September 9, 2018 by Patrick Starks
Cotton candy clouds filled the skies. Trees swung from left to right, and all birds flew to places of where their hearts could content. But in the vicinity of it all, life was even more magical than what many had expected it to be. Out of all the leaves in the forest, Fall was the most stubborn of them all. From his own season to winter, spring and summer, Fall would continue to hold onto the very tree who had given him life.
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.
Sure I could cut the T.V off, but let’s be honest, who could ever do that. I guess the good news was that I didn’t have to work that day. But little did I know that that day would be the day my whole life would turn into a Sherlock Holmes film.
It feels like it was just yesterday I made the decision to be courageous, for once in my life, to do something that most would be too afraid to do. It was a typical day in Seattle—rainy as always, and cold enough that wearing thermals was somewhat of a waste. I had my favorite peppermint mocha in one hand and my favorite pen in the other. Without a doubt, Uniball was the pen of them all. And it was the only one I liked to write with.
Nevertheless, there was a lot to be done. I’d waited weeks to finally hear something back. And just minutes later it pops up on my laptop—Seattle Fire Department.
I don’t think I could ever see myself in the military like my dad. But of course, I could have always been a cop. But I’d had too many bad encounters in the past to ever want to be one. But that’s another story to tell. Being a fireman, more so, firewoman was what I preferred.
I took a sip of my mocha. I closed my eyes. I opened the email blindly. Then opened my eyes again. And without hesitation begin to read.
Dear, Ms. Crime
We would like to thank you for applying for the Seattle Fire Department. Unfortunately, we have decided to…”
Sorry for the sudden pause. But why the hell would I even finish reading such a ridiculous response. It actually baffles me how so many jobs send these same kinds of shitty letters to everyone they interview. I mean come on, at least make me feel special. Word of advice to any businesses out there, get off your lazy bums and mix it up a little. Make people want to interview with you again. Sorry, let me calm down. Breathe Luna, breathe. Anyways.
That day was the last day I would ever apply for another job. There was nothing for me to prove, not to anyone. To help the helpless was in my DNA. I was a natural born leader and I knew that. But it came to find out that that just wasn’t what most businesses were looking for. Matter, in fact, the last person I worked for told me that they didn’t pay me to think. That person was an asshole, to the fullest.
But I should have listened. Dad gave me all the wisdom he could before he passed, but I ignored it like the bratty little girl that l I was. But now understand what he meant that day. Take a look for yourself.
Dear Lunatic,
Hey baby girl. This will probably be the last time you’ll hear from your old man. So, let me leave you with one little piece of advice. Something your grandfather told me before he passed. And don’t you roll those pretty little eyes of yours. Just listen.
“Leaders cannot be manipulated, they are not followers. This is you. However, it is a good leader that teaches his or her followers how to lead. Do not be a leader that has everyone always coming back to you in aid. This shouldn’t be the case. People need to see their greatness. It is okay to have a mentor, but at the end, you yourself will need to become the mentor or the knowledge of what you have inside, the gifts you hold, will never be shared. You might not have talent, people will tell you this. And you might not be the smartest in the room, but somewhere inside there is always a gift. Baby girl, my lunatic, go out there, don’t be afraid, and show them all of what you can give and what you can do. Everyone has something to share with the world.
PS: Take care of your mother for me. You know how she gets about stuff like this.
Love you always,
Dad
That was the last thing my dad had left me before he passed. Just the letter, the flag, and a few medals were left in the box in my closet. How could I ever be as good as him? He was a man, after all, however, I’d be belittling myself and all the woman around if I continued to exercise such negative thoughts. No, I can do it better.
I then took another sip of my mocha. It was cold, somewhat chalky. I checked more of my emails, and before I could get through them all an unusual article caught my attention. Another missing child. It was the fourth one that week. What the hell was going on? I’m pretty sure God or the gods would let you know if you were dead or not? But only the dead would know this.
I don’t know what it was that urged me on, but I needed more information. So, I clicked on the image. Flashbacks of high school all came back to me. The hallways, the lockers, the cafeteria, all of it. It couldn’t be. I read further down the lines. The girl in the picture was the same age as me and disappeared around the same time I graduated—Sindy Law. How could I forget her? We were practically like sisters. Out of the 11 years that had passed, no one had ever told me what happened to her. I was her closest friend, but not even the police came to me about her whereabouts. All I remember was walking to her house one day and in bold letters, a signed said: “Moved.” I thought I upset her or something, but all this time the reality was that she had gone missing.
I then clicked print, chugged down the rest of my mocha like the gasoline it was, and then shoved the print-out into my MICHAEL KORS purse. I hopped into my 2005 Volkswagon Jetta, started the engine and put the pedal to the medal. And shut your mouth, Jettas are faster than they look, hence, the name Jet. I gotta Jetta way, you know. Okay, I’ll stop. Moving on.
Even though I was only an hour away, I still hadn’t been down there in quite some time, not at least since my dad passed. But mom was still there and I knew she’d be happy to see me again. We talk on occasion over the phone, but it had been years since we did so in person.
It was just like before. Nothing had changed. Any flower you could think of and mom would have it in the gardens. Dozens of bees swarmed the garden, but none I was ever stung by—they knew who I was. I then knocked on the door twice.
“Who’s there?” asked the woman.
“Mom, it’s me. It’s Luna,” I said.
“Luna who?” asked the woman.
“Lunatic mom…”
“Lunatic,” said the woman. “Is that really you?”
The door then opened. And by the way, it opened, it still hadn’t been fixed for it screeched of screech.
“Oh my heavenly,” said Mom. “You’re still just as beautiful as I remember. Come and give your mother a hug.”
We hugged. It felt right. Something I hadn’t felt in a long time—love. Or was it just the caffeine from earlier. Who knows, but my heart was racing with joy.
After a moment that felt like tranquility, we walked inside. My stomach growled to the aroma in the air. Mom had just finished making her famous pig in the blankets. I made a bee-line to the kitchen. Mom poured me a glass of Florida Orange juice. You just couldn’t have a pig in the blankets without a little tang.
“So, what brings you all the way down here?” asked Mom. “You haven’t been here in years. Sadly…”
“I’m sorry mom it is just… ” I said.
“I know you don’t have to explain it to me,” said mom. “There is no man like your father, none.”
The room was silent. Even though it had bee seven years since mom I could tell still hurt inside. I felt bad. If anything I should’ve been there for her, yet, again, like the bratty little girl I was, I ran away from my reality.
“Anyways. So what you got going on missy?” said mom. “I know that face way to well. Your foot has been tapping the floor like a woodpecker ever since ya sat down.”
“Well, mom. I’m on an investigation,” I said.
Moms eyes bulged from its sockets. She pulled a cup of tea away from her lips, then rested it down gently on the table and not the stream.
“W-what kind of investigation?” asked Mom
“Well. I’m looking for an old friend. You remember Sindy? Sindy Law.”
Mom then stood up from the table and walked away. And within seconds, rambling in the background trembled the walls. Glass broke. And to top it all off, clothes were now all on the floor, along with the boxes they’d come with.
“Mom!” I yelled. “Jesus, are you alright?”
“I’m fine. And don’t be swearing in the name of Jesus. I knew being in the city would turn you into one of those tattooed freaks. You don’t have any tattoos do ya?” yelled mom.
“No, mom. Come on. Tattoos are so overrated,” I said.
Little did she know I had one on my back. But it was for dad, something to remember him by. Mom then came around the corner with a box in her hand. It was small, with glitter all around it. But it wasn’t just any glitter, not just any box.
“M-mom where’d you get that box?” I asked.
It looked similar to the one Sindy and I made years ago.
“Sit down honey,” said Mom. “I have something to show you.”
We both sat back down at the table. She opened the box and then pushed it across the table to me. I looked inside and it was just what I expected—a folded up paper butterfly. Without a doubt, it was Sindy’s. I grabbed the box and exited the kitchen.
“Wait, Luna!” said Mom. “Where are you going?”
“Jesus mom! Why didn’t you tell me?” I said.
“I’m sorry honey, but I just couldn’t lose you too,” said mom.
“Mom,” I said. “Do you know what this means Cindy could still be out there alone and helpless.”
“Wait a sec. You’ll need this,” said mom.
Mom then went to the back of the room again. More rambling. And after a few seconds had gone by she would come back out. There was something in her hand. She walked over and then gave me a kiss on the cheek. It was as if she wasn’t going to see me again.
“Here your father wanted to give you this earlier, but you were still so young.”
It was a swiss army knife. It had markings all over the blade. I counted forty-five, but what did they mean?
“Mom ill be back,” I said. “I just need to figure out what happened.”
Mom nodded and walked me out of the house. We gave each other one last hug before parting ways.
As eager as I was to help an old friend and more in her situation, the next place I went to would be a place that would make me regret pursuing on such a case. But what else did I have? If I was going to keep seeing negative all my life, then I at least had to try my best to turn a few to positive. If not, then I’m sorry dad, I failed.
TO BE CONTINUED
August 26th. 2018 by Patrick Starks
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
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.”
Sincerely,
Heart Attack
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.
TO BE CONTINUED
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.
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.
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.”
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.
TO BE CONTINUED
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.
Regards,
Starburst
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 culprit for the reasons life was what it was.
It was November 5th, 1992. This was the day such negative thoughts would sway. I wasn’t really a man of talent, but weeks later I would inherit one. 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 the time he discovered my talent within. However, he did not lose a step as the years went on—I’d lose to him every time. He 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 a honeycomb of some sort. And there would be no secret about it that she would be the Queen B of it.
“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 stuck in his ways of believing a woman could never compete with a man in physical sport, he sure chose the right one to marry. Mom was one of the most prominent advocates for the woman’s movement. But that is another story to tell—one where I can explain more about the great strengths woman hold.
Over time I had 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, so successful. But then she and I would have our match.
Sweat again brought fire to my eyes for they burned even worst on that day. 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. With her 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, at least sometimes. Dad’s head was now buried to the ground, and mom rejoiced—she love it. 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, 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.
And seeing a part of your heart saddened was something the manliest of man could not even bare, not even dad for that matter. 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, and soon after our conversation would begin.
Tears flowed down her eyes like rain to windows, as the air from her mouth shivered. Her hair was no longer in that honeycomb bun I adored so much. It concealed her chocolate eyes, but for every moment I got I would pull them back just to get a chance to see them again.
“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. 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.
Sincerely,
Dad
