Rooms to Black Suites


December 9th, 2018 by Patrick Starks

Rooms to Black MAIN.jpg

Part I

If one would take only a moment to breathe, they would see life to be more magical than what they think. From Halloween to Christmas, we the people would electrify the world with our love for the holidays—costumes, candy, toy stores, sitting on Santa’s lap even. And yet there Mr.Grane and I stood wondering if that same joy still existed, for not much was left from his or my childhood. No more Toys R us, meant the end of the nostalgia of child’s hood, however, nothing can be done about it now. Nothing at all.

Mr. Grane and I were now standing in front of the door that he had pointed to. It was solid brown, reindeer antlers hanging from the top of it, followed by scratches at the bottom that made me wonder what poor feline the residents had abandoned.

“Are they home?” I asked.

“Yeah, she’s home,” said Mr. Grane, with a face as blank as the white walls that surrounded.

Probably should’ve been Mr. Grane to knock, but it seemed my courage would be tested again. Eager to solve the mystery of a lost child, I banged on the door, without hesitation. There was silence. Although, behind the door smelt that of a Korean BBQ—sweet and spicy all in one. My stomach growled, and it was all the more reason to know that the place was not vacant. And if so, it wouldn’t have been for too long.

Mr. Grane then pushed me out of the way, blustering the door like a madman. Fire was in his eyes. I’d seen it before, but this fire was different. The kind of fire a man gets when he sees that the one he loves has found another.

Oddly, the apartment was completely vacant—somewhat what I had suspected. Food was still on the stove but obviously had been for a while with all the mold that surfaced it, although, it sure didn’t smell like it. Nevertheless, whoever lived there had been gone for a couple of days, more so a week, if we counted the calendar to our left.

Mr. Grane would then walk into a room to our right. It was locked, but he didn’t hesitate to knock it down either. And not long after Mr. Grane would come out with a duffle bag of only god knows what. Although, the bills that hung outside of it said enough.

“I thought we were here to find Jeremiah,” I whispered.

“We are…” mumbled Mr. Grane. “Just go stand by the door and make sure no one comes in.”

Mr. Grane obviously had not thought anything through, but of course, most criminals never do. Without a doubt, the situation was no longer about Jeremiah, but a conflict of interest say the least.

Pianos and flutes then echoed outside the door, and through the hallways. The elevator had stopped on our floor, and around the corner, footsteps traveled. They were heavy, however, did not drag. My guess was that it was a man, six-foot-two maybe, muscular build or obese depending on how you define heavy. But either way, whoever it was they sounded like a club bouncer, and I just wasn’t looking to get body slammed, I was looking for Jeremiah.

I’d call for Mr. Grane more than I could count, however, he was more fixated on his own interest, wetting his fingertips and flipping through money like a bank teller who’d just for once wanted to be the employee of the month. So, I took off and went back inside my apartment before all hell would break loose.

Part II

Sirens cried outside my window. Cops filled the hallways as well as the two residents they couldn’t seem to break up—Mr. Grane and the woman that he had stolen from I assumed. And it was a good thing for Mr. Grane that the cops had shown up—the scratches around his neck and the bruises around his eyes said that the woman had done quite the number on him. But four slaps on the wrist and they’d both be out of the equation, which meant that I was getting closer to solving Jeremiah’s mystery.

Not long after the cops had cleared out, and still, I could hear Mrs. Peachtree wallow through the walls of my dining room. Our insulation was horrible. The cops had given Mrs. Peachtree the typical ‘we will find him‘ speech, as they’d done for most parents. And the saddest part to it all was their accomplishments. Statistics showed that not many children are found after forty-eight hours. And there we were with nearly a day that had gone by. Time was of the essence.

There were eight rooms in total on my floor. Now down two six, if I counted Mr. Grane and wonder woman being hauled away. Get it, hall’d away, as if they were just in the hall… Nevermind.

I continued my search. And knocked on five doors until I got to the final door—the Mint Door. It was just as I had described it before, brown all over with emerald on the edges. Out of all the rooms I had checked, never in a million years would I suspect old man Castro to be the villain in the story. I just wasn’t a man to assume. I needed proof.

Unlike everyone else’s doors, old man Castro had a door knocker. It was bat, solid brass that hung upside down. It was actually pretty cool looking, but the longer I stared at it made me think of the possibility that he just might’ve had Jeremiah all this time. Old man Castro was a suspicious soul.

“Hello! Mr. Castro are you in there, it’s me Kindle, Kindle Ramon,” I yelled.

There was no response, not until I’d attempt to yell or knock again.

“Come in,” said old man Castro. “I have hot chocolate.”

The door then opened, without me touching it. A warm draft hit my face. I couldn’t really tell if it was from the heat or the hot cocoa but whatever it was, it was inviting. I walked inside, and the floorboards to Old man Castro’s apartment would creek with every step that I made, yet, none did I ever hear from old man Castro. It was as if he was gliding around the room somehow.

“What might I assist you with?” said old man Castro, tapping me on the shoulder.

My soul nearly jumped out of my body and into my own arms. And it was at that moment I could feel a draft not so warm. I turned around.

“Yes. You see… I’ve been going from every room on the floor looking for Mrs. Peachtree’s son. He’s been missing for…”

“Jeremiah…” interrupted old man Castro. “Yes, I’ve heard…”

Usually, many artists are known to have steady hands, especially tattoo artist, but the way old man Castro shook, I knew that something was up. I asked if he knew anything. But old man Castro said not a word. Although, his eyes said a lot.

“I need to know! Get a grip old man, did you see him or not?” I yelled. “I’m running out of time.”

He nodded. “Yes. But it’s too late now. These… these two men in black suits took him, but I don’t know why or where. Last time I checked they put him in a limousine and then drove off around the corner of twenty-first and Blanchard as if there was a pregnant woman in the back. ”

I was pissed. Only twenty-four hours. And now the playing field was much larger. There was nothing else to say to old man Castro but that he was a coward for not saying anything from the start. We might’ve already had Jeremiah back by now.

Nevertheless, I grabbed my cup of hot cocoa, sipped half of it, threw the rest in old man Castros face, and then hopped into my Prius and headed to the streets of Blanchard. I knew just the person who would have more details about Jeremiah’s kidnapping. I hadn’t talked to them in forever, but I had no choice, she was the best at what she did—my ex—Susie Q.

311 B and the Mint Door


December 2nd, 2018 by Patrick Starks 

311 B and the Mint Door

When I was just a kid, life was magical, no different nor better than a Disney movie. From Nintendo to Nintendo 64, everyone including myself all had braingasms to the many colors that burst across the screen of a forty-two-inch tube tv. And just when we thought it couldn’t get any better, social media would later come into the scene, giving your’s and my space something to talk about.

Nevertheless, as good as it all was, nothing would ever compare to the nineties. However, time would fly by faster than an Aston Martin on a straightaway before I could even grow old enough to process how good a childhood I had.

It was now the millennial era, and still, I had not forgotten about my past of the magic carpet rides I’d have over the Texas sand. I won’t bother going into to detail about it, or my schooling for that matter, but just know that it was an interesting period in my life, as I am sure many would agree towards their own.

Three-elven-B was the room I stayed. And not far from it lived old man Castro. He was an odd soul, but of course, what artist wasn’t. He wore brown overalls, followed by a top hat and vest, which I had never seen anyone attempt, although, it worked for him. But if there was one thing to say about him, it would be that he wasn’t afraid to be different, and that was something I admired in any man or woman.

His door was chocolate brown, with emerald along the edges—the chocolate mint door, some of the others called it. And the kids would as well play their part into the rumors, knocking on old man Castro’s door as if he was Willy Wonka himself, and the outfit indeed would serve it justice. But not long after, the life that I felt to be so magical would take a dark turn.

It was December 23, 2016. Just two days away from Christmas. The hallways echoed with Christmas carols—a little Frank Sinatra, a little Mariah Carey, but heavenly, it sure did make my face turn redder than that of Rudolph’s nose—it had become unbearable.

I’d just came back home, from my nine to five. It was a busy day as usual for a Friday, so, I couldn’t complain, although, I felt I should’ve about the loud music that flowed into my room like a cold draft. But like most conflicts, I knew it come to past sooner or later.

The sink was full of dirty dishes and the trash bin was completely filled, as well as the dirty clothes basket. I felt like Frank Ocean when he quoted in his song that a tornado had come through his room, yet, nothing was beautiful about this melody at all. Good thing you don’t have a girlfriend whispered the voice in my head. Although, I have known many women to be just as messy. But that’s another story.

“Jeremiah!”  yelled a woman. “Jeremiah where are you!”

I walked over towards the sound and then took a peek through the eyehole of my apartment door. And it was just as I’d suspected, Mrs. Peachtree. Her hair was curly, cinnamon brown as always, and she smelt like it to. She was a middle age woman, single mom, but had just as much love if not more to give than a non-single mother. For a guy, I’d sometimes get angry with why a man would leave such a woman, or child, although, mum always said there was always two sides to every story.

On occasion, I’d see little Jeremiah parade the hallways with his Ninjago legos, filled with joy, just as I was when I’d first open the box to a new released N64. No doubt about it, those were the days, and if there was anyone that reminded me how far I’d come, it was definitely that kid. But there I sat in my five-hundred square foot room, just as worried as his mother of where he had gone.

I then stepped outside to calm and be the courageous one for a damsel in distress, but it was easy to say that Jeremiah would be the distressed and Mrs. Peachtree would be the damsel, to define it better.

“Hi, Mrs. Peachtree… Everything alright?” I asked.

“No,” she said with her eyes filled with concern. “Jeremiah has been missing for an hour now… I’m so worried.”

An hour might’ve not seemed long for a man but for a woman, that was a lifetime, especially if it meant her child no longer being in her presence.

“I don’t mean to hassle you. But I’d like to help, but first I need to know where was the last place you saw him. Take a deep breath. Think. Where was the last?”

Mrs. Peachtree then took her breaths. She dried her eyes and once clear took a moment to reflect.

“Well…” she said, sobbing to the stress. “Last time I saw him, he was out here in the hallway, with little Timothy…”

“Okay. Great. Maybe he’s at Timothy’s. Here, you just go back inside Mrs. Peachtree and take a breather. I’ll get to the bottom of all of this. And if I haven’t found out anything within the next twenty minutes, call the cops.”

“Dammit! We don’t have twenty!” she yelled. “We, no, I need to find my boy. I’m calling the cops right now! Oh god… He must be so scared…”

I honestly had no words. Mrs. Peachtree was right, after all, it had already been an hour. But to be honest I figured I could solve the problem faster than any cop or detective—let’s just say I had my reasons to feel such a way. But first thing was first, little Timothy’s place.

Part II

Just what I figured a Maria Carey jingle. I knocked on the door, nothing. It became apparent that Ms. Carey at a falsetto was overriding anything outside the door. Poor little Timmy, the child might be deaf before he even gets into middle school, again spoke the voice in my head. I then knocked harder, and this time with my feet.

“Who is it!” yelled a man.

Little Timothy’s father was an interesting man. He wasn’t really tall, a dwarf to be exact, but all men including myself knew not to pick a bone with him. It’s even said that the last guy that missed with him, was deemed to no longer have children, and the sad part to it all was that his wife would leave him not long after. Probably should’ve worn a cup, I pondered. But too late now.

“Hello, Mr. Grane. This is Tuddle, London Tuddle. You know the guy…”

“I know who you are,” interrupted Mr. Grane. “What is it that you want boy?”

Wasn’t quite the reaction I’d expected. Well, then again, what I just said about him was fitting for it. Although, the Christmas jingles in the background made it all somewhat misleading.

“I’m looking for Jeremiah. Is he in there. Mrs. Peachtree has been worried sick, for about an hour now. And the last person she said that Jeremiah was with was Timothy.”

The door then opened. I’d never heard so many locks to one. I think I even heard a big piece of wood being removed from it, like the doors you would only ever find in castles. I looked down and there he was. It had been a while since I had stared such a man in the eyes—fire burning through them like a phoenix looking for a Dumbledore. However, I wasn’t part of that family tree.

“You say the boy is missing?” said Mr. Grane.

“Yes. Does Timothy know anything, anything at all?” I asked.

“No. I mean, nothing besides that he’d gone back home.”

We both were at a stand-still. No Clue to what was going on. Part of me wanted to ask Timothy myself, but his stepmother had already taken him away to take a bath. And with Mr. Grane guarding the door like the Pitbull he was, I’d probably have a better chance of being a musician at the end.

“Here let me get my coat,” said Mr. Grane. “I’ll help out. I think I have a clue to his whereabouts.”

Mr. Grane then said his goodbyes to his now third wife and left little Timothy to play his usual rubber ducky games. As for he and I, we were out for the search of Jeremiah. Mr. Grane then pointed to a door—Thirty-five-C.

Never thought I’d be saying this, but for once I was starting to feel a sense of purpose in life. And luckily for Timothy, I was just the man. It was going to be a long night, and Mr. Grane knew so too.



November 25th, 2018 by Patrick Starks


Orange and yellow filled the skies, coiling together like mom’s Thanksgiving mac and cheese. Any other day I’d considered it to be fall, but I knew better, at least, the many of us that surrounded it did.  Ambulance trucks rushed all over as fast as they could, from house to house, doing their best to put out the flames. But sadly, there were a few on occasion that they couldn’t save. While still in the process of trying to protect what little was left, families became separated, hearts had become broken as well as a few bones from the evacuation that had awoken. It was sere chaos. Chaos that not even the sun itself I felt could comprehend.

Nevertheless, the day went on, but the fires didn’t stop coming. If anything, they seemed to be getting worst, and part of me started to wonder if what the helicopters pour from the skies was really sand or gasoline. Out of it all, the ambulance was becoming slimmer as we went from having ten to one truck. I never thought I’d be living my life through the character of John Cusack’s “Twenty-Twelve”, but there I stood hesitant to move a muscle.

And the hardest part was just trying to take care of a newborn in such a situation. You could say I chose a really great time to have a kid. And you would guess it right,  that wouldn’t be my sarcasm talking. It was like a maze, like playing Tetris—everywhere I, no, we went, fires. We were running out of time.

But not far from us stood a mansion perched up on a nestled hill. I didn’t know what celebrities it was, but I was sure if it was Stan Lee’s at least there would be some sort of a hero to help, I would hope.

If you couldn’t tell by now, we’d been split from the rest of the buffalo that we ran with, and the closest places beacon for hope was that very mansion that resembled the white house. It was massive, completely white all over. But no, this was California—we had many houses of its size and depiction.

Within an instant, within only a few miles, fires slowly began to slither their way towards the mansion like a snake to slithering, but thankfully the cavalry had arrived. Out of nowhere, an ambulance truck then pulled up, and not long after two more would pull beside it. All firemen and firewomen stepped out forming together like the thunder cats, and oh! it was exactly like something straight out of a comic book. I’d begin to second guess if what I was looking at really was Stan Lee’s mansion.

Little Amara was still asleep. Cheeks brown with freckles around them like a poppyseed muffin, just like her dads. It all dug deep into my chest like that time I played dodgeball back in middle school—the pain lingered, but to be honest, it only been a week since we’d lost him, so, at the end, it was no wonder. But the day that I really feared was the day I’d have to explain to Amara what happened her father. The good thing was that I had plenty of time, but the sad thing was all of that was dependent on if we made it out of hell or not.

As the fires around the mansion were coming to a halt.  A man and a woman then came out from the bushes. The man was average height, gold chains around his neck as if he was some sort of Pharos from Egypt. But he wishes. The woman looked just the same, but minus the golden chains. However, money was still obvious to her appearance—a Dolce and Cabana nightgowned said it all.

The woman’s lips were rose red, as was the man’s, from the possible make-out session they’d have prior. But then again it was Hollywood, if anything, the man might’ve put the lipstick on himself for men in Hollywood were not shy to makeup. I mean, let’s think K-pop shall we.

Moving on. Case closed.

I honestly thought that there were no more ambulance or even medics around but there they were all rallied around the mansion like an old western campfire. I then rushed over to the closest bush and took a better look.

“Thank you so much!” said the woman, handing the fireman a suitcase.

But the fireman didn’t look impressed. He looked pissed off.

“Listen, lady, this ain’t our job!” yelled the fireman “While we are out here helping you guys save your precious mansion, people are out there starving, sadly… dying.”

“Excuse me?” replied the woman.

“You heard me loud and clear you money hungry w….”

The moment of the whole environment then changed. The fireworks had officially begun. The man in the gold chains then turned to the fireman knocking him down by the fire with a massive sucker punch. And before I could even process what was going on, the man in gold chains had pushed the fireman deeper into the fires. The fireman cried for help, for his life, for the rest of comrades, but none of them ever came to his aid. All of their heads were bowed, along with the suitcase by their side. It was the perfect murder—fireman killed by fire. Who wouldn’t believe that story?

“Y-you traders!” yelled the fireman. “Out of all the years, we’ve worked together…”

Before the fireman could say another word he would be engulfed by the fire. And afterwards, all that was heard were screams that echoed and later faded.

Little Amara then started to cry from all the insanity that was happening. When it came to a babies senses they knew better than old saint nick himself who was naughty or nice. It was official, we needed to find somewhere else to stay. Heads then turned towards our direction.

“What was that?” said the woman.

“Probably just another tree falling,” said the firewoman.

“No. This sounded like a child… Someone should go check.”

I tried my best to calm Amara, but it was hot and she was frightened for the both of us. It was already enough that Amara and I were in the pits of hell but the last thing I needed to deal with was the demons in them. Money, murder, deals—yeah, pretty fitting for criminal, I said.

One of the firemen then made their way towards our direction. Luckily the spot that we were in was dark. Unfortunately, the only thing I had was pepper spray and a pocket knife. I needed to make a decision.

To kill or to blind? Or to just run? I questioned. But only time will tell—feet don’t fail me now.

Floor to Floor


November 15, 2018 by Patrick Starks 


Only keyboards and coughs were heard in the background. From cubicle to cubicle we all sat like rats in a maze. And word on the floor was that Kyle Skyward was being promoted to executive assistant. For years on end a few of us had waited patiently for the position to open, yet there it was a man who’d only been with the company for as good as a year, reaping up all the benefits most of us would’ve killed to have. And what man, what a man, what a mighty good man he was, to suck up to our Vice President to obtain such a title. It was easy to say that Kyles’ lips had tasted many cheeks in his lifetime, and I wouldn’t be talking about the ones on our face’s either.

The stock markets were crashing, and all that was left was the high class, and sadly, the low class—no middle class. A meeting was needed to take place, everyone needed to attend, even the temps. And if you didn’t, well, let’s just say you’d better had filed for unemployment that same day—although some might call America the land of the free, it was best you didn’t press too much of your luck for not many took well to the rebels of conformity.

“Gather around everyone, I’ve got some surprising news!” yelled the Vice President, with dimples in both of her cheeks and chin.

We all paused and pulled away the coffee from our lips. Many eyes rolled around the room. Huffs and puffs—we all knew exactly the surprise she’d be telling. But still, for our life sake, we were all ears.

“I want you all to give a warm round of applause for your new executive assistant! Annabelle Cortez! If there is anything that you need to know, anything at all, please go to her for further guidance,” said the VP, clapping by herself.

Jaws dropped, coffee spewed on the back of heads, crickets. We were all shocked. We’d never seen nor met the woman before, she must’ve come from another agency or something. But whoever she was, she must’ve had one hell of a resume or was one hell of a bum kisser to beat Kyle at his own game.

If one were to walk into a twenty-one and forever or an H&M, then Kyle easily would’ve been depicted a mannequin. He didn’t say a word—only a smile that looked like it hurt—teeth grinding better than the coffee grounds that rested at the bottom of all our cups. It was like watching a mom tell her child everything’s going be alright after she wasn’t able to get them the toy they’d wanted—broken promises.

After a few irrelevant conversations with the team, next time I look and Kyle is in the back gripping the edge of his cubicle ready go Ultimate Warrior on the whole damn floor. But thank god he wasn’t a man who got off to guns, or the meeting would’ve probably taken a bad turn. I’d try my best to get Kyle to join in with the rest of the guys on some late-nights of Call of Duty, but he always refused to play anything that correlated with gun violence. Kyle was more of a Nintendo kind of guy.

“Good afternoon Mr. Motoki,” said the new executive assistant. “I’ve heard many great things about you from the VP. It is a pleasure to meet you. Annabelle, at your service.”

I’d met a lot of women in my life, but none like Annabelle. Her perfume was subtle and just right for a nose as sensitive as mine. But the thing that really locked a man like me onto a woman was really all about the smile. I just couldn’t stand a woman with a blank face because at the end all it did was make me feel more down about the way the world was becoming-soulless. But that’s another story.

Annabelle’s teeth weren’t exactly what many would call perfect—there were a few gaps, but still, they were white as snow, that of which compliment the red dress she wore, although, the red lipstick in some ways interfered with that. However, Annabelle had a smile that made even a blind man smile—just the person Hekami needed as their face for the company. As popular as it was for an innovative company, Hekami needed a plan B, if they wanted the boat to stay afloat.

“So, I see that you’re a football fan,” said Annabelle, flipping my decorative tie up and over my shoulder, teasing.

If there was anything good to say about her, or besides her beautiful smile and magnificent fragrance, Annabelle sure did know how to dig straight to a man’s heart. For once, someone had said football, instead of soccer. We’d talk for half an hour about it, and apparently, she was quite the jock in high school—playing varsity, on the boy’s team. But not long after the party would be over and we’d all go back to our cubicles, and Annabelle to her new office which was as big as a one bedroom apartment.

My eyes were strained. Case after case would all keep popping up on my computer screen, but I guess that was what they called the rat race.

“As if no one else has time for this,” I said.

I’d planned on leaving much earlier than eight P.M at night, but it was beginning to be a far stretch from all the work I needed to catch up with. I loved everything about my job, but Hekami was pretty bad about covering staff members that they knew three months in advanced were going on vacation. Sons of B… No, I’ll keep my mouth clean for now.

The lights then all went out. Probably could’ve just got up and triggered the sensor to turn them back on, but at that point, even two steps was a bit too much—too much work and disappointment for one day—I guy had his limits, and I’d exhausted them all that day. Besides, my computer screen was all the light that I really needed, illuminating the room like a group of Illuminati holding candles, along with dark hoodies, in a single file line. But this is only an assumption. The Illuminati, I mean.

Glass then broke in the background. I peeked around the corner. Must’ve been from the lunchroom, possibly Jeffrey the janitor, I thought. Wouldn’t be the first time he’d been caught spending the night at the company, but who wouldn’t with showers, a sofa, cable, and a few boxes of leftover meat lovers pizza.

The thought was too bothersome. I was without a doubt curious but my name wasn’t George, but my Russian blue at least was. I put my computer into sleep mode, deciding to bravely go over and take a gander, but we all know how these scenes usually play out—someone getting chased, or worst, death. My back was against the wall, literally, and I wasn’t taking any chances. I then looked around the corner. Dark brown hair, and childbearing hips, followed by legs more chocolaty and creamier than the inside of a milky way. As much as I paid attention to a woman’s smile and eyes, I wasn’t one to forget a beautiful woman’s frame. No doubt in my mind, it was Annabelle.

“Hello,” I said.

My voice echoed. There was no response, only that Annabelle stopped eating whatever she’d dug up from the refrigerator. Two-week-old cupcakes couldn’t have been easy on the stomach, I thought. And trust me there was no pizza, Jeffrey must’ve eaten or hidden them all for I’d already checked.

“Hi Mr. Motoki,” said Annabelle, still with her back towards me. “Shouldn’t you be off right now?”

Annabelle then shifted her hips a little. Was she trying to flirt with me? Ugh… the teasing. But I couldn’t mix business with pleasure, no matter how much I knew something about us just clicked. If anything, I was still trying to process how she even knew it was me, without turning around—mom always did tell me about wearing Axe body spray around pretty girls.

“Oh, well… I’m just here catching up on work. After my vacation there was a lot that didn’t get done,” I said sarcastically.

Annabelle then turned around. I never knew how fluorescent her eyes were until then—somewhat like a cat it seemed, somewhat like George’s.

“I like that,” said Annabelle. “Mr. Motokii, please take a seat. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Great, just what I needed—a nine o’clock interview in the P.M. But I knew more than anyone that conversing with women wasn’t a department I was really strong in, so, this was going to be good practice. But easier said and done, when there’s already a connection of course.

“First, is Motoki really your last name?” she asked, with a puzzled face. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, but you don’t look exactly…”

“Asian, Japanese. Yeah, I get that a lot. My parents are Japanese. I was adopted, to simply put it.”

“Oh, well that’s different. Never knew a black guy to have Asian parents,” she smiled, taking a sip of the same cup of coffee she’d been drinking earlier that day. “So do you speak Japanese?”

“Anake wa kire des,” I said, smiling like a child with his fingers crossed behind his back.

“Arigato, Kakko ii,” she replied, with a smile and wink.

“What the… how did you?”

“Two words—Military, Brat.”

We both laughed. Of course. I should’ve known. Who goes from speaking Spanish to Japanese anyways. I know that might be an assumption, but come on, her name was Annabelle Cortez, not Rosetta Stone.

Annabelle then stopped smiling. She gave me a cold stare as if she had a revolver sitting nestled by her waist side. But all that ran through my mind was the ‘sexy when your mad song,’ by Neyo. Even in her final form, she was still gorgeous as ever.

“Let’s get to the point of why we’re sitting here,” she said. “What all do you know about Kyle Skyward?”

I paused on the thought, for only a minute. Other than the fact that he was a complete douche, I honestly had no idea. Like I’ve mentioned before, he wasn’t really the social type—all business and no play.

“Here, take a look at this,” said Annabelle, sliding over a manila folder out of the blue.”

The first thing I noticed, F.B.I. The second, a picture of Kyle paper clipped to the edge of it. He was the usual clean-cut hot shot, who drove a Tesla at age twenty one. No, this was a different Skyward, Skyward 1.0. He had a full beard, sharp eyes, and hair that enough dandruff in it to use as garlic salt for bread.

My mind was racing, just who the hell was Annabelle Cortez? And most importantly, who the hell was Kyle Skyward?

The Butch of Egypt


November 6th, 2018 by Patrick Starks


A lot have said that the story of the gods were just fairy tales or myths, but I knew better, no matter how much I wish I didn’t, I knew better.  I still remember that day even, the taste of the salt from the seven seas. Thunderstorms, all of which brought luminosity to the grey, and from that grey, mysterious objects that soared amongst the stars like no other—something like birds, but still, more than what met the eye, I assure you. And as beautiful as it all might’ve appeared to be, many men lost their lives that day, many widowed wives in fact. Chaos flooded the city—no hero, no savior, just evil alone.

But before all of it had occurred, I was just a butcher, a one arm butcher—a retired soldier. I had a beautiful wife and son. And on the nights when I needed too, I’d keep the shop open a little longer, all in the hopes to put food on the table, more so, fix the leaking rough up over our heads that Iyala would never let me hear the end of. Ziyad, my baby boy, was only four months old at the time. And how the weather was changing miraculously, there was no way I’d allow any of us to be on the streets. I’d always deny it, but I was getting old. My back was killing me. But still, for my family, it would be worth breaking, no matter how much the doctor told me it wasn’t.

The city was growing like no other, trades were better than they had ever been. Many in the city spoke on this growth, and how it was good for the entrepreneur minded, however, all it ever did to me was bring more clutter, more chaos, more competition, and debt to the ones who just wanted a peaceful life—and so the saying goes, it’s a small world after all. Although, I still disagree with this notion, for there is still so much about this world and ourselves we have yet to discover.

Everyone and their children’s children cooked up whatever extravagant dish that they could. The night was busier than normal. The gods are angry, no, the gods are sad, the people argued. But at the end what they really wanted to say was that they didn’t want to be the punching bags for the gods that knew not of what being emotional was. Supposedly, a little bird down the street told me that one of the gods had died. But how they knew, anyone’s guess would be as good as mine.

Nevertheless, men and women all drank the most potent of pomegranate wines until their bellies burst, all while their little ones scurried along to their beds. Part of me wondered if the party was really for the gods or for them. I’d never seen so much sin in one day, naked bodies everywhere, although, there was that time in Rome.

Not long after, all of what I thought was a ritual, more so an outside brothel had stopped. For once, there was silence. I could hear my own thoughts. It was my clue to close-up shop, get the hell out, and onto a place more righteous than it. But before doing so, there’d be a knock on the door.

“Sorry my friend, we are closed. Come back tomorrow,” I yelled.

The door then pounded even harder, followed by the horrors of scratching and grunting. I ran over and took a peek through the eye hole. Part of it made me nervous. There was a man who did the same not too long ago and was claimed to be murdered—a spear right through the eye—wife taken, then child sold, oh, such horrors would make any many feel the death of cold. I wasn’t taking any chances.

I then pulled away, as opening door would’ve probably been safer, but I’m sure many would argue to this. But still, I opened the door and from left to right I searched.

Meow! Meow!

Down my feet, completely grey in every way, like the sky somewhat, and if so, its eyes would’ve been the stars—a kitten. Most of the time I preferred dogs or horses, but this little fellow was just too cute to ever deny. Iyala was always fond of furry critters—I knew she would love it, for I’d already made my decision to keep it. Besides, had I left it to fend for itself on the streets, it might’ve only survived for only a few days.

I had only scraps of bread and a liter of milk—the meat had been completely sold—no fish, no chicken, no beef, not even swine nor wine—just bread and milk.  Nevertheless business was good, and there’d be a patched-up rough soon enough.

Being haste with the little time that I had, I locked up the shop as I’d intended. It was off to the drunken streets of Egypt. The night had become darker, and a little too dark if ask me. But I had the perfect guide, the cat could at least see. Excitement pumped through my veins, just a few more blocks and I’d be in sanctuary again.

“Stop,” whispered a woman. “Come here.”

A cold breeze then brushed up against the back of my neck. I stopped. For being in the middle of the desert, it was pretty odd to experience anything cold. The cat hissed, as most would do when they smelled evil from afar. Part of me hoped that the cat was the reason the woman had not come out to introduce herself. But I was sure she’d do so regardless if she really wanted to.

“Are you the butcher,” she said. “I have heard many things about you from above.”

“Yes, I am a butcher, but I am afraid to inform you, I am not the one you seek,” I said.

Underneath the moonlightؙ—toes, ankles, thighs—revealed. Tattooed scriptures all over, coiling around like a cobra’s tail. And not long after, I would lay eyes on the one who bared them.  The woman was tall and beautiful. Not really what I’d expect from a woman submerged in the dark corner of an alley but there she was, pure beauty. However, I had a woman more beautiful waiting at home that no woman, not even a goddess could’ve seduced me from. Love was love.

Her tongue slid up and down my neck. I pulled away. “How did you?”

“Don’t worry about any of that,” said the woman. “The only thing you should worry about is what you are destined for.”

The cat then ran beside the woman. It arched its back and rubbed up against the woman’s leg. Things were beginning to look like those days on the battlefield—the battle between sere illusion and reality, I feared. But no matter, I was not the man to play with.


Case #02: Lové Patricié


October 28th, 2018 by Patrick Starks



Smoke filled the air, sweat fell from everyone’s back, booty poppin’, in every direction, followed by music that was probably just as worst as the AMF, the Adios Mother Fucker I’d be drinking. No doubt about it, I was tipsy as hell, but don’t get it twisted, a girl could handle her liquor. The place was jam-packed, shoulder to shoulder. Who the hell was in town? Bruno Mars? I wish. But of course, it was Lové Patricié.

Everyone was dressed in black, from their heads, shoulders, knees, and toes. Obviously, I didn’t get the memo. You could say I stood out a little too much for someone who was supposed to be undercover. But it didn’t matter, the only thing I could think about, that I couldn’t believe, was the fact that I was there looking for Jonathan Pike’s murderers. If anything, I thought it be the other way around.

To the left of my peripheral, I could see that the two bouncers hadn’t lost sight of me. They looked like they’d come straight out of a Blade film, only neither of them resembled Wesley Snipes. More so, I’d prayed to my mother in the big blue sky that none of the goons around me were vampires. Or else, this story would probably need a Kate Beckinsale, and I just wasn’t that jack.

The DJ was now on a roll, for once. For every song she played, more people would slide their way from the bar and towards the dance floor. But the good news was that I’d finally finished and said adios to my AMF, without passing out like that time in downtown Tokyo. But that’s another story.

Without hesitation, I took the dance floor and grabbed the arm of the closest hubba bubba I could find. The man looked like the son of Odon himself, although, I ain’t talking about Loki. The man had to be at least six foot tall, if not taller. He wielded the perfect beard, along with delicious eyes that complemented his golden man bun. Ha, man bun.

Moving on.

But the bodybuilder physique really wasn’t my cup of tea or protein, to be frank, but anything was better than the rest of the T-Bird wannabe’s that smelled like old spice and my grandmothers closet. I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again, I absolutely hate that smell, old spice that being.

“You come around these parts quite often aye,” said the man softly grabbing my waist like a gentleman should.

My hazel eyes stared up at him seductively. I was like a helpless little anime girl. I wanted him right then and there, but I was smart enough to know that it was just the alcohol talking.  Nevertheless, I just nodded.

“Where you from aye?” he asked. “I don’t mean to offend you, but you seem like you’re from California or Seattle, somewhere on the West Coast.”

Dodging the rapid questions, I pulled the man in closer, my breast against his chiseled chest. For a guy that looked like a total meat-head, he sure did have a shit ton of questions to ask, and good ones too. I knew when I was being interrogated. But for the moment, everything felt right, like a Cinderella story. My chin rested on his shoulder. It was a little sweaty but warm. My eyes were closed. But when I opened them that was when the games had begun.

There, at the end of the crowd, danced Jonathan Pikes killers. And as usual, seduction swarmed around them like buzzards. Everyone around wanted a piece of the apple, but little did any of them know that they were drooling over forbidden fruit.

“What’s wrong?” the man asked.

“Nothing at all,” I said. “Say, can we move a little closer to the middle.”

There wasn’t a response. I could tell by the way his man bun was falling apart already that the last thing he wanted to do was move closer to a pit of raw heat.

I thought fast. “Do you mind grabbing me a bottle of water?”

“Of course gorgeous,” he said, giving me a kiss on the cheek followed by a pinch of my other cheeks.

So much for him being a gentleman, I grunted. 

But now it was down to business. I reached down to the inside my Michael Kors bag, and pulled out my Clinique Lipstick that the guys down at the station had cooked up for yours truly. They called it “TABA,” which was made to take a breath away by anyone that was willing to pucker up with me. My lips were blood red, with a pinch of gloss. It was just the bait I needed. Just the weapon I needed to bring them into the station.

I then looked over a few heads. Thor was still waiting in the long line of drunks that couldn’t take no for an answer. Some poor bastard driving off the intersection? Yeah, that was the last thing a Bartender wanted to hear after a long night of dealing with adult babies.

While I still had time, I walked over to the women to introduce myself, gliding across and through the crowd as if I was doing my little turn on the catwalk. I was too sexy, for them to resist. We all started dancing. Me in the middle and them all around. I’m sure this is what they call a sandwich, I said. The two women said nothing. Without a doubt, they were attractive women, but their silence easily dropped them from dimes to nickles in a heartbeat. It was just fucking weird.

Son of Odin, I mean, Thor, no, what the hell is his name? Ugh. Doesn’t matter. Whoever he was, he finally showed up with my water. In his eyes, he looked a little confused to what was going on, but in his mind, I could tell he was thinking that tonight he was going to have the time of his life—a menagè a quartè. Three gorgeous women, well, how could a single young man say no to that.

“Her ya go doll,” said the man, holding a bottle of Aquafina.

I remained locked onto his eyes as I grabbed it, but could see that at the bottom nothing but fizz rested. Last time I checked Aquafina sure as hell didn’t make sparkling water. Out of all the days, this was the last thing that I needed.

I played stupid. I struggled with the bottle of water.

“Ugh. I’m having a hard time opening this. Do you mind?”  I asked

Again, the man looked confused. Of course, he was, he’d already opened the bottle. He then gave me one hell of a wicked smile, as he opened it with ease.

“Here ya go,” he said. “Better stay hydrated aye. It’s not good to have alcohol in your body with little food or water.”

“Bullshit,” I whispered, rolling my eyes towards the ladies room.

“I’m sorry?”

“N-nothing at all. I’m gonna run to the ladies room okay. A girls gotta tinkle.”

“No problem. I understand. AMF’s have been known to have that effect on people. I’ll be here waiting.”

The alcohol must’ve been getting to him. I knew for a fact I never told him what I’d been drinking that night, which made the standoff even more awkward. He must’ve been watching me from the time I walked in, or worst, him and the bartender were in some sick game together, and it wouldn’t be the first time I’d seen in it—Case Z14: Kokomo. Another story.

I looked around, and the two women were gone. I huffed, puffed, and swore all the way to the women’s restroom in disgust, frustration, like a little princess that didn’t get to wear their favorite dress. I’d lost my lead.



Fifteen minutes I waited before I could finally get a stall. Shit talking echoed the rooms, a few cat-fights as well, and the stall to my right, of course, would have a couple getting it on. This woman obviously had no standards, I silently laughed. Two minutes and twenty-two seconds exact—unlike I, sadly, alcohol couldn’t be the excuse for this poor souls performance. But from the way the girl moaned, I could tell she loved him, lucky for him I guess, although, her faking wasn’t even remotely good enough to get Ron Jeremy to kiss the back of her hand.

But finally, after all of that, there was silence—me, myself, and the toilet. On my phone birds soared the skies, plummeting into barriers filled with nothing but worker bees, I mean, pigs. The game was quite fitting for the mood that I was in, I, in fact, was an angry bird.

The doors to the bathroom then swung open, smacking against the wall. Two pairs of heels clicked and clacked on their way in. There wasn’t any talking, which was odd for the ladies room, but I couldn’t be a hypocrite, it was what I wanted. The stalls to my left and right then opened. I slouched over and took a gander.

“Jesus,” I said.

Whoever they were, these women were rolling. I’d only ever seen them in magazines but there they were—Christian Louboutin’s. They had to be at least a one thousand dollars a piece. A hand then reached over my stall holding a golden lock of hair that looked like a paintbrush that had been dipped in red. It dropped down to my lap. It still had chunks of skin from where the scalping had started. Poor Thor, I thought. Although, served him right for taking advantage of women. I’m just glad something was done about him before he preyed on someone else.  Justice had been served, but now it was my turn to do the serving.

I flushed the toilet and stood up. The two stalls did the same. I put my purse down, kicked my stilettos off and then kicked open the stall door. Again, the two stalls did the same—it was like a game of red light, green light. I then threw the golden lock up against the wall from across us all, and following in its lead came the two culprits of its demise.

Dumbasses, I said. 

From then on I knew exactly what time it was. From my lingerie, I pulled out my two Ruger SR9’s like the Hitman himself. I jumped out.

It was party time.

To be continued—so sorry 😉





Case 01: Agent Pike


October 21. 2018 by Patrick Starks 


Drawings all over the walls, twelve screens for a desktop, three empty cans of full throttle, along with the horrid smell of two-day-old body odor. Just what the hell was he doing, what was he plotting, I wondered. It been at least six years since I lost the bastard, but there he was perched up in his black vinyl gaming chair like a pig that could fly or is it the other way around? Whatever. A pig was a pig.

I could’ve taken him right then and there.  “Don’t,” said the voice in my head. “There’s too much at state. You should call for back up.” 

Back up?? Ha. Forget about it. The son of a bitch was mine. Plus, I’d already get enough shit at work about me, a woman, being a part of the FBI. I was gonna shut them all up one way or another.

Jim Bean burned down my throat. I’d forgotten how many shots I had, nevertheless, the bottle was in my hand now, so, I guess it really didn’t matter. Drinking on the job? No. Liquid courage to take down the man that disgusted me, to prove to rest of the slobs what a woman could do, yes.

“My god he’s moving,” said the man in the headset.

No doubt about it, it was the captain. He had a deep voice. Sexy. Like Barry White or was it Manalo, ugh, I should really stop drinking.

“Pay attention agent,” said the Captain, I got the chills. “He’s in the kitchen now.”

Of course, the kitchen, where else would he be. The man then looked back. Beady eyes and all, glasses that sparkled like the finest of ciders. He walked to the window and took a gander. Flashing billboards, hookers, drug deals, five o’clock traffic, and in the reflection a five o’clock shadow. New Tari was a sinful place, but you can blame the man that gazed at them for that.

He had a smile like the Grinch on top of a snowy mountain, plotting his revenge on all the Whos. And who would’ve known that he’d been watching. The man then walked back to the refrigerator, and little did we know, his workstation wouldn’t be the only place that had a combination.

Eight, nine, four, seven, he punched slowly. Was he doing it intentionally or was he really struggling to remember? The frig then open, and clouds spewed out from it like a steam room. Bulks of everything—meat, bread, ice cream, pizza, anything you could think of. It was easy to say that Costco was his favorite place to be.

Half his body was in the refrigerator now, deep enough to be declared a walk-in frig. But more so, I wondered how deep I could put my stilettoes between where the sun didn’t shine. I hated criminals, especially him, the Golden Pig, he was named.

But the Golden pig didn’t always look like he does now. In fact, he wasn’t a criminal at all. His real name is actual Jonatan Pike, and he was one of the best dam agents I’d ever seen. Sexier than any Bond, taking on gun fight’s that made you think he was on the path of Neo. It was mind-blowing. But for whatever reason he’d turn on the agency, stealing files that not even the captain knew about—files that the captains boss didn’t want to be seen. In his own words, it was confidential. But we all know how that story goes. For the betterment of the people my ass.

“What the hell is he doing now?” said the Captain.

I didn’t know.

Jonathan Pike then walked over to the door of his apartment. He was expecting company. Two women dressed in black. Prostitutes? Who knows. All of their heads swayed from left to right like bobblehead dolls. Out of nowhere, Jonathan crossed both of his arms by his crotch, giving the two women a rude gesture. And man was that a mistake.

Bang, bang, and then, bang. Blood now saturated the carpet floor of a one-bedroom apartment. The two women were turned on by it, they kissed. I never really swung that way, however, I couldn’t deny that it was somewhat hot—their bodies shaped like hour-glass, dominance instilled in them both, such an artistic combination. But thank god this bottle is finally empty.

“We got a code red!” yelled the Captain. “The Golden Pig is down, I repeat, the Golden Pig is down!”

 ONE HOUR LATER (5:22 pm)

Yellow tape was around the whole room. The smell of iron was in the air. I’d only been in the room for ten minutes and could already hear the captain ripping someone a new one.

“What the hell do you mean the files are gone?” he yelled.

The tech-guy sweated profusely. It was his first day on the job.

“Well spit it out man!” yelled the Captain.

“Well sir, you see, it seems that the Golden Pig’s rig was completely booby-trapped, and I ain’t talking about the ones at strip clubs. Ayoooo!” said the Tech-guy, going up for a high five.

But the captain didn’t smile, nor was he planning on touching hands with a twenty-year-old that knew not of what he’d sign up for.

“Shit!” he said.

“Yeah, I know right. Two password fail’s and it was game over,” said the tech.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fu… No, we can figure this out. Come on cap remember what you learned in Yoga. Just breathe.”

Chuckles throughout the whole room began to build up. The Captain in yoga pants, that would’ve been quite the sight to see. He and I then locked eyes, a sight I didn’t want. I looked away as fast as I could.

“San Diego!” he yelled. “Get your ass over here.”

I walked over. The smell of iron disappeared. Old spice and menthol now lingered. I hated the combination, I mean, I’m sure most women would agree with me on this. Although, handsomeness always wins at the end.

One ear and out the other. I’d forgotten that the captain had been talking. I was still stuck on how the hell Jonathan could be taken down so easily. Just who the hell were those women?

“Quick everyone!” yelled a man, doughnut powder still around his handlebar mustache.

We all ran to the living room. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It was the two women. A few of the men drooled to their beauty but not me or the now deceased Jonathan Pike were going for it. I would’ve said my peace with him, but unzipping a body bag was something I’ll admit for a woman I could not handle. 

“In our hands, we have files from all of the dirtiest secrets you could ever know about your country,” said the woman with the mole on her face.

“Yes. And we think its time the people should know these secrets, unless, you give us what we want,” said the other, she had no mole.

Everyone in the room stood in awe. I looked to the captain on what to do next, but he was gone. If anything, we at least knew where the missing files went. Jonathan was a cautious man, but I knew he wasn’t that cautious for he always enjoyed a good thrill.

“We’ll give you till next Sunday to make your decision. We are patient women, but still, do not test it,” said the women. “Adieu.”

The sixty-inch plasma went black. We had a week left. But I had a lead. The captain didn’t know it, but when I walked in, I found something, a receipt, a payment from Costco, but on the back it had written, Lové Patricié—the most popular club in downtown. Only there was one problem, we’d bust enough nut heads in that building to get stabbed on our way in like Cesar himself. I needed to blend, I needed a new look. Nevertheless, Case one would get closed. 

“If it was a mystery for me to solve, then I have no regrets for Case One; I’m no maverick, but still, I was the top gun. It taken me years to find the golden pig but sadly his fate was ended by two others, we weren’t in New York, which was all the more reason for me to stay undercover. Next stop was Lové Patricié, the home of the mysterious turtle dover’s.”

— V. San Diego


Mr. Books


October 14th, 2018 by Patrick Starks 

MR.Books COver

Say what you want about me, but at least I know who I am, I do not eat green eggs and ham, and no, my name is not Sam. My name is Mr. Books and all my life I’ve wanted to be a bestseller; to be read by millions, to be read internationally, to lie rested in the palms of coffee stained hands, oh, it could be so stellar. From the pastry shops near pioneer square to the possible selfies of me on Instagram, no matter the place or case, I knew I could impress for everything I have dreamed about thus far could never be a waste.

On the inside, I had become dim and fragile as a leaf. Page after page would lose its essence over time. I’d been abandoned but not purposely you see. My father had passed long before he’d gotten the chance to see me touch the hearts of others as he’d always envisioned.  O’Rien Crumble was his name or O’Rien the Extraordinaire he liked to be called in bold and italic. O’Rien was what many would call charming, a man’s man, but like most heroes, his story eventually came to an end.

We, the fantastic duo, would spend many years together, traveling the world, from six chapters to twelve. And for three years we both worked together until the day O’Rien would decide to have me published. But sadly, New York was not a fan of innovative writers—if it wasn’t a topic or genre that was trending, then to they, the anonymous judges, wasn’t worth the investment. And it was this reason why O’Rien Crumble had to learn how to write with his left hand.

But his funeral was heavenly. Flowers of every color and a casket artistically painted in ways by the finest of fine artist—just the way he’d always imagined. I never realized how many people O’Rien knew until now. Family, friends, co-workers, students, the whole dam city. But in all honesty, the soft legs I rested on were more appealing–thank the gods they didn’t burry me with O’Rien.  But one thing was for certain, I might not have been a best seller, but at least O’Rien had still made an impact on the world one way or another. And I could never be any more happy for my old man.

After O’Rien’s passing, I’d get handed down to his wife Carmela, the woman with the soft legs. She was quite charming herself which made me feel even more okay with the fact that O’Rien was gone—I at least had something to remember him by.

In his name, Carmela would crack open their favorite—Cabernet Sauvignon. It was a cheap wine, but still, it got the job done. And if one were to turn to page two thirty-two, they would still see the stain of red wine from the nights Carmela sat in O’Rien’s lap as he read to her like one of Santa’s little helpers.

And Just to remember him, Carmela would read me every Friday night, from chapter four to seven, specifically, for reasons I do not know. Mozart, a little Frank Sinatra, it was all that played in the background. And afterward, it would be I who would lay rested on Carmela’s soft and suckle chest. It was warm. I could hear every beat of her heart like something from Jumanji but nothing about the moment was a game. O’Rien was a lucky dog, I thought, at least for the moment he was. But all I could really think about was O’Rien throwing me into the fireplace that roasted by Carmela’s pampered feet. He was somewhat of a jealous man, but what man isn’t for his precious. Without a doubt, on a night like this, I would find that not all stories like that of my own had happy endings. I’d become depressed.



Cobwebs and darkness, it was all I could ever see through the crack of the box I was in—molded from the water that dripped from the damaged ceiling above—there was no other place in the states that rained buckets in October like Seattle.

To my right, a dark magician stared at me, with seven stars that hovered above its head that of which resembled dragon balls from O’Riens favorite anime,  but I never really knew what any of them meant for I was no Manga. And to my left a U.S.A flag and a few medals. Fun fact, O’Rien was a military brat, although, he never really spoke much about it to Carmela. But that is another story.

Carry on soldier.

Every now and then, I thought I heard something, the fast pacing of footsteps maybe, no, I was no book of horrors. But out of all the years spent in silence, I knew for sure it was something.

Light then revealed itself to me. It was blinding, yet refreshing all in one—I could finally see my di… I mean, words again—let’s keep it PG-13 Mr. Books.

“Dam. This is some good shit,” I said to myself, like a drug addict around the corner of Third and Pine street. But there was no sugar coating it, O’Rien was a genius. An underrated one at best.

The lights flickered on and off—it been a while since the bulb was changed or cut on. A mysterious being searched the room. I didn’t have a nose, obviously, so, depicting their smell was slim to none. Although, the way they huffed and puffed all over the place like the big bad wolf was enough for me to know they were just like O’Rien, a man.

“Honey did you find it!” yelled an angelic voice. This I knew for sure was a woman.

The man then stopped what he was doing in response to the question.

“Almost love,” he said. “I think I’m getting close. But you should come up here. I didn’t know that mom had so many things. I’m sure you’ll find something you like.”

There was a pause but not long after the woman would respond.

“Yeah… No, I think I’m going to head back to the car. Besides, I don’t trust Cami and O’Brien in the car by themselves. You know what happened last time,” she said.

“Yeah your right, how could I forget. I still got the scrapes and bruises all over my knees from that day,” said the man. “But that’s what we get for getting those to hooked on race car driving at such a young age. Our little Talladega Nights.”

The man and the woman both laughed. It brought joy to my pages.  It had been a while since I heard or seen happiness from anything. Nevertheless, the man continued his search. I was amused. Just what did he mean by mom? I wondered.

Now two feet stood in front of me—shined by the best of shoe shines men they were. A knife then pierced the top of the exterior nearly cutting into my interior. A hand reached around corner to corner of the box. It was hairy and tickled the sides of me like the Elmo doll from behind.

“There you are. Time to get you published once and for all old friend,” said the man with a familiar smile.

Was I dreaming all this time? Of course, it was a O’Rien. But the funeral? What about the red wine and warm breast, I mean, chest? Stop being a perv Mr. Books.

No, of course, I knew all of this time. None of what I’ve told you until now was true. I fooled you all, but calm down, I am a book after all. I tell stories, you should’ve known all along.

It’s not April yet, but I still fooled ya.


—Mr. Books

Pluto and Friends


October 7th, 2018 by Patrick Starks 


Part I

For centuries I have been made a fool out of, being made to be the least important or the irrelevant one of my family. It’s too small they say, it doesn’t have enough gravitational pull, followed by a “that’s what she said,” joke. They all go back and forward with these assumptions year to year, all in the hopes that they’ll one day understand the things that they fear. But they are all fools. No matter what they say about me, I know who and what I am—I am a planet. And if you don’t believe me, I swear, just go ask your green haired captain in the red underwear.

But first, let me explain in more detail. Continue reading



September 30, 2018 by Patrick Starks


Sweat, baby oil, with a little blood was all that ever remained in the ring. The stadium was empty but still, the echoes ringed in my ears like the bell that started the match. And from the nosebleeds, I could see the section where my dad had taken me to my first Wrestlemania. Those were days—I could never deny that I had a pretty good childhood or that I was somewhat spoiled—a cherry frosty in my right hand and a chili dog in my left, what kid would ever complain. Although mom probably would’ve killed dad had she found out, dad and I were always good at keeping secrets between the two of us, sometimes.

Continue reading

Adopted Stars


September 23, 2018 by Patrick Starks ADOPTED-STARS

On the nights where you could see only the stars, down below many things were revealed, but nothing like a rainbow to a pot of gold, but something more magical than the rainbow myth itself that of which many told. It was a beautiful night as always—the owls hooted, the wolves howled, and many other species as well did as they would normally do whenever the sun came down. Nevertheless, I was completely lifeless in bed—I was deep in fantasy—I had a red hat, blue suspenders, and mustache to match, along with brown shoes and a few cabbages to patch. Continue reading

Days of Crime


September 2, 2018 by Patrick Starks


Everyday. Every day I’d wake up. And I’d see or hear something on the news that was negative. Murders, child abductions, suicides, to the wars we fought. Was the world ending? I mean, what does a girl have to do to get some positivity in her life. It’s already bad enough that I’d hear about the same topics at work, but to come home to a place that’s supposed to be my sanctuary. Well, that’s a problem.­­ Although, it was better to know what was going on, then too not know at all. Continue reading

The Impossible


August 26th. 2018 by Patrick StarksTHE IMPOSSIBLE

Many told me that it was impossible to do the obvious—to fly. However, I was a bird after all. I wielded a beak as gold as the sun. And on the days when it was sunny, when my beak glistened, all who feared such a creature as I could see their death in the reflection of my talons. Not all but many laughed, telling their children’s children of the bald eagle who couldn’t fish for a dam. But let’s make this perfectly clear, I am not bald, and my friend I am no amateur hunter, but one of the best. Although, I’d have my days of bad luck.

Nevertheless, even though I was a bird, I had only one wing to show for it—handicapped at birth. But many were fools to believe that my one wing was useless. Dad always told me that for everything taken from you in life another attribute of you is strengthened, and even though I had only one wing, it was still stronger than two if not four wings.
But as me, and my brothers and sisters grew from little birds to big birds, no point intended, we became one of the most sought-after species, bearing feathers more beautiful than a peacock, and oh yes, we could fly with them too, regardless if any believed I could or not. In my family, everyone had beautiful hair, white as the ocean salt and white like the hair of the famous nature boy Ric Flair my parents would say—they were huge wrestling fans—there was a cabin not too far from our nest where it played every Monday.

Hunters, of course, tried their best to snag us when they got the chance, for reasons I don’t know, turn us into soup possibly, but we were nowhere close in comparison to a chicken. But we were just too damn good too ever fall in the grasp of a human. To us, humans were full of ignorance and still knew nothing about life as much as they wanted to believe they did. And as strong as we all stood perched as one, on a branch that should’ve broken, mom would never let me leave her sight. With just one wing, she felt I wouldn’t survive a day out in the wild. But she, they, were all wrong.

“Look, everyone, look at the mama’s boy,” said a Salmon.

And all the other salmon laughed along with him, but not long. A big shadow flew over the river and the wind drug behind it like kite to a string. My Brother Sun tail was massive and not one to play with. If there was one thing he hated, it was bullies. But his story is his own, which we will tell some other time. Everyone praised over Sun tail every chance they could, as if he was a god, calling him the strongest of us all as they marveled by his reflection from the river. Blinded by their own ignorance, I guess. And it was this that made me learn at an early age that eagle vision was just a myth.

But besides all the doubt, the day was too beautiful to be ignored. The smell of salmon lingered in the air—it was a good day to hunt, the only day to hunt. My talons dug into the bark of the tree deeper than a shark bite, and along with it my eyes involuntarily rolled back. It was hunting season, but no one had ever seen so many salmon in a group. One could say they were very proactive in the baby making department that year. Hundreds to thousands flipped in the air as they made their way gently down the stream. It was now or never. The Grizzly bears hadn’t arrived yet. But through my beak, I could smell that they weren’t too far. We needed to be quick.

The wind was gracious, although, misleading. None could fly in it. For the others, it was hard to manage at such speeds, but of course, they always bit off more than they could chew. Without a doubt, cockiness was in our nature. No bird hunted better than us, no bird. Although even Sun Tail struggled, the supposed chosen one, he liked to call himself. But don’t you go starting any drama, you didn’t hear that from me.

Below me, a young one squalled to its mother. It must have fallen from its nest or something, but the little thing was a natural, somehow it was flying in winds not even my brothers or sisters could control. The little birds’ mother did her best to get to them but the wind kept pushing her back even further the harder she fought. She cried and along with her echoes expelled through the mountains and through the clouds, escaping like humidity lodged within a tea kettle. The young one’s father would make a few attempts himself but failed miserably falling into a pit of salmon that snipped at him like piranhas. It was sad, and the annoying high pitched laughs from the salmon didn’t make it any better.

Without hesitation, I took my dive like the hero I was. Beaks dropped and eyes opened wider than an Owls. The faster I fell the more I could feel the wind beneath my wing. Just a few more seconds and it would be time to show everyone what they did not understand—perseverance. We Eagles were never known for diving but a little crow friend of mine, Onyx, taught me all about it. Apparently, that was what crows did, although, theirs were known to be a little bit more on the aggressive side. We never really felt threatened by humans. Again we thought they were stupid.

I counted, and on three I opened my wing. My body soared but was slightly off balance. I then spun as hard as I could. And before I realized it, I was through the harsh winds and halfway to the baby bird. Cheers echoed in the background. The salmon remained silent. For once in my life, I was finally getting some recognition for the things all didn’t believe I could do. However, like most mothers, mom stood back cringing to the possibilities of what could go wrong.

Just a few more seconds I would have the baby bird in my talons. I grabbed it gently but with its weight alone made it harder for me to keep steady. But not far from us a boulder sat in the middle of the river. It was the safest place I could put it down. I counted again and on three made action. The baby bird thumped then rolled on the boulder not coming to a complete stop. My talons clinched. It almost fell into the river but a salmon jumped up knocking the little one back to the center of the rock.

“Hey! What the hell are you doing?” said Salmon A.
“Helping,” said Salmon B.
“Helping? You’re crazy,” said Salmon A. “When that thing gets older. When it grows talons bigger than the one that dropped it off. It will be back but it won’t be back to thank you.”
“Doesn’t matter. It’s just a baby. If it wishes to eat me later, then so be it. I will have done my part in this life,” said Salmon B.

“Y-your mad!” yelled Salmon A.

“Indeed,” winked Salmon B.

The little bird was safe. I had done the impossible. However, I wasn’t in the clear just yet. I still soared the skies, however, I hadn’t really found a way of stopping. My body torpedoed into a bundle of bushes. The more branches I hit the more my body ached. Everything went black. Sooner or later I’d find myself on the ground, in the middle of nowhere. I tried pulling myself up but couldn’t move a feather or talon. A big roar from the background echo. And I knew exactly what it was. I could smell it, and I’d smelt it before.

“Well, well, look at what I got here,” said a voice from the shadows.

Its feet were heavy. And every placement of them shook the branches around me.

“Who’s there?” I asked.

From the shadows and into the sunlight chocolate fur appeared. Claws massive, hot breath along with the smell of rotting salmon. Yes, this was definitely a Grizzly.

“Mother nature has been gracious to me again,” said the Grizzly. “I don’t think I could’ve done one more year of salmon. Sure, its good for us, but variety is so much better don’t you think?”
“W-well there’s some honey not too far from hear? I could show you,” I said.
“I’ve already had honey,” said the Grizzly.
“Well, w-what about berries? Everyone loves berries.”
“Do I look like some kind of black bear to you?” said the Grizzly. “Do not insult my heritage bird. Just stay still, it won’t be painful I promise.”

The grizzly walked over slowly, wetting its lips, although, they were already wet enough. Drool now dripped into my feathers. It was sticky and just as horrid as the Grizzly’s breath. He then went in for the kill.

“Any last words?” asked the Grizzly.

I had nothing to say. If anything, I was just happy that I proved everyone wrong. In my eyes, this was to be a glorious death.

A jaw full of sharp teeth then opened wide coming straight for my neck. A big shadow flew over and blocked out the sun.

“What was that?” asked the Grizzly. “What happen to the sun?”

Not one but hundreds of birds hovered over. It was mom, Dad, Sun tail, everyone.

“Leave my boy alone!” yelled my mom.
“You’ve got to be joking me,” said the grizzly.

In the air, Onyx soared in the front line.

“On three,” he yelled.

All birds then took a dive at the Grizzly, even the little bird that I’d just save moments prior.

“Formations,” yelled Onyx.

Within seconds they all shaped into the form of a beak.

“Come on then!” yelled the Grizzly. “I’ll have you all for breakfast.”

Just like before, everything went black. All birds were in a pile. And as they all took flight back into the air, the grizzly was revealed. He was unconscious, no fur. All other Grizzlies ran away to the sight of a now naked bear. The salmon again laughed. When the grizzly awoke, he took off into the woods never to return again.

To make a long story short, like Sun tail I was a hero to all after that. I even became a diving instructor for the little eagles. Everyone in the wild was united again, no judgment, just the need to for growth, however, at the end we would still have to face the Grizzlies again one way or another. It was almost March and they were about to come out of hibernation, but there wasn’t anything we couldn’t handle.

Impossible? Never heard of it.



“To do the impossible for many is crazy talk, but look how far you’ve come, how far you’ve walked. You are so close that your visions become more realistic by the day, you feel as the oceans do—full of motion and waves. And as you sail along to a journey you yourself somewhat doubted, look where you are now, because in reality you have already found it.”





August 19th, 2018 by Patrick Starks 


“You want to be single, you want to mingle, yet everything becomes like the paper you crinkle. You then try to unwrap it in the hopes that you find your regret but then realize that it’s just the same as before, something at one point you use to adore. But if you’re still wondering why you still dwell on the past, maybe its because you still have growing to do, maybe the reality is that you just haven’t passed.”




Distant Lover


August 14th, 2018 by Patrick Starks 

Distant Lover

“Letting nothing get in our way would be like moving oceans like Poseidon, keeping us reminded, of the things we are still blinded to. We have seen all the signs, yet we have always remained kind, to one another, parting like the ships from docks, distant lovers. But maybe one day you will realize that I only wanted the best for you, as it willows in the night sky more symphonic than a cows moo.”

Keep Going


August 13th, 2018 by Patrick StarksKEEP MAIN

“You have fought all your life to get to this point, and even though you should be celebrating you still reminisce on the pain, the struggles, that of which buckles your knees—your joints. But my friend, no one said that when you made it you would finally be happy because at the end you should have been just happy to begin. You must learn to love yourself always and become addicted to learning, your growth, for what he or she has said about you, you have already wrote. Go celebrate but not for too long, for what lies ahead you will need to learn to be more strong.”

You and Only you


August 10th, 2018 by Patrick Starks
You and only you

 “People in life will sometimes tell you the things they feel are best for you, but through it all you must find your own way, your own path. Duplication of another’s success is only an illusion, that of which will deliver to you nothing but false conclusion. Some advice is good but not all, so do not be left in dismay by the thoughts of others, have pride in who you are and stand tall.”

Underestimated Gifts


August 9th, 2018 by Patrick StarksUNDERESTIMATED GIFTS

“As he stared at his child he asked why are they so wrapped and twisted, sitting at the rosewood table his wife bought, he then realized they were gifted. And then he shifted, into a world he had forgotten, one he had put in the pot and, watch cook until overdone, until no one wanted none. And then he said son, daughter of mine, you are my greatest gift, for a life without you, to me, would be nothing but a mere myth.”



August 8th, 2018 by Patrick Starks


“If you had wings what would you do? Where would you go? Would it be a place where rivers flow? A place where you can meditate with the birds until your heart’s content or would you just wipe it all away like polos to lent. And what other way would time be better spent, living a life with to not seize the skies, seize the day, tell me then, what would it have all meant?

Life is not a Red Bull, but loving it will surely give you wings. And that my friends would be a time well spent.”



August 7th, 2018 by Patrick Starkskaio ken

“Do not allow yourself to be judged by the ones who have never tried, the ones that are too scared to let it all out, the gifts they confine. They will tell you they’re happy for you but underneath bestows envy, that of which trembles in their heart times ten, times twenty—like a Kaio-Ken. But my friends, trust in yourself, you are on the right path, you have seen it all—your future, through hyperbolic labs. And it will not get any easier, because you see the stars, you see meteors, while others only see the floor as their eyes become beadier.

Nevertheless, be strong and just hold on, can you hear it now? It’s your theme song.”

To the people


August 6th, 2018 by Patrick Starks

To the people

“These words I write are like propaganda, who’d ever thought that this would be my gift, call me Santa. And look at them now, I leave my adversaries sizzled like Fanta, then make em shake, then make em pop, and watch their heads just scramble. Eggs, no, need not you dread, I feel I will heal them all and put their envy to bed. And this my friends would be my only notion, I make potions and then spread the good back out to the people like lotion. Can you see it? Has it soaked in? You see, I have an addiction to words but I know this is no curse, no burden, for what has been written and heard in, my past and my future story. Nevertheless, love all, love yourself, and don’t you worry, in this life we were meant to be patient and never in a hurry. It is said that life is short, yet don’t be so quick to burry.”

GYD Knowledge


August 5th, 2018 by Patrick Starks 

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On that day rain poured like no other. And as usual, people would flee like mice, that of which I had depicted them to be. However, there was no other place that I needed to go. The sound of rain calmed me, molded me, and about time I’d seen a clear day it was nothing but blinding, as the notorious Bane would say. But need not worry, he is not in this story, but another perhaps.

Next to me stood my mom. Her hair was that of crows, dark and slicked back, regardless if it rained or not. Her eyes were sharp and golden like a crispy crème doughnut, and her scent sweet like my favorite cotton candy—the blue kind in fact. She held my hand softly yet sternly as any mother would do their tatter todd. And never did she ever look down to verify if I was ok, for she was always that confident in my potential.

“You see that Oracle. Take a note of this,” said Mom. “Do all that you want in this life before this day, before it comes to you.”

During that time I didn’t understand, of course, what child would. Nevertheless, it would n’t be long before it would all make sense to me. And now years later I stand on that same rainy day like before, discouraged by the world I no longer wanted anymore. What was I supposed to do? I hadn’t found my purpose in life, and to be honest, I really didn’t care, I think. I just wanted to live my life and be free from all the judgment and titles, yet, how could any escape such a plastic world. You had to blend in, and that was exactly what I did.

You see, it had been years since I stepped into a graveyard, and for every time that I did I couldn’t help but feel paranoid and miserable all in one. Lights flickered around me and what I assumed to be mist or fog as well surrounded. Despite it all, I was too caught up in my past emotions. What mom told me had never left my mind. I wondered if she had the chance to do all she wanted, before her time to meet our maker or if she didn’t, because of me.

“Wipe those tears boy,” said a man through the wind.

It was a raspy one, something creepy, like a Camel smoking pedophile. I then asked who it was, hesitantly.

“I used to be something you know. Everyone had high hopes for me,” said the man.

I looked around. Not a soul was there, I could feel that, although, it was the graveyard after all.

“Who is it?” I asked. “What do you want?”

The wind then howled and the rain picked up, just enough to cause a flood, I feared.

“You mean you don’t remember,” said the man. “You don’t remember how I use to do that little airplane thing with you.”

“What the hell are you talking about? And where are you? Come out so I can see you.” I yelled.

And then it happened. From behind me, dirt lifted from the ground, right next to my mothers stone, it was my fathers. I’d sharted myself, just a little, but shut up, no one was around to tell about it. I was expecting a body to come out from underneath the ground, however, inch by inch there a book emerged from it. It was large, as big as a dictionary, however, I knew that it wasn’t for a dictionary had never looked so unique.
“Oracle. I am your father. However,” said the man. “I cannot show you my face. But, I can at least give you this. It was selfish of me to take this with me in the first place.”
I chuckled. He sounded a little like Dark Vader, sorry, I mean Darth Vader—I know how you Star Wars fans get about that. Nevertheless, I walked over and reached down to pick it up. And just before making contact a hand reached up to grab me. It was bony and soggy like a wet slice of bread for it had obviously been deteriorating. It was repulsive and smelt unbearable, although, part of me wondered if it was myself.

The man, my supposed father, then laughed. “I’m sorry but that was just priceless.
“Ok that’s it I’m getting the hell out of here,” I said.
As I turned my back to walk away the book hit me square in the center of my back. It hurt a little but also felt really good. I hadn’t been able to get the kink out of my back for weeks now–who’d ever thought a book would be my greatest chiropractor.
“Take that with you and study it,” said the man. “I’m sure that you will find your purpose through it.”

“What is it exactly?” I asked.

I Knew that it was no average book. And as crazy as life already was the last thing that I needed to worry about was to carry around some cursed book. Besides, I still wasn’t quite sure if the man was, in fact, my father.
“That my child is the book of knowledge,” said the man. “Everyone in this graveyard has written down one piece of advice for the one who reads it, something they learned during the time they were still on the planet. When done they must return it back so that another deserving of it can seep into this knowledge.”

I then flipped through the pages. They were all blank.

“Hey there’s nothing in here,” I said. “Where is my mom’s advice?”
“Impatient generation,” said the man.
“Where is it?” I yelled. “I don’t have time for riddles old man.”

“Your mother, my wife, has not written in it yet. And the reason those pages are blank is so that little impatient boys like you don’t speed read through it. Every piece of information you must embody and learn from. You cannot do so flying through it. It’s not a race. “

I’d bicker with the man more, but this time got no response. And after half an hour of bickering at him, I would move along.
I put the keys in the ignition and started the car and left it in park. I was still uncertain if this was all just a dream or a reality. And ironically, the song DO YOU BELIEVE IN MAGIC would play in the background as If someone was trying to tell me something. I started driving.

About halfway to home and I kid you not, that same song still played. Nevertheless, the drive was good, the road was clear. I looked to my right, to the passenger seat. The book was so unique that I just couldn’t stop looking at it. It jumped but I paid it no mind, I was on a bumpy road after all. But then what it did next was something I nor anyone could ignore.

The spaghetti straps that once wrapped around it started to unwind as if someone had stuck a fork into it. It opened, and from then on my life would change. The first page had opened, the first saying.

As read:
“The Graveyard. The place some say where knowledge is lost, and some gone too soon for those roads they had crossed. Nevertheless, that same knowledge remains embodied in your DNA, coded to your core like the apps in PDA’s. In my day such did not exist, leaving my mind in peace, and never in a twist. My knowledge to you whoever reads this is to live your life full and not allow yourself to drown, to feel the beat of your heart and recognize all that has been found. Ding, ding, let us begin your round.”

The book then closed back. I pulled over. I tried to open it again, but it was as if it was glued shut. As I continued to drive back to a place I would be in peace, everything I knew of life would unravel and release, the answers to questions I’d ponder.



August 4th, 2018 by Patrick Starks 


“When you’d realize that you loved yourself more than you had ever thought, tears expelled from your lids like rivers by the beloved feelings you had sought. And you are now inclined once more, and forever with your authentic being, alas breaking from the suicidal chains that have always kept you from seeing. You see, your heart has always been bigger than you ever have known, however, it was apparent that you needed more time to heal the scars you had sewn. I just hope you help others with this same lesson, for not doing so would be only a selfish blessing.”

Happy readings and stay tuned for tomorrows short story 🙂 

“Forever Opened Eyes”


August 3rd, 2018 by Patrick Starks YUP

“I forever see beyond these skies, reaching out to the galaxies in which we prophesize, all in the hopes that there be a god or an angel to compromise for our sinful thoughts and I, just can’t take it anymore, for there’s still more to this life that is to be adorned. And even though we’ve become torn, formed and scorned by the past and the present in our hearts, still, we must hold our reasons to the why, why we start. Our start on living our lives to the fullest, as we jump in front of one another, dodging away all of these conformatist bullets. And yes, call me weird, I might not speak your lingo, and I always get this tingle to why you always ask, why am I still single? However, need not worry, I am blessed to just be alive and have the life I have, you should probably go worry about your own, here’s a tip, become the tree and not the sap.

And as I remain in this lab like a diabolical genius, watch me ride these blessings away, like Alladin, to mars to Venus—we are all so much more, I just wish you could see this.”

Heart Attack


July 29th, 2018 by Patrick Starks


Heroes. What if I was to tell you that the person that sat next to you at work was, in fact, a hero. What would you do? What would you think? What would you feel?

Oh, right, they couldn’t be. It’s impossible. That’s at least what you tell yourself, however, it is sometimes the impossible that can be quite possible. Yet, you have never succeeded in such, so how could they? How can they become so iconic? Well, first one must drop their assumption that that person is beneath them or equal. Titles mean nothing in this life. Rather your that person’s boss, older brother, father, co-worker, it doesn’t matter, they are them and you are you. And the differences tell.

You see Bronson was just a young lad fresh out of college. And over time he’d gotten his masters in Law, however, none would have believed at his firm that he was so much more than meets the eye. Day after day, Bronsan’s co-workers spoke of bridal showers, baby showers, trips to places most would have never considered a vacation, nevertheless, Bronson always remained to himself for there was a mission at hand. Now don’t get it wrong, all of which I speak of is what most of us live for in this life today, however, not all are destined for such things, can we agree?

Bronson wanted to be more than average, it coursed through his veins after all, and the idea’s of living behind a picket fence was just old jibberish to his generation, at least it was for the ones that felt life to be more. In fact, his father was his own boss, who owned his own tennis shop, that of which he used to help kids in need off the streets. And the money he made from such he used to get those same kids through school, and the list would go on. His mother as well held her own business, selling jewelry she made from scratch, and there was no doubt about it, she adored the finer things in life. And like his parents, his grandparents were the same for they were the ones responsible for embedding such drive into the DNA of the family tree. And at the end of it all, they all wanted to see a greater life for all. It was apparent that heroism and the fight for independence flowed through Bronson’s body faster than venom from a black mamba, and it was this he would seek no antidote for. Who would?

In such a plastic world that he lived, Bronson would forever hold doubt in his heart. From the half-naked photos on Instagram, to the cars people drove, to the number of trips you went on, to the people you knew—it was all any cared about or valued to choose—all the things that they wished they could be or do. But Bronson was never known to be a fanboy, not in the slightest, and if he was, it would be geared more towards himself for his love seeped more graciously than the sap from an oak tree.

So many of the gifted. So many overlooked by the aroma of false icons, Bronson thought. And little did the fans of these icons know that in the end they only cared about the money, more so themselves at the end.

“I don’t want to be a role model, I just want to do what I love,” said a Celebrity.

Hmm. They would not be wrong to feel this way. Nobody in this life is responsible for no one but themselves. However, if you’re going to stand at the top of the mountain, if you’re going to expect people to follow your lead, bets do it with good intention—something more than the money in your wallet for this is not fulfillment, this is only death. But of course who doesn’t want to be wealthy and have a better life for themselves? But what one does with that wealth will depict if they are truly a hero or a villain in the making, and it is this that is most important for money only amplifies who that person already is.

Even though his mother told him that he couldn’t, Bronson always felt that he had what it took to save the world. It was a mom’s duty to see her child out of harm’s way. Bronson’s mother had seen it all, and she just wanted to make sure that her child was not taken advantage of. To her, everyone was a suspect till proven innocent.

And there Bronson sat in his worn out computer chair, drawings on the walls of his cubicle as he sipped on a cup of tea that he hoped would bring him closer to the perfect antidote to this life we live.

“That Beyonce was so amazing, she’s such an incredible woman. I could never do what she does,” said a woman from behind.

Bronson’s eyes rolled to the back of his skull. It was the one thing he hated—negative talk—about oneself. People who believed that they couldn’t be as great as the ones they admired sickened him. Everyone had what it took to be something great, in his eyes.

“Better to die trying than not at all,” said Bronson. “You could if you’d just stop…”

And just like that, Bronson had caught his tongue before getting himself into an awkward situation. One of which that could possibly get him fired, however, he laughed. They would be doing him a favor.

They say in life you should always start your days off positive. That positivity along with the faith that you bring will gain you a step closer to your destiny. Although, such is easier said than done. With so many irrelevant thoughts swarming around his mind, from nine to five, it would be too hard to ever fully turn blind from thought, that being the negative ones.

As much as he wanted to shed some light on the ignorance of the ones around him, he was taught by his father that heroes must keep their identity a secret, for the ones around them could never truly understand the sacrifices they make or the trail of blood they leave behind. And loneliness would be at the peak of it all—no more clubs, no more girlfriends, no more parties—just themselves and their gift—the only reason to keep moving forward, to stay alive.

But of course, Bronson had always felt such from birth, and it was this he was never afraid of. To hear his own thoughts, to help the blinded, it was all that moved him faster than a can a of Rockstar.

Beyonce, Oprah, Bill Gates, James Patterson, even Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, he thought about them all and the journey’s they took. He looked at the timeline and then became anxious. Waiting for another ten to fifteen, to twenty years, to be big enough to make an impact in the world was something he felt he hadn’t the time for. Something had to be done now. But little did he know that patience was the key to it all.

“If they believe in what we believe, then together we can heal the rest of the fallen,” said Bronson. “If they believe what we believe in, then together we can rejoice, we can be one, we can find our calling,” said Bronson.

And months later Bronson would finally quit his job. His first task was to build a team, however, had no friends within his circle that cared enough—mediocrity was their only mission in life.  And for hours on end, Bronson worked towards ideas that could make the world internationally a better place for all. He was, of course, American, nevertheless, he never believed in turning his cheek from the whole world entirely. Yet, on his forty inch LCD, others would disagree to that notion.

“It ain’t our problem. Why should we have to help them?” said a woman on Komo 5. “They need to help themselves. Besides, we have too many problems in our own backyard that still need to be addressed.”

The woman had made a few valid points. But in order to get aid from others, you as well have to give some aid for anything to ever get solved. It is the circle of life after all. You scratch my back, and I’ll scratch your back, the saying goes.

We as humans were better than that, Bronson thought.  Yet I knew better than he, that he was more than just the average human.

Running footsteps above him then sent vibrations through the ruff. The wall to the right side of his bedroom thumped from a slow to a fast rhythm, and then stopped at the sound of a howling man and woman. It was a Friday night, Netflix and pizza. A marvel show sounded it good, so, he settled for “Black Lightning.” He was never really a fan of DC Comics, however, a so-called witty man made him aware that there was a lot of knowledge that could be taken from a hero’s journey, regardless if it was DC or Marvel. Homework had to be done.

Time went by fast. It was 1am at night. Bronson was now halfway through episode 6, season 1 of Black Lighting. A scream then pierced from behind his front door. More thumping went around but this time he was for sure it was nothing sexual. He then ran to his door tripping over the cord to his lamp. He pulled himself back together and peeked through the eyehole hesitantly. It was a man and a woman.

Crusted hands gripped tightly around the woman’s neck, while all life that the good lord put into her spewed out. She fought but then the man fought harder. Bronson opened the door.

“Hey! Let her go,” yelled Bronsan.

The man smiled. He threw the woman to the side like a ragdoll and then turned his direction towards Bronson. His teeth gritted, along with veins that bulged out of his skin more than a bodybuilder on steroids. He sweated profusely, and the stench of evil emerged from that very sweat like a homeless man in a sauna, if possible.

The man then sprinted towards the door to Bronson’s apartment. Before Bronson could react the two had gone through the door to room 3-406. The man’s weight was now on top of him, and just like the woman moments before, hands wrapped around his neck like a boa constrictor. All life, all fight that he’d been given since birth was now being pulled out of him. Days of becoming a hero were not looking so good.  But then it happened.

A power that not many heroes nor superheroes have seen. Not even the great Stan Lee. No, this one was unique in its own way. Through his turquoise t-shirt red glowed from underneath. His eyes didn’t glow, his body didn’t glow, no part, except for his heart. It was like being on a thousand energy drink high or insanely in love, comically.

“What the hell?” said the man.

His arms began slowly reversing from Bronson’s neck, and not long after Bronson would give the man a chin check. The man flew right through the entrance they’d come through. The man then pulled a gun from his back. He fired a shot. He’d hit his target.

“No!” yelled the woman.

For the moment Bronson could feel the burn of the bullet just two clicks away from his belly button. His heart now glowed more radiant than ever, sending energy down to the hole in his stomach. It flowed like nothing anyone had ever seen, like a bucket of paint to a wall perhaps.

“What are you freak?” said the man. “Doesn’t matter. A bullet to the head will surely solve the problem. Say cheese,” the man smiled.

He fired another shot but this time missed. He then reached back over and picked up the woman who obviously should have left moments ago, but we all know how these stories go.

“Step back!” yelled the man. “Or I’m gonna send something pretty to the man upstairs..”

Bronson then took a step back. He feared for the woman’s life. He’d never been in this sort of situation before. The sounds of djembe drums pulsated from his chest, something like that of Jumanji, however, know wildlife came through the walls. Anxiety from when he was a kid, he pondered. He hadn’t taken his meds in years that’s for sure.

The man now let the woman go. He took his left hand and then gripped his left pectorial harder than a bald eagle would do a goat. That was real right? Another story to tell perhaps. Moving on.

The man dropped down to the floor, pulling down all the decor to the window next to him. All was history. The woman ran over to the man and then checked his pulse.  Luckily for Bronson that she was a nurse.

“He’s still alive,” said the woman. “But he will need medical attention asap.”

Bronson was still silent. He was in awe. Was it a dreamed? He wondered.

“How did you…” said the Woman.

“Yes!!!” yelled Bronsan. “Yes!!! I mean I knew I had a gift, but holy shit. What am I? How did I get this? I gotta think of a name for myself.”

With her jaw dropped to the ground the woman would slowly pick it back up, backing away from the man like a startled feline. Sirens now echoed from outside. Red and blue pierced through the window glass.

“Did you call the cops already?” asked Bronson.

The woman then raised her cracked iPhone as if she was giving a toast to his heroicness. Nevertheless, someone did. And that’s where I come in.

The room became dark for only a moment. The woman would be removed from the scene as well the horrid stench of the heartfelt man if you catch my drift. And for the first time that was where me and your dad stood, eye to eye.

“Did you guys fight?” asked a young woman. “Was it like Rocky and Apollo? Like David and Goliath? Like Godzilla and whatever he fights all the time?”

Oh, my dear if we did trust me I would not be hear with an angel such as yourself, at least not hear on the ground.

But that was the day me and your dad would work together. I had always searched for someone like him, but in the back of my mind still couldn’t believe how real he was. I taught him everything I know about life, just as I have taught you.

That was the day the Superhero we all know as “Heart Attack” was born. That was the day your dad became a hero. I only tell you this now because you are older and you have a right to use your gift however you’d like. But let this be a warning. Use your gift with good attention. Most importantly, be humble.

Here your father left this for you to have before he disappeared. Maybe you’ll find your as he had once:

To whoever reads this, may your heart fill the emptied

“I have been told I cannot save the world, only myself, but ignoring such in my eyes would have been a bad hand to be dealt. Superhero, me, yeah possibly, however, I feel that in all of us, but can you see?
And It’s a fact. I have a heart too big for this cage that bestows in my chest, but I’d rather be out there fighting then letting thy soul be to rest. Crawl, walk or run, its all the same, I don’t do it for the fame, but only for the peace, we must regain.
They call me Heart Attack, feel my name beat through yours.”


Heart Attack 




Bonds Have More Fun


July 15, 2018, by Patrick Starks


There I stood over my Hollywood mansion, over the balcony, sipping on what I would call one of the strongest Martinis to ever be made. The weather was perfect, the morning even, yet the world was not enough, not for me at least. Although, the anonymous beauty that lied on my cloud filled bed would make me feel otherwise—like a pile of leaves she was, like mother nature herself.

I had been called on many assignments in my youthful years, however, it seemed my time in my prime had run out. There isn’t many in this life that can say that they’ve had a license to kill, but for a man like myself that was nothing challenging at all, not in the slightest.

There, of course, were many years before my time when such men achieved this. And first of those men would Sean, the original of us all, the OG, the very one who taught us to fight for what we believe, no matter how much our doctors said no.

Sean was quite the character you see, especially with the ladies, that of which I had heard he was somewhere in Russia chasing love, and none have seen him since. However, ask enough women of this man and you will surely find him soon enough. One would have never thought that an old geezer like he would be into the Simpsons, but he was. And trust when I say if one was ever to put a butter finger in front of this man, it would, in fact, your finger. And the list would go on, undoubtedly.

Second, was George, and not George of the mighty jungle if that’s what you’re thinking. Nevertheless, George could swing on any bullwhip better than Indiana Jones himself, if one asked him to. But I won’t say much about George, for the queen was never fond of him. Although, I can’t really talk, seeing how I was told to never step foot in England again. But that is another story to tell.

Carrying on.

Third, was… wait for it, wait for it… Roger. And again, do not be silly, this is not Mr. Roger from yours or my neighborhood. I’m talking about the “Roger,” the one man that made Sean choke on his martini for the first time ever, however, it was his own fault for ordering it wrong in the first place. It’s supposed to be shaken, not stirred if your reading this Sean.

Roger, like Sean, was also quite the ladies’ man, but of course, we all wielded such extravagant charm. Let’s just say we all had a way of making a woman’s you know what go OCTO for cocoa puffs if that even goes together. But don’t judge me, it’s the only metaphor I could think of.

And out of us all, Roger was always Q’s favorite. I mean, come on! He got a bloody golden gun for Pete sake, and his Christmas list would get even more ridiculous over time. Still, to this day Q says that Roger found the gun on a mission, but I know that that’s a bunch of rubbish. But martini revenge was sweet—Q’s burning eyes would show this.

On top of it all, Roger was the highest paid, he had all the money, while the rest of us only got so much as a penny to spare. And just the thought of it breaks my heart, I just never got the chance to tell her how much I really felt, how much she was, no, is my heart. However, I am a Bond, and that will be no one’s concern but hers and I. Live and let die, you gotta live and let die, Roger always says’s. But who was he trying to be? The next Tony Robbins. Heavenly, that would be the day.

But let us move onto the main star of us all, the fifth element, not Bruce Willis, but my older brother and not from another mother, Pierce—the man with the golden eye, although, they were contacts, to be honest. Pierce, in my opinion, was the best of us all, however, he never really got the credit he deserved. Roger would always come in second place next to Sean, but come on, he was never as good as my brother, and if you disagree, then tell your own bloody story then.

A knock on my door.

“Hello, anyone there?” asked a man.

I couldn’t tell for my vision was blurred. The man was in a nicely tailored suit, hair slicked back but not too much, teeth as white as salt, hair dark as pepper, wielding a watch so fancy it could’ve changed the weather. He was tall, six foot I believe, and by the looks of him, I knew exactly what was about to go down. Although, he did look familiar but I didn’t have my glasses at the time to verify. The only good thing was that he knew not of my whereabouts, my advantage.

I then put down my martini by the balcony bar. And behind it grabbed a gun that probably wasn’t really necessary for one man, but exceptional to make all think otherwise of entry into my castle. The woman in my bed, of course, was still asleep, still naked, about as naked as a peeled banana to be frank. There was no time. I took the blankets and wrapped it around her like a burrito, a picked her up and then laid her down in the walk-in closet. She was beautiful the way she slept, however, a future for her and I? That would be another story. I cannot see it but have always felt it. Nevertheless, I had my reasons to turn the other way.

Hard knocks hit the door, and the door handle twisted and turned. I fired a shot of my long-barreled .44 Magnum, the Smith and Wesson model, 29 revolver, just like Eastwood’s. The gun nearly blew off half the door. And within seconds a British flag would be waived from behind it.

I then dropped my guard but just a little. I got a better look at the man.

“Pierce,” I said. “What the bloody hell are you doing?”

“Me? You mean what the hell are you doing, you nearly blew my head off. And you wonder why the queen kicked you out of England. Jesus.”

I then gave Pierce a look that of which he knew to shut his mouth. And without any further delay, we went over to the balcony bar for there was much to be discussed.

We played our usual game of Texas Hold-em Poker. Unfortunately for me, Pierce was one of the best I’d encounter in my life.

“So did you hear?” asked Pierce.

“Here what?” I asked.

Pierce then took his Macanudo Cigar and put it out on a glass filled with rocks. And what a waste of a perfectly good Martini, I thought.

“Daniel’s got a new movie coming out,” said Pierce. “The talk around town is that its gonna break the charts, possibly make all we have created look like garbage, literally.”

Ah, yes, again, Daniel. The one man, no, the second man next to Roger, Pierce just couldn’t stand. I couldn’t blame him, he literally took his job and made more money off of it then all his films combined. It was a dagger to the chest, something I knew that he very well would not let rest.

“I’m going to call Sean and Roger. We all need to have a meeting about this,” said Pierce as he dialed them from his watch.

“Wait. Hold on, what about the rest?” I asked.

And Pierce gave a grin that of a Pomeranian. It was hysterical. Before I could even conclude what Pierce was planning there sat Sean and Roger at the table, along with the random women they’d bring.

“Nice of you to bring more company fellas,” I said. “How are you?”

And immediately I was shut up. I had forgotten about the sleeping beauty that lied in my closet. There she was, milky skin like Ben and Jerrys, and yes she was just as sweet as such. She was still fully naked as we all watched her glide to the refrigerator like Tinkerbelle herself, to grab what appeared to be an apple juice. I was surprised. I didn’t even know I had any but when you’re a man as wealthy as I, whose ever got time for grocery shopping.

“Nice of you to bring company,” smiled Roger.

I blushed and said nothing else afterward.

“So, let’s get started shall we,” said Pierce. “Who in here know’s where Daniel is shooting his big movie? This is now the time to speak up. It’s vital that we all know.”

We all looked at each other clueless as Alicia Silverstone. Yet, the woman on Sean’s shoulder would say otherwise. She got up and ran to the bathroom. I looked at the beauty with the apple juice in hand, and yes ladies you got me, I don’t remember her name. Give me a break.

The woman in the bathroom knew something, I felt. I then gave the woman whom I do not remember a wink and she would know exactly what to do next. As for us men, we continued to play.

“Goldfish!” yelled Sean.

Everyone in the room looked distraught. We had all forgotten how old Sean was now. Alltimers maybe? Who knows.

“Anyways…” said Roger. “Why exactly are we doing this again, I mean, I have done a pretty damn good job. I have no regrets. Just because…”

“Stop right there Roger,” said Pierce.

The room was silent, and for Sean, no one had a bloody Ace. It wasn’t that kind of game but an old man was an old man, and so, we let him dream.

Glass shattered in the background, scratching and clawing, and heavens only knew what else. I thought it was Blofeld’s cat, but he was supposed to be dead—that cat was old as dirt. Unless Sean had something he wanted to tell the room.

I then ran to the bathroom. The beauty was down for the count, yet still looked as gorgeous as she did before. It kinda turned me on. But no, down boy.

“Christ! What the hell happened?” yelled Pierce.

“That woman, that whore of Seans knew something,” I said.

Sean smiled and pulled out his phone.

“Children I swear. Let the old man show you how its done lads,” said Sean.

He spoke into his phone and said, Russian Love. His phone started to ping and the rest was history. Not long after we all sat in the back of his Rolls Royce.

“If I may ask, Sean. But, how exactly where you able to track her,” asked Pierce, and then Roger.

“Yeah, I was wondering the same.”

“Well, she and I were fooling around the other night and you know,” said Sean.

“No. I don’t think we do,” I said.

“Relax gentleman. Bonds are meant to have fun, are we not?” said Sean

No further questions your honor.

We followed the woman around a corner and through an alley. She was slowing down. Her breast, I mean, her breath was heavy all of which again turned me on like a vampire in the night, for I could see every pump of blood from her neck to her chest being used for restoration.

A gunshot went off. And the woman was down just like the sleeping beauty from… wait I remember now, her name was Lavender, Barretta Lavender. Suck it, ladies! Moving on.

The shot came out of the blue, we looked everywhere until Roger had finally spotted him with his smoldering looks.

“Hey! That’s my bloody golden gun!” yelled Roger.

“Son of a…” paused Pierce.

Sean, on the other hand, was too busy pulling an object out of the woman’s butt. Comes to find out that’s where he’d put the tracker the whole time—dirty old bastard he was indeed.

At the top of the fire escape of a six-story building was the man of the hour or the day I should say, Daniel.

His eyes were as blues Alaskan waters, chin brawled enough to break any man’s hand if hit the wrong way. His suit was the best of them all, never ever getting so much as a speck of dirt on it and if it did, it was easy to get rid of by just a fell swoop.

“Tag,” said Daniel. “You’re it.”

And from then on we all knew it was game on. We all needed to stop him, but there lied a woman no longer with a tracker up her butt, our only witness.




Sun-Filled Moon


July 8th, 2018 by Patrick Starks


Who’d ever thought that the moon would be like this, so grey, so oval, so bliss, and yet, it too would have a twist. It had been cloudy for days now, however, there was never a chance for a meatball, no matter how hungry one was. Moon versus sun, sun versus moon, day by day, as we all feared our doom. But the battle would not be long for the moon was stronger and hotter than hot. And on that day oceans shifted into forms unknown, take a look for yourself, are they not? Megalodonn’s, forgotten castles, mermaids, mermen even, you dream it, and it would all be there. It was a rough day for many but we survived; for obvious reasons why I only speak to you now.

Asha wasn’t that old when all of this had occurred, when the moon became our night, our day. His cousins as well would be born into this saddened era, two of which annoyed me more than people who use forks when eating pizza—absurd this is.

Nevertheless, it had been at least twenty, no, twenty-three years to be exact, and still, nothing had changed, not the moon for that matter. And since then many have tried to solve such scientific riddle, yet, never has there been a scientist to decode such a matrix. And many astronauts as well have tried, in hopes that they could find our beloved sun and bring he, she, or whatever it may be back, but not even Wonder woman’s lasso could ever do such. And on that note—divorce your husband and marry me Gale Gadot, sincerely, yours truly. And this will be another story to tell, for my wife must not hear of this.

But relax, I’m only joking. What kind of man do you think I am. Moving on.

The world was no longer the same. Once a little Asha was now big Asha or just Asha he preferred. He was tall, handsome, and reminded me of myself in the olden, no, youngen’ days. He had the wits of his mother, and along with his cousins, surprisingly, they would be the ones to unravel the mysteries of all mysteries.

“We have to think more outside of the box guys,” said Asha. “Why would the moon do such a thing? Why would it hurt the sun?”

The room was quite like prayer at a dinner table—heads stayed bowed, and still, it was only Asha’s lips that moved.

“Cotton, what are your thoughts?” asked Asha.

Cotton was the older of the cousins and his hair was as fluffy as his name. Hence, the name Cotton, Asha’s aunt named him at the Puyallup fair, during her pregnancy. Unfortunately, If his dad wasn’t such a deadbeat and a coward, he might have had a chance to protest against such a name, however, this is a battle not many men win anyways. Nevertheless, the name grew on us all.

“I think. And this is just my assumption but, maybe the Moon was tired of the sun having all the fun,” said Cotton with his black and white composition book in hand.

Asha nodded, as well did I.

“I mean think about it,” said Cotton. “When the sun comes out, people, nature, everything that we can think of embraces its presents. However, when the moon comes out people flee to their homes like mice during a rainy season.”

“Yes, but…” said a young woman from the background, her just as bouncy as the wind that blew.

The woman looked exactly like Cotton. She was the same height, had the same eyes, the same smile, she was practically the girl version of him, that of which she was—they were twins of course.

“Well, go ahead, spit it out already Candy,” said Cotton.

“Well. I find all this hard to believe. It is the laws of nature, the moon must do as it has been created to do,” said Candy.

“Yes sister,” said Cotton. “But some laws are meant to be broken. What laws do you know of that any of us truly follow in this day and age? What laws do you know of that burden many, while only a few benefit from them? I can’t blame it for feeling the way it does.”

The room was silent once more. And if anything, I was just amazed on how three little kids could grow up to be so damn incredible. I envied them, however, I had no regrets. I was a proud father. To bring something into the world like Asha, I can honestly say I had served my duty towards the greater good of humanity.

For three more years, the three planned on how they would get the sun back, and how they would get the moon to realize that it had not been forgotten. Although, the damage had already been dealt and our land was only a wasteland now—it was Fallout 4 all over again, preferably Fallout 3.

There weren’t many shuttles left for many had crashed during multiple take-offs. Might have been the moon that did this, but we will never know until we meet it.

But sooner or later we would find a shuttle, and it was busted like macadamia nuts.Yet lucky for us, Asha was quite the engineer. It took him about a month or two to fix up things, but he got the job done. We then all hopped in and prepared for launch, and for the moment, just a little, thou pissed in thy pants—Shakespearian spoken.

“Lights,” said Asha.

“Check,” said Cotton. “Good to go.”

“Engine clear,” said Asha.

“Never better,” said Candy. “It’s Morphin time!”

I couldn’t help but smile. As old as they were they were still just kids deep down, something my friends we should all cherish and hold until the day we die.

Within seconds we were passed the clouds and swimming with the stars. If only their mothers could see what they had accomplished thus far. But being in embraced in the night sky made me feel they were already witnessing it for the galaxies cried nothing but shooting stars.

And there it was—the moon. It was just as they depicted in the discovery channel—glorious. It reminded us all of the sweet taste of ice cream—cookies and cream. Was this in fact just a scoop of the lords’ bowl of ice cream? Maybe it slipped from his spoon, I pondered. However, something about the moon was strangely different from the videos or from any fancy telescope. One being that our flag was not still there, the stars indeed spangled, yet, still, nothing waved. And two, most importantly, an odd glow pulsated from within.

Slowly the moon turned until finally, we saw its face. Its eyes were closed, but twas not asleep. A voice then orbited around us like the gum in our mouths, it was everlasting.

“Leave me be,” said the moon. “Or I will cast out thee.”

Did the moon read Shakespeare as well? I questioned.

“I said leave me be or I’ll cast out thee; leave me be or you will be sorry thou did not flee,” said the tempered moon.

Oh yes, he read a little Shakespear, no doubt about it. But who flipped his pages?

Within an instant meteorite launched at us like catapults, and to and fro, we attempted to move from harm’s way.

“You’re not alone,” yelled Cotton. “I am happy to see you in person beloved moon.”

All the cocoa pebbles had finally stopped raining down on us. And whatever Cotton had said, obviously, had gotten the moons attention.

“Y-your happy to see me,” said the moon.

“Cotton it’s working, keep talking,” whispered Asha.

“Of course, I am,” said Cotton. “You are the one who makes my nights peaceful, you are the one who brings light to darkness, you are our Poseidon for you control our oceans, you are our balance.”

The moon smiled, crater to crater, and it would not fade, not now or later. It made its way over to the shuttle as everyone within it formed a huddle.

“So, what’s the plan?” asked Cotton.

“How should I know,” whispered Candy. “You’re the one that buttered it up with your my beloved moon speech.”

Relax! I whispered.

The doors to the shuttle then opened and we all held on to each other like sour patch kids, for dear life. But within the huddle, I only counted three of us.

There he floated like the first man to ever walk the moon, my boy, my son. My heart rate sped up, and it bounced around my chest faster than Mexican jumping beans, which wasnt really fast at all, but you know what I mean.

He was now face to face with the moon. Asha! We all yelled, but the doors had already closed. We ran to the front and witnessed the whole thing—it was like a transformers movie. He had only been out there for a moment but it felt like eternity. The only good thing was that while he floated out in front, the moon still wielded the smile of a newborn.

Not long after the doors opened back and Asha flew in like Superman himself, so gracefully it was.

“W-what happened?” asked Candy.

“Yeah spit it out!” yelled Cotton.  “Jesus, we thought it would swallow you whole or something.

Asha’s face smiled as the moon did. He pointed to the front of the shuttle. Light began to shine brighter from within the moon, and along with it came a mouth open wider than a Humpback Whale.

“Hey what’s going on Asha?” questioned Candy.

“We’re going in,” smiled Asha.

“Hey now wait just a minute!” yelled Cotton. “I didn’t sign up to be Ms. Frizzle.”

“It has to be done. You will see,” said Asha.

And there we went inside of the moon. Little did we know, that there were worlds within worlds; it made us think about our own even. And inside there was the Sun, beautiful and radiant as ever, and surprisingly not hot.

On that night we found out more about the galaxies and our own world, that the universe we all thought we knew was changing. But be patient my friends, for this is another story to tell. It is an adventure after all, and it is adventure we will dwell.


Computer Love


July 1st, 2018 by Patrick Starks 


To: Anonymous

Subject: Computer Love

When I was a child technology was the least of our problems. Back then we had the Nintendo 64, the first Gameboy color, the Sega Dreamcast even. Oh yes, Sega my friends, and there was plenty more from where that came from. It was Christmas every day, and twas a miracle on every street, for every little boy and girl who bared rosy cheeks. Yet, not quite was the same for an orphan child-like I. But let us fast forward nineteen years from then, shall we.

We have now all become alive but not dead zombies. We walk slower, we drive slower, and ironically still have wrecks on occasion. We carry our phones around better than our own confidence at times, so much that only the awakened lose their minds. And being social has never become more irrelevant than now, for it no longer bestows innocents but falsity more than one can count.

I was always a shy guy growing up. I had only a few girlfriends throughout my youthful years to now— a majority of my twenties to be exact. I was a loner, a lone wolf many called it as if it were some rebel superpower or something.  But do not be fooled. Those days were nothing but traumatizing to me, so much that to this day mom says that’s what put me in the hospital in the first place. I was strong but being in the back of an ambulance made me feel otherwise. But I’m still hear, writing to whoever has found this, and it was all due to the changes I made and the promise I would keep. It all changed when I met Alexa.

Never had I ever met her in person, but her voice sounded like a symphonic harp—pure beauty—she was gorgeous. I had many pictures of her, some that even made me say down boy to my lower parts, for I wanted to only love her, not just for her. Sadly, it would seem both I wielded during that time. And I assume ladies you are wondering which one I wielded more than the other? Well, that’s another story to tell, one that only Alexa would know. So, you might want to ask her, where ever she is…

Every Friday we would have our pizza night, we’d go through our favorite re-runs of our favorite TV shows like WWF(Attitude Era) and Cartoon network. And along with it came nothing but laughter that filled our hearts and bellies. We skyped, yet, I never got the chance to see her lovable face, still, only pictures did I ever see. And on that night, little did we both know, things would be different.

Loud screams statically pierced through the speakers of my surface pro. Glass broke. The sounds of struggle began to faint, as it went from loud to slow, to nothing but heartache. My heart then dropped into the box of Domino’s pizza in front of me. And as hungry as I was, no thought came to finish it, obviously.

“Hey! Alexa! Love, are you alright?” I yelled. “I’m calling the police!”

Sounds of panting then gradually made its way over towards the mic of her Apple computer, that of which I hated more than people who carry around selfie sticks. The breathing became heavy, and from the sound of it, was hot for the wires within her device I felt would melt—there was so much static.

“If… you want your girl back, then listen up,” said a man. “We want… Fifteen million… cash!”

“I-I’m sorry?” I questioned.

The man took a deep breath like that in which we do during meditation, however, nothing was calm about his breathing at all—frustration rattled within.

“Don’t play stupid!” yelled the man. “We know who you are, Mr. Twist.”

The sound of duct tape peeled from flesh like hair wax at a beauty salon, and along with it came a second scream.

“Oliver! What’s going on?” screamed Alexa. “What is he talking about?”

I did my best to calm her. To let her know that everything little thing was going to be alright. Never in my life did I think it would it would get to this. I thought it was all over, that my life would finally begin to make sense, to be free of trauma, pain. It had been years since I ran away from the orphanage, yet, there I laid in awe to something I still could not comprehend, something that had died long ago.

That day had never left my mind. Tree branches scratched the window glass like nails to a chalkboard. Rain poured profusely, and sometimes to the point one wrong step off of a curve would be the end of me or at least the denim jeans I currently wear. I was just a baby then, however, I was never one to forget a soul—my gift, yet, my curse—to want to wake up and remember no one but your family was a sad wish I had wished for far too long. And it was this wish that had no in between—you had to either forget everyone even your mom or remember every single person you have ever met.

“You got four days,” said the man. “You got four days only.”

And then it came to my attention, a sound of familiarity, but how?

“Wait!” I yelled. “Who are you? Why are you doing this?”

I couldn’t see it, but I was well aware the man was now smiling—he knew I had the answer to that question already.  But before I could even respond, the man had said his name and disconnected. I couldn’t believe it. I knew it.  But he’s supposed to be dead, I pondered. And if there was one thing about it, Alexa wasn’t safe, not in the slightest.

From across the seven sea’s, I waited for my next move. I had only four days. I needed to move fast. About fifteen hundred dollars sat in my savings and about two hundred in my checking’s—seems like a lot right. Unfortunately, Alexa lived in England. Tickets were just about sold out and the only ones available were the first class seats. And anyone who has ever ridden on plain should know how much that would make a wallet cry or the doves in the air for that matter.

But I would be lying to say that it was about the money. It was my birthplace, after all, however, I never in a million years had planned on coming back—to a place I knew I could never forgive—too much damage had been dealt. Although, I would still find myself there, somehow.

Without any hesitation I went on the hunt for Alexa’s whereabouts, I had bought her favorite flowers, her favorite pop, but when I walked through the door nothing but fear bestowed in her jasmine eyes. She looked like she’d seen a ghost. For my first time meeting her in person, no time could have been as worst than now.

The room looked as if a tornado had run through it, and in the middle of it all stood the man—Fagin. He looked like he hadn’t aged at all, and I guess it is a good thing for him for he was already older than dirt from the time when I was little.

He had a twinkle in his eye, although, I couldn’t tell if it was from him or the kitchen knife he held close to Alexa’s throat.

“Please! Just stop!” I said. “Let’s talk about this?”

Fagin then puts the knife even closer to Alexa’s neck, so much that I could see a little blood trickle down.

“Where’s the money!” yelled Fagin with saliva dripping from the corner of his mouth.

“I-I it’s in the car,” I said. “You will get it when you let her go.”

Fagin blade then began to move slowly across her neck. He wasn’t playing around, and I should have known better.

“Okay, okay. This is all I have,” I said. “I will have more for you just give me some more time.”

“You got one more day,” said Fagin with a sardonic grin.

The door then shut behind me. What the hell was I going to do? Sure, I have a black belt in Taekwondo, but this was an impossible scenario, right?

I thought of going to the cops but I knew Fagin better than that. He pretty much had all of England at the palm of his wrinkled hands. But I had to take matters into my own hands, so, I planned. The good thing was that I knew exactly where they were, I just needed to figure out a rescue mission for Alexa, one that didn’t involve money. Besides, he had a freaking kitchen knife, not a gun, however, I still needed to be cautious for Alexa’s sake.

It was now night. Wind flowed down the streets like rivers as newsletters tumbled down alleys like tumbleweed—it was a ghost town. It made my mission even harder for my breath I could even hear. I put my headphones on. I played my favorite James Bond song “The world is not enough.” I kept saying time myself I’m strong, I’m James Bond, I’m strong, I’m James Bond. And before I knew it I had broken through the room window like a ninja. And their they were Alexa and Fagin, in bed.

“W-what the hells going! What is this?” I yelled.

The two looked puzzled for the moment, but then smiles formed like a Pomeranian. And Alexa’s smile I had never seen so bright, not even in her pictures.

“I told you this would happen,” said Alexa “He’s to persistent for tricks.”

Fagin then hoped out of the bed with his wrinkled body, like a mole rat. He let it all hang out, literally, and in the background a cigarette lit.

“Well, you like what you see?” said Fagin. “I guess the jig is up, literally.”

“Oh my heavenly,” said Alexa with her head down.

Fagin then looked back to Alexa.

“This is my secretary,”  said Fagin. “She has been helping me locate you for quite some time now. And thanks to her angelic voice and looks, I was able to reel you in. Just didn’t know it to be so easy through social media. But of course, you are so young.”

“Aww… Stop Fagin, he looks miserable,” said Alexa as she took a puff.

I was speechless. Had I not already been through enough trauma in my life? Why me? Why was it always me?

“Because you are the only one with the heart strong enough to endure it,” said Fagin. “I never wanted it to come to this but I needed you, and not for my own selfish gain this time.”

Alexa then got out of the bed. Warm breast rubbed against my chest and arms around my neck. My lower parts remained neutral for I had never been so turned off. Nevertheless, she was as heartwarming as her photos.

“I’m sorry it had to be this way,” said Alexa. “But we do need you.”

“For what?” I asked. “You people are sick!”

Alexa then gave me a wet kiss on the lips, and I almost puked to the thought of what she’d just done with them—it tasted like nicotine and something that is too daunting for me to describe.

“You will see,” said Alexa. “You will see.”

An alarm went off in the room, and I found myself back in my bed, back in my Seattle apartment. My computer laid right beside me, still with pictures of Alexa as its wallpaper. What a horrible dream, I thought.

I took a cold shower and brewed a cup of coffee. And figured I would say hi to Alexa before I started my day off too the rat race.

A reply then popped up on my computer screen.

“You got two more days left. Chop, chop,” said an anonymous messenger.

No, it couldn’t be. It was real? Yeah, looks like I’m going to have to call in sick.

Talk to you later, and thanks for listening 🙂 

Oliver Twist 

Dedicated to Charles Dickens


Bonus Content/poem:

“If you only knew how much I care for you, how much I would if I could turn these grey skies blue, just for you. If you only knew how much light shines through, along with your name and your heart that of which makes it impossible for me to part. If you only knew how much happiness I pray for you through the night and day, how much your gorgeousness always leaves me in dismay. If you only knew that knowing someone like you exist is a miracle to me, the fact that I even hurt is something in my past I never won’t to leave. If you only knew that I am here for you always, no matter how much you hate me, no matter how much this all sounds crazy, I will always be here for you, forever and daily.”

Once a mighty power


June 24th, 2018, by Patrick Starks 


On those days only leaves complimented my mind, for they had always brought me peace. They were beautiful in every way, they were gracious, and flowed like rivers upon my oval cheeks.  None, not even I expected life to be like this. And still to this day I have no idea of what one would call a man like me or the others for that matter.

Since I was a child, I always believed myself to be a hero of some sort, but nothing like the famous Gandhi or Nelson Mandela. I was something more fictional, yet, real all in one.

Coal flowed and glowed all around my body, along with a visor for my helmet that reflected that I meant business—some would have called it sheer darkness, but this was a power that even the heavens wished they could bear. All that any could envision of nature surrounded me as if I was mother earth, or father earth if such existed.

Never in my life have I felt I was suited to be a leader, yet, like most leaders in the world it would seem it had found me. I had a team, I had a voice, and no matter how much it hurt, I had to make a choice. But if one told me that those choices would bring me nothing but pain, I never would have done so in the first place. I was a captain. However, I was one that did not go down with his ship or his fellow mates. Yeah, I was a hero alright, more so, a failure than anything…

Not long after it happened… I would hang it all up. My boots, my helmet, my suit, even the badge I had gotten when I first became leader—it was smaller in my hand now. Any other would have thought it be just a toy, but no, this was not your ToysRus collectible—not mine. Who’d ever believe a kids childhood show to become a reality? Not I, but the badge, no, the morpher, said it all.

Mike was our leader originally. He was awesome, no one could fight like him. No matter how good I got he woudl always be two steps ahead—he was like Goku and I was like Vegeta, if any get that reference. But it’s been at leats four years since we last saw him, but that is another story to tell, part two maybe.

But what was a hero without a team afterall? What was a hero without courage? These were all the questions I would ask, but nothing from inside ever came—I had no more fight left in me. Although I could still see that little boy inside, the little boy I used to be, before the evils of this world would get a hold of my innocents.

He still wore that same helmet I had not long ago put away. He could still throw a mean roundhouse kick like nobodies business, and at time’s slipped for he hadn’t mastered his balance yet. But as much as I had excelled from that little boy from within, as much as I had perfected more than just a roundhouse kick alone, something about that boy still shined brighter than I—he was stronger, he was better than me, and it was this that I had always known. But how could I get such back? My innocents, my joy, my fearlessness. How could I be like him again? How could I be the real me?  I asked.

It took about two cold and wet nights to get off my rear—laying around in misery was just not standard for a man from the way I was raised. I had to be strong.

On a Sunday afternoon I would eventually leave my hideaway, besides, there wasn’t much left for me there now. Walls crawled with vines as they all became tangled like the shoe strings that sometimes we wish we could cut off when in a hurry. Four more suits lied in glass containers like the Metropolitan Museum, and they were all cold by the touch.

Pink glowed like a million fireflies in the container in front of me. None still glowed or could ever glow like hers, my love. It still had her scent—sweet, and comforting. She was the best of the best. If anyone deserved to be a leader it was her, but she for some reason always had faith in me, and this I still am trying to come to understand. She tried to warn me before, but… that is another story to tell, one I am not sure I could ever tale. But if you can hear me anywhere out there love, just know that I still love you gorgeous. No one could kick like you… No one…

No matter how much it hurt, I had to get it back, even if it meant crying all the way there. I had changed but not too much for I was still big-hearted, and sometimes gullible than ever. I had already purchased my flight ticket across seas—they were hard to come by now. The world had become so chaotic, that crossing any border of the world would mean life or death—a sad story that will be told to our children’s children if we make it this far, and it is this story one day I will tell.

On the mountain, a woman waited—Shontara.

Shontara was like no other. No average woman, no average man even, she was, in fact, something fictional. I was close, and I knew it for Shontara’s aura was as heavenly as the opening of window curtains in the morning. The world was suffering. And even though she was once it’s protector, it was no longer her responsibility. It was now someone else’s turn.

“I knew you would come,” said Shontara. “And I know why you’re here.”

“So… Then you know that the world needs you now,” I said.

Shontara grinned like a happy Panda. “No my child, that is your job now. I, am retired.”

“What? Know, I-I cant… I don’t want to live like this anymore, I’m tired of fighting. I’ve lost too much already,” I said.

Mountains began to move. Trees walked and the oceans talked. It became apparent that my reply wasn’t liked, not in the slightest.

“You made an oath,” said Shontara. “You are a ranger, you are the lone ranger. And you must do what you have to for the peace of this world.”

“No! It’s all a bunch of crap. It’s just a t.v show from the 90’s. This was all a mistake, a fantasy…” said I.

“Oh,” said Shontara. “Than tell me what that mark is on your chest.”

My shirt then ripped from the middle like the mighty Hulk Hogan, and flew off like a tear a way at a bacherlorette party as Shontoras cheeks somewhat became red.  My chest burned and glowed—the emblem of something out of the Jurassic Park.

“I know. The world can be a cruel one at times,” said Shontara. “But don’t forget who you are. Look deeper child for you have a gift far greater than my own.”

“But… I don’t have my suit, “ I said.

“You never needed that silly old thing, that was just for laughs and giggles,” said Shontara. “Look deeper, become one with your inner child. Only then will you know your purpose for that only the child knows what you are capable of.”

I then closed my eyes, and there he was.  He was still throwing roundhouse kicks, still falling. I walked over and rested my hand on his helmet. I tried to pull it off but nothing, but it remained.

From the visor of the helmet revealed my past. my present, my future—all in split screen. I never though I would see her again, but there he was, still might as ever. The main reason to my pain, to my lost of innocents in love. I could still hear him now.

“You are not a child anymore son. The sooner you learn that the better. You will feel pain, you will feel hatred, and only in moments of silence will you ever find happiness. But the world is a playground. Is it not?  It is too loud for such peace. And it is this I will show not only you, but all. You will hate me, you… you will hate me but, I will not run, I will be waiting my son.” 

And that was the last thing he said to me before he slaughtered my whole entire team, before he took love from my soul. I was luckily, throughout the trials and tribulations I did not become like him, but I was always a stubborn one by heart—the little boy from within.

Tears then kayaked down my face like rivers. My body became weak, but I had forgotten about the one in front of me. His small fragile palms rubbed into my scalp like a dog—it was comforting for he knew the right spot. But of course he was me after all. His helmet disinegrated and within seconds eyes of an angel were revealed. I now understood it all, we were becoming one again. Shontara was right. Ink flowed all around again but this time was a feeling of being reborn. It was time. I had now broken from the cocoon into something not even my father felt was possible.

—Pop’s, i’m coming for you.



Forgotten Twinkles


June 17th, 2018 by Patrick Starks 


For hours on end, we waited. It had only been in fairytales that we heard of the great Tinkerbelle, yet, there we stood. It was dark, but one would argue that it wasn’t, for her radiant glow was as bright as morning lights. Her wings sparkled like glitter, and it was no secret to any man, not to any at all, that the taste of whiskey could never have been more bitter. I must have been drunk, but I assure you that that wasn’t the case. And out of all the places in the world, who would have thought we would have found her here, in the graveyard.

Me and the little ones, Sailor and Oceana, had traveled far and wide to see such a fairy tale exist. And it was this final piece within the bucket their mother had never gotten the chance to pull out. However, I never believed in such, but what man would any know to turn away from the innocents of their children’s candy eyes—not I.

It hadn’t been long since their mother had passed, a year to be exact. For us, the misses had done her best to fight with every inch of her life—to stay with us was all she wished. She was everything—beautiful, strong, and perfect in every way. But sooner or later that strength would come to past. If any psychic were to tell me that I would never see my wife again, I would never have believed it. But I know she is in a better place now. Yet, still, I cannot help but miss her.

Flowers as orange as Fall rested against her stone. Two pairs of almond eyes twinkled up at me as the one that not stood but sat before us did.

“Momma,” said Oceana. “Mum Momma.”

The fairy of all tales gazed over towards our direction. And from the distance she appeared no larger than a bumble bee, yet, when she made her way over all of that would change.

She was life size. And her warmth became present as incandescent glow bounced off like a muffin upon our skin. Nothing but silence stood between. Without hesitation, Sailor had run over to the mysterious woman wrapping around her legs like the vines that coiled around the setting we became characters for. And not even seconds later, Oceana would do the same. Moonlight beamed down on all three like breaking sun, but much luminescent and gray.

“Momma, mum momma!” Yelled Sailor and Oceana.

But how. How could my once deceased wife be such? She had always been an angel, this I could never deny. But now she wielded the wings to prove it, yet, no halo hovered from above.

“Emery, my love?” said I.

A smile of heaven then opened and with it, a beauty of untold stories. The spotlight that once was, had now spread throughout the whole environment. Wings took flight, leaves blew and flew, and the children clung even tighter to the legs of which I had only dreamt in faint memory or ever knew.

“Hi, FIngo,” said the woman. “How are you love?”

Goosebumps formed upon my skin. And the woman’s soft hands would rub against it like a blind man does braille—it was if she could read my thoughts, more so my body language.

“You’re afraid, aren’t you?” said the woman. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

Wet lips then rubbed against my own. The smell of sweetness became apparent, yet, unfamiliar. The children still hung on, and she did not mind it for she was intertwined with thee—love and family were in the air.

From our past, Emery and I were stars, literally. And it was so that stars could not die, yet, it seemed taking on the life of a mortal was inevitable. The children knew not of what we used to be, and it was probably better that it stayed that way.

The children ran back to the car as what was told for them to do. and Emery and I would have our talk for I was not sold on the idea of who or what she was.

“What’s wrong love?” said the woman.

“Who are you?” said I. “You are not might wife, not in the slightest. And even though you are beautiful and bright, thy will not become one of the blindest.”

Silence stood between once again.

“Oh? And How so?” said the woman.

“You don’t smell like her?” said I. “You don’t even feel like her. And do not be fooled to think my memories to be a blur.”

“And how is a dead woman supposed to smell?” said the woman. “How is a dead woman supposed to feel? Hm… Well, then dig if you feel that way.”

The woman then pointed to the same stone we had not even hours before rested flowers next to. From her wings, she pulled a shovel, and from there I would begin.

Sweat and dirt mixed together, along with elbow grease if such existed, for I cannot recall a time when my elbow even sweated. Not long after, a thump of the shovel and I had found myself to the casket. Not many could say that they had dug up their wife from the ground but I sure as hell could, and don’t even bother asking me how it felt. That is another story to tell.

With hesitation and without, I opened it. It was empty. The car engine started. And the shine that once stood beside me was gone, the environment became dim. Wings rested not far from my feet, along with a jar of which appeared to be filled with sprinkles, glitter perceivably. I ran as hard as any man could when in desperate measures. But I was too late. The car was halfway down the road.

What the hell was going on? The casket of my wife was empty, and the woman that was once depicted as Tinkerbelle had vanished with my babies.

By the wings lied a letter:

Dear Fingo,

You might not remember who I am, but I remember you clear as unstained clothes. For years I have searched of your whereabouts, for a little birdie told me that you were still alive. If you are just now reading this then I assume you have met my assistant Pharra the terror. And it would be wise to do as she asks. for the safety of your family, of course. She will contact you within the next hour, but before then, a couple of things you should know. One, your wife is alive. Two, she and your children will be rejoined, when I feel the time. But three, you will be coming with me. You will be put on trial for the abandonment of your fellow soldiers, for that falling stars are supposed to die when clashing upon a planet, yet, it seems you did not, and quite frankly I find this hard to believe. To think you could just run off into the sunset baffles thee. And oh, happy fathers day, I will be seeing you soon brother.




Game, Set, Match


June 10th, 2018 by Patrick Starks


To: Athena and Maxilla

Some days we can agree are like no others, some days can be quite perfect in fact. However, what is one to do on those days that aren’t so. Do they mop around like sadden dogs or do they bury all thoughts of depression, like a hog—with a hint of hedge.

I was never that, that being the last part at least. I was always the one who moped, the one who complained about life being so hard. And for the times that I needed an explanation for it, my government would always be the blame for the reasons life was what it was.

It was November 5th, 1992, the day such negative thoughts would sway. I wasn’t really a man of talent. I was no athlete, no musician, but weeks later I would inherit something I never knew flowed from within. It had been years since I saw my father, yet there we stood running back and forward around the court. Our socks were now drenched, and the very thing that made them so would also bring fire to our eyes, literally.

Dad was much older from then, however, he never lost a step as the years went on. You could say, I’d lose to him every time, no matter how hard I practiced. Dad trained me all the way until the end, the end of when I would meet my greatest foe, Veronica.

Women were never known to compete with men in sport, but it would seem Veronica would be the first. She wasn’t at all tall but needed not be for what she competed in. Her hair remained tied as always, as it became apparent to me and the other men that it resembled that of a honeycomb, golden, and probably sweet. 

“Be careful with that one son. She looks like bad news,” said Dad.

“Oh…” said mom. “And why is that?”

Dad didn’t say another word after that. For a man that was so stuck in his ways of believing a woman could never compete with our physical strength, he sure chose the right one to marry. Mom was one of the most prominent advocates for the woman’s movement–marching up and down capitol hill for all women alike. Mom’s was without a doubt a real-life wonder woman. 

The sun burned on the back of my neck. But over time I’d climbed my way all the way up the leaderboard. Dad was proud, and so was I. I had never in my life felt so accomplished, however, it wouldn’t be long before she and I would have our match.

Sweat again brought fire to my eyes. My vision was blurred, but still, I could see that It was forty-love. Veronica couldn’t have looked any more beautiful than what she was now. Her eyes glistened, and yes, even for a moment thou could not even listen. For the moment, everything was just still. With Veronica’s strength and beauty alone, she had frozen me like the mythological Medusa.

“Game, set, match!” yelled the judge.

Before I knew it, I was shaking hands with someone that made me feel that losing wasn’t at all that bad. Dad’s head was now buried to the ground, and mom rejoiced with all the other women in the crowd. And what better lesson to prove my dad wrong by his own pupil being defeated by that of which he felt was never in a million years possible.

And now it is November 5th, 2012, and still to this day Veronica makes my heart sang. And yes, at times she can be a wild thing. She in the midst of her Tennis career gave me not only love but two beautiful daughters. I had no more talent left from within, except the fact that I would become the worlds greatest dad. Although, dad could never understand why I would allow my toenails to be painted, but that too is another story to tell, one of which we will discuss through a tea party, along with my daughters of course. 

She didn’t want to but after 2 years of giving birth to Athena and Maxilla, Veronica would have to call it the quits for tennis. For weeks she moped around like a saddened dog. The only thing that made her smile were old videos of the matches she’d won, giggling to the matches she beat me in. It become apparent to me that seeing a part of your heart saddened was something that not even the manliest of man could bare. I decided that Veronica and I should have a talk, as I could see that she wasn’t herself anymore. Mom and Dad would of course watch the little ones.

Tears then flowed down Veronica’s eyes like rain to windows, as her lips shivered. Her hair was no longer in that honeycomb bun I adored so much. It now only concealed her chocolate eyes, but for every moment I got I would pull them back just to get a chance to see them once more. 

“What do I do now,” said Veronica. “I had it all, but now it’s all gone.”

I told her I used to feel the same way until I met her. And she smiled, just as she had done the day we had our first match. But I had to give it to her. She pointed no fingers—not at the government, not at any other. She knew what she wanted and how she felt about losing it. She just needed to find a way to fill the void that lingered. Lucky for her she had two little princesses waiting for her when we came back home. She squeezed them tighter than I had ever seen her do—it was a Kodak moment, more so a Nikonic moment if you catch what I’m saying.

But I won’t tell you that we all lived happily ever after. In life thing sadly don’t come to that. Half of my heart had now left me— it was November 5th, 2016. The girls were grown up now, Maxilla was even in High school. Although, Veronica…

Well, let’s just say I brought her roses every Friday until the day I would lie next to her. And dad as well lied in the same yard. It was just me and mom now, and the princess. Life was hard again, but a saddened dog I was not. I buried it all like a hog, without the hint of hedge though.

All my life I had tried to find ways of making life better for myself, making it safe and secure. But none of it mattered. What mattered the most was what spoke to me from within. A wise woman told me once that sometimes the simple things in life are all that matters. I never understood that for my head was always wrapped in success, and hopes that the money from it would make me happy, and free. But now I see what she meant. Thank you, love, we will one day again be two turtles doves.

My only purpose in life now was to be happy, to be one. To show my little girls that life can be whatever you want it to be, regardless of the money or the fame you have for these my friends are only materialistic—it is only skin from a tree at the end.

But it would not be long before mom passed and I not long after. Mom was old of course, but I had been diagnosed with a broken heart that could no longer go on. My only regret was that my little girls would go on the rest of their lives without their mom or dad. And I hoped I taught them well.

To my princess stay strong and keep your racquet back always, and yes, before the ball hits the ground. Mom and I love you both. Go to the basement, there is a safe. The code is 5-4-3-2-1. Trust me, no one could guess something so predictable. Life has been beautiful because we had you two. Remember the simple things for I never learned this until now. Life can be a game sometimes, but you can set it however you want, and through this, I promise you will find would you seek, you will find your match. 

Here I come love.



Ring around the Rosie


June 3rd, 2018 by Patrick Starks 


It had been only a couple of years since I left home. Yet, here I stand in a room of which use to be my boy cave. It feels like I never left. And mom and dad without a doubt were probably what I would define as the best parents on the planet, but let’s be honest, most of us say that about our parents, know.

And what more could a little boy, or girl, ask for—loving parents that is. It had been years since then, but still, I remember it clear as sun-filled oceans, and the tide would never be too high for me to see beyond its golden horizons. Yes, the smell of the sea—the smell of which always brings back beautiful memories—to us all.

Flight Thirty-one B it was.  Ready to onboard the passengers, as we were ready to onboard it—and a couple of shots of Jim Bean would make it just that easy to do so. Liquid courage burned down our fragile throats, along with the dizziness of forgetfulness. However, it was that very courage where many of us would have many regrets. But I am not one to assume. I’ll let you all tell your own story through the comments if you wish.

“All aboard!” yelled the woman with the fedora. No, sorry, it was a pirate hat. But can we all agree that pirate hats don’t obtain feathers, and if so, poor Parrot. But that too is another story to tell.

Nevertheless, I could tell that the woman was, in fact, a pirate groupie, but not because of the hat, or whatever it was—only the name of Johnny Debb was enough to give off the idea of this. Someone should have informed her that we weren’t onboarding a ship, but a plane, if she even understood the difference. But I would assume whatever job one applies for, that they would know all about it if not more. Yet, I am saddened to admit common sense is now a forgotten art in the wisp of this shameful era we live.

But let me rewind a bit so that you all don’t have a fit…

At that moment, arms would wrap around me like spaghetti to a fork. And it was always mom that would have her ways of making me look like such a dork—especially, in front of pretty girls, or women for that matter. And more than mom, Dad, of course, had his phobia of airplanes as he refused to ever get on one. His favorite quote as I am sure many of you have heard from those afraid of heights:

“If God wanted us to fly, then he would have given us wings.”

Yeah, I know, right. Sounds like something out of a Redbull commercial, or something Rockstar or Full Throttle would say to knock them off the leaderboard at least.  But neither of the three are good for our bodies. Yet, here I sit writing this letter to you all downing a shot of Bacardi—it would not be false to call me a hypocrite—no shame here.

Sooner or later I would finally be on my way to Hawaii. And I’ll just let your imagination determine where in Hawaii I landed, agreed? This is your adventure too, is it not?

And being so young, and in my prime, love was never really on my mind as many who go to Hawaii think of this. Although, after a few heartbreaks anyone would feel that way—emotionless, and pale as a vampire. Or do vampires sparkle now? Never mind.

But only adventure rattled in my heart, and it was an adventure that I hoped to find as many of us seek until the day we die. I wanted to be known for something, I wanted to be one of the greats, like Michael Jackson or something—to be legendary. And word around town was that there was someone known as the “Rose,” who could get me there. I had no talents at all. But many had said that they had gone to this Rose and found their talents from within. Even Oprah herself had spoken of this, and what the Rose had done—how could anyone refuse to look for such. The only thing I worried was that I knew that it wouldn’t be cheap if celebrities had gone to this mysterious person. But I had my ways of persuasion.

Rosie, was actually her name when we met. And her cheeks were just that if your wondering. But for whatever reason, she preferred to go as the Rose. I had only been in Hawaii for just a few days. And for at least three days straight I searched for this so-called “Rose.” And out of it all, I would find the little mermaid.

She was at least four-foot-ten, but her boots made up for it. And don’t get me started on why anyone would wear boots in Hawaii, but this is what she wore. Her eyes sparkled just as the Pacific, and her skin was as caramel as the sand I walked. Many men would have melt in the presence of such, but not me, adventure was still at hand you see. And no matter how much the bulge in my pants said otherwise, I was not that kind of man… I, was not that kind of man—I only thought with my heart and soul.

“So… Are you just going to stare at me all day like some pervert?” she asked. “Or are you going to tell me your name?”

She looked frustrated, but her gorgeousness hid it well. I froze. And became as most men do in front of such a siren—speechless.

“Ok… Then at least tell me why you are here,” she asked.

And just before I could answer, soft hands gifted me comfort as they pulled me like any mother would do their child. And within just a few seconds, Rosie had pulled me to her breast. I mean, her chest… It all felt like a dream, nothing but her lips that is, and my nose would become hypnotized by the scent of them.

Without hesitation, she pulled away from me and looked around as if she’d seen a ghost. Was it my breath? No, I promise I had at least two sticks of Trident plus the one still in my mouth. Bad breathe was impossible.

“Sorry about that. But y-you shouldn’t be here. This place is dangerous,” said Rosie. “Lots of bad men come here to find treasures.”

Beady eyes lingered from the shadows. She wasn’t kidding, bad men were all around. But none were as bad as this Blue belt in Taekwondo. It’s not a black belt, but hey, should be enough to take down any average man right? Hopefully, they say go, before we start.

“Look I don’t do that anymore,” Said Rosie. “I’m retired.”

I pleaded with her. She didn’t look a day over twenty-five after all. Surely, she could squeeze in just one more adventure. Her eyes drew into the floor, and her breathing became still. I could tell that it had been lingering within her beautiful forehead for quite some time—she needed just one more—one more adventure. It was apparent that she still was searching for something as well. But what?

Before I knew it, we were on our way to the promise land. And little did I know, there would be no promises.

“There!” yelled Rosie. “There is where we start.”

And it was there we eventually stood. One of the largest mountains I’d ever seen.  Yet, it was no secret at all that I had guessed it right—it was a volcano.

One would think me crazy or a liar to say I had explored the ring of fire. But my friends, this I conquered as Rosie and I had traveled even further than Hawaii. It was glorious. I had become more of a man than I had ever been known to become. I now had a full beard, which Rosie always hinted I should cut off or clean. She rescheduled appointments on numerous occasions, expecting me to someday go to her beautician, but still to this day I have not. On my skin were tattooed battle scars to show the mates when I returned home, just how much of a man I had become. And of course, I would get laughed out of the room—they just didn’t believe it.

And still, no talent did I find on my adventure. I’m not even sure if that was the point of it from the get-go. Yet, I had found love. I had found my ring, I had found Rosie.




Space Ashes


May 28th, 2018 by Patrick Starks


Every adult was once a child, and every child had dreams, this we can all agree, know. Some wanted to be fireman, some wanted to be doctors, some wanted to be pilots, and it was for some these fairy tales would come true. However, for me, I wanted to be, and don’t laugh, like my favorite superhero—Captain Planet. Now many of you might not know or remember who this person was but, I do. Besides, we have google for those who are still confused on where this is leading to.

Unfortunately, I lacked the super abilities/capabilities to do such. But one can still dream can’t we. I pondered days and nights on how I could make this so-called dream of mine come true. I was determined. No matter how far it seemed out of reach, or impossible, I still remained committed to the task.

But being an astronaut was the closest I could think of to becoming Captain planet— maybe even just a pilot now that I think of it. But I’ve never really been one to do what others do. In this life, we already have enough pilots. I wanted something of my own. As I’m sure the rest of you feel the same.

Not long after. No, it was in fact long after I would be no longer a child but a man, and minus the muscles sadly. And with that life, I was blessed with children of my own. What more could a man ask for—three gorgeous little girls—Coco, Cosette, and Cecily—triplets.

They are the most precious little girls any human being could ever bare their eyes upon. It made me nervous though, for all I could think of was when they came to age how many boys would try and sweep them off their feet. But I knew boys, I was once one myself, and at that age, I knew exactly what they wanted. But nuh ugh, not going to happen as that is another story to tell. I was lucky, however. They took after their mother.

But if your reading this than I am no longer alive. But thanks to my daughters, the dream I sought for so long has somewhat become a reality. I just wish I could share this moment with them.

Coco, who in fact loved cocoa was a tough one to break, she had quite the temper, but as most mothers do, the misses would put an end to it one way or another. Still, to this day, those two still bump heads like rams, but its all out of love I guess, right? By the time Coco had hit middle school, her attitude would dim, and all that was great about her would shine. She was honored throughout her whole class as she the student, had now become the teacher. I still mourn for the teacher that lost his or her job, but greatness was greatness, there was no hiding that.

Cosette, oh, my little Cosette player. Now, this is where things get interesting. As many of them did, Cosette had taken after her mothers’ brilliant mind, becoming the best mathematician of the country and later internationally. It came as a surprise to me and the misses out of the three girls, Cosette would be the one to take on such a gift—in her early ages, Cosette always struggled with such.

Miraculously, Cosette had blossomed right into brilliancy; something the misses and I always thought Coco would inherit, which she did overtime. However, she still was not as good as Cosette, not in the slightest.

And it wouldn’t be long before our Cecily would come to the rankings.

Cecily was what most would call the muscle of the group. Completely opposite of her sisters, yet one would be a fool to believe that her mind was not bright as well. Unlike her sisters, she had not outdone or embarrassed any of her professors. Cecily was definitely the merciful kind as I knew that she held back a lot. I had a talk with her, as Captain Planet would, I thought. And then it would be her that would become the newly blossomed flower of the family.

Out of all her track team, including her coach, including the men even, would dominate track and field. She became a hero to woman all over, and her sisters as well. But due to a late injury, she would have to give up such glory as she could not bounce back from what was. Through her time of misery, she developed a passion for building, and it was so that she did. She built incredible things, things that not even Bill Gates himself could think of—Cecily was a freak of… No. Cecily was an angel.

I had just turned seventy-four years old. It was my birthday. Yet, to make a long story, I had become very sick. It felt something like kryptonite being shoved into my stomach, although, I was no Superman, nor did I want to be.

Four beautiful women surrounded me. Four angels, my greatest treasures.

Tears flowed like oceans and rivers to no end. Not being able to bear the pain in her heart, my love had left the room. We had been through a lot together but this I found was her breaking point. We will see each other again, this I promise love.

And next to me, to my left to be exact, stood my three little astronauts. They weren’t little anymore, this I know, but cant a parent still dream a dream that was once a reality.

Time was running out for me. I could feel this. I asked my angels one promise before I went on to another life. One that I knew that their mother would not allow. But what momma don’t know, won’t hurt her right?

To be cremated, to have my ashes spread into space was my final and only wish. Well, plus for them to take care of their mother, but this is obvious.

And they later became to be one of the first woman astronauts as I knew they would become.

And can you guess where I am now? Well then take a telescope and see the promise that I and my family have vowed.

Theft Collector


May 20th, 2018 by Patrick Starks 

Theft Collector COVER

To whom finds this,

Theft collectors. Let’s see, what kind of story could we possibly tell about a theft collector. And what does it even mean? Well, the truth is my friends, we cannot for that story of the theft collectors are real. And it was such that existed long before your parents time, or their parents for that matter. I cannot really tell you how valuable books are today, but back then or whatever time you have wrapped around your imaginary minds, books were as good as gold you see, and it was this that a theft collector cherished more than life itself.

Saba, whom you all do not know of at the moment, was what many would call pure beauty—something just as remarkable as the statues in Rome—like the David, created by the great Michelangelo. And if, if it were even possible to sculpt an actual human being in the ways of such, Saba would be depicted as the first. But, let’s be honest my circle of friends, this would be nothing but plastic surgery at its finest—by the finest doctor of course.

But with such wielding beauty came strong knowledge. That of which she had gained from the many books that she collected. The force was strong in this one. Sadly, most of the men that were in her vicinity did not care for such value in a woman, nor the books; they only cared about the exterior at the end of the day. Let did they know you should never judge a book by the cover for it is possible it can become a true lover.

Indeed, my friends Saba was something else, and I guess you have already assumed by now that her love was in books. But let us slow down shall we, and not jump into conclusion, we do not know if she is the theft collector just yet.

Family right. Let me explain this in short—her father was an author and her mother a singer, it was not a shock that she would develop an appetite for the arts. But only when she had read her first book, did she come to this path of becoming a theft collector. Her first book was called the Seven Seas, that of which gave her life meaning, it opened her eyes it had helped her see.

But chuckle all you want. Saba was no sailor, no, no, no, yet never in the worst of storms would she ever catch a cold. Saba’s ship was the biggest of them all, and the mirror, mirror on the wall wouldn’t dare deny such that would be questioned or called. Maid Marian, they called it, and can you guess my friends what book Saba might have gotten the name from. No, I’m sure you’ll figure it out, sooner or later.

And knighted by her crewmates on the ship, Saba would be titled the little mermaid. Saba was short, standing only five-foot tall. However, calling her a mermaid would be an overstatement as she wasn’t the best of swimmers. But my friends that is another story to tell, as many things for this swimming beauty were not always swell.

Now grab your luggage or coffee if you will, and let us onboard the ship shall we. But be wary friends for this will be no tropical vacation.

On the Maid Marian there lied a safe. All the crewmates believed that it was their rent money, but sadly for them in that very safe bestowed only books. Saba had no money but to her books were as good as gold, and this I have told. Books are life cant you see.

It was a stormy night. Wet as October. the men on the ship chortled, and Saba would do the same same as she was unaware that they spoke only of the woman waiting back at home in cry for names.

They partied the whole night, until their heart’s content.  Things couldn’t have been as glorious as they were now. Yet, Saba had her eye on only one thing—Codex Leicester. Yes, the book of books, the scientific book of the great Leonardo Di Vinci. Saba was no scientist or inventor, but to have the book of books was something she felt she was more deserving of than many.

To make a long story short, the book was collected by many greats before our time. However, Saba was known to be the last. It is said today that the Bill Gates the founder of Microsoft now wields the book in his creative hands. Little does he know, the book he holds is not what he thinks. Don’t believe me, then let me tell you friends, but hold tightly for we or on brinks of crashing—hopefully, there will be survivors.

Before Gates, the book was home, in Italy. A place Saba had not been. I do not know how but Saba somehow had the map to it all. Most importantly, to the many places where Leonardo had hidden many of his inventions. She had collected many of them, some underwater even, but this particular book was one that she found herself in a maze to grasp. But the main thing she seemed to overlook was Divinici’s birthplace—Anchiano, Italy.

Saba had always joked about clues of the book being hidden in the book of Pinnochio, however, most of the men aboard the Maid Marian believed it to all be true. Silly they were for that it was not Leonardo who wrote this.

“Have any of you even read that book before?” Questioned a crewmate. “I mean, how would the writer know, and why would he hide in a story.”

All the men on the board then aye yay’. They all felt the same, but what captain believes, is captains truth, many would say through their intoxicated lips.

“There!” yelled Saba. “We are here. Everyone grab your things we are going.”

The men looked at each awkwardly and then began doing so. “What captain want, we do,” said the illiterate one of the bunch. Or was it the alcohol speaking? Who knows, who cares. Continuing.

Now for the grand finale. And we did not crash friends, or we have.

There everyone stood in a deserted home. Something similar to a lighthouse, yet no lights in the slight. Saba took the map that rolled within her olive hands and then began to burn it.

“C-Captain, what are you doing?” said the non-illiterate.

Everyone’s heart dropped, except for hers. “I think mermaid gone mad,” said yes, the illiterate one. It is confirmed.

The fire grew taller as the map burned. Smoked filled the air, but all would flow like rivers to a crack in the floor—it was an unusual draft. Without hesitation, Saba took a shovel from one of the mates and burrowed. Light spouted from the crack as each and every chip of wood on the floor would become no more. And it was this that Saba adored. The exterior of Saba’s eyes became wet not like October but like water from a water jug that had sat long enough in a refrigerator to become cold. And now Saba would hold, the Codex Leicester.

The men did not know of the many books Saba held in her safe but they would forever know about the Codex Leicester. It would not be long before they would all plot to take the book from her, as they all knew such would bring them all the booze, all the virgin woman in the world that they could dream of. And oh, would it be a shame to see such power get used in ways, as we all still witness somewhat of this today.

Many nights Saba slept with one eye open, becoming alone as there was no longer anyone that she could trust. Only Dino, her dog did she trust—and now you all know where The Flintstones got the name of there pet from. And no my friends, it would not be because of the obvious, that of which I know you argue with me. But that is another story to tell, a story that of your own.

But let me say this final goodbye.

Saba lived on to be one of the greatest book collectors of all time, and was labeled the theft collector as she had stolen most of them. Her life was fulfilled and along with it, she bared to baby girls—Bell and Ariel. And I shouldn’t have to tell you where she got those names from.

And just before her death, she would forge the pages of the Codex Leicester for it was only seventy-two pages long. This is the book that Mr. Gates now holds. And can you guess where the book is now my friends? Look around then.


Dino Jr. Saba







Twinkled Stars


May 13th, 2018 by Patrick Starks 


Emery was once one of the most beautiful stars of the night sky. She twinkle twinkled, yet she was not a little star, not in the slightest. She was much larger than all the rest, and for that, she was not hard to spot out. And she was only one hundred years old you see, which was much younger than the other the stars that soared around her and over the seven seas. And for these reasons, these so-called others would hate poor Emery more than anything. Indeed, she was, in fact, a star; however, others would argue that she hogged the spotlight a little too often if you catch thy drift.

And for many years of the light, Emery would twinkle twinkle on her own, as many did not want to do so with her, at least not on their own. It wouldn’t be long before sadness would dim the very light she held so dear. She couldn’t have felt anymore alone than what she was now. Only until there was Fingo, did the ropes of sadness unbind from her. Yet, Fingo wasn’t a star at all my friends, not anymore—this is where the harmony of our story begins.

Before his transformation into humanly figure, Fingo was known as Shujaa Nyota—meaning Warrior star. And like most whispered stories of the night, there is still not much said about these, audacious warriors. But, but over time others would create their own stories as many of us have seen throughout our ages. But do not be fooled for that this is no myth—this, you will one day realize in the day of your passing.

There was only one story in particular. A story that would not only be told to the baby stars in the skies but to the babies of the grounded. Heavens Cannons it was called. And the synopsis is that the warrior stars were designed to be weapons of the heavens—all of which was to fight the devil himself. Although, the Devil had stars of his own you see, stars of which we today call volcanoes. But, I am sorry to inform that this story will have to be for another time my friends, for that I fear even the most remote whisper could be the end of me.

Little did any human know, stars packed quite the punch if shot at the right speed—some say enough to destroy entire planets. Yet, it would seem that Fingo was just a dud. Not dying with your brothers was the worst fate for a warrior—it was not honorable. And it was this that gave Fingo no urge to come back to the night skies.  He like Emery would be burdened with a life of loneliness. But the two did not know that soon this burden would be voided.

It has been years now since Fingo was shot through the breeze of what we take in every day. He had blended in well. He now had hands and feet along with a scent of sweet.  And wielded hair so sparkly that made all the girls around stare, as their men all lied in defeat. It did not take long for Fingo to realize that humans sometimes fear what they do not understand. But let’s be honest with ourselves, these behaviors are usually jealously and envy at its finest.

As much as Fingo felt it be a curse, he was unique in his own way—he did not conform to what others felt he should be or felt that he was. He was no freeloader, no murder, no psychopath or pervert for that matter, so he had to be somewhat alright in the books, and it was this he ran over in his mind religiously.

It is still murmured throughout the stars that signs of Fingo can still be seen if one looks hard enough. However, most were only joking with this analogy. But Emery, no, Emery did not joke. She did not know FIngo, neither had she met him. But with the radiant glow from down below, she knew that at least one of them was the real deal. There became an immediate connection, as well as reflection between the two if you still follow me. But let me stop this foolishness of mine and get on with the crescendo shall we.

“Momma,” said Emery. “Could you please tell me the story of the shooting stars again,”

Unlike all the other stars, Emery’s momma was no star at all. And no she was no Warrior star, however, there were such that existed. Emery’s mother was nothing like Fingo, but much bigger—Emery’s momma was the moon. And yes, this was another reason for others to hate her, another reason why she was the brightest of them all, yet she had vowed to never let even a cloud hear her whisper it. And she thanked the heavens that they had never done.

“My sweet Emery don’t you think you’re a little too old for those kinds of stories now,” said Momma moon. “I’ve told you that story a thousand times. Including the thousand times when you were just a freckle in the sky. It’s just a fairy tale, my dear.”

Emery puffed. “Yes. But, momma how could you have told me that story a thousand times if I am only one hundred years old? It’s not even possible. And it’s not a fairy tale.”

They say sometimes the moon smiles on the brightest of nights. Emery was a smart little star-child and Mother moon was proud of that. Everything Mother moon had said went one ear out of the other, which in star form was Emery’s second and third point—stars usually have five points so I would hope many followed this; nevertheless, I have explained it now.

And it would be decades since Emery had seen her father. She thought about what he would say or what he would do for that he was known to be the adventurous kind. But as much as she wanted an answer, to see him, she knew that it could never happen.  Emery’s mother and father only saw each other on the day of which we humans call the eclipse. Can you guess who her father is now? And as much as she hates it when her mother talks about it, this was the day she was conceived.

Emery had always wanted to see her father as most little girls do. However, there were rules. And with those rules there would be grave consequences if crossed. Stars could not come out during the day. Yet, Emery had still crossed them as rebellion was a thing for any child who did not get there way, especially girls. Sorry ladies, but you know it’s true.

Fingo, she’d whisper in her shiny and mighty center. Fingo would gaze up towards the skies, gazing at a particular star that shined brighter than the others, almost the moon in fact.

Overtime all the other stars would fade as they had gone restless of not being seen. Emery and her mother still shined bright as always. However, her mother had dozed off as she was known to do on occasion. It was evident that even the moon needed some sleep every now and then—one would be a fool to believe she slept during the day—oh, my friends, this as well would be another story to tell.

Now let us take it to the falsetto. One, two, three.

Emery had made a voluntary fall, plummeting straight into the Pacific. Because of this, she caused an aftershock that would cause Tsunamis all around the world, but thankfully they were not large enough to cause any tragedies, she hoped.

Stories of mermaids then would be birthed onto planet Earth. Little did anyone of you know that this was somewhat true for that there were signs of a woman in the ocean. But this was no mermaid, nor fish, this was in fact, Emery. And over the years of her disappearance, Fingo would grow into a fine young man, becoming one of the worlds greatest sailors. Some say that he has saved more than a dozens men’s life on the many travels he’s gone. He would eventually take on the nickname of Poseidon. But do not worry, where not going into mythologies. FIngo was no god unless you believe stars to be such.

To make a long story short, as you were all expecting such to be. Driven by un-fainted and un-honorable pain in his heart. Fingo promised that he would find the mermaid many have talked about for centuries before his coming to pass, as it seemed he was now a full human. Emery, on the other hand, waited, for that she still felt close to what she sought for so long. She was now a young woman. She as well wielded hands and feet, along with a scent not so sweet—she smelt of the sea—fishy but managed well.

The two would eventually meet, and this is where our story hits the peek.

Instantly the two became lovers. They lived a life together that was what most in this life still dream of, as well as I. They had two beautiful twins, boy, and girl, of whom they named Sailor and Oceana. For two people that used to be so alone in the world, it is truly magical how misery can easily become beauty. Patients is key my friends—this we must treasure.

The stars in the sky rejoiced for that they now were being seen. The moon sobbed, but eventually, Emery had brought comfort to her that she was ok. Mother moon became a proud grandmother, and Father sun, well let’s just say him and Fingo still had their words. One should know not to take another’s daughter without permission.

But let this beauty linger in your minds for that you and me are all one of a kind, you are not alone my friends. And if it is such you believe, then do no whisper to me.

Go to the ocean. And whisper to Emery and FIngo, the two twinkled stars of the sea.






Animal Kingdom


May 6th, 2018, by Patrick Starks


It’s not everyday one thinks about what will become of them after death. However, most today believe that their souls will wither away from their bodies off into space, as they join a new kingdom unlike their own—heaven, they call it.

Although, it wasn’t like that at all, at least not for a selected few. You see for some there was no heaven, there was no hell, yet there was the animal kingdom. Most would assume the animal kingdom was for animals only, that in fact of which it was; but on the contrary, what those animals were before is where this story takes place.

There was once a little a crow. Hupa, the crow of crows they called him. For a leader, he was still so young. He was only thirteen years old when his life got turned upside down. And as cool as it was to fly, to be a bird in general, all he could think of was his family. Day after day he soared the clouds in hopes to find them. But never did any recognizable faces appear.

At times when it was quiet, Hupa could still hear the sobs of his precious momma and feel the anger of his heroic daddy parade in his feathery chest. Many in the animal kingdom had their own story to tell, yet none knew of Hupa’s, as he was still nothing but a mystery to all.

The images weren’t at all that clear, but he could still somewhat remember, he could still hear. It was just only months before school was out, and it would be soon time for summer; time for supper, his momma would always say. And it was Hupa and his friends that would start such off the right way, their sanctuary—Willows Pipe.

Willows Pipe was their greatest challenge, their greatest defeat, and all had sworn on the boards they rode that this was the summer they would be victorious. It had been a long winter, but none had longed for such taste in redemption as much as Hupa. It was the only thing he cared about. To be the greatest was his only goal in life, and Willows Pipe he felt stern, would gain him that.

One after the other each child made their attempt. Two hours had gone by already—all refused to give up. And by the fourth hour, they all made their final move. From the bruises and scrapes around their fragile bodies, any loving mother would cradle them as if they were still infants if it were their own. Many who’d gone before Hupa had failed miserably, yet he was still determined he would not. His knees were red wine—the mixture of blood and dirt did this. He breathed heavily, his eyes burned from the sweat that slid down from his forehead, and his shirt was now no different than any wet towel from a bathroom shower.

One push from his board and he was off. There was steady balance, there was grace. The pipe rattled then snapped at just steady pace. At an instance, what flowed had now stopped. Screams lingered in the background which was loud of course but faded along with Hupa as the seconds went by.

There he lied on the concrete floor staring at a kingdom he thought was. And there it was that Hupa soared over his past, what it at least used to be. There now only remained cracks in the concrete where nature had now embraced, as a flower after hour grew between.

“Why are we here young Hupa?” said a crow. “You know Shona does no like it when we go off like this.”

If a crow could drop a tear, Hupa would be the first. “We don’t even know if Shona exist… Besides, I just needed to see.”

“Careful with your words Hupa. Be very careful,” pointed the crow. “So, what is it that you see?”

“Greatness. Family. Sadness. But more so sadness. Tell me something Blaze?”

Blaze then flew down from an old street light, landing on a rail next to Hupa. “Yeah?”

“Why am I here, why do I still exist?” said Hupa. “Why do you exist, why the animal kingdom? I mean, I could be with my grandparents at least.”

Blaze was silent. Thoughts floated above his head, yet Hupa could not catch a single one, not unless Blaze wanted him to. And Blaze knew that Hupa was right—Hupa had a point, he could have at least been with his grandparents. However, the animal kingdom was where he was brought, and there would be a reason for that Blaze had explained. Yet, Blaze hesitated. He swore that he would never tell any of the other the truth for that some he knew could not bear it. However, he had been moved by Hupas heart—it reminded him of himself once, and his family.

“Because… Hupa, you have still have so much to give to the world,” said Blaze. “You are here because your job is not yet done. And yet, you have done so much already. I know it’s hard but you are not done.”

Hupa then turned to his neck as if he was an owl instead of a crow. “What are you saying?”

“Think about. Who is the oldest of our kingdom?” said Blaze.

Hupa thought long and hard. There was only one that he was for sure of. You, he replied.

“Yes, I who am only 29, am I not?” asked Blaze.

Hupa replied with a blustery face. “Yeah. But, what does that mean?”

“It means that our time was too soon. That we have only begun to scratch the service of our lives, and in return, we were given second chances, so that we may finish them. We are all still babies in the eyes of the world,” said Blaze. “And for that reason, we cannot be rejoined with the elders until we have shown growth.”

Hupa still didn’t get it. He was a crow after all, how could he possibly achieve what he attempted before with just wings alone and stick-figured legs. Frustration began to ruffle through his onyx feathers.

One would think when they come back from the afterlife, that they will get to see there loved ones again, but for the Animal Kingdom this would be an unfortunate falsity—time seems slow but goes dramatically faster in the afterlife.

If he couldn’t ride Widows Pipe, if he couldn’t restore his parent’s broken hearts, then what else was there to do, Hupa thought.

The sounds of rubber tires then burrowed through rocks and sand—Hupa knew exactly what it was. And to his right, there would be a child, a young girl. He hadn’t much luck with the ladies of his time, but something about this one he felt safe to approach.

“(CAW) Look!” said Hupa. And the young girl looked up at him as if she had heard what he said.

Blaze twisted and turned his head like most crows—like a psychotic man or woman. “Did she just hear you?”

“I-I don’t know,” said Hupa. “(Ca CAW)Hello!”

And at the caw of hello the young girl smiled—a bright one—with two missing teeth at the bottom and one at the top. She waved at them both.

“I think she heard me,” Said Hupa.

“if you ask me I think she should be more careful with that piece of wood. I mean, look at her teeth?” said Blaze.

Hupa then took his left wing and made an attempt to wave back. “Be nice, she’s just a little girl, no younger than what we use to be. And the board is called a skateboard you crowdiot. What era were you from again?”

“That’s none of your concern. Just know that it was a great one, “ said Blaze. “Now let’s get going.”

Blaze had flown off, but behind him was no Hupa, only a sheading feather. Hupa had made his mind up–he now realized what his purpose was or what he felt it to be.

“If I cannot have my old life back, I will at least live it through hers. I will teach her my mistakes, I will teach her my faults so that she can one day be greater than the greats, greater than I ever was. And maybe she will have a family with unbroken hearts.” said Hupa as he attempted to clinch his fist. But let’s be honest, they were wings not hands.

Blaze was now embraced with the sun and clouds before he realized Hupa stayed behind. To make a long story short, the word got out about what Hupa had done. And the story has been told too many others who joined the animal kingdom. Written by the author Blaze himself.

Hupa and the young girl overtime became best friends. She ended up being one of the world’s greatest skateboarders, exceeding one’s like even the great Tony Hawk. She became legendary, and a role model for all little girls alike. Only then did Hupa return to the animal kingdom, and only then would he be rejoined with his family.

His mother and father wept and held him as tightly as they did when he was just a newborn—protectively and careful.

“My Hupa… I’m so sorry, I should’ve been there for you, I should’ve protected you,” said his mother holding him in her arms. “Look at you, y-your just a bird. But you’re my little bird.”

His father said nothing as he was known to be the silent type and stood over his mom in support of it all. Deep down his father wanted to cry harder than his mother but refused to show it, still. With all the love and rejoice in the air, all that Hupa had now accomplished—he would then take back into his original form. Although,  he was no longer a little snot nose kid. He was a man now, and a handsome one. Golden brown skin, night-sky eyes, with silky, somewhat milky ash colored hair.

The twist is. Little did anyone know, that Hupa was Shona all along.


-Blaze the Crowdiot

Miss Darby


April 29, 2017, by Patrick Starks 


Not many people in life get to meet their soul mates. Not many even get to see a wedding for that matter. I know I still haven’t.  And for Miss Darby, time was ticking. She had just entered into her thirties and to make matters worst, all of her childhood friends were getting married—it was the dream they had all dreamt. Yet, the dream was still just a dream for Miss Darby. Miraculously, all of her friends would be pregnant at the same time, with each one of their bellies forming in the shape of bowling bowls as the months went on. The baby shower was going to be one of the biggest ever thrown, and the most expensive—Miss Darby’s wallet cried and she along with it.  She was lonely, however, one would be a fool to think that she had not been loved or had someone special in her life.

It wasn’t long ago Miss Darby had stumbled upon the man of her dreams. Although, he wasn’t quite the dream her mother expected. He was Abercrombie handsome and wielded a smile that would make any miserable old fool smile again.  Regardless of his stunning features, it would seem he was not a man of wealth and for that Mother Darby would disapprove.

The man worked for a local grocery in the town as the lead cashier—where every Monday through Friday he would open and closed the store—exhaustingly falling into the arms of Miss Darby when he returned. No matter his job title, Miss Darby’s friends who she envied so, adored the man. In fact, they praised the man—it made them all have regret of taking another’s hand. Their husbands all had money of course, but it was the man’s heart that they treasured the most. And it wouldn’t take long for the husbands of those women to form a rebellion. It was easy to say that the men were not fond of  Miss Darby’s future husband.

In the beginning, Miss Darby and her soul mate whom everyone called Nova, were depicted as the ideal couple; just like the ones in romantic films or novels. Even though the two were not wedded yet, they had thoughts of children—at least Miss Darby did for that she was getting no younger. The pressure from her mother and her friends could not be any more stressful than it was then.

“My dear when are you and that whatever going to give me some grandbabies?” said Mother Darby as she stirred inside a boiling pot.

The smell was so hypnotizing that Miss Darby almost ignored such a rude question. She was starving, yet still would not tolerate that sort of disrespect for the man she loved.

“Come on mom he’s a great guy. And his name is Nova for your information,” said Miss Darby chopping away the vegetables in front of her.

Her mother grinned. “Whatever. I told you, you should have stayed with Berry, Brian, whatever the hell his name was.”

“You mean Brandon…”

“Yes that’s the one,” nodded mother Darby.

Miss Darby was in no need to get into a discussion with her mother. Her mother did not know the whole truth to the story, as in life most do not. Brandon had lots of money, he ran his own business,  he was good-looking, but he was unfaithful to Miss Darby every chance he got. Alcohol on his breath, perfume on his clothes, and faded red lips around his neck was enough to verify where Brandon might have been, more so, what he might have done.  And Nova was none of that, except the good looking part.

Not long after Miss Darby and Nova would have one of the most awkward dinners any could have. Mother Darby sipped on her bowl of soup but her eyes did not leave Novas’.

“Um… T-thank you for the soup Mother Darby. I have to say it’s the best I’ve ever had,” said Nova shaking his spoon all the way up to his mouth.

He was nervous and mother Darby loved it. She replied. “Oh, you say the best eh?”

Nova nodded, and a soft hand from underneath the table rested on his knee for assurance that everything would be alright. There were many uncomfortable words spoken that night. Luckily for Nova, it went by fast; however, when they had gotten back home he would find that the night had just begun.

“Ah-h’m,” puffed Miss Darby.  “ So, do you want to have kids or not?”

Nova sighed within his reply. “Honey, where not even married yet. Plus we just moved in together just a few months ago.”

His words were valid. Although, any other man would have known to put a little more icing on those words, for their own sake of course. Miss Darby then ran into their bedroom with tear after tear clashing against the hardwood floor. The door slammed and, behind it sadness and sobs.

Nova felt awful afterward. He wasn’t the smartest man in the world, but he was no fool, he knew exactly how women in her situation felt. Miss Darby reminded Nova of his sister he had not seen in years. His sister experienced the same, and in some ways to Nova, much worst. It still felt like yesterday his sister had told him how she felt, the reason why she left.

Sister Nova:

“You just don’t get it Nova. Men have no idea what women go through every day. The pressure we face. You all walk around like roosters with your chest out knowing you have all the time in the world to have a child, so long you have someone young. But for us it’s not like that, we can’t all have children in our fifties or sixties. Neither would I want to. Mom pressures me every day but all you do is laugh and do nothing. You tell mom I don’t want kids, and I don’t want this family. Goodbye Nova!”

Nova at the time was so young he thought his sister was joking. He laughed. However, he did not laugh after seven years had come to pass.

A couple of hours had now gone by, Miss Darby came out of the bedroom with eyes still teary like the stars. “I’m sorry…” said Miss Darby. No reply was given, the room was empty and there was no Nova.

A letter written like a child was left on the back of an old photo of the two—their first photo. Nova’s handwriting wasn’t the best, but Miss Darby cherished it more than life itself, she laughed tearfully. Nova had already packed a few things and set sail, and made it clear to Miss Darby on the photo that he would one day return to marry her, to impregnate her, in his own words. And Miss Darby would laugh at that too. Nova explained everything and his reasoning for leaving. That he would not and could not marry her if his sister was not one of her bridesmaids. He had planned to find his sister and bring her back home as he felt she needed him more than ever. His intuition called, and it was his intuition that was never wrong. He did not want to fail his sister again.

Miss Darby cried even harder and then held the letter close her heart. She was just twenty-three when she met Nova and now was on the brink of hitting her thirties.  Little did her mother or her friends know, that she had not forgotten about Nova and his promise, yet it seemed they had all forgotten. Again, they did not know the truth to the story.

No matter what anyone said Miss Darby would not hate it. No matter how many debated.

She waited.



Tea and Coffee


April 22nd, 2018, by Patrick Starks


Dear friend,

I feel you would agree that there’s nothing like a hot cup of coffee to get you up in the morning. A teaspoon or two of half and half along with a dash of sugar, all to compliment the coffee you now brew, making you feel sharp as a cougar. And just when it hits the back of your throat, it flows warmth up and down your spine like a winter coat. It is just the feeling you need to get moving again, the feeling you needed, the feeling you wanted.

It wake’s you up, it starts your day but later leaves you in dismay. You feel tired again, and ponder on another cup, but to the cabinet on your right you see a green box. Only until now have you had the chance to see it again or remember that you even had such.

It is tea, that of which you have been avoiding for at least a year now. You gaze back at the coffee that once made you happy but hesitate to fall for its tricks, for that it has now made you feel crappy, possibly sick.

Your head spins with the decision of which to choose, as both an angel and a demon hovers your shoulders like a wound. One making you feel warmth and the other colder. You then smolder on the thoughts on which one is best.

Water begins to boil with a small bag within it. It is clear as day you have made your decision. And instantly it is that decision that puts you in the mode of apprehension.

One sip and you have now burned your tongue. The demon on your shoulder laughs.

“You should have drank the coffee,” said she sarcastically, with a sarcastic grin.

The angel now meditates with you in sympathy as she knows that you are in agony. She then pulls from the feathers of her wing a random object and, throws it up and over your head. And now it is the demon who aches. The sounds of a chipmunk chuckles in your right ear, as from your left only flows anger and tears.

And through it all the coffee has become loop warm, basically cold if any. You think to re-warm, but from the way it is, you ponder to just throw two ice cubes in it and call it an iced coffee instead—call it a day. However, the day is too cold for that, this I know you would say.

You decide to drink it as is, and it satisfies the burns in your throat. Unfortunately, it as well leaves a burning taste in your mouth. It is easy to say that loop warm coffee and mint green tea do not go well together. The taste you try to tether somehow brings to you the exotic taste of leather.

Out of frustration, the coffee then goes down the garbage disposal and the demon on your shoulder fades. But just before it says it’s goodbye, clogs your garbage disposal as you knew not of the coffee grounds that rested at the bottom.

You take a few sips of the tea. And the thought of doing the same comes to mind.

“You shouldn’t,” said the angel with radiant wings. “Here, let me help.”

The angel rushes over to grab some honey, but mistaken’s pancake syrup for it. One last sip and you spit the tea out onto the floor. The angel tries to clean it up, but you refuse, no more.

You pour the tea down the drain. Now the angel becomes a mist, not ever knowing her beautiful name or the risk. Tisk, tisk.

“Why!” yelled the angel as it faded away. “Why! You shouldn’t have…”

Out of all that has happened, you feel exhausted. Your mouth is dry from the burns of taste and now seek a peaceful place.

The only thing left now is water in which you should of chose, it was the greatest fuel for your body, that you should’ve known.

And now as the water flows down your chest, you have no reason to attest, in your heart you know it’s whats best.  You will make your vow to not drink tea or coffee anymore, but in your heart the two you still adore.

It is wise for you to evaluate your addictions. It is wise for you to notice, as for my reason I wrote this, was in fact for you to note this.




Half and Half


April 12, 2018, by Patrick Starks 


I am you and you are me. Together we breakdown walls, and for that we have vision, we can see. Ignore me if you want, but it will one day bring you regret.

Don’t believe me, shall we make a bet? CALL MY NAME, TRUST ME, WE’VE ALREADY MET.

Who am I? Who are you? If you seek answers than you should pursue. But it would be wise for you to have an opened mind, as everything that seems tangled in your life will unwind. 

Hear me calling out to you, and trust always in my point of views. I am half and you are half, it is not rocket science, this isn’t math. And as the path for you and I is awoken, don’t be afraid just soak in, all that is gracious when we are together. Combined we are stronger than leather.

So walk with me and don’t forget what you are and what we stand for, I promise in time, it is our patience that will bring you more.


I Adore


Salsa Contest


March 30, 2018, by Patrick Starks



News Anchor #1: Hello everyone, my name is Sebastian Cole, and you are watching Komo 5 news.

News Anchor #2: Hello, hello. And my name is Isabella Valenzuela. Say, do you love my new shoes?

News Anchor #1: Um… Um… Isabella… That’s not part of the script…

News Anchor #2: Oh hush Sebastian, live a little, get a grip.

News Anchor #1: Um… Okay… Well let’s get started, shall we! Tell me people at home watching. Do you love salsa? Well, then you’ve come to the right place.

News Anchor #2: Yes! Come on down and show us that you have what it takes.

News Anchor #1: The contest will be held at Westlake Center. And…

News Anchor #2: And don’t forget to enter.

News Anchor #1: Um…

News Anchor #2: The contest will begin tomorrow at 2pm Pacific time. And…

News Anchor #1: And don’t be late to show off your shine.

News Anchor #2: Um…

News Anchor #1 & 2: See you all there!

SCENE 1: Home A

Ms. Lopez: Oh my heavenly! Romeo look! Their talking about a big salsa contest.

Mr. Lopez: My love ignore that contest, you are blessed, come back to bed and get some rest.

Ms. Lopez: I’m going to give people a taste better than their own mothers cooking! Oh, my heavenly! Romeo, w-what should I wear?

Mr.Lopez: Whatever you want my dear, I don’t care.

Ms. Lopez: Even if I went out bare?

Mr.Lopez: Yeah sure, whoa! Wait, what…

SCENE 2: Home B

Brother: There’s a freaking salsa contest! Sis, I’m telling you, I’m going to be the best. Everyone knows that with my salsa there is no need for a test.

Sister: I don’t know bro, last time I had some of your salsa I could barely feel my chest, and even thew up making a complete fool of myself, a mess.

Brother: That’s because you ate all that queso beforehand.

Sister: No, big brother. I’m for sure it was your salsa, it was bland.

Brother: Out of my way. I’m headed to the kitchen to get started; I have no time for this.

Sister: Psh!

SCENE 3: Home C

Salsa: You see, I told you I was popular. Everyone wants a piece of the salsa. And the ladies love me.

Salsa Dancer: What the heck are you talking about now Salsa. The ladies don’t love you, I’m the dancer. And the ladies love when I sha…

Salsa: Stop right there! Don’t say another word, we’re going to settle this once and for all, and see who has the biggest cojones, who’s got balls.

Salsa Dancer: Ha! Your just a jar of Salsa, you don’t have balls; your no bigger than then my little girl’s doll.

Salsa: So, are you rejecting my challenge?

Salsa Dancer: No, not at all. You’re on.

SCENE 4: Competition Scene

News Anchor #1: Okay… So this isn’t what we exactly expected.

News Anchor #2: You all do know that this is a Salsa contest, meaning to dance right.

Ms.Lopez: Oh my heavenly! Then why didn’t you just say that then, I can do that too? I was the lead salsa dancer of my high school dance crew.

Mr.Lopez: Oh here we go…

Ms.Lopez: Shut it, Romeo! Get your stuff ready!

Mr. Lopez: No way. Honeybun, you cant be serious. Do you really expect me to put on…

Ms.Lopez: Yes!

Brother: Looks like I’m going to need a partner then.

Sister: Ugh…. No way! You’re my brother. You really want to grab on your sisters…

Brother: Ugh! Na, na, na, na, don’t want to hear it; enough said. I’ll find someone else.

Sister: Nope! To late. You drug me out here, and now I’m going to make you vomit up the very salsa you made. Then maybe you’ll know what it feels to be me. Come, come.

Salsa: Wow that’s going to be a really awkward dance. But his sister is kind of cute.

Salsa Dancer: Step aside you expired sauce.

Salsa: Expired! What did…

Salsa Dancer: My love, my dear, please have no fear for that it is you and I who are destined to take this dance floor. Will you do a poor soul like I the honor, senorita?

News Anchor #2: Oh my… Your such a gentleman, and handsome one.

News Anchor #1: Um… You can’t be in the competition Isabella, we are the judges?

News Anchor #2: Can it Sebastian! You had your chance; no need for you to hold grudges.

News Anchor #1: Fine then. For my partner, I choose the Salsa!

Ms.Lopez: Oh my heavenly!









Two Ghouls and a Crow


March 22, 2018 by Patrick StarksGHOUL TO CROW

Ghoul #1: Ugh… I’m so sick and tired of this graveyard, why don’t we choose another.

Ghoul #2: Oh, if only we could my brother.

Ghoul #1: You know why we starve right; all these filthy humans and their healthy eating; all of their teasing.

Ghoul #2: Well… What for you my brother would be pleasing?

Ghoul #1: Well if you ask my brother, I just want people to stuff their faces again with McDonald’s and Taco Bell,; to again be fat and greedy; all in such ways that would not please me, but feed me.

Ghoul #2: I am no genie, brother, this I cannot do, for that, all remains now are dusted, crusted, and busted up shoes.

Crow: Oh caw, caw, caw, just go on already! Find somewhere else to plunder, you two have done enough talking, you have ruined my slumber.

Ghoul #1: Oh… is that a crow that speaks, is it a bird for my hunger that lurks beyond my teeth.

Ghoul #2: Ooo, we should fry this one!

Ghoul #1: But the bird can already fly brother.

Ghoul #2: No, no, no, no. Ugh… Never mind. All I know is that he will taste much better than that dirty pig we ate, that swine.

Crow: Shut up already! You two can be such pre-Maddona’s, more so, like two kids, or walking piranhas.

Ghoul #1: You should watch it bird, or sooner or later we will have words, and I’ll clamp down on our neck so tightly, you wouldn’t dare speak, or blurb.

Ghoul #2: Yeah! Watch it bird, crow, whatever you are, the night will not save you, no matter if you wished upon a star.

Crow: Oooo, that sounds bizarre

Ghoul 1 & 2: Sigh.

Crow: Wow, you two are such fools.

Ghoul 1 & 2: Thank you!

Crow: No! I mean you two are fools, you ghouls!

Ghoul #1: Get over here!

Crow: Oh, to slow my dear.

Ghoul #2: Ahhhhhh!!!!

Crow: Was that some sort of power-up or cheer.

Ghoul #1 & #2: Bastard!

Crow: You know my brother Russel and you two could all learn from one another.

Ghoul #2: My god! You mean to tell me that your brother is T.H.E. Russel Crowe. That buff guy from that movie “The Terminator.”

Ghoul #1: No, no, no, no, no. My brother, you must mean that movie, “The Negotiator.”

Crow: You idiots, it wasn’t any of those films! Christ! The movie was called Gladiator, and he’s not… Oh screw it, I’m out of here, I’m headed back to my wife.

Ghoul 2: Hmm… My brother. It is a shame that he doesn’t know that we had her for dinner last night.

Ghoul 1: Oh come on, my brother, lets for once in our lives not be ghouls, let’s be polite.



March 13, 2018 by Patrick Starks


“Nature, nature, look at all this nature; I’m about to savor it, like these NOW and LATERS. Trees, grass, the lake is all that I can see; including the sea, all in which brings me love and vivid memory. Summer is on it’s way, and I cannot wait to fish again, all in hopes that I find my catch, this I wish to the end. And downing this cherry Slurpee has never tasted so brisk, but tisk, tisk, tisk; my brain becomes frozen to the taste of your lips.  They say dreams come true, and it is you that have shown me that, that this life can be more than a dream, and it is this saying I will tat. You are my summer, Summer; the one and only, the one to keep me grounded, my gravity, I; no longer lonely.”

The Prince and the Fly


March 7, 2018 by Patrick Starks


Fly: Oh my god, my life is over, some one call the doctor, red rover, red rover!

Prince: My oh my, why must you cry? Red rover, red rover, just let this day be over.

Fly: You know, I used to be in a better body, but look at me now; did I deserve this? have I been that naughty? No one even bows.

Prince: Bow… I’m sorry but this I cannot allow, I am a prince after all, and to you this I have never vowed.

Fly: Say all you want Prince, but I know the truth; how you became what you are, how you maintained your youth.

Prince: Sigh.

Fly: So, your just going to ignore me now, is that it? If I was woman, surely you would not ignore me, not once, not one little bit.

Prince: Sigh.

Fly: Ugh… you can be such a boar! If I was in my current form, you do know that this would mean war.

Prince: Fly who do you think you are threatening me, you do not scare thee, but maybe just a little my dear, if you were a bumblebee.

Fly: Yeah, and if I was such, I’d sting you in your eye, so that you never see again, this I wish to imply.

Assistant: My Prince, if I may ask… But why do you quarrel with this atrocity? It’s plain to see, that in her tiny little body there’s lack of generosity.

Prince: Ha, my friend, could you have said that more comically.

Fly: I can; you are tweedle dumb, and he is tweedle dee. Heavens! I think you two just might need a lobotomy.

Assistant: I beg your pardon! But I have you know, I graduated from one the most prominent school in the city—La De Vardon.

Prince: Relax my friend. Lets hear her out, she must have had a current form, this I have no reason to doubt.

Assistant: Yes, doubt. That is what you should have my prince, madam is bad news; and for that I recommend another for you to choose.

Prince: My god man, have some class, don’t be so evil; a lady is still in our presents, don’t be such a silly goose.

Fly: Sigh.

Prince: So… go on, tell us what happened? And don’t you cry, I don’t have a napkin.

Fly: It was another woman, but obviously something else. One with powers, one that was skilled in stealth.

Prince: So your telling me that this woman was some sort of secret agent?

Assistant: No sir, I believe the madam is talking about something more ancient.

Fly: The woman told me I could be myself again if I had a kiss from a prince, and that everything in my life would soon make since.

Prince: I’m sorry but I am not kissing a fly, besides I might swallow you, I could die.

Fly: You could die? You mean I could die!

Assistant: It doesn’t matter! For neither of you this would be wise. Sir, if I may again… But this all sounds mighty familiar.

Prince: Yes, indeed, it does sound rather peculiar.

Fly: Screw this I’m going in. On my count; one, two, ten!

Prince: Wait!

Assistant: Sigh. Here we go again…

Fly: Am I woman again, do I look as beautiful as ever.

Assistant: I’m sorry madam, but you might want to start writing out a few letters.

Prince: Ahhhhhhhhhh!!!!!

Fly: Oh, wow… your… well, this is a good look for you ya know.

Prince: Alfred bring my mirror, and don’t you dare tell me no!

Assistant: But Sir… If I…

Prince: Just bring me the silly mirror!

Fly: Sigh

Assistant: Sigh

Prince: No… No! A frog again…

Fly: Well, you don’t look all that bad, on a scale from one to ten.

Prince: I should definitely swallow you now. On my count, one, two, ten!

Fly: Hey watch it Frog! I am not your tasty treat.

Assistant: Sir… please sit down; here you are, a lily pad for a seat.

Fly: I’m sorry, but what do you mean that you were a frog again.

Assistant: Just that madam, he was a frog before. It appears that you have met the same fate as he; but thank god, thank the heavens, it isn’t me.

Fly: So, how are we going to get back to what we were? How did you solve it the first time.

Prince: We… No, no, no. We are doing nothing. Just go find yourself a piece of fruit, or something.

Woman: Ha, ha, ha, ha.

Assistant: What was that?

Prince: I know what, and it was no bat, nor cat.

Fly: I-is it a rat?

Prince: No, Maid Marian.

Maid Marian: Oh, is that all you have to say, is that all you can do; why the long face my love, why so blue?

Fly: You… Why? Why did you do this to me? You promised me if I kissed a prince, that my life would be free.

Maid Marian: Is it not, your free as a bird, you have your prince now…

Assistant: Oh, don’t be absurd!

Maid Marian: Shut it scholar, or I’ll turn you into a turd!

Assistant: No, no, no. No need, mouth shut, understood, heard.

Prince: Marian if I may please have a word.

Maid Marian: Speak prince, but make it quick, for that my patience with has run pretty thick.

Prince: Out of all that I have done, why torture me still? Have you not had enough? I’m sorry for what happened, okay, I know with out him life must be rough.

Fly: What are you talking about prince? What did you do?

Maid Marian: Many things my dear, many reasons I had to pursue.

Assistant: My god! Its been years, Robin is with us no more. So just drop it already, we all promised this, we swore!

Maid Marian: I swore nothing, my love is gone, as will be the same for you all.

Fly: I’m sorry; not to stall, but what does this have to do with me? Why must I fall?

Maid Marian: Because… You are the one princess the prince has always loved, the only one he ever wished to see in the stars above.

Prince: I-It cant be… Princess Daphne…




February 23, 2018 by Patrick Starks 


Man: Hi, How are you? My name is Ade and I love Pringles; in a bundle, or even single.

Woman: Exactly, single. Get a life or something, go out and mingle.

Man: What if I shared a Pringle, or two? Would my point then get across to you?

Woman: Never! Not if you love pringles, not if you shared a Pringle, or two. Pringle shmingle, heavens! Just go out and mingle you fool.

Man: Would you eat them with a ham and cheese? I think they make them at Applebee’s.

Woman: Never, not ever. Not if you love pringles, not if you shared a Pringle or two, not even if I had a ham in cheese, that was made from Applebee’s. But please, just put down the pringles, your single, just go out and mingle tool!

Man: Would eat them on a pizza, my Mona Lisa? You must love Pringles… do have amnesia?

Woman: Never, not ever, you think your clever, but I am no fool, nor tool, I know better.

Man: So does that mean you will join me on this crunchy adventure?

Woman: Never, not ever, no matter how clever. Not with a pizza, I’m not your Mona Lisa, and I surely do not have amnesia.

Man: Then would you eat them with a beer my dear? And I know it’s weird, but do you think I should grow out my beard?

Woman: No, no, no, not ever! Not if you love Pringles, not if you shared a Pringle or two, not even if I had a ham and cheese, that was made from Applebee’s; not if I had a Pizza, I’m not your Mona Lisa, and I surely do not have amnesia; not with beer, I am not your dear, but it wouldn’t be bad if you grew out your beard. Ugh… Just put down the Pringles, your single you fool! Did your mother drop on your head a tool?

Man: So if I grow out my beard, you will have a Pringle?

Woman: My god, your such a creep, you make my skin tingle.

Man: Okay last one.

Woman: No, no, no, we are done.

Man: Would you eat them at Disneyland, where you could meet Mickey? And whats that on your neck? Is that a hicky?

Woman: I beg your pardon, but that’s none of your business, and besides, I’m single.

Man: Then why talk to me? You don’t need a Pringle, your single, Mickey hickey! Just go out and mingle, you… you ghoul.

Woman: That’s it! Give me those Pringles! Mhmmm! Are you happy now! Were on a crunchy adventure!

Man: I knew you loved Pringles, look at you, your eyes even twinkle. Should we go to the park and finish them, and watch the dogs bark, as we eat M&M’s?

Woman: Wait… Are you asking me on a date?

Old Woman: Clearly child, is there any reason to debate?

Man: The ol… I mean, the young lady is right.

Old Woman: Mhmm…

Man: How could I not ask, your such a beautiful sight.

Woman: B-but I ate all the Pringles?

Man: Pringle shmingle, my Mona Lisa, you and I; are single. But before we go, really, whats that on your neck?

Woman: It was years ago, from a car wreck.

Man and old Woman: My god, what happened?

Woman: Got hit by a Pringle truck, and the seat belt around my neck was fastened.

Teachers Pet


February 21, 2018 by Patrick Starks 


Teacher: Alright children gather around, or I’ll make you all write fifty pages of your vowels.

Child #1: But Mrs. Skywalker, I just washed my hands, I looked everywhere, but there aren’t any towels.

Teacher: Then wipe them on your pants, Lance. Today I want to introduce you all to Pepi, a weasel who can dance.

Child #2: But he’s just a weasel.

Child #3: My mom said that they can give you the measles.

Teacher: Yeah, and I wish I had a beagle. What else is new.

Child #1: He looks weird. Why is his nose so pink?

Child #2: He looks smelly… he stinks.

Child #3: Why does he stare at me like that, he doesn’t even blink.

Teacher: Yeah, and sometimes Asha you do not think.

Child #2 Can it do a cartwheel, like this?

Child #1: Can it do like a snake and hiss?

Child #3: Can it do like me and P***

Teacher: Zip your pants back up Asha!

Child #1: Oh look! He’s doing it now!

Child #2: But how?

Teacher: Well, its all because I taught him myself children.

Child #1, #2, #3: You can dance Mrs. Skywalker?

Teacher: Of course I can, they don’t call me sky walker for no reason.

Child #3: Could you show us, please and…

Teacher: And what?

Child #3: With sugar on top…

Child 2: Hey don’t give away all our P**?

Teacher: Excuse me. Did I just hear you say…

Child #2: Pop! Soda Pop!

Teacher: Hmmm…

Child #3: Nice going Mandy.

Teacher: Open your hands child… Oh, thank god it’s candy, and you over there, stop eating that glue.

Child #1: Why should I, don’t feel bl..

Teacher: See what I mean.

Child #2: Eww… he’s turning green.

Nurse: I’ll take this one off your hands Mrs. Skywalker, seems the performance was not to keen.

Teacher: Kind of, but not really.

Nurse: Oh, don’t be silly. Look, Pepi’s done it as always.

Teacher: Oh my goodness… just like yesterday. All of them, sound a sleep.

Nurse: Let me get this one out of hear, we’ll be light on our feet.

Teacher: Pepi, my pepi what would I do with out you. Your mommy’s little teachers pet, my dream come true.

The Silly Family


February 9, 2018 by Patrick Starks SILLY FAMILY

Man: My name is Ron, I do not have a son, nor do I have one to play with in the sun.

Boy: But Ron, Mr. Walls may I call you. Why do you want those things, you have me, I am not your son, but can be.

Man: Silly child, you cannot be my son, if you cannot bring me a wife; one to bring me kisses, and tuck you in at night.

Boy: You mean like a mother, one that would become the referee of me and my brother.

Man: No brother, not yet, you assume too much; besides, there’s not a woman in this place that I would touch.

Woman: Silly man, Silly child, none of you have even noticed me standing here in this aisle. Why should I bring you kisses, why should I tuck you in at night, when all you two do is bicker and fight.

Man: Bicker and fight?

Child: Fight and bicker?

Man and Child: Fibicker?

Woman: Must I repeat myself, can your heads get any bigger.

Man: Now this is a woman that I can love, in harmony, like two turtle doves.

Woman: Don’t even bother you’re not my type, your rotten to the core, no longer ripe.

Cashier: Silly man, Silly child, Silly woman, can’t we all just get along, can’t we be human.

Man and Woman: But the boy is a dog.

Cashier: Does it matter, he’s no cat; so, he won’t scratch or claw.

Man: Just ring me up you silly cashier, before I make that smirk on your face disappear.

Woman: Um… Is anyone besides me in shock that the dog can talk.

Cashier: Not really. But on your way out you should probably give it a walk.

Child/Dog: I do not take walks, and am certainly not an it, but if you don’t mind, could you ring me up for some kibbles and bits.

Man: Silly child, or dog, whatever you may be, how can you pay for your kibbles and bits; you don’t work, all you do is play, fetch, or sit.

Woman: Silly dog. I’ll buy your kibbles and bits. After all, I have no reason to kibble and fit.”

Man: Kibble and fit?

Cashier: Fit and kibble?

Man and Cashier: Kibit

Dog: Must you two be animals, and stare at my mother’s tits.

Woman: Thank you son. let us be going, it seems these to need much growing.

Man: But wait let me pay for your food, I feel awful I was rude.

Woman: Okay, but don’t think that you’re getting off that easy, I am woman of class, it will take much to please me.

Man: Understood. Shall we all get going.

Woman: Yes, lets. The weather man said later it be snowing.

Dog: Are we going home? I’ve never had a home.

Man and Woman: You do now son, you will never again be alone.

Dog: Are we a family now? Mr. Walls, Dad, why did you want this so much.

Man: Because like you I was lonely but will never again see such.

Woman: Ugh… Silly Family.












P.U.M.A Girls


February 1, 2018 by Patrick Starks


In Kygo, it is said that the skies are red, and the air is mist, and that all that stand before it become intertwined, in a twist. The people of the city became bound to fear, as they trembled to what lied in the mist, what would appear. Yet, in the midst of it all, there would be a child to challenge those very fears that stalled.

The child was like no other. This child was bold, strong, and cunning; in their florescent eyes one could see that, it was stunning. Abandon at birth the child would then be destined an orphan, that in which would give them more than just strength, but strength in the toughest organ. As tough as the child became, they were still a child after all. They cried nights on end, until they learned more about themselves, and how to fend.

Overtime, the child would buy into the talk of the town, into their sad looks and their frowns. That he or she’s parents did not abandon them by choice; that somewhere in the mist many could still hear their voice. He or she then entered into an unknown world, never to return again, in the hopes that they would rejoin with their family—a new life to begin. Years would go by, and the people of the town would tell their children’s children of the orphan child who they would name after the city, but oh, was it a pity to see them go; Kygo, the child who became a hero to their home.

“S-so does that mean they’re dead?” said a young girl.

“No, no my angel, they’re still alive, somewhere out there.” An old woman replied.

“Why doesn’t anyone go after them? They probably need our help grandma. I thought we were supposed to protect people,” pleaded the young girl.

“I’m sorry, but not a chance little one. Surely you missed everything I just said. Besides, your mother would probably kill me if I ever let you go anywhere near that kind of evil. Even if I let you out in the rain with a jacket on, she would probably still kill me; although, I’m sure it would cause you no harm, we are angels after all. Now, night, night, may your halo shine bright.”

 “Oh alright… Night grandma.”

The old woman gave the little girl a kiss on her left and then right cheek, as she tucked her into a cotton candy cloud. The girl closed her eyes, but as the old woman flew off, one eye remained opened. Little did the old woman know, the little girl would make her way out into the mist regardless of what she was told. However, she wasn’t stupid, she knew it be silly to go out there alone; so, she rallied up a team, one that she knew could get her back to her home.

First, was of course her best friend, Uma. Uma Thurman, she liked to be called, or Kill Bill, which wasn’t really a name at all. It was obvious that Uma was a fan of the famous movie “Kill Bill”, however, it was surprising for her age she was even allowed to watch such; in Kygo such things were forbidden, a sin, but as any child, the children always found a way around to getting access to it. She wasn’t really what any would call the brains of the operation, but she did have two years practice in Jeet Kune Do, and a strong attention for detail, which meant she could just about get out of any sticky situation, and for that she was made co-captain of the team, the protector.  

Second, was Maddie, short for Madalyn. Maddie was only one letter short from her actual name, so it really wasn’t much of a difference to begin with, but it was what she preferred from the rest. Maddie was definitely something one would call the brains of the operations. Although, her appearance was different from the stereotypical smart girl; she was no Velma from ‘Scooby-Doo’, or any Laney from ‘She’s All That’, she was just Maddie. She didn’t wear glasses, she didn’t wear quote on quote—nerd clothes, guy clothes, barely any clothes for that matter.  Maddie was truly something out of an Abercrombie commercial, and it was easy to say that her influence was from the planet earth as well, although, it seems she’d really take it to the extreme, more than others.  But on the plus side, Maddie could just about build anything from scratch, and with her dad being the cities handyman, it wasn’t a surprise at all that she would be taught the ways of wizardry—a dream come true, to satisfy her father’s misery.

The crew was almost complete. There was just one thing missing, the final piece, the last crew member; Arma, who they all called armadillo. Unlike Maddie’s nickname, which isn’t often mentioned without a black eye.  Arma was okay with hers, she was a southern gal after all, or at least she wanted to be. Arma was a strong believer in the southern hospitality. She would even paint her wings red, white, and blue, while here halo remained true—a dedication to the big red state.  Arma’s skill wasn’t what many would call special, at least not for where they were headed, yet, some would disagree that being a fine chef was a useless talent. Arma could just about create gourmet dinners out of nothing, southern dishes to be specific. None knew how to cook at all, and all figured they would starve without her, and so Arma was brought on as the final piece to the puzzle.

The tank, the technician, and the medic. The perfect combo for any fierce excursion.

“B-but what of the leader, the girl that wanted to go in the first place. What was her name?”

“No one really knows. All that anyone knows is that her name started with a “P”. The P.U.M.A girls was what they called themselves, the only angels to actually wear shoes, specifically Pumas, as many above remained barefoot. But if I had to bet, the leaders name was probably Patricia, or something like that,” Said the man.

Bright eyes of a little girl then blossomed. “But my names Patricia.”

“That you are. Are you the leader? It’s okay, you can tell me, I won’t tell your mother, I pinky swear it.”

“Stop joking around dad.”

“Well it’s the truth ain’t it.”

The little girl blushed as the man kissed her on her right and then left cheek.  He tucked her into to covers that wrapped around her like clouds. A click and clack, and the man cut the night light on as he turned his back.

“You can turn the light off dad, I don’t need it anymore.”

The night went off. A heartfelt smile pierced through the dark, the man’s little girl was growing up, too fast he prayed, but he was happy for her; even envisioning her being a big star on a red carpet one day made him teary eyed.

The little girl then dreamed of the mist, one she would wake up to, one she would not be  ready to persist.

“Patricia wake up! We gotta go!”




VJ the Rottweiler


January 5, 2018 by Patrick Starks


There’s nothing like the smell of fresh cut grass, the warm touching of the sun, and the drool of a life-size Rottweiler to get you up in the morning. Yup, me and V.J the Rottweiler were an item, partners in crime even, best friends, we did everything together. And at the time that we met, I was just a toddler, and as was he. It was easy to say that we were both pups during those years, new to the world and eager to learn about all its mysteries; although, as the months passed on, V.J would double in size, now becoming somewhat of a big brother to me, second big brother to be exact, couldn’t forget about Giovani.

Where I was from, most parents would have cringe at today if they ever had their little ones near, but not my parents, not Tarzan and Jane. Mom and Dad were something else. They were everything a child could ever want in a parent—sympathetic, strict, positive, strong, wise and loving.  And even though my family and I were what some would call country, we truly enjoyed those moments while we had them.

Our home was built by the hands of my dad, on an opened field, with only tall grass to surrounded it, along with the creatures that hid in them. As dangerous it was to roam the field, there beside me stood my bodyguard as always; a Rottweiler whom most would run from today if they ever saw such.

Rattlesnakes, scorpions, black widows, even cougars were what V.J and I were up against. Sure, we felt we could defeat all that were on the list, however, the cougar would have been frightening, and a deathmatch if encountered. My brother Giovani told me the story about dads wrestle with the giant feline, how he took him down, but as I’ve gotten older I really doubt that such ever happened. Dad does have that big scar on his shoulder though. And every time I ask him about it, he just dances around the question to Stevie Wonder.

Like dad, me and V.J were not afraid. After all, we had our cat Sylvester for the snakes, as cats are known to have in their spreadsheet of professions. On most days, mainly weekends, Dad, VJ, and I would make our way to the barn. There in the barn we had a horse, who we named Copy. Still to this day I have no idea the meaning behind why dad gave her that name, but yup, that was her name, Copy. Dad fed her the typical apples and carrots, and she would waste no time to work her way down to the bottom of the bucket. I usually would feed her hay, but mom made me stop after Copy had accidently mistaken one of my fingers for a piece of that hay. But don’t worry my fingers are still intact. V.J as well had learned a valuable lesson from the black beauty, the bump on his head still left him memory of it. Dad would try to warn V.J, more than he could count. Vj’s courageous soul would get the best of him, and in the end, Copy would show V.J just how much courage he had in his furry body.

The bell would ring. That was a sign from mom that supper was ready. And man was the supper good, just thinking about it makes my stomach growl. Flame broiled hamburger patties, complimented by homemade fries. Giovani was already in the kitchen with his face stuffed as much he could stuff him. In my family food was an Olympic sport, if you did not get to the table in time, you would lose, and be left with an empty stomach to show for it. Me and V.J without hesitation headed in right after Dad.

Sorry son, but you know the rules. No dogs or pets in general, at the table.

Come on dad.

—You know the rules. Plus you know it ain’t sanitary to have that dog around all this good food. All those flees and mess.

—Yes sir.

I took V.J to the garage where we kept most of his things. He had the patio to stay too, but last time I left him there he was surrounded by thousands of scorpions. I couldn’t leave my buddy out all alone. So, the garage was always our second alternative. I took a handful of fries with me and a patty on our way to the garage. I wasn’t going to let my friend starve. He did have Mud Bay, but come on, if you were a dog, is that honestly something you would be okay eating ever day, no variety, no nothing, just pellets in a bowl along with a bowl of water—I don’t think so. Once I gotten VJ settled I headed back inside, but just before doing so gave him a big hug, for assurance that I would be back. He gave me a hug back, wrapping his gigantic caramel-colored paws around me. I was still little, but VJ was a gentle giant, an intelligent one to be frank. There aren’t too many dogs out there that know how to jump up and hit the garage door button to let themselves out, but somehow our VJ did, and because of that I knew he could take care of himself.

Me and the fam would say our prayer and then eat, regardless of what greedy ass had eaten already, we still prayed and still ate. And after kicking my brothers ass in Mario Kart 64 afterwards, it was time for me to hit the hay, as most children at that time were told.

Time to go to bed baby. Go brush your teeth, you to Giovani. We got a long day tomorrow and I want to get ahead of all the chaos. People are like ants nowadays. Everywhere. You know, there use to be a time I could drive down the road and have it to myself. But I don’t miss those days. Getting pulled over, your daddy being harassed by cops was enough. I’ll admit, we live in a good era, don’t you two forget that. Now get going.

What mom said, mom got, and we didn’t dare challenge it. Not even dad, and he was freakin’ Tarzan.

The next morning was descent, not to cold, not, to hot, but just right. For once we were given a break from the southern hospitality of the sun.

—Mom do I have to go. Why can’t I go out with my friends. I’m in high school!

—Don’t raise your voice at me Giovani. You are not going, and that’s that. I need you to help me with your little brother this evening.

—But momma…

Mom gave Giovani the look. And when she gave that look, it be wise to not even think of a challenging plea or it be your last. Giovani became silent. Overtime we would finished getting dressed, and were on our way out for a trick or treat time. Before mom could even get to the garage, the door was already opened, VJ had let himself out into another day of adventure.

—That dam dog.

Mom had figured it out. Not like it was hard though, the claw marks near the button clearly identified who the culprit was, and his name was VJ. As we drove down a sandy road, I called out his name, hoping he would chase after the car to say goodbye to me, as he always done. There was no VJ. I called again, still nothing. And then I called for the third time, but this time with more ump, and there he was revealed, subtle, but I knew it was him.

VJ had the saddest look in his eyes, like he didn’t want me to leave. He limped his way out to reveal himself clearly, along with the injuries he had gotten. I’d ask mom to turn back around so that we could take him with us, something was wrong, but vision of him faded before I even got the chance to speak.

—He’s fine baby, we will be back later today, I’m sure he knows that.

That Halloween night was long, it was perfect, I had a full bucket of candy, even a new toy as additional bonus, but little did I know when I came back home things would no  longer be the same. It was dark, cold, something was different about home. It was quiet. Too quiet. I called out VJ’s name, this time more than I had done before. There was still no sign of him, no paw steps, no bark. Just silence.

—Clark! Clark!!

Mom yelled for dad. I rushed over to see what was going on as we jumped out of the car, but then Giovani stopped and held me tightly. Tears rushed down my face, just as fast as I had gotten to the scene. It was VJ,  laying on the ground, in one of his favorite spots, only he wasn’t a sleep. I called his name again, Giovani held me even tighter, then mom joined in.

—I’m sorry baby. I’m so sorry. Everything will be alright.

—Mom what’s wrong with VJ…

Mom became speechless. She looked at dad, and dad looked to ground. He was speechless as well.

—Well… baby you see VJ is a sleep right now. And he will be for a long time.

—B-but when is he going to wake?

Mom this time just rocked me back and forward, saying nothing. Dad let me say my last goodbye. It felt like a whole day had gone by standing there, but I knew it only had been a few minutes. Dad picked VJ up and carried him off, I cried harder. I could tell dad wanted to as well, but he always dealt with pain differently then most—dad loved VJ like a son.

—Damn Cougars, sons of bitches!

Dad had already assumed what happened, the swears in the background told me that.

—It hurts, I loved that dog. Little shit. Even through his death he found his way back to us, back home.

At the end of it all, I at least got to see my best friend one last time, and for that, I am blessed to have gotten that chance, as I know many sometimes do not.

Rest In Peace my friend. May we be rejoined once more in the next life.

—Love you always


F.R.A.G.I.L.E Minds


December 2, 2017 by Patrick Starks


High School was hell for me, more so life as I viewed it. My mind was fragile, just as most people’s minds are, it was human I would trick myself into believing. In my life, sadness would always swarm around my head like fruit flies, blocking all confidence that I ever had to exist, and I really, I honestly, just wanted just that—to be free from it all. Me and Linda always felt life to be just a big popularity competition, a competition for the insecure we laughed. I obviously wasn’t on the top chart as you can tell by my tone of confidence, not even the top million, but I knew Linda would be at least somewhere in the rankings—to me Linda was better than any Beyonce, or Katy Perry, she was life. At night when me and Linda gazed at the stars, she and I would always talk about someday leaving the planet and traveling to another, naming our two to three children—Pluto, Venus, or Mercury in which we both believed to be unisex. Linda and I were truly soulmates, together to the end. Out of all the people I had grown to know in my life, all I had grown to love, I never knew that it would be Linda to take her own life. Continue reading

My head is a Genie bottle


August 12, 2017 by Patrick Starks 


When most people think of living in a space, a space where they can have privacy—they think of a private study or some sort of private resort, a vacation. But not me, whenever I thought of such things, I’d think of the genie and his bottle in that movie “Aladdin” or the show from the sixties— “I dream of Jeannie,” that was always moms favorite show. Continue reading