Descending the Harmonic Minor

One
two
three
four

“We used to open for Styx, this had to have been over thirty years ago,”

G Em
Grace Cathedral hill, all wrapped in the
C
bones of a setting sun, all dust and stone and

moribund.


“Here try it like this,”
I can’t get the bar chords. I've had lessons with Glen for six months now and I still can't get bar chords as well as I should. The song starts easy enough but the second we get to the F Major my strings fret out. I just have to press harder. The wall at the back of the guitar studio Is filled with the past, God knows how many, years worth of Guitar World Magazines. As the faces of rockstars, from Keith Richards to Flea, stare at me from there issue covers I wonder... I don’t want to think about it.
“You just have to practice more,”
I nod.
“Well that’s all for today, and do you have this months payment,”
I hand over fifty six dollars.
“See you next week.”
It dawns on me as I walk past the poster of his old band "WaaZoo" that, despite the fact that he will be making money off me, a man as Passionate as he is about his art must hate teaching me.

“our name was WaaZoo, and we toured with Styx in our last year,”

D
I paid twenty-five cents

To light
D7
a little white candle
G
for a New Year's Day.

The the towers of St. Mary's Basilica, are graceful spires overlooking the great square of Old Town Krakow. Every hour you can hear the Hejnal trumped from the taller of the Basilica's two towers. It ends abruptly on it's broken note, to commemorate the Trumpeter of Krakow, Shot through the throat by, of all things, a Mongol arrow.
Here the city is all a bustle with tourists, street performers, and Polish nationals out shopping or working in the many modern locals operating within building over 500 years old. A traveler might focus on the gothic architecture of the buildings and laugh at the name of the tavern "Under the Ram" until stumbling face first into an American who could have starred in a National Lampoon movie. I pretend to not speak English as he asks me where his kids can get a hotdog. If he did know that I spoke english he would want to talk to me, and tell me how strange Polish people are because they don't speak english, and I wouldn't want him to have to explain to his children what a douche bag is.
I head west, behind St. Mary's Basilica. Here things are quite, only a few people, a couple taverns, and a small fountain. Polish taverns will serve you beer with a little raspberry syrup in it, unless you say no. They also have a shot, it’s name translates into Rabid Dog, and it’s a double shot of vodka, half shot of raspberry syrup, and a few drops of tabasco sauce... it’s deliciously violent going down.
When the sunlight is trying to cascade down the buildings but only actually makes it half way from the southern wall of the cathedral to to the table that your sitting at outside of the tavern, your probably better off drinking hot tea with the shot of cream liqueur. Here the sound of the come and go of the great square is turned to a soft mumble by the old buildings, and tight roads amplify the echos from within. Further down two men are playing guitars. two nuns stop in an archway whispering to one another. The players' facial stubble blurs what might be a tan with what might be dust from across Europe. I sit back, fill my pipe...

(RECORD SCRATCH)

“dude you smoke a pipe?”
“yea, since, like, junior year in high-school, now stop interrupting,”

(and spin)

“why did you guys stopped touring?”

Em
I sat and watched it

burn away
C
Then turned and

weaved through the

slow decay.

"Just practice hammers and pulloffs for ten minutes each day."
I’m catching on quick, as always, but then I just hit a wall. I don’t want to tell him that I’m playing video games instead of practicing, “I’m piled under with homework,” (final Fantasy IX has gripping story).
Why can't I focus, I ask myself. After a year of lessons with someone as good as Glen I should be far more advanced than i am now. When I hear the CD all I can think about is being on stage again, Screaming death metal, at a crowd, but even then I’m not playing guitar, I only do that when I hear classical music, and those dreams don’t involve crowds. We’re not working on that same song anymore, I just hope the F major doesn’t come up again. As he explains to me that I all it takes is is an hour each day, pick five fingering techniques, do each for ten minutes and then work on a song for ten minutes. I wonder... I don’t want to think about it.
I want to be a musician. I know I do, don't tell me I can't. When I picked up the guitar I was better than most of my friends who were in bands... but I don't get any better, I play, but I should practice.

“Well, we actually were offered a record deal with Geffin”

D
I paid twenty-five cents

To light
D7
a little white candle.


The pipe smoke rolls inside my mouth like an intangible word, a word I don't want to let out. I inhale for a second, it’s something you know you shouldn’t do. the buzz comes on. I let the smoke fly... I watch as the wind between buildings is exposed for it’s shape as the smoke disperses and twirls into the ethereal to mingle it’s matter with the notes played by the guitar players.
The Streets of Old Town Krakow are cobbled. Back out toward the city square and the front of the Basilica, I hear the clop of horse hooves as carriages are being pulled. A few people are ushered out of the double doors at the back of the church, they shake hands and hug and walk down the street. Before the priest can close the door, a hint of incense permeates the aroma of burning tobacco. Sweet and bitter mix beneath the eyes of gargoyles and cherubs who are hiding among the moulding that adorns the gray, tan, and brown facades of the buildings.
I put the finishing touches on the drawing of a stone angel on the wall of the cathedral, it’s not perfect, but its good enough. Who is this angel? where did he come from what’s his story. the guitarist play their classical style, mixed with Polish folk. I can’t even imagine what how they move their hands. “there’s something in my I, but I’ll be fine,” I can’t play like that.

“But I decided that I didn’t want that, touring wasn’t in me, I wanted to teach, and I wanted to be in chicago. I didn’t want somebody telling me that there wasn’t any money in modern classical, I felt bad leaving the band, but it wasn’t what I was meant for, and I could have done it, but I wouldn’t have been happy with it. So, I teach, and I play on the weekends at bars to help with some of the bills, and I like it.”

C G
And the world may belong
Em
for you,
C G
but he'll never belong
Em
to you.

I’m leaving for Poland in a week, death metal is blasting in the car as I’m driving through the Chicago South Side. I know the shop isn’t too far out of my way so I take a detour. It’s still there “... Guitar Studios,” I haven’t talked to him in five, I think it was five, months, about one month after he told me about leaving "WaaZoo", I miss the lessons and I miss talking with him, but I’m usually too busy to stop in and when I do, he’s giving a lesson. I drive past, “oh well,” I think, “maybe another day.”

“Hey, things are getting busier, I think I’ll have to stop taking lessons for a while, but I want to thank you, you’ve been the best teacher I’ve ever had.”

C
But on a motorbike,
Cm
when all the city lights
D D7
blind your eyes tonight


I take a drag of the pipe, and finish off my tea. I will never be able to play like those two, it isn’t in me.

C D
Are you Feeling better now? ....
G Em
Are you feeling better now?
G Em
Are you feeling better now?

Office Without a View

Sarriel looked at the files on his desk. Today he had a new charge. This one was here for various wrong doings in the area of excess. Drugs, food, sex, religion, it didn't matter, they all ended up here. At least their files did. Sarriel was a clerk of assessment and recommendation, in the department of excesses (formerly called the department of gluttony and later changed due to the word becoming passe'). But Sarriel liked gluttony. The word was straight forward and easy to understand. Hell's legal attendants would argue that the word did not adequately convey the charges for which individuals where damned, because most souls perceived gluttony as pertaining only to the action of eating, while excess was more universal. Sarriel didn't quite get what the big deal was.

with a lazy sigh, Sarriel jabbed his pen tip into the bloody face, shaped like a bowl, that sat on his desk, and wrote his recommendations on the file. "subject has lead a life of self victimization. It is recommended that rehabilitation should consist of urging the subject to cater to the needs of others... for eternity," Sarriel was no longer sure why he even bothered to write eternity. As if anything would have been recommended.

Sarriel spaced out looking at the human soul, molded into a clock, that told him he wasn't getting off anytime soon, remembering his motivational poster that assured him "if nobody worked the bellows, hell would freeze over."

"Hey, Afraim," he called over his cubicle wall, where he heard a repetitive bumping, " what are you doing."

"Working," came the casual voice of the demon.

Afraim was actually bouncing a crusher, a ball made from the soul's of the slothful, against the wall of his cubicle. It had something to do with idleness. Sarriel slid his chair in behind Afraim.

"What the hell are we doing here?"

"Well, if the pain monster comes around, I'm working."

"That's not what I mean, when I came down here, I thought we were gonna fashion a new destiny for ourselves, It's all Lucifer ever talked about. So when he marched against ... the throne, I was right there next to him."

"Next to him?" Afraim was considering a heap of lint that he had pulled from his belly button, "nobody marched next to The Light Bringer, he was out in front the whole time, ahead of all of us."

"You know what I mean, at least I was in rank, and I pushed to the front, you might not have seen that from the back."

"Hey, I provided a pivotal support function... I served as the back end of the bell curve, and made all of you look much more fierce."

"Whatever," Sarriel primmed his horns, "what I'm saying is that we came down here to be master's of our own destinies..."

"I came down so I didn't have to deal with all the singing," said Afraim.

Sarriel shook his head, "look at where we are, all I do all day is recommend standardized punishments for the damned, why the hell am I doing this."

"Page fifteen of the department handbook," Afraim announces with as much pride as could be mustered without any effort, "'by punishment we extract vital energy from the sinner.' We have to keep this place running," Afraim chucked the crusher, it hit a jagged spike on the lip of the cubicle wall and stuck there. It let out a quite scream.

"Ouch," laughed Afraim, "that has to hurt."

"I'm not even a demon of Gluttony..."

"Excess," reminded Afraim.

"You know I've never even been to earth, and everyday I have to hear about these guys who are up there everyday."

"Like who," asked Afraim, getting his crusher down.

"You know, the demons up there," Sarriel pointed to the ceiling, "fighting the fight, encouraging sin; getting to sin. Everyday they get paid to do what I MIGHT be able to do for two weeks, if i can afford it. Which I can't," Sarriel let out a deep sigh, "how did they got that hook-up?"

Afraim shrugged his shoulders and tried to spin the crusher on the tip of one of his talons, "Luck I guess. Right place, right time, probably new the right demons too."

Sarriel shook his head, "yeah, and I'm stuck here, you know I got passed up for promotion again," Sarriel waited for Afraim to nod, "I work just as hard as anyone here, I work harder than you," Sarriel jabbed a finger at the flab around his belly, considering how out of shape being at this job was making him "Anyway, I have to get back to work."

"K," Afraim shook the absent stare from his face, "you gonna be okay?"
"I'll be fine, it just feels like I'm never gonna get out of here," Sarriel slid back to his cubicle.

As he got back to his desk he heard Afraim mutter, "Isn't that the point."

Repeat After Me.

"Hey, Mom?" Julie walked down the stares, a curious look on her face, "Mom?"

"In here hun," Her mother called from the den, "You should see this." Julie's mother was watching TV. A psychic was telling the talk show host and a woman with a cartoon puppy on her shirt that the woman with the cartoon puppy on her shirt was having relationship problems. The Woman (puppy shirt and all) was shocked as she confessed that she hadn't had a steady relationship in years... in fact she hadn't been with a man since her husband left her... years ago.

"I seriously, can't believe that you buy into this," Said Julie.

Her mother didn't answer, but sipped her red wine while still watching the TV, "did you need something?"

"Yeah, I found this in the basement," Julie handed her mother a hard bound book, a round red stain was visible on the cover.

"Oh my god, I haven't seen that in year's, how did you find this," Julie's mother opened the pages of the book to reveal slightly smudged pen and pencil sketches.

"I had to get something out of the basement," probably better to keep vague, thought Julie. She came across the book while in the basement with Bill, her boyfriend. her shoulders blades were still sore from the concrete floor. Bill liked being on top.

"Are these your drawings?" Julie asked her mother, as she leaned against the love seat to look over her mother's shoulder.

Her mother nodded as she sipped her wine. "yeah, but I forgot all about these, I haven't seen it since we moved out of the apartment."

"I didn't know you could draw like that," Julie looked over her mother's shoulder as they flipped through the pages.

Her mother sighed, "Oh yeah, I used to love drawing, in high school I used to illustrate for the school magazine."

"I love this one," Julie pointed over her mother's shoulder, "It reminds me of the story I wrote."

"Which one, hun," Her mother said it almost as if she had no idea that Julie wrote.

"The one for class," She searched her mother's face for recognition, "I gave it to you and dad last week..."

"Oh, that reminds me," her mother said, "your father's working late again tonight and the home owners association is meeting here because the Pickinses have been running their sprinkler system at off hours, so can you go out in a bit and pick up drinks and snacks?"
Julie rolled her eyes, "yeah, no problem."

Her mother sipped her wine and went back to the book of sketches, "You know? When I was younger I wanted to be an artist."

"Seriously?"

"Uh huh," her mother flipped a page.

"Did you ever do anything with it?"

Julie's mother coughed a laugh, "No, I don't think it would've gone anywhere, plus art school would have taken me away from your father, and I didn't want that to happen."

"You gave up art school for dad?"

Her mother nodded, licking her lips, "Well, I loved you father, and I knew that I would never find something as good as what your father and I had again." Julia's mother sighed deep and flipped a few more pages. She stopped on a drawing of a middle aged Elizabeth Taylor snapping her finger, "I don't even think I would have been that great of an artist, I just did it as a hobby."
The conversation became quite. Only the sounds of psychics and TV talk show hosts could be heard with the occasional sound of swallowing.

"They're really great," said Julie walking out of the den and up the stairs to her room. Books filled a shelf in the corner and a hand full of scribbled notebooks sat on her desk next too her computer. She had a message from Bill:

Hey Babe,
Just got my room assignment for ill. State
WE"RE IN THE SAME DORM!!!! :-D
next year is gonna B great!
Call me, Luv U.

Julie smiled as she read the message and looked at the welcome folder from Illinois State University, the red bird mascot stood out from behind the university logo, and the tag line, "Spread the Red" seemed vaguely sexual to Julia. She just stared into the folder and then, without any reason that she could remember, she reached into her desk drawer, where she put it months ago, and pulled out an application to the University of Iowa. She began filling it out.

Have Scythe. Will Travel

The train left another Station. One of a few between Normal Illinois and Chicago. As the train picked up speed it passed though the small town of Dwight. Anna watched as the houses passed, some where small one level ranch style affairs; brick, aluminum siding, that kind of thing. Some of the houses where older, cracks at the edges, Victorian styles. Anna liked those. The chipped paint, the creaky stairs, it all made her think of the history of the old houses. She thought about who lived in the houses years ago, she thought about how they died. Did her predecessor have to help any of them. Mr. Snickers meowed next to her. She she rubbed her gentle finger tips over his skull. He purred.
The undead where funny like that. A zombie couldn’t talk at all, while a skeleton, which lacked the fleshy tissue needed for vocalization, usually had a raspy cough of a voice, and a wraith or banshee could sing... it sing like Madonna when it wanted to. It really depended on how much power you wanted to invest in it. Mr. Snickers started out as a zombie. He had died while Anna was working. it was her second harvest and she thought the mark was a middle aged business man on a street corner. while she was waiting for the man to get hit by a bus, a random kitty, a cat actually, spotted her and kept trying to pounce after the laces of her etnies. She looked at the shoes, DOOM sown into the backs in cursive pink, it made her smile. As the man was about to walk into the path of a bus The cat bolted of past him. The sudden flash of little black feline startled the man to a stand still, and the cat, who now sat next to her on the train, caught the 215 out of the loop instead.
Anna was totally prepared for dealing with humans. eventually they would figure out what happened and would follow Anna to their judgment (assuming they didn’t get there on their own), but this was different.
Anna stopped her reminiscing as a man came up to the second level of the train. Anna watched him, so did Mr. Snickers. He looked like a college student, His baby blue graphic tee was about four sizes too small, which was impressive since he looked like he wore a small normally, and his aviator sunglasses reflected the sunlight coming in from the windows of the train. He walked up to the Anna’s and Mr. Snickers’ seats and looked down at them. not actually at Anna or Mr. Snickers but more at the seats themselves. The aviator sunglasses came down to reveal eyes that looked like they saw a big black spider stretching across both seats. The man looked further down the train and left to find a someplace more comfortable. Mr. Snickers nipped at Anna’s finger.
Anna thought back to that day in Chicago. After the cat died, Anna didn’t know what to do. She never thought that a cat would have to be shown the way across. She thought that was something only humans went through. While she sat their wondering whether or not she screwed up and why nobody gave her a manual for the job, the cat went back into it’s body and started walking around.
Anna got out of her seat to get a drink. She told Mr. Snickers to stay put so that no one tried to take their seats. He meowed agreeably. Anna walked up the isle toward the snack car. People look out their windows as she passed. Or they looked at their laptops. Anything not to look at the petite redhead carrying a giant scythe. Five seats from the back of the train car a man began leering at the cleavage of the woman next to him, she didn’t seem to happy.
Mr. Snickers was so cute, remembered Anna. His little zombie shuffle took him only a few feet before he suddenly realized that he wanted brains. With one eye hanging loose, and leaving a trail of blood he shambled up to the business man trying to get at what he had in his skull. When it happened, Anna wondered why she thought the feline zombie was so cute. Seeing the living dead cat pawing at his leg, the man panicked and ran out into the path of his wife’s humvey.
Luckily, he had no problem dying and Anna didn’t have to worry about him.
Anna remembered that since the Whole thing seemed so coincidental, she made up her mind then that she would keep the cat with her, that was when she named him Mr. Snickers, and turned him into a wraith. The process wasn’t easy by any means, first she had to strip the meat, and she had to take two days off of work, which wasn’t terrible because there where only two complications and both where in Seattle, and lets face it, she thought, Seattle could do with a couple days of excitement before she got to it.
Anna was now in the snack car and as usual nobody noticed her, so she went around the counter and helped herself to some of the sweet iced tea. “MMMM,” she hummed after her first sip of the tea passed her lips. The women behind the counter excused herself to go the bathroom, “I have to fix my makeup,” she said in a hurry. Anna stepped back around the counter and headed for her seat in the passenger car.
Anna remembered how surprised she was that she made her first wraith with no problem, She was so surprised that she thought to herself, “I don’t need a manual after all.” As Mr. Snickers’ little skeletal body rose, bones holding together, an ethereal smoke grew out of him until it solidified into a little Kitty sized black cloak. The whole thing was so cute, that Anna Picked up Mr. Snickers, and rubbed her nose against where his used to be, just like she planned to do once she got back to her seat on the train. Also, She thought, she would snuggle him as well.
Anna came back to her seat on the second level of the passenger car and looked down at Mr. Snickers. The cat gave it’s creator a curious look. Anna made her move.
“KITTY,” she yelled as she executed a heartfelt scooping up and snuggling, Anna sat back in her seat with Mr. Snickers’ standing on her lap with his little smoky ghost tongue licking her nose.
“I don’t feel a pull today Mr. Snicker’s, So I think we have the day off, “Anna said as she focused her attention out of the window. “Maybe, when we get to Chicago, we can take another train somewhere, or maybe well have a look around city.” She could feel Mr. Snickers’ bony feet pressed against her chest, she scratched the back of his neck.
Mr. Snickers Meowed softly.

topic - jack

Hey everyone,
Just posting to say 1) jack Glad to have you in the group you're first piece was great and I'm sorry I haven't commented yet. 2) sorry to everyone that I haven't been very active lately, things have been busy. I'll be working on the doors piece but it's going to take me a while but in the meantime I'll try to keep up with the current topics.
thanks for the patience everyone.

Memory - Bio

It was one of those dreams that you can't really remember when you wake up. Of course you can remember a face, or maybe the needle in your hand, but the rest is a blur that you'll never get back. I woke up.

The room was small. the first thing I noticed was the ladybug biting my hand. I shook it off. I stretched. The springs under the bed creaked, with, ever so slight, a sound.

I knew what the creak meant, even if i wasn't coherent enough to realize it at the time. As I worked all of the sleepies out of my eyes I would remind myself that I should have expected it. The creaking meant that somewhere, in the small Soviet built apartment, I had been living in, an otherwise moderately sane woman was about to take the plunge into absolutely fucking nuts.

Aunt Magda, my father's youngest sister, before him, was an over worked, underpaid artist, who, at the sound of the creek of my bed, would feel a tug of insanity. that insanity is commonly known as Polish hospitality.

Symptoms of this hospitable psychosis include a sudden bout with Alzheimer's that makes you forget that your back and legs hurt from working, cleaning house, and walking all over the city trying to get errands done before your kids get back from school. This is followed by an obsessive compulsion to feel guilty for thinking of resting your legs, when what you should be doing is making breakfast for a grown man, who probably could make it himself.

My door burst open.

"Oh, you're awake," she was speaking Polish, but I'll translate, "Are you hungry? I'll make you some breakfast."

She turned and bolted from the... (no, bolted is the wrong word. It was almost a scurrying. Shoulders and head slouched forward in a lurking fashion, small quick steps. Hands, chest level in thought. Yeah, that was more like it) ... the room, down the hall, and into the kitchen.

Meanwhile, I was in the bedroom trying to find and apply pants and a shirt to myself, while struggling to untangle myself from a bed sheet that I was having issues with letting go.

My clean pants were hiding beneath a mess of already worn clothes and a half open book. My idea of cleaning is throwing clean laundry on a convenient chair, and once a week throwing dirty laundry from the floor to a likewise convenient chair covered, inconveniently, with clean clothes.

By the time I had clothed myself with whatever I could grab (and thrown the rest back on the convenient floor), I could hear the stove turn on.

"ugh," was all I could say before the taste of my morning breath reminded me that I should refrain from talking. The room was still blurry, on account of the fact that I slept on my side, and slightly down, with my face jammed against the pillow. My eye felt like a stiff muscle. I made a groggy hobble to the kitchen.

"Aunty (in Polish), Shit it's bright in here (in English)."

She was already boiling water for tea, which meant I had to eat something. I get sick if I drink tea on an empty stomach... usually I forget this fact until I'm halfway through a cup of tea, and my sudden urge to vomit reminds that I haven't eaten anything yet.

"Oh, there you are," she wasn't actually aware that I was in the room until she by chance turned and saw me rubbing my eyes, "what would you like me to make you?"

I didn't have time to answer before she turned away.

Of all the things that I knew were about to come out of the fridge, the words "we have," where not actually inside of it, but managed to always come out, preceding the following assortment (which were inside the fridge, and were about to all end up on the kitchen table and counters).

The articles that would be pulled from the fridge were as followed : the words "We have (in Polish)," followed immediately by," ham, cheese, white bread, sourdough bread, chicken, more ham for some reason, rye bread, butter, goat cheese (hard and soft), swiss cheese, sliced beef, margarine, another kind of butter, eggs, sausage, blood barley sausage, bacon, oh look another egg I wonder why I didn't put that with the others, there is also lard, if you want I could smother some sausage in lard and cook that with bacon."

As the world was coming into focus, finally, and I no longer had to shield my eyes from the penetrating rays of the sun, not that the sun wasn't there, but my eyes were no longer hurting, I became certain that a cigarette had shit in my mouth while I was sleeping. I held back my gag reflex.

"Aunty, no thanks, I'm good."

A funny thing about translation is that it doesn't always come out how you want it to. For example, if I wanted to say "jestem dobre," to my aunt, I would be of the sound mind in thinking that I had just told her something along the lines of, "I'm fine," I'm good," "I don't need anything," "Look you fuckin' nut, it's seven in the morning I've been drinking all night, I just want to lay in bed for a while, instead I have to chase you down, wearing pants that, I'm pretty sure I put on backwards, so I can tell you not to trouble yourself because I can make my ow.. hey, smoked ham!"

However the literal translation of "no thanks, I'm good," really comes out more in the fashion of, especially after taking into account the synthetic nature of the language, "I'm a good boy," ...

It was no wonder that she was now looking at me like I was retarded.

No man should be subjected to the unpleasant experience of eating polish sausage fried in a pan of lard with chunks of bacon in the mix. It slides around inside, and feels like you forgot to kill whatever you ate.

"I love riding horses," Kathy's hips swayed as she walked. Her hips weren't very pronounced, but things like that rarely really matter.

"you know, in high school, my friends called me horse."

"why did they did they call you horse," It was about three seconds before Kathy realized what I just said. A shade of pink slipped over her face as she pursed her lips to keeps from smiling. I watched her out of the corner of my eye.

"you're a shit," the edged of her lips made a prison break for her ears but were pulled back in. She ran her fingers through here hair.

I smiled. "You said you like to ride horses, what was i supposed to say?"

She didn't answer. She folded her are arms under her breasts, jutting her chin out. She bit her tongue with a smirk.

The streets of old town Krakow are cobbled. Street performers lined the edges, carrying violins, accordions, and other implements of their respective crafts and trades. The city was full of tourist traps. I needed to find a bathroom. Damn smothered sausage, I thought.

"Did you want see..."

"you on top of me, sure."

She rolled her eyes and sighed. Her chest rose.

"Did you want to see the castle?" she asked again.

"Not really, I'll probably see it with my school."

She shrugged, "O.k., what do you want to do."

I smiled. I smiled a lot around her, "You really make this too easy."

"What?"

I laughed and shook my head. her body angled toward me.

"You're english is terrible," the tease was underlined with a hint of I love giving you shit. I really need a bathroom, I thought.

"Oh, my English is terrible, then why aren't we talking in Polish? Or maybe we should speak Italian." She said something in Italian. Whatever it was, it sounded... inviting.

We didn't visit any of the tourist traps. No royal castles, with tapestries and lines leading to tapestries. No museums of historically famous Polish art. Instead we walked. we kept to the small streets of Old Town, the small art galleries of local artists, to teahouses in old cellars, and in quiet bistro's tucked away in the old courtyards.

"How long have you been riding?"

"Since I was little." She skipped. Whether from the thought of being a little girl riding, of from the recent victory in Italian, she skipped. Her hair bounced, so did her breasts. I peeked, Not that she would have minded.

"How long have you been playing guitar?" there's is a point where it's acceptable for a grown person to fidget like a child. It's usually when you're nervous, but happy. She locked her hands together behind her back and stretched. One foot came my direction just off the ground. Her knee peeked from behind the pastel flowers of her summer dress. I thought about her legs.

"Since I was in high school, we had a shitty band that used to play Kiss covers." I laughed remembering how bad we sucked, and that we actually played Kiss.

She rolled off from her grounded foot to her forward. Toward me.

"Hey." I couldn't wait any longer. "Let's go in here."

her eyebrows raised slightly, " are you hungry."

"Huh?" God no, I thought, "oh, I was gonna get a drink."

We walked into the Bistro and grabbed an out door table. The Small Ring wasn't too far away, with it's fountain, overlooked by the Pizza Hut, housed within a historical building. I shook my head.

"I'll be right back," I didn't bother sitting down, "If the waitress comes can you just get me some tea?"

"Where are you going?"

"To Touch myself," I said it loud. Her face went beyond pink. She looked from one table to another. Someone behind me understood English.

I winked.

Kathy, or Kasia in Polish, was once a student of my aunt. My aunt had tutored her in drawing and painting, for less than a real tutor would cost. Her parents saw a good deal in front of them, and like anyone who always felt slighted by the lack of profit to be made under Communist Russia, they took advantage of it. With a few silver words about connections and networks, Kathy's parents where able to procure the services of a talented artist, with no understanding of her work's worth, for about the Polish minimum wage, when she could have been making well over the American minimum wage, that was in the late nineties. It was significantly more.

The bathroom was around a corner... The door was thick.

I didn't hold it against Kathy. She was still paying for it, in a way. Anytime we stopped at a gallery she would chat up the owners. They sometimes knew her father, or a friends of hers, sometimes not. She would drop my aunts name and get word that they'd be willing to sell some of her pieces. I don't know how much the pieces sold for.

I left the bathroom, feeling better.

My aunt would get invited to garden parties, by friends. Friends like Kathy's parents. She appreciated all their help. I could have been drunk and retarded and still known that she was being fleeced at every turn.

Kathy was outside at the table. Her legs crossed. Her face was like a stone.

"Why do you do that?" I asked.

"Do what?"

"You always look pissed off."

She was about to say something but paused. Then she tried again. She almost laughed. "I don't look pissed off."

"No, you laugh when you're around me, but whenever I see you walking alone you always look serious, and you look straight forward." I sat down at the table. Her legs slid against each other as they uncrossed and crossed again.

She was trying to object but, she kept stopping before she said anything.

"Look, watch this girl," A Polish girl walked by. Her eyes burning a hole into something a thousand yards ahead of her, her shoulders were straight. "I bet if I chucked my phone at her, she wouldn't even respond."

Kathy laughed and hid her face in one hand, "I do that all the time, and I've seen other girls do it too."

"It's like your trying to ignore a fart."

"That's gross, and the fart we're trying to ignore is creepy guys," she laughed.

"Hey," her tone interupted her laugh. "I was thinking."

"I'm so proud of you."

She pursed her lips again. Her arms folded and she tapped her foot. She was fighting a smile.

"What were you thinking?"

she didn't answer right away, "you are a pain in the ass, you know that?"

"I'm glad you like it." I sat, leaning toward her. Smiling.

She leaned toward me. "I want to hear you play guitar."

I leaned back, "yeah, not gonna happen, I haven't played in front of anyone in years."

"...and I have never told anyone about what we talked about last night, I think you owe me." I watched her bring her straw to her lips. It darkened as cola pulled through it. She didn't take her eyes off of me.

I drank my tea. I wondered if I was getting the short end of the deal. I hadn't played in front of anyone in years.

"I haven't played in front of anyone since Gina."

She didn't say anything.

I had never thought about playing in front of someone as being a problem. That was until she asked me to do it. I didn't even realize why I had a thousand excuses to get me out of playing. I shook my head.

"We are totally sleeping together afterwards."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. She smiled, but I won't describe the smile. That's for me. Only.

Bio

Aharon Vadel was the name given to a Seraph of destiny. As the Seraphim, or Thrones, were the highest choir of angels in the theoretical Catholic heaven, the writer chose the name of this angel as representing a higher ideal than himself.

Aharon is now the pen name for writer uses in place of his own persona. The Writer has always been fascinated with angel lore since actually before he could remember, and is working toward writing a series of short stories, and some not so short, about angels found on earth. The fact that similar concepts have been dealt with by authors such as Neil Gaiman, and Steve Jackson causes some notable concern for the writer as he is often worried that his writing will be seen as standing in the shadow of these men.

The Writer is currently working toward dual degrees in English Studies and in Sociology. He hopes that these backgrounds will be a positive influence on his life and writing. Thus far he believes that they have been.

The writer joined Write Monkey Write to challenge himself as a writer. Although he knows himself to be young in the craft he often suffers from an over inflated sense of ego, and must from time to time remind himself that he has a great deal yet to learn… especially in the department of grammar.

About Aharon.

The pieces under Aharon at Write Monkey Write are usually in third person, or in a first person other than the writer. Unless specifically a memory The writer hopes to be able to write from the perspective of various personalities, and with different voices. Although this is the intent it is at times not fully realized and the writer often invited criticism that will help him improve.

Why would a Monkey Write the random sets of sound that the once monkey's call the written language. Does the monkey write for fame, does the Monkey write for the glory of god, does the monkey write for love. This only the monkey knows, and this is only shared with what god he chooses. Write Monkey, Write.

-Aharon Vadel- get well card

The hour of departure has arrived, and we go our ways - I to die, and you to live. Which is better God only knows.

- Socrates

Smoking Chimp Story: Smokin' Apes

Hey guys,

Let me know what you think. Originally I wanted to try something else for this assignment, but due to the smoking ape, along with some other limits I placed on myself, I was not able to do what I originally set out to do. Thus, I compromised.

Let me know what you guys think

Some things I'd like you to to consider:

• are the series of events and the descriptions clear
  
• does the story have a flow that keeps you as the reader interested
  
• the ending is sudden and leaves the reader without many answers, does this take away from the story as it is.
  

P.S. Thanks again Pete for the help.

Enjoy.

Smoking' Apes

The sign on the door still read “Dr. Eli Lucius.” Devon Knocked on the door.

Devon could hear footsteps, coming closer from within the laboratory, mingle with light vocal squeaks and whines. The door opened.

“Hi,” The man who answered the door looked to be in his late twenties. “Dr. Devon Sands, right?”

“Yeah,” Said Devon, still taking in the young lab assistant. He didn’t look like a lab rat, his hair was fashionable and his complexion well kept. A slight tinge of envy nipped at the back of Devon’s mind, as he became aware of his pasty skin and his doughy mid section.

“I’m Mark, come on in,” The lab was neat and orderly like most others at the university, but unlike the others this labs had an element of decor that was more refined then the usual pictures of family, and geek humor set up by most researchers. A few bamboo plants, a bonsai, a picture frame showing Mark and a second young man. They seemed close, thought Devon. He tried not to stare at the picture.

“I left all of Professor Lucius’ stuff exactly how it was,” he pointed to the screen desk near the cages, “of course I’ve been taking care of Lucy, but that’s a given.” He walked over to the large cage against the wall against and squat down to eye level with the Chimpanzee who was still whining for attention.

“Lucy,” Mark spoke to her like one would speak to a child, “Do you want to meet Doctor Sands?” The ape looked at Devon and then scurried toward the back of the cage.

“I’m sorry Doctor she’s a little shaken up, I don’t know what they told you but the Professor, came in the night…” theree was a pause, as if Mark couldn’t finish the sentence,” the night before he died.”

“No, nobody told me about it,” Devon was not surprised though. Doctor Lucius had been difficult to get a hold of for the past two months before his death. No body knew what had been doing. “What was he doing here?”

“I don’t know, when I came in Tuesday morning I found him passed out at his screen desk, and Lucy was pretty agitated.” Mark eyes became watery, he clenched his jaw and bit back his frustration, “I’m sorry Professor, I thought I was helping him, I called a cab to take him home... that was the last I’d seen him.”

Devon wasn’t sure what to do. He was afraid that Mark would begin to cry, and wondered whether he should say something reassuring to the research assistant. There had been rumors about the university about Professor Lucius. Devon folded his arms “I’m sorry, It must be hard,” Devon Mumbled the words more than spoke them.

Before Devon had a chance to say anything else Mark had relaxed his jaw and blinked away his watery eyes. “Sorry, it’s just been a rough couple of days.”

Devon nodded.

After a few minutes, Mark was looking better and gave an embarrassed laugh “, so how can I help you?”

“Well,” Started Devon, “The University wants me to find out where Doctor Lucius was in his research, why haven’t we been able to get ahold of him over the past two months, and if I can continue where he left off.”

“Well, there hasn’t been much research going for a while now.”

“What do you mean?” If Doctor Lucius abandoned his research the university would not be happy.

“Well,” Mark pulled up a chair at his own desk, “I think about two months ago, after Professor Lucius came back from his uncle’s funeral, he asked me to look after the lab for a few days, and to take care of Lucy.”

Devon had pulled out a notepad and began taking notes, “So what happened after a few days?”

“Nothing, he didn’t show up, he didn’t call,” There was a hint of anger in Mark’s voice, it wasn’t until a week later that I got an Email from Professor Lucius telling me that he would be absent for a while, and that I should tell the university that everything was fine. I didn’t hear from him since, I called, I even went to his home. Nothing. Until...” Marks jaw began to shake again.

“It’s okay, I don’t need anymore.”

Mark nodded.

“Mark what can you tell me about the research, about Lucy?”

“Lucy,” The new topic made Mark look a little more relaxed, “well, she’s probably the most important Primatological specimen ever found.”

“Why is that...?”

Devon was interrupted by Lucy’s high pitched whining. She had emerged from the back of the cage and was making hand gestures. Devon had researched chimpanzees and chimpanzee communication but he was unfamiliar with the words that Lucy was signing. At least He was never familiar with an ape to use that specific sign. He pointed at her with his pen. “Is she asking for what I think she’s asking for?”

Mark stood. Obviously not thrilled about what he was about to do. “Yes, she is.” As mark walked up to the cage he pulled out a cigarette, and handed it to Lucy. Producing a lighter from a pile of bedding, she lit the cigarette with two hands. “Somehow during her transport here, she picked up a pack and lighter, we haven’t been able to wean her.”

Devon wasn’t sure what to think of that, “Where did Lucy come from?”

“Huh?” Mark was looking at Lucy with disapproval, she was smiling, “Oh, The Professor was researching Religious Memes among refugees, in the northern Congo; this was During the Sudan War in 2034.”

“How did Doctor Lucius jump from refugees to Chimps?” Devon was aware that Doctor Lucius had several Doctorates, but that was still a bit of a sudden Jump.

“It wasn’t too difficult,” mark Shrugged, “A colleague of his was studying Lucy’s troop in the area and asked Professor Lucius to help.”

“What did this Colleague need help with?”

“Lucy and the rest of her troop began fashioning stone tools.”

Devon stopped writing notes, “What do you mean?”

“I mean exactly what I said,” mark turned around and looked directly at Devon, “Lucy and the rest of her troop back in Africa learned that by striking two stones together that they could make jagged rocks that they began throwing animals that they would hunt.”

Devon still could not bring himself to write any of this down, “Are you suggesting?” Devon didn’t want to finish.

“Yes. Members of Lucy’s troop are found to have shorter fetal periods, are born on average two weeks earlier than your average chimp allowing for a fontanel.” He turned and looked at Lucy and said the next words almost as if he didn’t believe them himself, “Their brains are more fully developed at birth.” He paused for a moment and looked back at Devon, “and what to they do? They take up smoking.”

Devon sat speechless. This couldn’t be possible. “Professor Lucius had an ape specimen that is a step closer to human intelligence than anything has ever been... and he just dropped his research?”

“Maybe you’ll be able to find something in his notes, I have no idea why he disappeared, or why he...” Mark stopped for a moment, “Why he killed himself. I don’t think I want to know.”

The two sat in silence for a short time, only Lucy’s quite whines could be heard while she was between puffs.

“Doctor Sands,” Mark was the first to speak, “I need to get going, I have to meet my husband for dinner, will you be okay locking up her before you leave?”

It took Devon a moment to take in what the research assistant had just said, “Oh, yes, I’ll be fine.”

As the young lab assistant left he stopped and turned at the door, “Doctor.”

“Yes,” Devon wasn’t sure what to expect.

“When I found Professor Lucius that morning, he looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks, he seemed paranoid, and he left Lucy very agitated, I’m not sure what he was doing, but maybe that will help you.”

“Thank you,” Devon watched the lab assistant close the door and leave. The office was quiet. The quiet was so loud that it swallowed almost all sounds.

Devon sat at the desk of Doctor Lucius. The touch sensitive top of the desk displaying a screen saver of rain drops sliding along the strands of a spider web.

When Devon touched the orb on top of the desk screen a voice came from nearby speakers, “Name and pass code, please,”

“Doctor Sands, University override, The white kitten had had nothing to do with it,” Devon used the orb to sign his mark on the screen.

“Override acknowledged, good evening Doctor Sands.”

“Evening Alice,” Devon took a deep breathe, “Alice, please pull up the research Data of Doctor Lucius. Parameter is 'Lucy'” The Screen filled with an array of video, audio, text, and picture files. But still there seemed to be at least two years worth of Data.

“Well, Lucy,” he looked at the Chimp, wondering what was capable of, “We have a long night ahead of us” She looked at him; there was a sad look in her eyes. She motioned for a cigarette. Devon looked into a drawer of the screen desk and found a pack.

As Devon sat, motionless and quite, reading, watching, listening to the early research of Doctor Lucius, and as Lucy sat smoking her cigarette motion sensors of the lights kicked off and went to sleep. The lab became dark, but for the glow of the screen desk and the cigarette.

Some of the earlier files dealt with Professor Lucius’ observations of the troop in the wild, but eventually those were replaced by observations done in the lab.

Around nine at night, after four hours, Devon was tired, his eyes caused the shadows of the lab to seem as if they were moving. He rubbed them with his palms and leaned back in the chair. He had been reading about the period during which Lucy was learning Primate sign language, but he couldn’t keep focused. Something was bothering him.

It was a strange feeling that he had since he began scanning through the files, and as he sat there, the files laid out in front of him, he suddenly realized what it was. Mark said that Lucius had fallen asleep at his desk. But even the most recent file was dated just over two months ago. What, Devon wondered, was the professor doing here?”

“Alice, Search, new parameters,” he checked his watch, “Search for files opened or created January 11 and 10 of 2037.” The massive assortment of research files vanished and a new file Dated 01/11/37 2:00 am sat alone on the search field. It was titled “Lock.”

“An immersive?” Devon whispered under his breath. It wasn't unusual but none of The Doctor other files where immersive.

"Alice, begin a corruption scan on Lock."

A bar appeared over the File showing the progression of the scan. Devon walked over to the cage. Lucy wasn't sleeping, but at least she wasn't asking for a cigarette. "You know this things will kill you, cutie."

Lucy Came up to Devon and hugged him through the cage, and then pointed to the lock on her door. "You want me to let you out?"

Lucy signed "no," but then immediately signed the words, "Out, Lucy, out."

Devon laughed a bit, "I don't think I trust slightly smarter Chimps just yet."

Again she signed, "Out Lucy." But by this point Devon was no longer paying attention. The voice of Alice had announced that the scan was done, "No corruption found, Password required".

Devon once again gave his clearance.

"I'm sorry Doctor Sands, your clearance has been rejected, please supply the appropriate keyphrase."

"Great," Said Devon, "any ideas Lucy?"

Lucy Began signing for a cigarette. Devon began reaching into his pocket, but stopped. Lucy had begun to Sign "No" and then again signed "cigarette" again.

Devon exhaled his frustration, "I guess being smarter also makes you indecisive huh." Devon walked up with the Cigarette.

Lucy was standing on two legs. She took the cigarette with one hand but kept pointing at the desk with the other.

"Ok, what do you want now," Devon was liking this ape less every minute.

Again she signed "cigarette."

"You already have a..." Devon stared at the Lucy amazed. He couldn't believe what he was thinking.

"Alice," Devon bolted back to the screen, "Open File: Lock. Password: cigarette."

The Screen went blank, "Access Granted, Doctor Sands, a jack is required to interface with this file."

Devon Grabbed one of the jacks, from the mount on the corner of the desk. He connected one end behind his ear with his own interface, and then another end into the computer. He felt the tingle and saw the progress bar in front of his eyes work its way from left to right. "Launch File."

There was a tingling warm feeling that swirled through Devon's head, and within a few moments there appeared in the room images that seemed to surround him. The images were an overlay, having substance only in his head. They did not exist in the outside of the controlled hallucination of the immersion program.

The images became clear. The file created a virtual space in Devon's mind that was now superimposed, without flaw, Devon's vision of the physical world. As the virtual entities took shape Devon perceived that cubes where set on the desk before him. Each one was emanating and internal light. They sat in two outer columns of three, and a central column of four. The central column extended out of the square created by the two outside columns. The First cube of the center sat before Devon, above that was the second witch sat between and below the first outside pair. The Third cube of the central co;umn rested in a point central the first and second pairs of the outside columns. The fourth sat between but above the last pair of outward cubes, alone. But there was an eleventh point.

Centering the Second and third outward pairs, Devon saw nothing. It was empty.

As the ten cubes sat before Devon, he could feel each one pulse with energy. He new in the back of his mind that this was little more than an illusion, but the realism of the experience filled him with an anxiety he could not understand. There was something troubling about the cubes, or more accurately, he thought, behind the cubes.

As he surveyed the cubes he became aware that each cube pulsed at a different frequency, like notes of descending order. With a deep breath Devon touched the cube nearest to him.

The cube's pulse became a low constant throb and all at once the other cubes went silent. Devon removed his hand from the cube with sudden fear. It was not the sudden change of the cubes behavior that frightened him, but something much more subtle. He was not, in fact, completely sure that he had heard it.

He once again touched the nearest cube, again it throbbed. Devon sat and listened for any change. There was something deep, far beneath the hum. Something whispered. Devon held on this time, and listened hard. But the whisper became no clearer.

He suddenly had a thought "Alice, I thought there was no file corruption."

"There is no file corruption, but a part of the file was modified."

"How was it modified?"

"I have a record of information from this file being copied and moved to another file, named Key."

"Could you bring up Key?"

"I'm sorry Doctor Sands, that file was copied then deleted immediately after its creation."

"Shit." Devon sat back in Doctor Lucius' chair, the cubes laid out before him.

What is all of this, he wondered, what was The Professor doing. His head swam with thoughts about what he was looking at, and what it meant. Did this file have something to do with The Professor's death?

His thoughts were suddenly interrupted by Lucy. She shrieked and banged her cage.

"What is it now, Lucy,"

The Chimp was agitated. She was back to asking for, "Out, Lucy, Out, Lucy."

Devon breathed "Christ," he removed the jack and stood up. He paced back and forth in front of the screen desk. The voice of the whisper played in the back of his head. Lucy was yelling.

Breaking his train of thought, he leaned up against Lucy's cage. His forehead between two of the bars. "What about you Lucy? Any ideas?"

"Out, Lucy."

Devon laughed, "The Doctor didn't tell you were he put the key did he, silly monkey?"

"Lucy," She signed.

"I know, 'Lucy out,' I know."

Lucy whined and shook her head. There was something serious about her exaggerated head shake. Something Devon saw in her eyes. There was something different about Lucy, He reminded himself that there was something about her, different from any other Primate he had dealt with.

"Alice," he was back at the screen desk. “Search records... where there any external drives attached to the computer on January the tenth and the eleventh?"

"Running search," immediately records showed that two separate drives where used one on the tenth and one on the eleventh. The external drive used on the eleventh was named Lucy.

"Alice, what was the format of external drive: Lucy?"

"Biological."

Devon was now looking at Lucy. She was standing on two legs looking back at him.

"Human?"

"No."

Devon couldn’t believe it. "Alice, check again, No known, non-human brain on record has ever been able to safely store data. Confirm "biological" and "non-human" parameters."

"I'm sorry, Doctor Sands, The biological drive lacked human capacity or performance parameters, but it did not register as corrupted, therefore could not have been human."

Lucy was looking back and forth from Devon to the screen, "Out, Lucy,"

Devon Jacked for the monitoring interface behind Lucy’s ear. It was there, but it wasn’t a standard monitoring interface, it was a full interface. The scar tissue was old. Lucy was wide awake.

Devon let Lucy out of the cage and brought her to the desk. Just as he did with himself, he interfaced Lucy with the desk. A small icon of an apes hand print showed up on the surface. Devon opened the drive. There was a file named “Test” dated seven months ago, and another named “Key” Dated January 11th.

It was running.

"No wonder you haven't been sleeping,"

Lucy signed, "Out, Lucy." Devon was beginning to realize just what he was dealing with, and how blind he had been before.

"Don't worry we will," Devon was concerned. It wasn't the Key file that was causing Lucy to have sleeping problems; it was a hash file, a barrier protecting the key file. It's probably why she's been so agitated, he thought. But there was something else. Having Alice probe the Key file he learned that the hash was not keeping him out but rather keeping the key in.

"I'm sorry, Doctor Sands, but any attempt to remove Key from the external drive will cause corruption to the drive itself."

Finally tired and out of ideas he decided there was nothing left but to see what the doctor was hiding.

"Alice, Run files Lock and Key."

With his own headjack he could now see the immersive as it was meant to be experienced.

The immersive filled all of Devon's vision with black. The darkness was filled with sounds. Chaotic and inhuman. The light that came next was bright and blinding and when it receded all that was left was the set of ten cubes, but this time the eleventh point was emanating it's own light.

Devon and Lucy watched as a shining orb manifested from the light, rose over their heads and shattered. Its infinite particles spread across the virtual space.

Devon thought that he was now looking at a starry sky, but he after a moment he realized that that was not the case. The dust from the orb had formed specks of light in the blackness, but they did not fill the whole space, rather they clustered together to over the form of an empty orb. As the immersion lifted the scene, of the room was coming back into focus.

Devon couldn't understand where the silence had come from. Nor could he understand why the world moved so slowly. Why couldn't he here anything, he wondered, as he impacted the floor.

All at once the world came back, the sounds of gunfire filled the room, a bright light, followed by silence. Lucy was on the ground next to him. Devon's hands were cold and wet.

Devon was seeing the world through the eyes of someone else, someone who was no longer him. It was becoming more distant. Someone was squatting near his body. The name tag read "Mark Goodman" below that, "Lab. Assistant."

The last sounds Devon ever heard was someone calling, "Professor, don't go. What did you see? WHAT DID YOU SEE? MILES, GET HELP." The Light was gone.

Comments

I everyone Aharon here. I would like to say welcome to all the newcomers not only steph and Tammy, but also Zach. I'm really glad to have you guys here and I want to say thanx to all of you. Having others involved keeps me involved, also it's great because we see alot of variety.

that being said, I should make it clear that I am here to challenge myself as a writer, as, I assume, are all of you. I would ask that when I do make a post that anyone who reads it feel free to tell me anything positive, but please feel free to tell me if there is something about my writing that is problematic. From now on I will include a memo of the purpose of the short story, and questions I would like you as readers to ask as you read it. I look forward to criticism.

Beyond that if anyone has a preffered style of critique that you would like me to employ (focus on the positive, or on the negative) please comment back and let me know. I ask because I would not want to be too negative with someone who handles positive feedback better, but mostly because I don't want to just say what I liked to someone who is trying to iron out the wrinkles in their writing.

I look forward to hearing from you guys.

14 Stories - Aharon

Second Coming

At last, I am Come... Where is everybody? When the hell did they leave!?

Two fictions meet. Problems for one. The other tells fables based on true stories.

One thousand Monkeys, on one thousand typewriters, for a thousand years. I was one.

The professor died, leaving a paper trail. Will we ever see the light again.

College Girl. One to many drinks. Guy wakes up in a tub, No kidney.

Traversing the Seas of Dis

Of all my conversations over the past three years, I remember my time with The Doctor more than any. The memory still fills my body with cold, and even to this his words to me shake my core and purpose.

Over the past three years of my travels I met many an oddity, The Lotus Eater, The Lion... The White Rabbit. It was not, however, until the second year of my travels that I met The Doctor.

After I had left The Island of The Dead Star, and sailed my tiny boat through the Sea of Orchids, I found a series of mountain rising from the water. Between each sat a wide waterway. From the position of each I estimated that there would be more than the three that were visible to me and that they would create some circle or bowl once I could see them all. But first I would have to sail through one of their passages.

The mountains were of an almost black jagged rock. And, once between two of the mountains I caught glimpses of the strange creatures moving among the rubble and disorder of the mountainside. The creatures were black and sleek, with wide eyes and gills. One, I saw emerge from the water at a bank with something in it’s mouth, though what shocked me most was not it’s claws nor the strength that it’s movements hinted at, but rather, the familiar human qualities of its face.

The channel itself was not deep at all. The mountains wear merely prongs of a greater mountain the rose from the sea floor up the air. Beneath the water the mountains continued downward. Jagged blades of the black stone rose from their common source. Had I but been in a ship of larger proportions than my small dinghy, I have no doubt that those the submerged claws would have pulled the vessel down, and left me victim for the skulking creatures that watched me from the rocks.

After sailing through the straight for over an hour, I saw the claw of one of the creatures taking hold at the side of the boat. I Jumped up, oar in hand, just as it pulled its head over the boats edge to look at me. Perhaps It meant me no harm, but I was not about wait for it's intentions to become clear. The beast’s head and neck, made a crunching snap as my oar impacted the side of it’s face. As it’s body flopped back into the water, the thing’s body convulsed for a short moment and then lay lifeless. Others of it’s kind wasted no time in taking advantage of the fresh meal. From that point, none of the others came near my boat, but instead were content to watch me from their hiding places, from outside of my wake.

As I cleared the straits I saw a dark sea that stretched as wide as a city. I was now indeed aware that the mountains formed a circle outlined of seven points. Between each lay a strait, I assume, similar to the one I had just come through. In the center of the sea was a single small island, toward which I would make my way.

The sky inside the Island’s crown was full of dark clouds, by now, the sea bed was visible and only seldom did the rocky cropping jut up out of the sandy floor, but still I did not trust the water and would neither touch it nor stare into it for more than a few moments.

The Island, I made out from a distance, maintained a number of rocky outcroppings of the same element as the mountains, but the island had, as well, been covered with what seemed to be a dark shiny sand.

I forced my boat as near to shore as I could, to avoid wading through those dark waters, but it was only so far that I could manage. The fact that I would only have to trudge through little less than two yards of ankle deep water was little consolation. Little Consolation indeed when confronted with the oddity of the place, the strange loathing I felt toward the water, and the sand that could have once come from a red black volcanic rock.

When at last I worked together the nerve to step from my boat into the waters edge, I at once felt as though the sea bed was pulling me deeper into itself. The water froze me to the bone the instant it touched my skin and I was overcome with the desire to let myself be dragged into the sea and sand. I remember thinking that none should care, none would have chosen differently. What if I did sink, thought I? to whom did I owe any explanation?

As I felt the water rise up my thigh, I heard Margery’s voice. She was laughing, as she did when we laid in the sun on those near forgotten summer days. A laugh meant only for her love. I could see the sunlight cascading across her dark hair. Her pale skin soft beneath my hand. I could feel nipple become hard as it slid between two fingers.

The water rose. Or I sank. all I could feel and hear was the rumble. My eyes snapped opened, and with all my rage and pain I tore my legs from the sand. I pulled myself, screaming her name, through the water.

I have no recollection of how long I spent on that shore before I was found, but I wish now that I had never left my boat. I wish I had stayed upon the island of The Dead Star, or that I had remained among the city of fools.

When at last I opened my eyes and looked up from the sand I found myself not alone. Two granite angels stood before me motionless. Each was perfection of the human form, and although they were hermaphroditic one could easily distinguish which was male and which was female. A means of reproduction was not all they lacked, though. Neither of the sentinels bore any facial feature.

I was fascinated at once with the statues. Although carved by expert skill, their skin seemed course and unpolished. I moved closer to touch one but, as I did they both moved away from me. I had been wrong, they were not statues after all, but rather automata, or otherwise were in some way enchanted. They moved with grace. As they lead me forward I noted that there was a dancing quality to their movements.

I followed the stone angels from the shore into the dark woods of the island. The trees in that place bent and twisted in every direction as if the wind itself tortured them into their writhing forms. In the distant shadows, and sometimes not so distant shadows, I heard growls and hisses. Sometimes I could hear movement but I never once saw the sources. But the angels led on, taking no notice of the surrounding wood.

It is strange that I have spent so long sailing these seas that I have still never come to understand the movement of time. Days seem to come and go at will. I have crossed countries in seconds, and I have spent years walking through a doorway. It is because of this that I am never truly aware of how long I have spent in the places that I have visited. The only true measurement I have is of how quickly a place wears upon me and that does time little justice.

Suffice it to say that if I spent a second walking through those woods, then it was an eternity. Despite my compulsion to further investigate the inhabitants of the Island, I prayed again and again that I could just know that the answers I was seeking were not here, so that I might leave without worry. As it was, I would at least learn of what my guides wished to show me.

I thought of my journeys to other, less chilling places, to distract myself from my surrounding. Watching the female angel walk ahead of me I began to think about Margery. The way she looked when she walked. I remembered being inside of a glass box, the cloud of dust tore through the city toward me.... but that has nothing to do with the island, and I shook those thoughts from my head.

After some time the angels brought me to a ring of monoliths. As I walked between two of the monoliths I noticed that the held to the same theme as the mountains that surrounded the island. a circle of seven. Inside the circle was a temple. I do not know if it was The Doctor who built that place or another more mad architect. A pair of eyes and the sound of fluttering wings watched me from the shadow of a monolith.

As one entered the temple an immediate sense of vertigo seeped deep into the mind. At times I felt as though I had been walking on the ceiling. At other times I could see shadows scuttle away along the walls.

The angels had remained at the gates of the temple and I alone descended into its core, guided forward, by a low hum.

When I came to The Doctors laboratory I thought the doctor to be simply a corpse. He sat in a large leather chair slumped over himself. I looked about the room at the odd collection of machinery. Many of the devices reached the ceiling of the laboratory, sending sparks between them. The room was a jumble of wires and tubes. Bottles and books littered the shelves. My attempts to read the titles proves fruitless as the their text shifted and blurred with each attempt.

With the sudden sound of thunder, the humming stopped and all was quite. It was then that I noticed the faint sound of raspy breathe. It was The Doctor. Still slumped over himself. I came closer.

“Sir, are you alright?” I asked.

“who is there?” his voice was low with a croaking, or grumbling quality.

“Just a traveller, I have come from far away and I have seen many wonderful and terrible things, but never have I seen a place as dismal as your Island.”

The Doctor chortled. “And why have you come to my dismal island?” he stood as his sarcasm spilled out, his knees quaking beneath his weight. I could see him then, emaciated, and yet powerful. His robes hung on him loose and ragged, as though they were gossamer. His bony chin jutted forward and his milky white eyes peered at me.

“I am searching for something,” a sense of vulnerability grew in my body as the doctor watched me. I felt as though I was naked before him. “How did you come to inhabit such a place?”

The Doctor looked and laughed at me. As he began to walk away from his chair, the few wisps of hair on his balding head swayed.

“I am here,” his voice bore an air of arrogance as it flew back over his shoulder at me, “for the envy of others,” His walk was swaying as he limped across the room, “There are many who fear my greatness, and for it this mountain has been raised from the water for me to carry. All of this place rests upon my shoulders, I give it what little life it has through my machines.”

He ran his fingers over his devices as he spoke. “I have strained my mind and body, devising new technologies that spit a heaven back in the faces of those who would bear a hell down upon me.”

“Who has forced this hell on you, old man?”

The Doctor turn to me with a look of indignation “I am a great doctor.” He began to yell, “and you will address me as such.”

I raised my hands in defense, “Forgive me, good doctor, I only wished to know who was it that has placed you in this hell.”

The Doctor had a self satisfied look on his face, “It is not something you would understand.” He calmed down, “you are searching for something, you say?”

“Yes, I have been searching for some years now.”

“Oh,” The Doctor's cackle was unnerving, “Some years, you say. In a place were time means nothing you speak of years.”

“Well...” I wasn’t really sure, “It just feels as if it’s been two years.” The answer made the Doctor laugh again.

“And what is it, I wonder, that you are searching for” The Doctor stepped closer to me, “something in my laboratory? one of my machines?”

"No, nothing of yours, good doctor."

He looked at me, inspecting my face. The skin on his steepled fingers was pale and flaking, the old scar on my hand began to hurt. "Then what are you looking for,"

“What does that matter to you, Doctor?”

"Because I wish to know, if you even understand why for years," He spit the words at me, "you have sailed these seas," The Doctor took his eyes off of me, "Of course you would have no idea." He spoke more to himself than to me.

I did not trust The Doctor. He was unstable. His machines had a haphazard chaos in their construction and I would not have been surprised if every thing in that laboratory were to come crashing down and I buried beneath it all.

"I have upset you," I admitted, "I think it would be best for me to leave."

He moved closer to the stairs that led back up to the temple, "Nonsense," he croaked, "It has been long since I had company, tell me what are you looking for," His lips spread into a crooked smile. He looked predatory, "Surely you must have an idea of what it is you are looking for?"

"I will know it when I see it," said I.

"Well," he began, "what about the why, child? Why have you been searching? have you lost something."

I heard a man and woman laughing together somewhere in the back of my head. old memories, that should remain buried have a way of tearing at the mind, causing doubt. "NO!" I was afraid of losing composure, "No, there is just something I must find."

Again he laughed, “You have run too far child, and you have found something indeed,” his hands waved in grand gestures, “But on this island you have not found false charity and empty encouragements.”

The Doctor prowled around me as if ready to pounce. The old man was speaking gibberish. Gibberish and nothing more. I took a step back and found my way blocked by one of the experiment tables.

“But I wonder, traveler, if you knew the truth would you bother,” I felt his cold breath on my shirt, "Would you bother to go back, or will you keep running," My hand fumbled across the table.

“Do you even know what you are running from?” The doctor stared at me with wide, insane eyes. My hand found found something hard.

...”Thank you again for joining us tonight viewers, for those who don’t know we are here With Dr. Eli Lucious from the University of Chicago, discussing the relevance of Catholicism in modern America. Now Doctor before our break you mentioned that the idea of the seven deadly sins is difficult for many Americans to understand, Please explain”

“Certainly, Diane. One reason that Americans have such a hard time understanding the concept is because the culture has internalized a sort of false courtesy where it is more acceptable to overlook something that could be considered destructive to a person rather than risk offending someone by telling them that you disagree with their action. Beyond this, the fact that Christianity openly calls these acts sins drive many non-christians to ignore any possible wisdom found within the philosophy. Many people have their problems the christianity, and therefore discount much of the deeper wisdoms that can be found among the dogmas.”

“That’s very interesting Doctor, could you please explain how these concepts still apply today?”

“Well, take Sloth, for example. By current popular understanding, you’ll see this in movies and television, Sloth is a sin of laziness. Though this concept is incorrect and it is poorly received by our culture. In actuality the traditional understanding of sloth, as a sin, was that it was the sin of sadness.”

“Sadness, Doctor? Sadness was a sin?”

“When sadness is internalized, absolutely yes. I mean we aren’t simply speaking of being sad because something bad has happened, but rather a refusal to love the wonder of God’s world. It is something that is often triggered by the refusal to deal with hardships and tragedy. The sinner is one who escapes, because of unhappiness, into other vices. It’s the idea of making little of yourself, because of one’s unwillingness to love the world and take control of one’s life. In Dante, in the Purgatorio, illustrated that the punishment for sloth was to always run...”

The room blurred in and out of focus as Margery woke up. She had been startled by the sound of the cable going out, leaving only static on the TV. She reached for the remote on the night-stand but couldn’t find it. Doesn't matter, she thought, they’ll probably cut the electricity in a few days anyway.

The sun was starting to come up outside and she could see the frame with Jonathan’s picture still broken in half in the corner of the room. There was a dent in the wall where the frame impacted. Her hand was bleeding. She felt around the pillow and found a small shard of glass. From when she originally broke the picture frame, she thought, before she threw it.

Margery hated september. Go to the interview, she told him. You’ll do great, how can we afford to live in New York City if you don’t get a better job. She remembered most of all asking him, what was the worst thing that could happen. They'll tell you no, she remembered saying, at least they'll know who you are John honey. She waited for him at a restaurant a mile away from the trade center.

The the rumbling reached the Restaurant before the cloud did.

Margery shook the memory from her head. September was always the worst. she always needed a little extra in September.

Margery reached under her pillow and grabbed another two pills, she used to keep them on the night stand with the water, but they always seemed to fall off somewhere.

Her throat was dry, and the barbs hurt going down. She drank some water. The last thing she heard was the static of the TV. Who cares, she thought, soon she would be somewhere else, maybe someone else. The TV static would be gone soon.

I awoke in my boat just outside of the Island’s circle of mountains, a strange and distant buzzing, a static, filled my ears. My hands where feeling the clean pure water again. As I became more alert the buzzing receded. To this day I cannot remember what happened to The Doctor, or what he had done to me before sending me on my way. As I sailed away I watched the island, and all of it’s mountains, sink back into the sea.

I can’t fathom how many years it’s been since I left that dark place, and I have never seen the Doctor since, for which I am thankful. Even as I write this the memories fill me with a fear that I cannot understand. Nothing good can come of lingering though. I still search the world, and I feel no closer to my goal, but I will not be deterred. someday I will find what I seek. And though the Doctor’s last words may frighten me, I have faith that what I am on the right path, and no madman will shake that faith.

But for now my hand hurts, so I will end my memoir for the time and lose myself in this sea. that is so like a dream to me. I noted a small spider building it's web in a corner of the boat