Mr. Books

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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.

 

PART II

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.

Sincerely,

—Mr. Books

Pluto and Friends

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October 7th, 2018 by Patrick Starks 

PLUTO MAIN COVER

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

Days of Crime

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September 2, 2018 by Patrick Starks

DAYS OF CRIME PIC

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

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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.

 

Bonus:

“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.”

Sincerely, 

Ealgo

UNTITLED

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August 19th, 2018 by Patrick Starks 

UNTITLED MAIN

“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

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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

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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

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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

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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.”

Wings

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August 8th, 2018 by Patrick Starks

WINGS

“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.”