curve threw one of the passengers directly into Hammersmith. The young student dodged out of the way with cat-like precision, but he was unable to prevent the man from bumping the box. As Clarkson looked on in horror, their work fell to the floor. The box's top popped open precipitously as Hammersmith screamed, but before he could reach to grab it, the fossilized remains of the dog let out a strange sound.
It was a bark.
Clarkson's jaw dropped to the floor as he heard the bark. There were no other dogs on the train. Barely able to comprehend the nature of what he had just heard, his mind was sure his eyes had played a trick on him when he saw what happened next. The fossilized canine stood up from its cage and jumped out. The passengers screamed and gasped as the bones-dry ancient animal bounded about the train car just as it pulled into the station. as the passengers rushed to exit the train which they surely thought was haunted, the curious and playful Chinese pup followed them.
Excited, the dog followed the terrified passengers all the way out of the station and on to the streets of London. Trailed by a breathless Clarkson and Hammersmith, the dog bounded and jumped about on the streets of Kensington where they had arrived. The astonished researchers watched in horror as the fossilized dog ran across the street and right through the doors of the science museum. The two men made chase, pushing people out of the way as they tried to keep their eyes on their find.
Soon they lost track of it, but a woman's shriek gave them an idea of where to go next. As they approached Watson and Crick's original DNA model, they saw it: the dog was sitting patiently in front of the model, barking at it like a dog would to its owner when it wants to come inside.
"Looks like we found your home" Clarkson jested as he picked up the dog.
The two men shared a relieved laugh and just as Clarkson placed the happy puppy back into its box, he heard the click of handcuffs on his wrist. Looking up, he saw two policemen.
"You're under arrest for conspiracy to commit terrorism on the London tube."
The Reddit Challenge is Back! #29
From Reddit user JosephGordonReddit:
"A monkey, who is dating a walrus, discovers that he has the ability to fly and takes the walrus on a flight. The walrus dies from falling out of the sky."
There are moments in a Walrus' life when he wonders to himself just what the hell he is doing, and for Virgil Fink this was one of those moments.
As they breached the cloud cover and approached 20,000 feet it was the bitter cold that Virgil felt first. At that altitude the temperature is around minus 40 Celsius, too much for most animals to handle. However, Virgil was a Walrus and therefore used to the chilling temperatures in the arctic seas. The cold was biting but not unbearable; the lack of oxygen however, was. As hypoxia set in and Virgil's brain was fighting to remain conscious, he thought back to how he ended up in this predicament...
It had been a beautiful Tuesday, six months ago to the very day of his fateful flight. Hanging out, as walruses do, on a rocky beach at the edge of a tropical island, Virgil was approached by a creature he had never seen before. Lanky and oblong, with long arms and stubby legs, a brown chest covered in thick black hair and a calming smile, Virgil didn't even know what to call this creature but he knew he wanted to be near. Flubbering his way over to where the forest met the beach, the creature was at first shy, but Virgil had a calming smile all his own and when he said hello the creature timidly walked up to shake his flipper.
Her name was Anya and she was a rather large Howler Monkey. Whereas a normal Howler is no more than a few feet tall, this Howler was nearly 5 feet in height. Her coat glistened in the sun and her shy smile melted Virgil's ocean-bound heart. For days, Anya would wait on Virgil while he hunted and then converse with him for hours upon his return. In a matter of weeks they were in love. But like all loves, there was a measure of the unknown waiting in the weeds. Anya was special.
Anya was larger than a normal Howler Monkey because she had been a Russian experiment gone bad. Virgil discovered this on the first night they shared a sandy nook to sleep, when her nightmares kept her up all night. He tried everything to console the poor monkey but nothing would work. She said she dreamed of flying- flying then falling. Virgil never knew what to say other than that everything would be okay. If only Virgil knew the truth...
Six months later, Virgil was returning from a hunt with a beautiful Marlin in his tusks for Anya but when he arrived at their nook she was nowhere to be seen. As he looked around a tap on the head startled him and he looked up to see Anya, floating in the air like an angel from Walrus Heaven. She told him of her amazing discovery: that she was able to fly, and not just soaring a few feet here or there, she had fantastic control and strength like she had never understood. She pressed her love to let her take him on a flight above the clouds, to see the world as he had never seen it before. Virgil, usually not a risk-taker, was reluctant at first but finally relented.
With her fantastical strength, Anya lifted her mammalian love into the sky, accelerating to 550 miles per hour within 60 seconds. Virgil had never felt happier as the wind raced past his face at a blinding speed. From 10,000 feet he could see the ocean- his home- like he had never seen it before. Entire schools were his to see at a glance; it was magnificent.
Magnificent until he reached 20,000 feet, that is. As the temperature plummeted and his brain's oxygen level depleted, Virgil knew the end was near. He no longer had the strength to move and being out of the water and in the cold so long had dried up his skin. His only warmth was from Anya's hands, clutching him tightly. He looked up at the love of his life and was able to push out a few more words before his body finally froze.
"I love you" He gasped as his body let out its last breath.
"A monkey, who is dating a walrus, discovers that he has the ability to fly and takes the walrus on a flight. The walrus dies from falling out of the sky."
There are moments in a Walrus' life when he wonders to himself just what the hell he is doing, and for Virgil Fink this was one of those moments.
As they breached the cloud cover and approached 20,000 feet it was the bitter cold that Virgil felt first. At that altitude the temperature is around minus 40 Celsius, too much for most animals to handle. However, Virgil was a Walrus and therefore used to the chilling temperatures in the arctic seas. The cold was biting but not unbearable; the lack of oxygen however, was. As hypoxia set in and Virgil's brain was fighting to remain conscious, he thought back to how he ended up in this predicament...
It had been a beautiful Tuesday, six months ago to the very day of his fateful flight. Hanging out, as walruses do, on a rocky beach at the edge of a tropical island, Virgil was approached by a creature he had never seen before. Lanky and oblong, with long arms and stubby legs, a brown chest covered in thick black hair and a calming smile, Virgil didn't even know what to call this creature but he knew he wanted to be near. Flubbering his way over to where the forest met the beach, the creature was at first shy, but Virgil had a calming smile all his own and when he said hello the creature timidly walked up to shake his flipper.
Her name was Anya and she was a rather large Howler Monkey. Whereas a normal Howler is no more than a few feet tall, this Howler was nearly 5 feet in height. Her coat glistened in the sun and her shy smile melted Virgil's ocean-bound heart. For days, Anya would wait on Virgil while he hunted and then converse with him for hours upon his return. In a matter of weeks they were in love. But like all loves, there was a measure of the unknown waiting in the weeds. Anya was special.
Anya was larger than a normal Howler Monkey because she had been a Russian experiment gone bad. Virgil discovered this on the first night they shared a sandy nook to sleep, when her nightmares kept her up all night. He tried everything to console the poor monkey but nothing would work. She said she dreamed of flying- flying then falling. Virgil never knew what to say other than that everything would be okay. If only Virgil knew the truth...
Six months later, Virgil was returning from a hunt with a beautiful Marlin in his tusks for Anya but when he arrived at their nook she was nowhere to be seen. As he looked around a tap on the head startled him and he looked up to see Anya, floating in the air like an angel from Walrus Heaven. She told him of her amazing discovery: that she was able to fly, and not just soaring a few feet here or there, she had fantastic control and strength like she had never understood. She pressed her love to let her take him on a flight above the clouds, to see the world as he had never seen it before. Virgil, usually not a risk-taker, was reluctant at first but finally relented.
With her fantastical strength, Anya lifted her mammalian love into the sky, accelerating to 550 miles per hour within 60 seconds. Virgil had never felt happier as the wind raced past his face at a blinding speed. From 10,000 feet he could see the ocean- his home- like he had never seen it before. Entire schools were his to see at a glance; it was magnificent.
Magnificent until he reached 20,000 feet, that is. As the temperature plummeted and his brain's oxygen level depleted, Virgil knew the end was near. He no longer had the strength to move and being out of the water and in the cold so long had dried up his skin. His only warmth was from Anya's hands, clutching him tightly. He looked up at the love of his life and was able to push out a few more words before his body finally froze.
"I love you" He gasped as his body let out its last breath.
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
The obligatory Sandy Hook post
So the United States is currently mourning the loss of some twenty of its citizens in one of the worst shootings since the Virginia Tech massacre a few years back, but what does it all mean?
To me, it means that the United States is in no better place in terms of gun control than it was when the VA Tech shooting happened. When that gunman opened fire in a college classroom, for weeks the media covered the story intently and our politicians rallied for tighter gun control. The result? The shooting in Sandy Hook this past week.
This time around, Congress and President Obama- who I support- are pressing for an assault weapons ban. This is all good and dandy, its absurd as it is that assault weapons have been legal since the ban expired several years ago. However, it is not going to do anything remotely like what is necessary: to approach the heart of the gun problem in the US.
Eighty seven. That is the number of people who die from gun deaths on average every day in this country, it is more than almost any other nation. The problem clearly is not that there is too easy access to assault weapons; the problem is that there is too easy access to weapons in general.
While the philosophy coined in Blitz era Britain is true that 'the bomber will always get through' (meaning that with such a large population, there will always be crazy murderers who get through our defenses) the reality is that if we are not doing everything we can, we are not doing enough. To prevent another Sandy Hook, the course of action as I see it is simple: rethink the second amendment.
To me, it means that the United States is in no better place in terms of gun control than it was when the VA Tech shooting happened. When that gunman opened fire in a college classroom, for weeks the media covered the story intently and our politicians rallied for tighter gun control. The result? The shooting in Sandy Hook this past week.
This time around, Congress and President Obama- who I support- are pressing for an assault weapons ban. This is all good and dandy, its absurd as it is that assault weapons have been legal since the ban expired several years ago. However, it is not going to do anything remotely like what is necessary: to approach the heart of the gun problem in the US.
Eighty seven. That is the number of people who die from gun deaths on average every day in this country, it is more than almost any other nation. The problem clearly is not that there is too easy access to assault weapons; the problem is that there is too easy access to weapons in general.
While the philosophy coined in Blitz era Britain is true that 'the bomber will always get through' (meaning that with such a large population, there will always be crazy murderers who get through our defenses) the reality is that if we are not doing everything we can, we are not doing enough. To prevent another Sandy Hook, the course of action as I see it is simple: rethink the second amendment.
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