27 seconds

It was a normal job. There really wasn’t too much to it and all the preparations had been made. The only odd part was the actual object I was to steal and the fact that someone I knew was on the inside. We were all set to go on the night of the 15th. This morning I had awoken from a nightmare and I was actually terrified to go back to sleep. That had not happened to me since I was a kid. I didn’t remember the dream when I woke up, but the feeling of sheer terror remained. During the day’s preparations, small snippets came to me. Like deva-vu. Things like the smell of the stolen truck. Oil stains and potatoes. I never mentioned it to the others as they looked to me for confidence and any sign of weakness on my part would only mean low morale. Besides I was the one going in.

We arrived at the building slightly ahead of schedule. I used the time to do a small recon of my escape route. There was an unused service road that came out the back, in large yellow letters was painted “THRU ROAD ONE WAY”. At one time it was used as the truck route but this complex hasn’t shipped out anything in years. All our researched had shown it was an old warehouse with some offices. Only the offices were used now.

The lights were all off now except for the security light. There was a guard but he was in the back in the old shipping office. Jeff would take care of him when to time came. 27 seconds!
That was part of the dream. I am confused, like I am living in two worlds. I am unable to separate them. I try to focus. I shake my head and things clear up. That was one heck of a dream when it invades my waking thoughts, especially now when I am usually so focused. Ben comes over the radio to say that they are all ready. I walk back to the front and wait by the bushes. Jeff walks thru the gate and under the surveillance camera. Jeff is an odd guy. He is so average looking he can disappear in a crowd of one. He is almost unflappable too. It can definitely a detriment though. He won’t even duck when someone punches him. The guys think he is cool but I know he is slow. Still he is an asset on our team. He always goes in where a cool head is needed. Besides, he can lie his ass off and make you a believer.

Jeff motions to me. That means that the guard is coming to the door. That means he is not watching the cameras. I slip in and to the far end of the building. I am at the office side entrance with a huge steel door. It was built in the 70's when fire was a big deal. Fire? An anti-tank missile wouldn’t get through this thing.

I have to meet my contact in the last office, she knows where the safe is but I have to break in. If it’s the safe I think it is then there is no way I am going to crack it. No worries, in my bag a have some C4. A little in the right place is all we need. Once it goes we have to move. Jeff will have taken care of the guard by now so we don’t have to worry about him raising the alarm but you never know who is lurking about with a cell phone.

I am in the office and she is there… and so is a really big guy with an MP5, not the car, the gun. A cold sweat, this was part of the dream. But I can’t remember what comes next. Rough hands grab me from behind, a kick to my knees and I sink to the floor. The girl leaves out the side door. A hear a few soft pops from out back. I look to the big guy and I know that my crew is being slaughtered. So why not me, why the ruse to get me here? I must remember the dream, remember how it ends…

I haven’t said a thing yet and neither have the two guys in the room with me. They don’t seem too worried. I may have one chance to get away and one chance only. The side door, she left it ajar. If I pick my moment I can make a sprint for it. I don’t think the two guys have guns and if I run out the front I’ll miss the execution squad. The big guy rolls open a pack. I can’t see the contents from where I am kneeling but whatever is in it is shiny, the light from the bulb on the table is reflecting onto the ceiling. He looks at me now and pulls a syringe from the pack, he starts towards me. Now is a good a time as any, a break for the door and am rewarded by a crack to the side of the head. The room spins and goes blurry. I was out for only a second but the pin prick in my ass is unmistakable. Finally the guy speaks. “He’ll be out in a minute, and then we can extract his kidneys”.

Mother-fucker! What a bitch, I come in to steal a fucking kidney from a deep freeze safe and all she wanted was mine. She found the match for her kid after all; too bad they were inside of me. Clever girl, silly boy.

I have to make break for it. I lurch to my feet, and stagger towards the door. I am in the hallway, I think I am running. I smash into the fire door at the side. Now I remember the end of my dream. Painted on the driveway out the side of the building in letter large and yellow letters read “YOU ONLY HAVE 27 SECONDS TO LIVE.” But they are not painted here now; the words come from the doorway behind me. “Don’t bother running,
you only have 27 seconds to live.”

Killers

The wind whipped around the corner, screaming. It blew the dust and dirt up and into my eyes. I blinked and they watered. Now it looks like I’ve been crying. No Mom, I don’t smoke, I puff. Ah, I blow a plume of blue smoke in the air. The wind whisks it away. I lean against the building and wait. He said 10. I’ll wait until 10 past. Usually I wait for a more reliable contract but times have been tough. 10:04, there he is. I push off and cross the street.
Not a great area but the locals are regulars. That’s good. When the locals start leaving town to drink, that’s bad news. There are 6 bars on this row. All low level, old rafters with neon. Tacky. I can see him cross the bar through the window. I enter, Joe’s Place, how original. I keep my coat on but I pause at the door. I like to warm up. I check my eyes in the mirror. Good, they’ve cleared up. Still cold and unfeeling. Worked hard on that one. I take a deep breath. Stand tall, head up, chin in. Arms swing loosely at my sides. I see him at the end of the bar at a table. I walk with purpose over to the table. I catch his eyes about 10 feet away. He leans back and away. I stop at the table. He asks, “Whadya want.” A statement, not a question.
I say coolly, “You Joe, from Philly?”
His eyes squint. “No one calls me that anymore.”
“You remember Frankie Valone?” I ask.
His face recoils in horror. His hand reaches for his pocket.
I was expecting all this, or at least something like it. I slam 4 slugs into him. I smile as he slides from his chair under the table. Not like the movies. Bullets only have so much energy and the body is pretty soft. No one moves. People are too shocked.
I walk out and cross the street. Everyone will remember my face but I’ll be gone in 1 hour. I’ve done this so much its a routine. Find him, confirm it, kill him, collect your money. I figure I was already going to hell by the time I was 16. What was the point. I got into my car and put the key in. My face explodes from a 12 gauge slug. Not even sure who did it. Death…finally.



Hmm, I’ve done this too much. Seen it all. But this guy didn’t even scream. Just seemed to sit back. Must have been expecting it. I walked to my car. Killing is way too easy. This one was easy and good money too. He was a freelancer, no revenge possibilities. I’m looking forward to a week in Vegas. Old stomping grounds.

He lives in the shadows
and in the hearts of weak men
Waiting and ever patient
for his day always comes
Dressed all in black
and a face of death
he is coming for you.

Slipping in and out
of our nightmares.
He knows out worst fear
and plays them out
If you do not fear him
then you are a fool
or resigned to your fate.

He strikes without warning
Yet you know he is coming
All your life he has followed
wherever you have been
Watching for his opportunity
Waiting to strike
for you to slip up.

I watch the ink dry and seep into the paper
my thoughts! My thoughts laid down
Hide them away, burn them!
No one must see what I am.
Fear, that is it, that is what I feel
Of what? They are just words.
But people die of words, their own,
Must not let them see how stupid I am,
how clever, how trite, foolish, silly, misguided I am.
My smile hides my while my pen betrays.
Yes! Yes, damn you. I’ve cried, I’ve lied
to you, to me, to all but not the page.
Those white pages lined in blue force me
the ink poisons me, sees through me
A truth serum! That is it, a truth serum.
Its addictive. I can’t stop. I am bleeding
Bleeding my soul onto these pages
Stop! Somebody stop me! I can’t stop
There will be nothing left soon, all gone.
An empty shell walking around
with a notebook tucked under his arm
My soul tucked under my arm
What sentence, for what crime is this for
Who imposed such a hellish thing.
I watch as my hand betrays me and carries out my sentence
My sentence, my prose, my thought, My God!
I don’t want to be sane, be rational, be true.
I want to create me, my own creation
Not this weak fool sitting alone writing
Stop him, he is killing me...

Remains

The memory that softly whispers
I cannot hear what is says
though I know it is your voice
Fading like my memory of your face
till a feeling is all that remains

Your breath is hot against my ear
blowing on embers of a love grown cold
with distance time and history
But the feeling remains

The voice louder now is ringing
Persistant, calling, longing
The words I knew so well
I did not recognize
For it was only the feeling that remained.

Now confusion is all too familiar
And reigns again
All I know, all I`ll ever know
is that I loved and that the feeling
is all that remains.

Paddy

Paddy walked swiftly along the long dock. Upon reaching the slippery end the stopped. There he leaned over and peered into the sea. What he saw must have made his blood freeze. For he stood there, half bent, looking down for an eternity. Just watching him my stomach turned and my head swam. Paddy was a strong lad, both of body and soul. To make him freeze so, it must be a truly awful. I saw him once pull a beating heart from a lamb’s chest. Suffer the death of his wife without a tear. What, but the devil himself, can cause Paddy to freeze. Then, slowly, Paddy leaned over and then fell. Like he had been pushed, then crumpling. And he lay there not moving, not breathing, not daring to. I too had been frozen, but moved when I saw him fall. The dock seemed eternally long, and stretched as I ran. The pile that was Paddy got closer and more defined. His face was even red, sweaty forehead dripping. Breathing, yes, he was breathing, in shallow gasps of air. Eyes screwed shut, mouth in a death grimace. I fell upon him and grabbed his shoulders to shake him. Screaming at him to talk to me, forcing him to speak to me. To tell me its all right, my world is not coming to an end. With all the strength that Paddy had and some borrowed. He looked up at me, eyes wide and rolling, mouth hanging open. He gurgled, moaned and finally told me what had caused such a strong man to fail. He said two words that were to change how I felt for him. They were, “back spasm”.

Courage

Many people have courage they never knew about because courage comes in many forms. Most don’t recognize it for what it is. Sticking your head in a lion’s mouth is not courage, its stupidity. Not sticking your head in a lion’s mouth is smart. Not sticking your head in a lion’s mouth when your friends goaded you to is courage. Any act that makes you stand up to yourself, others or not do something you instinctively want to do, is courage.
Sound silly? Not really. The other day I was coming down a really fun street here in town. I know it well and know how fast I can take the corners. I drive it at least three times a week for the last year. Now a bit of background for you. I used to race cars. Not Formula One or Indy, but cars. Take an old beater and put it on the track. Remove all unnecessary weight. Y’know, seats, spare tire, Radiator. I have always prided myself on being able to find the limits of the vehicle I was driving and staying within them. I could also exploit the strengths and use some of the cars’ more interesting characteristics. I had an old Jeep eagle that would wobble on all four wheels as it slid to the outside of a turn. Neither end would ever break free it would just wobble. So I once came into an S-bend and threw the car sideways and wobbled my way through it. It gave me the needed second and a half to be ahead at the end of the straight to enter the slow part of the course in front. And anyone who has raced with me knows I am all but impossible to pass on a series of corners.
I have been driving my current vehicle for over a year now. That’s longer than I have ever driven a vehicle. Its underpowered, ugly and a really awful blue. But I can drive the wheels off of it because it is predictable. If there is one quality I love in a vehicle it is predictability. I know what it is going to do no matter what I do. It’s a great relationship. Combine that with an inherit stability and it’s a lot of fun to drive. I have overtaken many a more muscled car with my puny vehicle. I love winning from a disadvantage.
So the other day I was coming to my fun road when a more muscled car pulled up alongside. He obviously wanted to race. I knew I could take him. His particular vehicle had a solid one piece rear axle. Meaning that the tightest corner at the end he would have to break his end free to negotiate it properly at a reasonable speed. That meant when he spun it I wanted to be ahead of him. It would be tricky. He has more power on would most likely take me in the straightaway. I could push and be ahead of him but he might push too. So we went into the first corner and he was pushing. I let up off the gas.
I consider that courage because it went against what I call my natural instinct. The instinct to race to prove to him what I already knew. I am a better driver and might beat him in an inferior car. But it might have killed us both. He called me a coward, so what. I called the ambulance when his back end came free and slammed into the light stand.
It’s a fine line between courage and foolishness. I win.

It Was The Rain

It was hitting the living room window
I sat and watched
thinking, thinking that the world is a scary place
and that I was not ready for it
No particular event brought those feelings on
So it must have been the rain.

It was there again
this time in torrents
I was scared, of failing
this scary world was beating me
beating the best I had to offer
Yet I survived and thrived.
The fear must have been from something
I think it was the rain.

It was raining again to night
As a fist of emotion gripped my guts
It was fear again
this time of loosing you
I am a fool, afraid and beaten
And you are going away
and I cannot stop you
I need to blame something
So I’ll blame it on the rain.

Wedding Speech

Just for fun I thought I'd post my wedding speech.....





Good evening, my name is Francis and I’ll be your groom for this evening.

To start I’d like to say a few words… “A few words”

Next I’d like to say a few more words… “A few more words”

Now that that is out of the way, let’s get on with my speech.

Today, I got married.
Never in a million years did I think that was going to happen. If you had told me, even five years ago, that I would be married, I would have accused you of being under the influence of a controlled substance.

So how did this happen?

A year ago I sat back and pondered this very question. What series of events transpired for Danielle and I to meet. The answer is long and convoluted and since I have the microphone, you’ll have to sit there and listen to it.

This is a storey about decisions; decisions that at the time seem unimportant and insignificant, but in the long run have a massive impact on our lives.
The first big decision was made when Mr. Laird (that is him sitting there) came up to me in Grade 13 and asked if I wanted to go and check out a few universities. At that point I hadn’t decided where I wanted to go…. And I wanted to skip a day of school, so I said sure! Where are we going? McMaster University… I loved the place as soon as I saw it; big, beautiful with class sizes so large the professor wouldn’t notice if you weren’t there. That was the first big decision.

The next involves my Dad. That is him sitting over there hoping I don’t embarrass him….. more than I have already.

We were looking at the “rooms for rent” board at Mac, when a lady came up to us and said she had a room for rent, would we like to look at it. We said sure. She got into her friends car and we followed them to her house. I decided to take the room and would have stayed there for my second year as well, had they not decided to move (see another small decision). So I was left without a place to stay. But remember that friend’s car? Well that friend was Rick Salciccioli. I see a few heads nodding in the crowd. Many guests here tonight are some of Rick’s former tenants. Rick had a room for rent and I rented it. The house I moved into already had a tenant, and his name was Brett Legree. That is him over there hoping I don’t tell the storey of the Trent Air Show.

Now we can skip ahead a few years. Brett got married to Cathy (wave Cathy!) in May of 1998. I was a guest at that wedding, as was Danielle. And that is where we met for the first time. Of course Danielle doesn’t remember meeting me but we won’t dwell on that. However I do have a very interesting picture that I’ll pass around that shows me standing behind Danielle at that wedding.

So you see it is the small decisions that make all the difference in the world, they may not seem that big at the time but the impact can last a lifetime.

The funny part of this storey is that when Brett was standing in the spot I now occupy he said in his speech that: “I met Cathy because I went to a wedding and had a great time. People took some pictures of me at the wedding and Cathy saw them and said “Who is that guy, he’s pretty hot, can I meet him!” Or something like that. So Brett said to all the single guys, have fun, talk to people, you never know, you may meet your future wife tonight. How is that for prophetic? Now, five years later, that very thing has happened. And with Brett’s permission, I would like to pass on the tradition. All you single guys out there. Go and have fun and meet people, because you never know, you may meet your future wife tonight.

And In another connection to that day, I caught Cathy’s garter that night, in a rather artful and spectacular fashion, I might add. Danielle is wearing that very same garter tonight. It’s a lucky garter, so whoever catches it tonight will be a lucky guy.

And speaking of lucky guys, it is now my duty and honour to toast my new bride.

It’s a long toast so you can put your glasses down for the time being.

For most of my life I have been an angry, tightly compressed young man. While I do have some redeeming qualities, notably my rapier like wit, I am, in all honesty, not the easiest person in the world to get along with. This is why I assumed I would never meet anyone who could put up with me for any length of time. In fact, I was fond of saying, I’m not looking for someone to love me; I’m looking for someone to tolerate me.

But despite all that I have always wished and prayed for the undying love of a beautiful woman. And God has sent his angel Danielle to answer my prayers.

I have always said you can tell a good person if animals love them. When Danielle and I go for walks, cats and dogs from miles around come to her for some love…. And the treats in her pocket. And of course there is the best judge of character there is, my dog Bandit. From the first second Danielle walked in the door Bandit was smitten. I even think he loves her more than me. But I’m not jealous… well maybe a little….

But Danielle is a special person, and you only need to look around the room at the many friends and loved ones gathered here to see that. All of you know what I am talking about. You will always get a smile and a kind word from her. A hug when you need one and even one when you don’t. Are these not the qualities of an angel?

Right now, I want all of you to think of your fondest memory of Danielle. The one that makes you smile. Do you have one? Are you smiling?
I get to smile like that for the rest of my life.

Never in my life have I met a more kind, or caring or gentle person. Someone who makes me smile just because she is in the room or in my thoughts. Someone who sees past the rough edges on people and looks instead to their hearts. A person who demands hugs instead of handshakes, kisses instead of words and shows kindness in the face of anger. Are these not the qualities of an angel?

Since I’ve met Danielle I have never been so calm, so at peace with myself and the world. The anger is gone and the fear has dissipated.

To ask for a better lifelong companion is not possible. I have someone to loves me, cares for me, and looks past my rough edges and only sees my love for her. And I do love her, with all my heart and soul. With everything I am and everything I will be. God has sent me an angel and I could not be more blessed.

I would now like to ask all of you to join me in a toast to my love, my life, my wife and my angel. To Danielle.

Scars


No one told us and no one saw it coming. When the asteroid hit it seemed too unreal, too much like a Hollywood movie. But the destruction and the dust cloud were all too real. In the aftermath people really showed their true colours. There was a lot of looting, killing and general mayhem. I think that humans did more damage than the damned rock did.
So now I find myself here, now. A city boy lost in the wilderness. And I’ll bet you are asking how the heck did I survive? Well in typical fashion. I hid, cowered in a corner of my basement until it was all over. I was starving but it is amazing how fear becomes the world’s greatest appetite suppressor. My little house on the hill was a refuge and a sanctuary. While all the big homes up the hill from me were pillaged and burnt, mine was left untouched. Not worth their while, I guess. So I hid in my basement. Drank the water that would dribble from my tap and waited. I would always ask myself how long I should wait. Then shooting would start again and fires would be lit and my question would be answered. Until all the violence stopped.
That was last week. I waited a few days just to make sure that they weren’t just resting. But it has been eerily quiet for a few days. Then yesterday the birds started singing. I guess if the birds think it is okay, then it must be.
My first priority was to get food. I was starving now that my fear had subsided. I ventured up the hill to see if I could raid someone’s pantry. But the damage was severe. Most of the homes were just shells. When I did manage to find food it was pre-cooked. That’s a joke, humour is important.
I had to start foraging further and further. That made me scared. I just didn’t want to see what was out there, what was left. So today I have to venture into town and I’m not looking forward to it.

You see I was born in the city. The land of plenty so to speak. If you want food, it’s in the pantry or the store a few blocks away. Restaurants would cook for you and snacks were a plenty. I’ve never fired a gun, shot an arrow let alone beat a man’s skull in with a stick. I say that because that is apparently what has happened to the fellow at my feet. I’ve been staring at him for a few minutes now. Its’ not like TV. There is a lot more blood. It has all dried around his body. He is kind of blue and fat. I wonder how long he’s been here and how soon it will be until I join him.
The town is pretty much wrecked. Not a window to be found. It is very weird. There are so few bodies. I thought it would be more like those death camps you see on TV where the bodies are everywhere. I actually had to look for this fella. He was down an alley. I head back to the main street to see if I can get something to eat. But the looters have taken it all. No blankets in Sears, no food in Safeway no cigarettes at Mac’s.
So my list of missing things is growing, people, food, optimism. I am no survivalist. In fact I’m a coward. But I think that may be the best thing for me. My urge for self preservation is overwhelming. Rampant paranoia is a major facet of my personality. It had kept me alive so far.
A brain storm, I get those sometimes. I’ll go to all the cars in the parking lot, the ones that haven’t been bunt to a crisp. I start looking for keys. I’m not going anywhere but some of these people must have been shopping. The second car I find with keys is a Grand Prix. I pop the trunk and 'lo and behold, Campbell’s Chunky Soup, the soup that eats like a meal. Mmmm, creamy Turkey a la king. I get the old Swiss army knife out and pry it open. I eat it raw. It never tasted better… needs salt.

This is not going to be one of those stories of a description of a ravaged land. I’m far too queasy and ego centric for that. This is a story of what happen to me. What happen to all the people? Well as near as I can figure it out, they were all gathered up, beaten and then shot. I found them all at the soccer field an hour ago. I just followed the smell. I threw-up my can of soup, it was that gross. Why the hell would someone kill all these people? It reminds me of the breakup of Yugoslavia. I guess that leaves more resources for whoever did this, and a really good reason for me to get the hell out of here.
I took the back way out of town along the old dump and through the stand of trees the city council liked to call their forest. Twenty trees, some forest. I have no idea where I am going but it has to be better than where I was. No food, and death lurking everywhere. Where am I going? Good freaking question, answer it for me if you can.
As I cut my way back towards the main road I smell it again before I saw it, gasoline and burnt rubber. On this side of town there is a large river canyon. One bridge, creating a bottleneck. Good place for an ambush. Someone else had the same idea. Halfway across the bridge is a wrecked shell of a car. I can’t even tell what it was. Behind it is a convoy of wrecks. Again TV news images are burnt into my brain. The flight of the Iraqi army from Kuwait comes to mind. I have to cross the bridge to get out of here.
I can’t remember anything after I passed the first body. The next thing I do remember is dry heaving in a ditch. I look back and I have crossed the bridge. I must have run because I am out of breath. It must have been pretty bad. I like to think I have a strong stomach but this is totally unreal. That’s why I love my brain. It blocks out all this stuff so I don’t become paralyzed by it.
I am trying to think. Do I stay on the road? Its’ easier to walk on, but what if I meet someone. Or do I walk in the brush. I don’t know. I compromise. I walk in the ditch at the side of the road. Its’ easy to walk in and I can duck down and hide if I see someone.
Well if there is one thing I have discovered today its’ that I am out of shape. My knees are all rubbery and I feel lightheaded. Maybe it’s’ the lack of food? Good guess Einstein. But I am having bad luck with food. Every time I eat I come across a new horror. But never discount miracles. An apple tree. A bloody apple tree at the side of the road. How the heck did it get here? The apples are small and not quite ripe, but who cares.
I wake up an hour later. My gut still hurts. I ate way too many and they were way too tart. I crawl into the brush a bit more and find fairly large tree. I curl up in its roots. I’ve always been able to sleep in the worst of circumstances. See you in the morning.

It’s amazing how good you can feel after a good night’s sleep. I am cold and sore but alive. I need to get moving so I head back to the ditch to get going. Now you may wonder why I am skipping along so fast. I could have described to you in great detail the endless nights cowering in my basement and listed in gory detail the many ways in which people died. But these things are not important. I am trying to get to the good part of the story but you will need some background as to when and how I came to be on a certain place on a certain day.
About an hour into my walk I come upon a dilemma. I first saw it as a black mark on the highway. I stopped and stared. I tried to make out what it was and looked for movement, nothing. I crept closer. I had no idea what it was. I hadn’t seen a car or person along the road. And here was something. What the heck was it? A glint of sun reflected off of it. So it was a machine or a person with a shiny belt buckle. I am scared. I sit for a bit thinking. Then I decide to use the landscape to my advantage. I head into the brush and cut along until I feel I am parallel to the thing on the road. I creep along towards the road now. I am listening to every sound and every time a twig crunches under my foot I think I am going to die on the spot.
I can see it better now. I creep closer. Now I stand up. And laugh to myself. It’s a motorcycle. I walk up to it. It’s been dropped pretty hard and most of the gas has leaked from the tank onto the ground leaving a dark stain on the road. I can see where the pegs and handle bar has scarped along the pavement. All I can think is how much it must have hurt when it went down. But where is the rider? I walk around the bike and see some blood on the back fender. The fear is back. What happened to the rider? He obviously came to a grizzly end. I hop into the ditch on the other side of the road. I see another dark mass. I creep toward it, expecting it to be the rider. It is. He is all crumpled up in a ball. It looks like he rolled for a while. As I walk around him I see what made him fall off his bike. He has a huge wound in his back. Like Mad Max. Someone buried an axe into his back while he was riding.
It makes no sense to me though. The bike he was riding looks fast. How could anyone do that? Couldn’t have been a passenger. That would be suicide. So someone in a really fast vehicle caught him and finished him. But why? Doesn’t matter now. He is dead and I have a ride. It may not be the smartest thing to ride a noisy machine around but I’m lazy and tired of walking.

I don’t think I could have found a better vehicle. A car would never get past the road blockages I know I’m going to find. But this bike is like a dream. It’s a big Honda dual purpose bike, a 400 no less. Lotsa torque…whatever that is. I hop on and turn the key, nothing. Ah, I look for a starter button. No starter button. What kind of bike is this? Then I feel a piece of metal poking me in the leg. A kick start?
Sweaty but victorious I head down the road.


It’s my third day on the bike. It’s been kinda fun but very spooky as well. I haven’t seen or heard another person in a long time. I may go crazy. The bike gets good mileage and I am going slowly to conserve gas. I’m in no hurry. The gas stations oddly enough are still working. There is power to most places and I just pump away. I feel guilty about not paying but whom would I pay? Who would care? And is money all that important anymore?

I acquired a leather jacket at one of the roadside cafes. A good one too. Oh, and a pair of gloves. It gets cold and my hands were starting to crack. Food isn’t a problem. I stocked up with Twinkies at one of the stations. They’ll keep forever. I have no real idea where I am going. I just keep heading east hoping to meet a friendly somebody.

Another night and day has passed. I stop for gas at an Esso. I go inside to hit the gas button behind the counter and then it all goes dark.

I don’t know if it is night or day. It is dark and damp. I assume I’m in a basement. It smells like a butcher’s shop in here. Serves me right for letting my guard down. I found some water in a bucket and cleaned my wound. I wouldn’t trust drinking the stuff though. My jacket and gloves are gone. So are my Twinkies.

I am awakened tonight by screaming. It ended after about 5 minutes. Now I’m too scared to sleep. My hunger is gone; my guts are all churned up with fear. I spend my time crawling around my dungeon trying to find a way out. But there is nothing, not even a window, and the door is a heavy metal fire door. My guess is it’s the basement of the station in a storeroom. All I can do is wait.

I was startled by the door swinging open and then blinded by the light in the space beyond. I go to cover my eyes but my arms are intercepted when two sets or arms grab them. I am hit in the face and things start to fade again. Add a glass jaw to my weaknesses. I am being dragged up stairs then down a hall then tossed into a chair. Now cold water on my face, great, now I’m drowning. A hand grabs my hair and pulls my face forward. The water runs out of my mouth so I can breathe. I taste blood but that may be the least of my worries.

“Who are you?” Finally, a human voice. There is no sense resisting.
“Tim.”
“Tim who?”
“Timothy Reginald Ellis.” No sense waiting for him to ask my full name is there?
“Where are you from and are there more.” Hmm, a statement, not a question. I wonder if he really wants to know, or if he just wants to see how well I lie. No sense lying, like I said, I’ve nothing to hide. I just want everything to be back to normal.
“Welkton, Alberta. Everyone was gone when I went into town.”
“Where’d they go?” A genuine question this time. Seems I’ve passed his test.
I say through broken lips, slurring, “It looks like those who didn’t run were killed and piled in the fields.”
My questioner just nods. I look at him for the first time. He is tall and heavy. Not overweight, but not in great shape. He is dirty and unshaven. If my nose weren’t full of blood he’d probably smell bad too.
“Where are you going?” he asks leaning back on his heels with his arms folded across his chest. I sense he wants a confrontation.
I tell the truth,” Anywhere there are people who don’t want to kill me.”
He laughs hard and loud, slaps me on the shoulder and turns to leave. One of the two sets of arms that are behind me asks, “What do we do with him.”
“Put him in the fields with the others, if he can’t cut it, kill him. We can’t have any deadwood here.”
Another blow to the head and it goes real fuzzy again.

Another splash of water, this is getting tedious, not to mention it’s wrecking my boyish good looks. I look blearily around. I shovel is handed to me. I take it. An arm attached to a burly man points to the ground. A half dug hole. I don't need to ask what it is. Six feet long and three feet deep, another three feet and we’ll have a grave.
I ask, “Whose is it?” I fear the answer but curiosity gets the best of me.
“Your predecessor.”
“Oh.” Is my only reply.

I hop in and start to dig. At six feet I stop and get out. I feel like heck. I’m sore, out of shape and my head feels like it’s going to explode. I sit down; actually I fall down and then sit up. I know they will kill me if I don’t cut it but the fact is I can’t cut it. I just want to curl up and go to sleep.
A large shadow falls over me. I cringe expected the ever common blow to the head. But there is no blow. I feel some heat near my head. I lift my head. It’s an aluminum plate with some food on it. I don’t ask questions. I just grab it and start eating. After I have licked the plate clean, literally, I look up. It’s the big burly guard. He looks worried. I look around. Almost everybody looks worried.
“What’s up?” I ask.
The big guard looks down, “You know what happened to your town?” I nod. “Well, they’re coming.”
I feel myself go pale. “I thought you guys did that?”
“No, we’ve been hiding here trying to build up a defense to keep them out.” He pauses. “You done?”
“Unless there’s more?” He shakes his head and takes my plate. Then motions for me to follow him. He shows me to a building and tells me to enter. Its dark inside but I can see from the light coming through the door that it’s the sleeping quarters. He points to the back wall and says, “There’s water in that bucket, get cleaned up and get some sleep.”
“Did I pass your test?” I ask.
“Test?” he asks back.
“Y’know, are you going to kill me?” He laughs and smiles.
“No, we just wanted to make sure that you weren’t one of them. A fellow that joined us in the beginning recognized you from the town he lived in. He said you were okay.”
“Who is he, the guy that recognized me, I mean?”
“Says his name is Bert Legere. Know him?”
“Sure do, he’s the guy at the hardware store. Helps me out all the time. My house is in rough shape.”He laughs out loud, “Actually he says you couldn’t fix breakfast and he ended up doing all the work.”I just smile. Bert is one heck of a guy. When no one else in that hick-town would help me he always lent me a hand. He knew the guy who sold me my place took me to the cleaners. I had no money to get it fixed so I had to do it myself. Bert helped me every step of the way.
“Better get some shut-eye. We’ve work to do tomorrow.”
Good advice, and easily followed.

I wake in the morning with the sun in my eyes. I roll over, I’m beat…. literally. But the sun is beating on me and I am hot. I roll on my stomach and sit up. The barracks is deserted but it was well used last night. All the beds are messy. I was so tired I didn’t even hear them come in or leave. I go to the bucket and splash water on my face. Ouch, ouch, OUCH! Man does that sting! I look around for a towel to wipe my face, I use my sheet instead. Looks like my wounds are getting infected. I can only really see out of one eye and a headache is encroaching around my skull. Add to that the fact that I am starving, again, still.

I walk outside. There is a lot of activity. People are putting up fences, some are sharpening sticks and poles, others still are digging holes. I look around for anyone who could point me to food. I glance back at the building I was in. It used to be a small stable. The roof is gone and in its place is a bunch of tarps nailed down. There is a big rip in one and that is where the sun was coming in. Speaking of the sun, it seems to be a long way to the west. I guess I must have slept through the morning. I lady passes me I step towards her and ask what time it is. Hers eyes grow wide and her face freezes. She stops, turns around and walks the other way. Now I know that I am bad with the ladies but this is silly. Maybe my face is worse than I thought. Just then I spy Bert working on a fence across the compound.

I walk up to him and touch him on the shoulder. He turns around and a big grin spreads across his face. I stick my hand out to shake his hand. He face grows dark. I feel a frown come across his face. It was then that I looked for his hand and realize that he has no right arm. I quickly put my hand away.
“Hi Bert, thanks for recognizing me.” I say.
“No problem. I wasn’t sure it was you underneath all that blood at first but then Mike told me what your name was and I knew it was you.”

I wanted to pass more pleasantries but my stomach was screaming for some attention. “Is there someplace I can get something to eat?” I ask.
“Sure is but I would suggest we get your face looked at, looks like someone ran over it with a truck, a Ford I think”
I smile at his graveyard humor, bad idea. My lips splits and I can taste blood.
“Yup,” Bert says, “I really think you should get that taken care of. Lunch can wait, besides with what you are about to go through your lunch wouldn’t stay down very long.”

We walk over to a rough building, it looks like it was knocked down and then put back together with some pieces missing. As we enter I wonder if living with my pain might be a better idea. The building is rife with the smell of death. Hygiene is obviously not a priority here. Bert points to a bench and motions for me to sit. He walks away to get someone.
“Here is our local Sawbones; he used to be a vet. He says that people and cows are all just animals.”
With that Bert leaves me to the devices of a rather sinister man with a blood soaked smock and a crocked smile. Why oh why did I ever leaves my nice dark safe basement. The grumble in my stomach reminds me. I now understand why most wars are fought over resources, i.e. food.

...(I wrote this story 10 years ago. I lost parts two and three when my hard drive crashed. I managed to recover part one from an email I sent to my friend who edited it for me. I will try to recreate parts two and three over the next few months as time permits. Please keep in mind that the storeys and writings in here are fiction, there may be some parts of my life in there, but for the most part they are not true. I'm just writing.)

This is so messed up! How did it go so wrong? We were just going to mess around with her. Now I am so terrified I’ve wet myself. What the hell were we thinking! Okay, I’m panicking, I realize that. Okay, just try to stay calm. I have to go home and make it look natural. I can’t go home like this. I’m a mess and I’ve been crying. I have got to get it together. I can’t stop thinking about it. This can’t be real. Oh shit. What have we done? I keep going over it. Okay, one last time. What could I have done differently?

The guys and I just went out riding after school, like we always do. I went over to Steven’s house and we waited for Mario. Then we all went over to get George. We were bored of the usual parks and paths. I think Steven suggested we go to the quarry and ride the rim and see if we could get down into it. No one else had a better idea so we decided to go. It was a long ride. It took nearly an hour. Steven was going to be late for dinner. He knew that even before we left. But his family is so lax, lax about everything. His morals aren’t what I would call up to par. His Dad had been divorced before because he cheated on his wife. His second wife became my second mom. I was over there all the time. She and my mom always prepared extra food just in case we decided to come over to each other’s place. We always did. Steven was a great guy, a little slow but loyal as a hound dog. He was also big so no one would bother me. We just laughed all the time and did all kinds of things. The only problem was that he had a weak will. He would go along with anybody. This wasn’t such a good thing since he had become out informal leader. I’m not sure how or why that happened. I guess because he was more aggressive than any one of us. He would stand up for himself and the group when trouble came around. His dad wasn’t around too much so Steven got bought off with all kinds of thing. That’s why he had the best bike and the worse diet. He always lagged behind.

He was lagging behind now as we rode along Main Street. We were well out of the downtown area and riding through suburbs. Street names that I never heard of went by. We were definitely out of our territory. I didn’t recognize a single kid and they looked at us like foreigners. We were in a sense. When new kids came into our block we always followed them to see where they were going. To intimidate them and to tell them that this was our place and they were invading. Odd to think how much kids are like little adults with no consciences.

We were out into farmland now and the road was a two lane highway with cars whipping past at 80 km/h. We had to stick to the gravel shoulder and it was slow going. The cars threw up dust and dirt and it filled my lungs. It tasted like salt left over from the winter gravel trucks. The quarry wasn’t too far off now. Mario was in the lead. Reckless abandon was his motto, which is why he liked to be in front.

Mario was the second of twins. His sister, Debbie, was a few seconds older than he was and she never let him forget it. Debbie was a beauty, even at our age. She was the only one that I didn’t consider icky. She was tall and thin and pale, just like her brother. What made her beautiful made him look like a rake. He had this thin hair that was more misbehaved than he was. Their folks were very well off. His dad was a jeweler in Toronto. They too lacked for nothing and while Debbie capitalized on this, Mario seemed to be the opposite. He almost looked like a street kid. Always dirty and his clothes were ripped and old. I bet it drove his mom nuts. We never went to Mario’s place too often, mostly because he lived farther away than the rest of us. We all lived in the same neighborhood. All our streets were named after the farmer’s kids who owned the land. But mostly we never went to Mario’s because he didn’t want us to. I never saw his room the whole time I knew him. I practically lived in Steven’s room and George’s basement. Mario was a bit of a loner too. Whenever our plans didn’t jive with what Mario wanted he would just take off. He also had another group of friends to hang out with. The rest of us only had each other but Mario was on a hockey team. We didn’t like those guys. They were way too violent and Steven didn’t look so big next to them. So we stayed away when Mario was with them.
I still remember the day that Mario showed up with the biggest shiner. He was so proud of it. His eye was swollen shut and it was purple. I had never seen skin go purple before. He had got it defending his sister’s honor. One of his hockey buddies was getting fresh with her and Mario stepped in. He stepped in and was stepped on. Like I said, he wasn’t very big. I always had the biggest crush on Debbie and I always thought she looked my way. However, I always thought of that black eye and what Mario did for his sister. I didn’t want Mario to have to hit me.

We got to the quarry finally. It was late afternoon and it was hot. In hindsight it probably wasn’t such a great idea to ride across town in the heat of the day but we were never known for our smarts. We just did stuff. We kept going along the road because there was a gas station at the next intersection. We all got drink except for me. The guys always seemed to have money. I had a paper route and I knew I had more money than them but my Dad had imbibed on me that I was to save it all and spend none of it. So that’s what I did. I looked at drinks as a luxury. So I went out back and took a drink from the tap. No wonder I was healthier than them. It also probably was the difference. They guys were on a big sugar rush. 90 pound kids and a bottle of pop is a powerful combination. George especially was susceptible to it. He was tiny. I was always happy when George was in my class. It meant that I was not the smallest and we would share the ‘picked on’ category. But we all know that George was going to be a big boy. His shoes were huge and he was always growing out of them. His folks were big people as well so George had this confidence about him. It was like he allowed them to pick on him now but he knew he would grow up and would remember those who took advantage of his size. He never did though. He was too smart. George was an interesting piece of work. He was the level headed one, the conscious and our mascot. He was an accident. He parent never planned on having him. His folks were old when they had him. A few examples, George was an uncle 3 times over by the time he was 12. His next nearest sister was twice as old as him at the time of this story. His dad retired from the Plant before George got into high school. He knew he was an accident. He was always surrounded with older people. He played with his nieces and nephews. This all has an effect on a guy. George was grown up before his time. And that contradiction of a man stuck in a very small child’s body was hard for him and it came out in the most peculiar ways. This was most notable in the fact that he would never cry in front of us. Never, never, never. Not even when he managed to jam a piece of fence right through his hand. He just removed it himself. Walked home! Cleaned himself up and went back to school. But we always knew that he must cry at night. We just knew it and it broke our hearts. That’s why we never talked about it and why we let him hang out with us. George tried so hard to be a kid but he acted like an adult. It was hard on us too. We called him dad sometimes and that really burned him. I don’t know what ever happened to George. It was a case of us not really wanting to know just in case we found out he cried in public once. If that was the case it would be all over for him.

We rode back to the quarry, and rode around the rim looking for a way in. There was a fence that was on a road the trucks used to get into the pit. But it was locked and there was no way around it. Mario got off his bike often as we rode around again and tried to climb down. Steven egged him on, I said to come back that it was too steep. George just watched. The path around the rim was well worn. Dirt bikes came here often but we didn’t see any today but their tracks were unmistakable. We were getting a bit bored. It was not the adventure we were hoping for. We were about to give up and go home when we saw her. A girl in a pink dress riding along the path that led to the quarry across a field. She had a little white bike with tassels from the handle bars. We could see her little pig tails had ribbons on. And she was alone, prime target for a little teasing.
We were all of an age that girls were icky but we were finding commercials on TV more “interesting”, especially the ones with scantily clad women. Steven was way ahead of us in this department. He was the first to develop armpit hair and reveled in showing us any new ones. He had failed a grade early on so was a year ahead of us. He was the first one to start after her. We, of course, followed, George bringing up the rear as usual.
We got up to her quickly and I thought we were going to do a quick drive by to scare her and show off out manliness. But Steven, at the last second, slowed down and stuck his arm out. He grabbed at her pig tail as he rode by. I thought he was nuts. She might fall and hurt herself. I was always paranoid of getting into trouble and therefore paranoid of somebody who might tell on us. I froze to see what would happen. Steven got some hair and tugged as he went by. She yelped and Steven laughed. It looked like fun so I tried the same thing. But I am notoriously uncoordinated. I nearly fell off my bike as I rode by and hit a bump. I didn’t get her hair but I damned near ran into her. Mario was on the other side and he got just a snippet of hair but he didn’t let go. He managed to take some hair with him. Boy did she scream. She slowed down to a stop to turn around. It is common knowledge that girls can’t turn their bikes around while riding. As she stopped, George finally caught up. He had no intention of doing anything. Just to get to the guys and tell them what foolishness this was. And as usual, George got the consequences of our actions. She faked pushing her bike into George. He swerved and went off the path and into the bushes. They slowed him down and tore at his legs. He went down. When he got up, he was mad. I’m not sure at what, but he was mad. I had never seen George mad before. It was actually quite funny. The guys thought it was funny too because they started laughing. That must have really burned him up. He hasn’t said anything the whole way up but I guess he must have been tired. George was always sick. Right from when he was born he was always sick. He spent the first 6 months of his life in a hospital and had been in and out ever since.
George got back on his bike and rode at the girl. I guess he was mad at us for laughing and her for making him ride into the bush. But he was mostly mad because he paid for what we did. But he couldn’t do anything to us but he could to her. The girl was scared and hopped on her bike. She was actually waiting to see if George was all right but I think she regretted it now because she lost her head start. George had some trouble getting going. Maybe he was hurt but he got up to speed on the trail and caught up to her. I had no idea what he was going to do once he caught her. There isn’t much you can do. But he passed her and took his hand off the handlebar. It was then we all realized why it took him so long to get going. He threw sand at the girl and it hit her square in the face. That’s when George’s plan, what little planning there was, fell apart. The two bikes came together as the girl lost control. George went down first. Not fast because girls can’t ride that fast right? The girl’s bike went over George’s bike then over George. Then she went down and landed on her hands. Guys know to roll when they fall off. We have fallen off a lot. But she landed and started to cry immediately. George obviously wasn’t hurt because he got up immediately too. I saw that he knew his rage had made him act rashly. He was going over to help her. She saw it differently. When she saw him she lunged at him and began clawing at him.
The rest of us has stopped a little up the trail and were watching all this, slightly amused. But when the girl attacked George, Steven sprang into action. He was very protective of us and took his role as leader seriously. But he wasn’t a thinker. He threw his bike down and ran. He would have got there faster if he rode, but like I said, he wasn’t a thinker. Mario and I got on our bikes and started after Steven. I managed to get Steven’s bike along with mine. That was one of my special talents. The guys called me tow truck. I had acquired this rather specialized skill as George’s parents often came to get him from my place and I always took his bike back to him the next day.
Mario caught up to and passed Steven and was the first on the scene. But he has no idea what to do. George was holding his arms up in front of him trying to protect his eyes. The girl was flailing madly. I knew she couldn’t see well from the dirt in her eyes as she was missing terribly. George never fought back as he was taught not to hit girls. As was Mario, who was punished severely if he even touched his sister. So George held his arms up and Mario just stood there not knowing what to do. Steven however had no such moral dilemma. He and his sister would readily fight while his parent calmly watched TV.
Steven literally leapt on her and flung her back. She landed a few feet away on her back. I rode up just then to see her eyes. They were full of fear. Steven obviously didn’t see that. He lunged at her again. I must give the girl some credit. She moved fast. But Mario moved faster. He grabbed Steven. Steven turned on him and pushed him away. Steven turned back around to see the girl running away. He took off in pursuit, Mario in pursuit of Steven. I dropped both bikes and went to George. He sat calmly on the ground, a bit stunned. I asked if he was okay and he responded by saying we had to stop Steven. I had no idea what he meant. George just said Jason. Now I realized why we must stop Steven. He doesn’t know his own strength.
Jason was a kid in a grade lower than us. He stole Steven’s swing when he leapt off of it. He could always get the highest of us all but couldn’t beat Mario’s style when leaping off. Steven came back and just grabbed the swing from the kid. Pushed him off and started pounding on him. The kid was nearly senseless when the teacher pulled Steven off. He was suspended and Jason went to another school. Steven said he didn’t remember what happened just that he kept hitting and forgot who he was hitting. George was afraid it would happen again.
So George and I leapt up and got on our bikes. We caught up to Mario who had Steven by the shirt shaking him. I thought it was odd that Mario had the strength to shake Steven. But it seemed to do the trick. Steven looked around at the girl fleeing across the field. We all stopped and caught our breath. We all were a bit shocked and out blood definitely ran high. We were all shaking.
We then heard a voice from the field. It was the girl. She was yelling all kinds of things that girls shouldn’t be yelling. So we yelled back. Then she said she was calling the cops, that made us stop. Steven has been arrested once for shoplifting and his dad nearly beat him unconscious. He had no intention of letting that happen again. He took off back down the trail. We followed like good soldiers. George yelled, “What are we doing?” He said getting her bike. That was one of Steven’s most truly inspiring moments. A trade, her bike for our freedom. Steven got the bike and yelled at her that if she ever wanted to see it again then she wouldn’t tell. She was pretty brave and said she would tell anyway and the cops would get it for her. Hmm, Steven was stumped. Mario came to the rescue. He yelled that if she told we would throw her bike into the quarry. She didn’t say anything. I guess she was trying to figure out if we would do it or not. I knew Steven would. He had thrown mine into the creek from the bridge once on a dare. Luckily I could fix it but I never called his dare again. Next time I might still be on the bike. So Steven picked up the bike and started to walk to the fence. She screamed! She said “All right!” if we left her bike there she wouldn’t tell. So Steven unceremoniously dropped the bike where he stood and backed off with his arms wide open. We all started to walk away as she started towards it. She kept a wary eye on us.
When she got to her bike she picked it up and looked at it. She yelled that there was a scratch on it. We all acted in a very mature fashion and pretended we were crying over the scratch. That pissed her off. She hopped on and started to pedal. She yelled back that she was going to tell. My heart sank, my knees went weak and I pictured the yelling my father would do. I turned and ran for my bike. I assumed the others did as well but I passed them on my bike as they ran past to get theirs.
I rode like the devil. I could see where she went and pursued like my pants were on fire. I had no idea what I was going to do but I knew I had to stop her. I never thought once that she might be bluffing. Who was she going to tell? We weren’t even from here. How would she find us? I wasn’t thinking.
I heard the guys behind me but I was way ahead. I caught up to her as she passed a bend. There was a long straight path ahead. I came up beside her and pushed her, hard. I had no idea what I was doing or what I was going to do. She fell and I realized that was the wrong thing to do. It was only making things worse. But it is always funny the things that go through your mind when crises happen. As she landed she started to roll. I though, she’s learning. Then I saw her disappear. I was shocked at first and a bit confused. Where did she go? I skidded to a stop and turn the bike around as I did. There was her bike and a cloud of dust from my skid but no little girl. The guys came screaming around the corner, George last. They slowed when the saw me. Their looks asked the question. I answered with a shrug. I got off my bike and walked to her bike. It was then I realized what had happened.
The spring rain had washed out part of the wall of the pit. The fence was six feet from the side. If you walked along it was an optical illusion, it looked like the fence was connected to the ground. It wasn’t. It was suspended in mid air. My heart sank for the second time that day. Shit. I looked at the guys. Steven looked at me. He looked down the path and back at me. He said, “Last one home is a bum-licker, and took off.” Mario and George stared at Steven’s back. Mario looked down and took off slowly. He never looked up. George stood there straddling his bike, looking at the gap in the fence.
I stared at George. He was white. Then we heard a small voice say “help”. George went even paler. I thought he was going to throw up. She was still alive. I could see the thoughts going through his head. He started to think again. She is going to send the cops after us for sure now. She is going to climb out and call the cops. And we won’t be able to stop her. Then it dawned on him. She doesn’t know us. We aren’t from around here. If they do find us we can deny it. He hopped off and grabbed a fallen tree branch. He started sweeping the area with it. We had watched a cowboy movie where the hero had hid his tracks that way. George was thinking, but in the wrong way. When he was done he looked at me and said, “let’s get outta her before she climbs out.” I still stared at him. He said it again, like I didn’t hear. I got off my bike and walked to the gap. George said “C’mon!” I looked over the edge.
The wall of the quarry was sloping all the way around. It was steep but it would be a hell of a toboggan ride in the winter. It sloped everywhere but here. Here it dropped straight down. She was hanging on to a ledge and a root. I tensed up and turn to tell George to help me or she would fall. George was gone. I can’t believe he left me.

I looked back down the pit. She looked up and quietly said “help”. She was scared of me. I was the one who pushed her down the hole. She thought I was going to kill her and was appealing to my goodness. I dropped to my knees and stretched out my hand. Not even close. She said “help me” again and I said I was coming. I got on my belly and again reached out. I was off by about five feet. I was not a big kid and I never wished more than then that I was taller. If the guys were here they could grab my ankles. But they were not. I inched forward and loose dirt fell down the side into her eyes. She whipped her head away and I saw her grip loosen. I said to hold still and that I was coming. I knew she would die if she fell. I just knew. I started to slide down the side. Even if I could get to her I couldn’t pull her up. But I kept going anyway. Then it dawned on me. If I got to her she could climb up me and then pull me up. I could not go farther down the side to get at her. I stopped my slide with my hands as I came to a big root sticking out the side. I had to go further. I let go and slide some more. Too fast! I scrambled, loose dirt went flying. I grabbed the root as it went past my hip. I had only one hand forward now and I was sliding sideways now. My foot felt something. I looked up. It was the sheared off end off an old fence post, worn smooth. I hooked my foot with it and reached for a rock sticking out. I let go with my other hand and reached to her. I felt flesh! I had her hand but she would not grasp mine. I told her to grab my hand and climb up. She was scared. I was terrified. My foot was sore, and my hands were raw. She looked up at me and right into me. She pleaded to me with her eyes, her pretty blue eyes. I yelled at her to grab my hand. She was startled by my tone and just reached up and grabbed it. Her other hand took the weight for a second and the bush she was holding ripped out of the ground. She hung there, grabbing my hand. Her hands were sweaty but I knew we were almost there. I said to climb up as I couldn’t pull her up. She tried but there was no way. I looked across the quarry to see of anyone was there. The sun was beginning to set and an eerie glow made the sky look purple. I looked down again. I told her I couldn’t pull her up she was going to have to climb. She started to cry and said she couldn’t. She never asked where my friends were. I guess she knew they were gone. She looked at me and said, “Don’t let go.” I told her I wouldn’t. Don’t let go, don’t let go, don’t let go. Over and over, pleading me. I knew I wouldn’t be able to save her now and I doubted if I could get back up myself. I told her if she couldn’t climb up we would both die. My arm was screaming. My foot was in agony but I didn’t let go. Don’t let go she said, don’t let go. I promised I wouldn’t let go, I wouldn’t leave her.
My arm was numb and I felt my fingers loosen, or was it hers. I couldn’t tell. She looked up again as she had buried her face in the dirt. She said don’t let go, I won’t I said, I won’t. Save yourself, who said that? Don’t let go, and her hand slipped from mine. I watched her fall. It took a long time. Oddly, she stared at me the whole time. My eyes welled up with tears so I didn’t see her hit. I blinked and my tears fell down to meet her. She looked like a rag doll. All crumpled up. Her life was gone I could see it, feel it. Her dressed looked like it was on fire in the setting sun. I stared for an eternity.
Then my foot woke me up to the fact I was in trouble. But without her weight I was in no danger of falling. But I couldn’t get up. But I had to. I’m not sure how but I pushed myself up the side backwards. Pushing and straining till I saw the fence out of the corner of my eye. I was up top again. I put my head down and rested.
When I rolled over I was in pain. My arm felt like it had been ripped from its socket. I sat up and saw my bike lying there. I got up and walked to it. I would go get help. Then it hit me, I’ve killed somebody. I killed her. I pushed her over the edge and killed her. But I tried to save her, but you pushed her. I stood and looked at the horizon then turned and looked across the quarry. No sounds at all. The dirt bikers weren’t her today, no one saw me. Could I? I had to. I had to save myself, she said that. I grabbed the branch that George used in a fevered rush. I swept the area. I saw her bike; I dragged it across the ground and pushed it over. I hoped it didn’t hit her. It would look like an accident. She was going too fast and she went over. I looked around all was okay. It would be okay if my bike tracks were here, you couldn’t see her from here and my tracks might have put there before hers. I got on my bike and started to ride.

This is so messed up! How did it go so wrong? We were just going to mess around with her. Now I am so terrified I’ve wet myself. What the hell were we thinking! Okay, I’m panicking, I realize that. Okay, just try to stay calm. I have to go home and make it look natural. I can’t go home like this. I’m a mess and I’ve been crying. I have got to get it together. I can’t stop thinking about it. This can’t be real. Oh shit. What have we done? I keep going over it. Okay, one last time. What could I have done differently? Nothing, everything. Ah, hell.

I stopped at the creek under the bridge, close to where Steven had tossed my bike in last summer. I washed my face and cleaned my hands. I bushed myself off and tucked myself in. I looked at my reflection and I looked okay. My pee had dried on my pants on the way home. I smelled but it didn’t looked like I wet myself. I rode the short distance home. I walked in and Mom asked if I had dinner. I said I ate at Steven’s. That was not unusual. I said I was going to bed. That brought Mom out of the kitchen. She looked at me funny. She asked what was wrong; I looked like I had been crying. I said no. She gave me the Mom look. I said that Steven and I had a fight and I was going to have a bath and go to bed. She looked concerned but my Dad called to her to get him another beer. She turned around to answer and I was gone up the stairs. I don’t remember much that night, except I didn’t sleep much. When I did, I awoke with a start. It was only in the early morning that it hit me. Someone was out looking for their daughter and was worried sick. I wanted to die.

It was in the papers the next evening and I read the story as I did my route. They called it an accident. A girl named Stacey on her new bike that her dad bought for her on her birthday ran off the path in the failing light to her death.

I saw Steven that evening as I was finishing off my route. He rode over. I asked if he heard. He said no, and then warned me to keep my mouth shut. I said I would. I was scared of him. He was scared which made me scared. He said he talked to George and Mario and they were both going to do the same. I never told him I tried to save her. He never asked if I was the one who threw the bike down. But I’m sure they figured it out.

It was never the same after that. We never hung out much that summer or ever again. Mario moved away the next summer. Steven went to a vocational school after he nearly flunked. George and I went right through high school together but I was in a different program than him so I never talked to him. Not that we wanted to. We all made new friends and moved on. I’m not sure if the others wake up at night sweating as I do. They were not the ones who pushed her, but they were there and they helped in a way. But they don’t have a voice in their head that asks them not to let go. I have never let go since, to anyone or anything. I wrap myself in people and hold onto them. But I am dead inside and my smile never reaches my eyes. I will be punished for my crime for eternity. I will live to be an old man, alone after people have let go of me. That is my punishment. Fitting, isn’t it?

In the last month I have found myself not enjoying life.
If you knew me, you'd be worried.
I always enjoy what I am doing while I am doing it. And I'll do almost anything.
This is why you will find no details of who I am on this Blog. You don't need to know.
The only thing you need to know is what is written here.

On Sunday I took a ride on my bike. Not a bicycle, those are for people who want to get tired.
My bike is a 1984 Honda Interceptor. I'll post a picture if I remember.
I went for a short ride.
But somehow I arrived back home two hours and forty minutes after I left.
I had done well over 200 kilometers.
Where had the time gone and where did I go?
It was like being stuck in an episode (bad one) of Star Trek.
I have a GPS, I downloaded the data. I went through several counties, mostly dirt roads.
But I do not remember a damned thing.
It was cold, windy and bright. The scenery was no doubt pretty.
So where was my mind?
And why did my memory not record?

Three weeks ago, the last time I was on the bike, I had a much different experience.
The smells, sounds and sights sent me jolting back to other times and places in my life.
Yes, like yet another bad episode of Star Trek.
But it wasn't "like" I was there. I was there. Physically. Mentally.
It was disturbing.
Disturbing because while I was back in BC, riding my old bike, through the Frasure Valley.
I could look forward and see where I am now.
I existed in two places at once.
And I did not like what I said to my future self.
Have I changed so much?

When I ride, it always brings me closer to God.
It is just me and Him, the bike and the land.
I could talk to Him, and I would listen to Him speak to me with the road.
I have not spoken to Him in quite a while.
I am sure He is trying to talk to me. But I have seemed to have lost the ability to listen.
Perhaps I will not like what He has to say.
Perhaps I know what He is going to say.
Perhaps I do not want to hear.
At this point I am only just keeping it together, though sheer force of will.
His will, for I really think he is carrying me.
I know this, because I do not have this much strength in me.

It is getting cold out now.
Perhaps one more weekend to ride.
In a few weeks there will be leaves and rain and wind.
Riding in that is asking for a trip to the hospital, if they find me.
Riding in that used to be a challenge, or a cue to head south.
Now I shall have to make a decision.
Do I go out, and if I do, will I listen?
Or fade into the scenery.

There is something cohesive about it all.
I have stripped that bike down to its bare skeleton, and built it back up.
I know where each bolt goes, what each sound is.
When it vibrates at a certain RPM I know it is the natural harmonics of the V4.
I know how fast I can take the corner, how quickly I can brake.
I know all these things as you can only know a bike you have spent great amounts of time on.
I love the sound when I open it wide open and accelerate full throttle.
As much as I love the sound of cruising at 80 in 5th at four thousand RPM.

One last ride then.
To ask the question I don't want to ask.
To hear the answer I already know.
This is going to be hard.
I am going to have to become what I need to be.
Not what I want to be.
In those days I was Lupus Solitarum.
The Lone Wolf.
I no longer walk alone.

Maybe yesterday was my last great walk.
The last great ride.
Perhaps, after all that, I have become a pack animal after all.
And is that so bad?

I'm not sure when but at some point someone set the dial to fast forward.

Yesterday Adele turned three. WHAT! Last week she was born and the week before that I got married.

I shake my head to think that I have been working at my current job for over four years. My previous record was eight months.

Now I intuitively understand that having a familiy changes your priorities but I never though it would happen to me. Not that regret a single moment of anything, not that I would change a single decision. I just wish it would slow down a bit so I could enjoy it more.

I seem to be play with Eden and Adele in little 10 minute chunks. Stuffed between getting up, dressed, fed and to daycare and getting from daycare, fed and to bed. I impose my world order on them. Why do we have to rush off, why can't we go to the park. I would love nothing better than go to the park, than work, clean, fix, visit and sleep. But that is life. I don't even mind the extra burden of my wife going back to work. We have to sacrifice if the girls are to get any kind of financial help from us when they need it. Perhaps they will make a better go of it than I have, professionally speaking.

Last week when I took the bike out for a test ride after adjusting the valves I had a Twilight Zone moment. For a minute I was back in the Frasure Valley, no job, no money no responibilities. Throwing the bike into corners and sorting it out on the way out, Jaques Villeneuve style. Was a nostalgic? Hell yes. Did I want wish to go back to those days? Absolutely. It was only in the quite of the night lying awake did I remember the crushing lonliness, the fear of an uncertain future and quiet creeping of death as I continued to say yes to ever more dangerous activities.

So was I ready for my African Experience? You are never sure until you are in the moment and I was only very sure when I stood on the shore in Port Elizabeth at sunset, standing on ground that a glacier has never touched! This land was so foreign, yet so familiar. I was a white, first world male visiting a black, 3rd world nation. I could not have been more out of place. But there was the feeling, that aching feeling of belonging. Here was the family I never knew, yet understood completely. And more importantly, understood me completely. So was I ready? Yes and no but one thing is for certain. When I got home I realized I was forever changed.

It was from that certainty that my confidence and direction stemmed from. Its amazing that you will know where you are going, if you know who you are. In fact its quite easy. I went from believing that I would not make it to 30 let alone have a family. Now here I am....

So where am I? I am devoting my whole self to three tasks. Raising two girls, being a husband and working hard at my job. I try to balance these three but fail miserably constantly. At least one and usually two of those suffer as I focus too much on one aspect. And what of friends and other family? They usually get the scaps of time in between everything else which is not enough and not fair.

And I go back to Africa. And I see my life through their eyes and they are laughing at me! I know they are because they work on africa time, there will always be time. And they are right. But I am plunging down a river of rapids with no boat let alone a paddle. How am I supposed to work in african time? And I am not alone, and that is sad. Where are we all going? And why? In the end we look at africa and say what a poor backwards unevolved place it is. But what if they are right and we are wrong? I think we might be, I really do.

Elephants

I wrote this shortly after returning from Africa in 1999.

It was hot and dusty. The wave of heat blasted me as I stepped from the car. The air conditioning was deceptive. It made the African plains seems almost hospitable. But as I walked from the car to the edge of the small hill the sun beat down on me sapping my strength. I peered into the heat haze that blanketed the entire area. My uncle was positive we would see the elephants here. He was a man on a mission. He would find the bachelor group and I would see them. I felt the sweat break out on my forehead. As I raised my small pair of binoculars to my face my uncle grabbed my arm and turned me to the west. “There”, he said, “right by the water hole.”
The four elephants were indeed by the water hole, three good sized males and a huge male with a straight tusk. I was dumbfounded. We were miles away from them and they looked huge. As they wandered around the vicinity of the water stopping to drink or to blow dust on themselves I was struck by how graceful they were. These were massive six ton animals, the largest land animal. Yet with the grace that most ballerinas lack they eased their massive bodies around. They looked so serene I didn’t want to go closer to see them. I wanted to let them be. But my uncle piled us into the car and we drove with breakneck speed down the hill. We passed all kinds of wildlife on either side of us, monkeys, buck, and birds. But we wanted to see the elephants.
We came upon the watering hole and the bachelors eyed us with weary acceptance and then proceeded to ignore us. The largest male was just standing there, his trunk draped over his one long straight tusk. He eyed the other males. The other males moved about aimlessly. The smallest went for a drink. He eased himself onto his knees and extended his trunk to the water. I swear I could see the water level go down as he drank. He then removed his trunk for the water and placed it in his mouth. Most of it ended up on the ground at his feet in puddles that quickly seeped back into the parched soil. He small male then tried to get back on his feet again. A bit of the magic of the beast was destroyed then. He was so clumsy. He looked in our direction embarrassingly as if to say sorry for spoiling our image of elephants. As he hobbled up the other elephants came towards him. They sidled alongside and began to rub against him. The largest male stood in front of him and they began a pushing match. The match was over very quickly as the small male capitulated. The big males then stood in a circle in front of the watering hole as if guarding it.

It was then that the warthog family came by. My Uncle had turned the car off and was snapping pictures furiously. The grunting and snorting caught our attention. We turned our gaze and a mother with her three piglets passed ten feet in front of the car. They made their way to watering hole and passed right between the male elephants to gain access to the water. The males did their best to ignore them.

Then another car pulled up behind us, and the magic was broken. Before it was a private show, just the elephants and us, sharing an African afternoon. Now it was a zoo. People were staring and the fences that were a mile to the north revealed themselves for what they were, a really large cage. I loved seeing those elephants but a sharp tinge of guilt went through me when I realize that we nearly killed them off and to save them we have to put them in jail. Maybe their graceful movements were not borne out of peace but out of resignation over their life sentence for crimes they did not commit.

Suffering in Self Imposed Exile

Wrote this one while camping in White Lake Ontario in September...

The one thing that has always annoyed me about the mornings is that it is light; lighter than dark I mean. At least the dark hides most of the things I don’t want to see. The other thing is that it is always colder than when I went to bed. Not quite sure what the deal is there. Mostly the thing about mornings that I hate is that I am not sleeping. Sleeping has become a commodity to be traded like gold and wheat. Maybe I should set up a sleep trading board. You know, take sleep from people who don’t need it, people who are unemployed or retired and sell it to people who need it, high powered CEO’s and people like myself who insist on going to be hours after the sun has gone down but insist on waking up with it. Now I say insist but really it is my body that is insisting. My brain would much rather be sleeping ‘til noon but the old bod says with a blink of the eyes, you’re up, might as well get going.

Today I think I’ll start by shivering uncontrollably. Even though it is the same temperature as it was five minutes ago when I was sleeping comfortably, I am now freezing. Haven’t quite figured that one out either. I think it must be that my brain is occupied with dreams and not actually processing my temperature sensors. My new thought is to occupy my brain so I won’t feel the cold. I figure making breakfast is a good way to occupy my mind but I am distracted by the fact that I CAN’T MOVE MY HANDS

Mornings like this make you want to fill your lungs with air. Back when I was "Lupus Solitarum" (Lone Wolf for all you non-Latin types) I would crave days like these. It rained all day yesterday; hard rain, big rain, cold rain. It washed the earth clean. The roads are clean, the trees are green even the road signs are glowing.

When I was riding the rain never really bugged me. It did make me tired though. I had to be careful with a fully (read over) laden motorcycle. I had been caught out a few times when the heavy back end wanted to swap places with the front. So you really have to look ahead, plan the route, watch for cars, deer, potholes.
But I always knew that when the rain stopped and the sun came out it would be a great day.

I would get up early, five am and be out of the campsite an hour later. The next few hours, until the sun made the earth a sauna, were golden. I loved the mist that hung in the forests and the dripping of the rain from the leaves. I especially loved it when the wind stirred the leaves and a little rain shower would descend to the earth. Like my own private rain storm.

The trees and grass would be washed clean and stretching their limbs and blades to the sky. They would be so green it would hurt your eyes. The road was still damp with two dry lines running in each lane. The birds would be out singing their hearts out. These were the mornings to live for.

I would not even hear the bike or the tires on the asphalt. It would be like floating four feet from the ground the world rushing by in a mad green blur. There was always so much oxygen in the air you felt drugged by it. Every flower was infusing the air with it’s sent, a wild cacophony of perfume.

Today was like that, driving into work in my little, old car. But it was not the same. It was like belong reminded of a really great dream that you woke up from. I could remember every detail so clearly but knowing that it was not here, was not now. Boxed in my vehicle, bound by the clock, I knew the moment would not last the morning, just the 12.3 kilometers to the parking lot.

Am I glad I took those journeys, had those adventures? Yes. Am I resentful of my life and what it has become? No. But I do miss the morning when you want to fill your lungs with air and float along a ribbon of asphalt till the sun turned the Earth into a sauna, that’s all.

I wrote this in 1998 while stranded in New Mexico.....

Cigarette Paper

As it moves across the horizon it spews a beige cloud behind it. Unlike a passing storm, this cloud hangs in the air, lying still on the separation of earth and sky. It’s like a wedge trying to force them apart. In the heat haze it shimmers, trying to wriggle them apart. It’s a mile away but I can taste the fine silt on my tongue. It sticks, clings and makes mud in my mouth. The truck continues on the road creating and spewing out its wedge of dirt. The road travels on for miles, if it goes on long enough will it split the heavens from the earth? I hope so. Any relief from this place would make me a happy man.

The cloud on the horizon is the only cloud in sight. No rain, water or even mist can penetrate this ceaselessly arid place. It hangs, that cloud, the dirt, so pounded smashed, tilled, shoveled, graded so small it’s lighter than the air, it floats. No puff of breeze to wash that cloud away. Even the horizon is a victim of this place.

If you separate the foil from the paper backing from a pack of cigarettes and fold it just so, then light it, it flies away burning itself as it goes. It rises ever higher eating, consuming its own body to do so until there is just black flakes rising, separating, disintegrating. I wish this place would rise, separate and disintegrate. Heaven knows it’s thin enough. There is all kinds of heat to make it rise. I just need to separate the paper from the foil. Wishing for that cloud of dust to separate the earth from the sky so I can fold it up, light it up, and burn it into oblivion, just so I don’t have to be here anymore.

Y'know, of all the things I have done in my life (supid and otherwise). I would rather be a dad than anything else.
I find this strange as its very hard work and at times disgusting and menial. But it is also the most rewarding. I'd rather have a hug from my daughter than race a car.
That's it. I'll post more later.