#sometimes stories

For more on Sometimes Stories, see here.

                                               Fathoms

Journal, Day 282

It is official: we have lost contact with the surface world.

I do not know what more I can put to paper, as the overwhelming hopelessness of this news clouds my mind and reduces me to silent tears.

I suppose I shall record the details of how we know this, as the mechanical action of writing helps to distract from the darkness, if only temporarily.

The heads of our makeshift community had been concerned for some time due to the sporadic frequency of communication from our fellow survivors above. The latest message prior to today was a mess of static, with a barely intelligible voice, belonging to their leader Alexandra, whispering that they were nearly bereft of resources and in fear for their lives. It has been twelve days since, and this morning we were delivered the grisly news: a pre-recorded message, to be sent in the event of total annihilation. It is the same message which was broadcast from my town's city hall the day we began our trek toward the sea and I shuddered when I heard it.

We are all alone now. I fear we will last not even to December.

I do not doubt our scientists' assertions that those horrific mockeries of humanity cannot reach us beneath the waves. But how much time remains before our crude water desalination machines give out, before our population bottlenecks to an unsustainable degree, before we are given to infighting and perish the way our sister refuge perished? Or some other fatal side effect of this prison we call home? Humankind is not meant to live on the ocean floor, and no amount of technological advancement prevents that. Already my grandson seems gaunt in a way that convinces me more food would not help.

We are alive, yes, and I cannot abandon the infinitesimal joy that pounds in my heart when I am reminded of that fact. But at what price, and whether that price is fair, I cannot be certain.

I do not know that I can bring these arthritic bones to type anymore. What little faith I had remaining has been entirely snuffed out.

I pray we wake from this horrid nightmare before we are lost forever.

Oh yeah. Andy's Journey continues. Hype!

Side note: go watch Awesome Games Done Quick, a week long gaming charity marathon to benefit the Prevent Cancer Foundation!

For more on Sometimes Stories (and to read the first chapter of Andy's Journey), see here.

As this is a sequential story and it has probably been a long time since anyone's read the previous chapters, you can find the most recent chapter here.

                                Andy's Journey, Chapter 5

Andy felt as though he had been gone for a long time. In reality it had only been a single day. But Andy was not used to the outside world, and as dusk quickly settled over the lush undergrowth he realized that he could not continue toward the mountain in darkness. The trees seemed to be closing in around him as he fished for the torch from his backpack. Producing it, Andy set it alight, only to realize that he could not see his destination from his location in the thick trees. Best to call it a night and continue in the morning.

Andy began to shiver. It was colder than he expected, and he wasn't entirely sure where he could sleep that would be safe. He listened closely. No fearsome birdsong reached his ears. Only the chirp of wild insects and the crackling of his torch. And the crack of a branch to his left. Andy thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye. Suddenly a noise and his torch went out. He was about to scream when he felt a hand muffle his wide mouth. His lips felt numb and his vision faded.

When Andy awoke, it was light and he appeared to be in a tent on some kind of cot. His mind caught up slowly, and as he recalled the terror of last night, he began to bawl. A flap opened in the tent and through his tears, Andy saw the most vividly colored frog he had even seen. His - or her? Andy wondered - skin alternated in bands of pale blue and blood red, with large black spots dotting the mysterious frog's skin. Andy cowered in fear still crying, but the frog simply stood back, waiting for something it seemed. After several minutes, Andy's cries became softer and he gathered himself as best a small child can do. It was then that the strange frog gestured to a small pot of soup over a fire, and Andy realized how hungry he was. Carefully, he sat up in the cot and said "Yes please."

At this, the strange frog cocked its head and after a moment gestured to the pot once more. Andy slowly got up from the bed and went over to the pot. He ladled a bowlful for himself and began to eat. The odd frog continued to stand at the door, eyes fixed on the child as he ate.

When Andy was finished, the strange frog reached out its webbed hand to him and gestured to follow. Andy reached for it, but the frog's hand darted back and it shouted something chidingly at the boy. Though he couldn't understand the language, Andy recognized the sudden anger in the voice. Confused and on the verge of tears again, asked "What do you want? Money?" and pulled out the still-warm coin from his pocket.

At this, the striped frog's eyes widened and it leaned down to look at the coin. Andy reached the coin further toward the frog, who once again backed away, still looking. The frog motioned for Andy to turn it over. He did, though he wasn't sure what this strange person was looking for; the coin was the same as any other - inscribed with a picture of the mountain, a small explanation written beneath.

For more on Sometimes Stories, see here.

This is the last part in a multi-part story. I suggest you begin with part 1.

So what's next? Well, I've been storing up quite a few story ideas since the hiatus, so trust me, you'll be seeing some interesting stuff. Posts too, whenever I write them.

                                    It's Never Too Late, Part 5

The last golden rays of the setting sun bounced off a nearby skyscraper and straight into David's eyes. He squinted, turning his head, but continued on toward the train station. He checked his watch instinctively; as calculated, he expected to get there with three minutes to spare. He hastened his footsteps. At least there's no labyrinthe of people to get lost in like last time.  

David didn't mind the city. In fact, he liked Dellighan more than most people if the newspaper he had read this morning was true. The headline screamed "CIVIL ENGINEERS: ARCHITECTS OF DOOM?," with various denizens complaining about the shoddy buildings that comprised the town. He glanced around as he strode down the sidewalk. Structures surrounded him on every side, mostly office buildings and apartments, with a few works-in-progress that the city government could never seem to complete hovering on the edge of his vision. It was dark enough that the streetlights were beginning to iluminate his path. David checked his watch again. He nodded.

Suddenly, a force crashed into him, and David realized slightly too late that there was a hand over his mouth and a point in his back.

"Shut the fuck up or this knife goes in your kidney."

David, wide-eyed and shaking, carefully nodded his head. Even as his assailant pushed him down an alley and his heart raced in his chest, David tried to remain calm and analyze the situation. The mugger was a young man, probably new to mugging based on how his voice was shaking nervously. There was just enough light that David could probably remember his face when he went to the police later. I'll give him my wallet, cancel my cards, and bolt. No harm. Despite his reasoning, he was sweating profusely.

The mugger shoved David to the ground, his knuckles white around the knife as he held it at him. "I'll give you whatever you want," David said as quickly and quietly as he could. "I assume you want my wallet."

"Of course I want your fucking wallet!" the mugger spat.

"Okay," said David, hands up in the air. He had seen enough police encounters on shows gone bad. Be clear with your language David. Don't mess up. He spoke slowly. "I'm going to reach into my pocket to get my wallet, okay?"

"Yes, just fucking give it to me!"

"Okay." Carefully, he pulled out his wallet. He noted that both his wallet and the man's knife were shaking. David took a deep breath before saying:

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

The man shook even more as his other hand balled into a fist.

"YOU'RE NOT MY GODDAMN FATHER!"

"Okay, okay." He was furious but scared David noted. As he slowly extended the wallet to the young man, he looked up to try and memorize his face. David realized he was crying. He thought as the mugger snatched his wallet. Maybe-

No! Just shut up, do what he says, there's nothing you can say tha-

"You don't have to do this."

David audibly gulped. He couldn't believe the words had come out of his mouth.

The young man was visibly upset. "You SHUT THE FUCK UP! Don't tell me how to live my life! Who the FUCK do you think you are!" David was crouched up defensively against the wall, and he realized that the man's tears were flowing freely now. "You goddamn lucky ones all think the same! You think there's a choice, you think I would DO THIS IF I DIDN'T HAVE TO? You see us on society's edges and you just want to help but you never do anything to help!" He was crying hysterically. "What the fuck could you do telling me what to do! What point is there huh? Tell me that with all your goddamn education, with your friends and your wives and your goddamn fucking LOVE!" The clatter of the knife on the ground startled David. The young man's face was in his hands now and it was hard to understand him. "What the fuck point is there for me. I don't want to do this. But I'm nothing. I'm shit. I'm a goddamn DISAPPOINTMENT!" he screamed before collapsing on the ground, sobbing, his head buried between his knees.

David sat, stunned. For the first time in a long time, he had no idea what to do.

Carefully, he reached for the knife, then quickly hid it in one of his pockets. The young man was still sobbing. David took a deep breath. He tried to think of something to say. He couldn't. So he just started talking.

"Hey," he said softly to the crying man, "I know you don't want this. I don't want this either. It's okay. It doesn't have to be this way."

The man sobbed something, but David couldn't make it out.

"It doesn't. Hey. Hey. It doesn't."

The man's crying was softer now, and he was starting to regain his breath. He lifted his head, his piercing blue eyes drilling a hole through David.

"Look," said the man, tears still flowing, "You're a good guy, but you don't understand. I'm done with. I can't do it. I can't survive. I can't be this person. I've got nowhere left to go. And the world's gonna chew me up and spit me out because I can't do it. You're gonna run to the police and give them my knife - I know you took it - and they'll find me and I'll go to jail. But the joke's on them, cause I'm gonna kill myself first. It's too late."

David held the young man's gaze, heart pounding in his ears. He felt something in him roar forth. Then, without breaking eye contact, David stood up.

"It's never too late. I'm not going to go to the police and I'm not going to press charges. Here," he said, pulling out the knife, "have it back. It's yours not mine. I don't care if you don't want my help - I'm giving it to you. I'm single and I make a pretty good living. You're going to come live with me, and I'll find you a job and a life and everything will be okay because I'm here for you and I'm going to make sure that you never think you're a disappointment again."

The young man looked up at him, trembling.

"Really?"

David nodded.

The young man's face scrunched and he burst into tears again.

David began to tear up. He wiped his eyes. "Okay! Let's take you home. We have a lot to do."

Suddenly, the young man shot up and hugged David. He was taken aback, but soon found himself embracing the young man.

"Okay. Let's go."

They began to walk back to the small sliver of light at the end of the alley.

"I'm David by the way."

The young man looked at him and flashed a quick grin.

For more on Sometimes Stories, see here.

So my plan for the blog for now is to do creative writing every Monday. That's all I'm committing to for now. When I do write the occasional blog post, it'll go up on Fridays as they usually have.

Again, this is a multi-part story, so I suggest you begin with part 1.

                                   It's Never Too Late, Part 4

David nudged Bradley's shoulder and nodded toward the window. "That'd be a good photo."

Bradley glanced up from his phone and looked out the train window. It was late in the day, and the sun was brilliant behind a few clouds, stark against the bright blue sky.

"I guess," he mumbled, "but I'm not taking it."

"Why not? I don't recall you having anything like it in your portfolio."

"Because," snapped Bradley, "the train's shaking too much to keep it steady for a decent shot and any picture taken through this window is gonna look gross. See the schmutz on the other side of it? They probably haven't cleaned it in weeks. Besides, everyone's got a sunny-sky-pic. Nothing novel I can do with it." And back to his phone he went.

David inched back in his seat, hands up defensively. "Geez Brad, sorry. I wasn't trying to annoy you. Just thought it looked... picturesque."

Bradley smiled and let out a short breath. "No, sorry about that. I just get pissed when people tell me what to do with my living. I mean not you," he blurted out, glancing up from his phone, "I don't really care when you do it. But you tell people you're a photographer and all of a sudden they think they're experts. Sorry again."

"No it's fine." David sat back and listened to the dull rustle of their car on the tracks. He glanced around the cabin, taking in a few other passengers. There was a teenage girl engrossed in a book, her scarlet headband matching the camcorder case by her side, and a Hispanic man with a beard as trim as his pinstriped suit, staring out his window. Aside from them it was empty. "Think they serve food on this train?"

Bradley looked up at David and chuckled, putting away his phone. "It's an hour long train and we've been on for like fifteen minutes."

"But I need nourishment!" David complained.

Just then, a young man came streaking down the hall of their car, buck naked and shouting. Before Bradley or David could react, he was out the other door, followed by two out-of-breath conductors both red in the face, who disappeared as quickly as they arrived.

The two men looked at each other in silence for a moment before bursting out laughing, probably a bit too loudly. David looked to the other passengers for at least some acknowledgment of what had just occured. The man was blushing furiously and the girl had rolled her eyes and gone back to reading. Neither made eye contact with David.

"Oh boy, wish I had had my camera at the ready," laughed Bradley.

"Seriously!" affirmed David. They both sat, letting the giggles run their course, before relaxing in their seats.

"You know," continued Bradley after a beat, "I kinda want to know what just happened but I also kind of don't."

David nodded. "I'm content to let it remain a mystery."

David stared out the window again while Bradley pulled out his phone.

"He did have a nice ass though, don't you think Brad?"

For more on Sometimes Stories, see here.

This is a multi-part story. I suggest you start with part 1.

                                   It's Never Too Late, Part 3

None of it made any sense to David.

He had received the news while out to dinner with some friends, laughing at stupid jokes when his phone rang.

It was 2:44 AM now, and he lay on his bed, staring at the dark ceiling.

None of it made any sense.

First of all, the surgeons had put the success rate at around 93%. It wasn't necessarily a simple surgery, but it wasn't anything crazy. His father had been having chest pains for the past several months, and at his latest doctor visit they recommended they go in there to clean it up.

And now he was dead.

Another thing was that David was angry. David was seldom angry, but here he couldn't place it. There was so much anger but it was undirected, hard to focus. It was just out of his field of view and that frustrated David even more. There were the usual expected thoughts: Those goddamn surgeons. The whole concept of modern medical practice. What good was getting a degree if you hit the 7% of tough shit. God how could you. It shouldn't have been like this. But most of all, David was furious with his father. It wasn't fair. The last stupid thing his father had told him when they talked the previous week was "Talk to you later." What stupid last words.

The thing that bothered David more than anything, the thought that kept coming to the front of his mind no matter how much he banished it, was that he was a terrible son. This belief didn't even need to cite past experiences. David felt awful because not once in the past eight hours had he shed a tear. He tried. But nothing. And he hated himself for it.

Nothing made sense anymore.

"What good is knowledge if nothing means anything?" he whispered to the ceiling.

It wasn't until 6:47 AM that he made up his mind, the swirling thoughts coalescing into a unified force. He would learn everything he could. And some day, far into the future, it would all make sense.

Art - community of artists and those devoted to art. Digital art, skin art, themes, wallpaper art, traditional art, photography, poetry / prose. Art prints.

For more on Sometimes Stories, see here.

As this is a multi-part story, I highly recommend that you start with Part 1.

                                    It's Never Too Late, Part 2

The sky had just opened up as David and Bradley hurried their way into the store, proudly emblazoned Kangaroo Books. They had managed to avoid getting too drenched, though both men stood dripping onto the carpet. David shook off his jacket as Bradley cleared the water from his glasses and mustache. They looked around the small store which did not so much contain books as it did restrain them. Bradley felt that if the door was left open too long the piles of books would explode and shoot out into the street. The two men could barely take a step without knocking into a classical piece of literature or terrible romance novel.

"Well," shrugged David, "we may as well look around while we're here."

Bradley nodded his assent and the two began fighting their way through the stacks and stacks of hardcovers.

Aside from the shelves upon shelves of books, there wasn't much in the store. An old faded poster of a kangaroo plastered the wall behind the cashier, a tired-looking twentysomething whose hair seemed to have migrated from the top of his head to his chin. Various shoppers milled about the store, most of them picking up a book and briefly looking it over before setting it down somewhere new. There was also a staircase leading to a basement, which is where Bradley and David found themselves heading after a few minutes exploring.

The basement was a gray place, lacking the redeeming sunlight of the upstairs. Here too piles of books and disinterested customers stood.

"You know what it is?" Bradley posed after looking around, "This place needs music."

Indeed, the entire store was dead silent, save the murmur of fellow conversations. The breaks in these conversations revealed just how auditorily barren the space was. 

"Afraid someone will overhear how much you hate The Metamorphosis?"

Bradley rolled his eyes. "We're not having this conversation again David. It's depressing and it freaks me out, end of story."

"Oh come on," said David playfully hitting Bradley's shoulder, "where better to debate this than a crappy book store? Now I, for one, think that Kafka's use of such absurdity helps to reveal -"

"'The essential nebulous quality of the human condition.' I know David." said Bradley bending down to look at something. "Here, you want a good book that's creepy?" He thrust a book in David's chest. 

"Pet Sematary? Ugh, look if I wanted to read mindless drivel that's trying to pass as horrifying, I'll go grab Twilight."

"God you're an asshole," Bradley shot back as a grin crept over his face. "Equating me with that piece of junk. You're right," he said as he stood up, "I bow to your vastly superior intellect."

David crossed his arms and frowned. "You know that's not what I meant."

"No no, you win," said Bradley somberly, hands up in concession as he headed back toward the stairs.

David rushed after him and grabbed his arm. "Come on, you know I didn't mean that."

Bradley turned around smiling. "I know, I'm just messing with you."

David alternately scrunched his face and shook his head. "Jesus Brad, I thought I really hurt you."

"Oh my god, please," he said, still grinning. "Don't worry about me so much, okay?"

David looked down. "I know." He looked up again at Bradley. "Come on, let's get out of this place."

Bradley nodded. "Next time we're trying to avoid the rain, can we at least end up somewhere with food? I'm starving."