This Town, Frank Sinatra

My day always starts at Fisherman’s Terminal, where the local catches are offloaded. Salmon, oysters, sturgeon, halibut, the smells are there even before the sun has even thought about creeping out from behind the Cascades. When the sun begins to come up, I jet over to Laurelhurst. The best view to see the red, the yellow, and the brilliant orange interspersed between the thick grey clouds. Glancing down to my right, I noticed the daily traffic on the floating bridge was already gridlocked. They were the workers, the lifeblood of This Town. My Town.

By noon, a homeless man had yet to have his stare met by someone at least bold enough to look him in the eye and say, ‘I’m sorry, I’m not giving you anything.’ Then an SPD officer drew on a drug addict and a teenager tagged a bus station. Why do they hurt me? Why are they so malicious in This Town.

The sun was setting over Puget Sound, when it sank behind the Olympics, the shadow left the mountain range completely dark giving it a two dimensional appearance. The whores were out on Aurora, and Pioneer Square was filling up with the homeless looking for a “comfy” wooden bench to spend the night, hopefully it wouldn’t rain. What can I do? I need to leave This Town.

Workshop 5

Jens Vorkefeld
Creative Writing
Workshop 5


The Perfect World

My life has always been miserable. In my childhood the other kids of our neighborhood were mocking me since I wasn`t good and athletic enough to play with them. It was not that I was fat, I was actually very thin and considered myself good looking, I just could not do what they did. In High School I was that person who stood alone in a dark corner admiring the other kids for their perfect life and their good grades. My mother was always hoping that I would be the first person of our entire family that would go to college, but this dream never became true. I am 24 now, live in a small and shitty apartment right under our local train station and work as a waitress in a small restaurant right at a highway.
One day – I could not believe my eyes – a famous rockstar and his crew walked through the door of our restaurant. I was lost in his eyes, his perfect blue eyes and all the greatness they were expressing. Before he left, he came to me and gave me a little letter. Then he was gone, and all I could think of was the way he looked at me. Never before in my life a person looked at me in this beautiful way. I opened the letter:
Cutie,
You are way too beautiful to work in such a restaurant and to be treated the way you are. You deserve better. Come to my house tomorrow night at 8. It`s at 124 Lincoln Street.
I` ll be waiting for you. You can have whatever you like.
Wear something pretty,
T.
I could not believe my eyes when reading the letter. Did he really invite me to his house? Why would he want to meet me? Meet such a miserable person although he could have every girl in the world.
Whatever, the next night I was standing in front of his door, wearing the most beautiful dress I could find in our local shopping mall. I spent more money than I make in two month, only to be able to buy that dress. I rang and he opened. We were looking at each other and all doubts I had before were gone. A few days later I had the perfect life I was always dreaming of. T. was the echo of my soul, the person I was always looking for, the person who fully understands me and knows what I am thinking of only by looking at me.
`Baby, you can have whatever you like.` This is what he said to me every day and I experienced a perfect happiness I could have never even thought of before.
My life was perfect, he was perfect, us together were perfect!
Somebody hit me against my shoulder. `I am not paying you for standing around, regretting your shitty life!` I woke up and I was back in the restaurant behind the counter. I felt something in my hand and looked down. T. was gone and all I held in my hands was a five dollar bill…no letter, just a five dollar bill and nothing more. This was when I realized that I had just been day-dreaming.
My perfect life, gone…

John mayer--Stop this train

Thirty-five year old Kenton Moorhead hated his life. He was a mindless robot that said nothing, thought nothing, and only made creaking noises when he moved his rusty joints. He lived through his miserable existence everyday. However, Kenton was not always like this. In fact, he only adopted this dark outtake on existence very recently. You see, Kenton never wanted to grow up. He belonged at home with his loving mother and father, playing video games, shooting squirrels, and smearing mud in his dusty-blond hair. Kenton never wanted to grow up, but he had to; he was aging and would never be a child ever again.

This horrible realization of eternal unhappiness and crinkly, liver-spotted skin hit Kenton after he graduated from college. He was on his own. He needed a job; no more fun, no more mom, no more happy. Kenton soon found himself a job at U.S. Bank, and, after a couple of long years, he was the CEO for said company. He tried to use his money to buy himself back his childhood happiness; Cars, houses, cricket sets, servants, mistresses, and excessive amounts of gum balls were purchased, but none of them filled the empty hole in Kenton’s heart. Kenton sought counseling form his father and asked him if he could move back into his old, attic bedroom. His father rejected his plea and told him to keep moving along. And that’s what Kenton did and still is doing, and he still is unhappy. His hole will never be filled, his dreams will always be broken, his childhood is long in the past.

Finding This

For every stoplight I didn’t make. Every chance that I did or didn’t take. All the nights I went too far. All the girls that broke my heart. All the doors that I had to close. All the things I knew that but didn’t know. Thank God for all I missed. Cause it led me here to this. – Darius Rucker, This (2010)

He met her at a coffee shop. She seemed to be the perfect one. They started talking nonstop and they wanted nothing more than to spend every second together. Things seemed perfect. Their relationship grew. They lived together. They ate together. They did everything together, but they were no longer together. They no longer felt the need, the desire, and the passion to spend every moment together. Instead they did it because it was what they knew. It was the life that they had made. It was who he thought they should be who he thought he was.

Unhappy, heartbroken, afraid and feeling helpless. They sat at the restaurant. A drink in his hand to give him the courage that he otherwise felt he might be lacking. Was this the right decision? He wasn’t sure. He wanted to be, but he wasn’t. Tears poured down his face as they slowly streamed down hers as well. It had finally come to an end. He was the one pulling the plug on them, on their life, on any chance for their future.

Time. Time heals all, time makes it better. He kept wondering if that was true. He kept telling himself that it must be true. All he wanted was for her to be happy, for him to be happy. It had been days. The days had turned to months, and the months into years. He had moved on. He had grown up. He had met someone else. She treated him well. He felt it was time to start a new beginning.

That beginning turned into a future. That future turned into his life. All of the doubt that he had had, all of the pain he had to face had led him here. Led him to this. Through all the uncertainty and choices he had made it here. No regrets. He had found happiness. Through all the pain, the tough decisions, the uncertainties and unexpected factors of life he had found it. He had finally found it. This. He never imagined he would. He remembered times when it was dark. When he felt like he was drowning. But now this. This happiness. This life. This future. He was now able to live. Live in the moment. Cherish life. Cherish what he had. Cherish this.

Story 5

href="file://localhost/Users/lorenzosanchez/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/msoclip/0/clip_filelist.xml">

Lorenzo

After a long day at work, I was relieved to finally go home and get some rest. But as I arrived, I found that they decided to throw a party tonight. I knew that I wasn’t going to get any rest tonight so might as well join in the party. I hopped in the shower and quickly got dressed.

I came out to the living room to join in on the festivities. Music was blasting and people were dancing. The air was filled with smoke, the floor had empty beer bottles, and the counters were covered with the remains of white powder.

“Hey try some of this.” Said a friend, well if you can call him a friend, as he sat next to me and pulled some snow-white powder from his wallet.

“Na na I’m good.”

“C’mon it’s free, and it’ll make you feel good.”

It’s free?!? It’s free?!? Where does he think I’m from? Shit I know how this game works: first you give them a hit for free, which is enough to get them hooked, and then you sell it to them.

“Na man that’s what’s wrong with our community.”

A few days later I asked one of the homies if I could get a ride back to my mom’s house. He said that he could take me so I got ready to head out. When we were on route he then informed me that we needed to make a quick stop, and to not worry it was on the way. The next thing I knew, there was a gun by my waist side and about thirty pounds of weed and coke in the trunk. We were on our way to a big deal and I was there for security reasons.

I had never made so much money so fast in my life! $500 for an hour’s worth of work. I just had to ride in a car and stand there with a gun by my waist, ready to shoot in case someone got greedy.

With this I can take my mom out to eat.

Cat Chengery Assignment 5

Catherine Chengery
Assignment 5
10/24/2010

The Sun King
We were all a little reluctant at first. I took another shot. Some of us were drinking, some of us were smoking, some of us were doing both, some of us were doing neither: that much must be understood to begin. The varying degrees of drug induced consciousness had virtually no impact on what happened. The spirit was there nonetheless. The clock was approaching the moment we had been anticipating. When it was time, 10:30 to be exact, one of the members displayed the large analog digets on her I-phone to us all. It begun.
At first I wanted to die. An hour of silence would surely kill me. The first battle was establishing the rules. Within 1 minute it became extremely difficult not to laugh. Everything became a comedic routine that we were exclusively invited to. Five minutes in it was clear that non-verbal noises were acceptable. We began to communicate with no words; telling stories with our bodies. The laughter permeated each of us, and within ten minutes we had each given in completely.
In retrospect it was a dream; in reality it was an awakening. The group became one body with multiple parts. One movement informed another. One emotion sparked a series of reactions. We were living purely off of one another spirits. There were seven of us- a magical number indeed. The Sun King was upon us. His light grew and blossomed as the hour progressed, and eventually the light shot out from the windows of the room like beams of fire. The power of the Sun King allowed us to transcend into multiple circles of concentration. We played like children, dancing and laughing.
The plague of reality fell upon us in perfect time- one hour. The post high from what had happened was overwhelming- and we began to cry. None of us had ever felt so clean and powerful.

Stakeout.

It's Friday night and I am home alone, laying on my bed staring at my ceiling and listening to the ticking of the clock hanging on my wall. Sally invited me out tonight, a whole group of people are going to a movie and then the bowling alley, it's like high date night all over again. She thought it would be good for me to get out of my apartment and go out, but it was an awful idea; so when she called me at 2:00 this afternoon I told her I was sick and couldn't go out. It wasn't a complete lie. I do feel sick, but it has nothing to do with my health. As Grandpa Joe would say, "I'm as healthy as a horse," but I feel awful anyway. My head is spinning, my heart aches, it hurts to breathe, my nose is sore, my eyes burn from too much crying, and the ache in the pit of my stomach is worse than any stomach flu I've ever had. So essence, I'm sick.

Looking back on my relationship with Matt I realize now that I should have seen it coming. I should have known he would cheat on me; it's just who he is. The hardest part of the ordeal was listening to him beg me to forgive him. He swore up and down that he knows he should have said no, but he was drunk and he wasn't thinking about it. The entire time I just sat there and remembered all the small and significant markers of our year long relationship that no long mattered--the songs, the flowers, the hugs, the plans. It had all been one big, extended lie...and I had been dumb enough to believe it. Actually, I lied. The worst part is that even though he was the one that screwed up, I'm the one laying on my bed, feeling miserable, on a Friday night two weeks after our break up.

With a new determination not to let him win I convince myself to get out of bed. In the shower I mentally run through all of my friends and whether or not they might be available to do something at 9:00 on a Friday night. I'm sure that I could still meet up with Sally and her group for bowling, but I decide that I would rather enjoy myself. By the time I finish my shower I've decided to call Michelle. She's my best friend, and regardless of previous plans, she'll be there for me. I call her and her phone rings once, it rings twice, it rings three times. Michelle finally answers on the fourth ring and she sounds a little out of breath, "What do you want? You mope around for 2 weeks and I hardly hear from you. And now, when I have a super hot date, you finally decide to come out of your coma and call me." I laugh, "Bull. You just left your phone in the kitchen and you had to get off your couch and run to answer it. You're not doing anything other than watching TV." She mumbles something about how I am lucky to have a friend like her and I tell her she has 20 minutes to get ready and I'll be at her house.

On the drive to her house I try to decide what I want to do, and realize that while I wanted out of my apartment I had zero plans on which to act. Michelle is just as void of ideas as I am so it doesn't take long to decide on girls night in with our two favorite men, Ben and Jerry. Unfortunately, the trip to the grocery store takes us right past Matt's house. Unable to help myself I slam on my breaks and jerk the car to the side of the road when I notice a shiny little Volvo parked in his driveway. I recognize that car, it's her car... Michelle thinks it's an awful idea as I quietly slip out of the car and creep towards the driveway. I can hear her whisper shouting at me to leave it alone and get back in the car. But I have to check, I have to see if he is with her. I slip silently up the driveway and peek in the front window, it's dark and I don't see anyone. I turn to head to the next window and almost scream when I bump directly into Michelle who had gotten out of the car and snuck up to the window. She continues to demand that I return to the car so that we can leave, but nonetheless she follows me from window to window as I search for my ex and his new squeeze in the house. After making a trip all the way around the house and failing to see anyone inside I realize that his truck in not in garage, they aren't h0me.

Michelle and I rushed back to my car and we rushed to the King Soopers a few blocks away. Inside we dash up and down aisles chucking the necessities into the cart as we arm ourselves to the stakeout. It is at this point that I would like to point out that while snooping around the house had been solely my idea, the stakeout is Michelle's. We tote bags filled with ice cream, black face paint, chips, and soda back to the car. In the parking lot of the King Soopers Michelle and I take turns painting our faces with "war paint" before making our way back to his house.

We spend the next 2 hours parked in the shadows eating junk food and having a great time, for a little while I even forgot that we were there stalking my ex. The truck turned onto the street and the headlights flooded the area with brightness as the truck moved closer and closer to the house we were staking. As they drove by Michelle and I sunk low in the seats and pretended to be invisible. From my sunken position I couldn't see much, but I assumed that as the truck passed that Matt was in the diver's seat, he never let anyone drive his truck. In the year that I had been with Matt he had never once let me drive his truck; I was shocked as I watched her long legs slide out of the drivers seat as Matt climbed out of the passenger side door. Unable to hold in my anger I spun towards Michelle blurting out incoherent words about how that slut had gotten to drive the truck and I never had. Stewing in anger I turned on my car and screeched out of the neighborhood as the couple made their way into the house. I'd seen enough. I was over him. As I drove blindly back towards Michelle's house I realized that he was just another picture to burn.

Workshop 5

Jessica Shaw

Creative Writing #5

10/20/2010

Brushfire Fairytales

I am wondering down the street in the middle of the night. I am still not exactly sure why, all I know is when I was sitting in my room, alone, on a Friday night, something hit me and I knew I had to get out. So I did, I left, and now I am here. In the middle of a road with just the lampposts shinning on me, judging me. Probably questioning the same things I am, why I am I here, alone? As I stand under the commentating light, I decide that I am here because I am tired of trying. Tired of trying to be someone or something I am not.

I think I have completely lost my ability to think clearly. I may have drunk too much of that bottle of lies. I may have smoked so much that it messed with my mind. Nothing is making sense anymore. Why do we continuously try being who we aren’t? I just want to be me, and if I knew who that was I would be that. I have lost track of myself the way I lost track of the time. I head home, no sense in trying to clear my head with air that seems to be contaminated by the lies and make believe world.

Looking in the mirror I realized I don’t look like him at all. I continually think about him how he is not loved at all. When he is not drunk he is always stuck on himself. But that seems to be how everyone is, and alcohol doesn’t even fix it for some people. I pace around my room deciding what my next move is going to be. Then a picture caught my eye. I glanced without really looking close, just know what the picture was of, my graduation. The memory made me smile so I go back to the picture to take a closer look. I pick it up, it is not me it is him. But it is me; I remember that moment in time exactly. It is me or was me. At this point I don’t even know anymore.

When I said I lost who I was, I did not notice at what extent. I am the man I hate the man I thought I was nothing like. I looked back in the mirror, no longer knowing what or who was real. I leave lighting the whole place on fire, everything would be gone, not I could change. In a time where nothing makes sense, you have to realize you aren’t the only one afraid of change.

James the Hamster---Sorry this is late; i thought the site was hacked

There once was a hamster named James. He lived a miserable life inside a cage, inside a 13 by 10 foot room, inside an un-air-conditioned dorm, inside a small suburb inside the southern part of Denver. His cage was rarely cleaned; He slept in his own pellet shit, ate rotting crumbs of bread, drank his own piss, and attempted to walk on his long-broken hamster wheel. One day, when James’s owner, Joe, had left the room, James executed a meticulously planned escape and disappeared into the Colorado night. When Joe returned from classes that day, he noticed James was not in his cage and entered a state of panic. On the verge of tears, Joe phoned his friend, Stephen, and explained the situation. Together, they searched for James in trashcans, toilets, beds, clothes hampers, drinking fountains, and even dorm food, but they didn’t find James. Thirty days after the abused fur ball disappeared, Joe and Stephen deemed him dead; they held a funeral three days later in Oakwood Cemetery. Stephen even made a miniature gravestone out of bar of Dove soap. The caption read: “Here lies the lost spirit of a dear friend. May his soul find everlasting peace in hamster heaven.”

A couple weeks passed, and Joe and Stephen were playing NHL 11 when Stephen saw something scurry across the floor. Joe saw this same figure running about the room; it stopped dead in its tracks. The mysterious blob was James. He was standing on his two hind legs and was holding a tazer the size of his rodent being in his paws. Joe bent down to greet his long lost pet and stuck out his hand to stroke James’s fur. Bad idea. James tazed Joe in the eye, disintegrating his rodent abusing brain in the process. Next, James pursued the screaming Stephen. He stretched out his tazer-weilding paws and electrocuted poor Stephan’s right foot. Stephen’s unconscious body lost balance and fell upon the tazer-weiling fur ball with a crunch and an explosion that resembled a tomato hitting a brick wall. No more James.

Re writing in the psycho style

Joseph Parker
Intro to Creative Writing
Roxanne Carter
Story
Bone creaked and sinew tore as he gripped harder and tighter his arm tearing away at the socket. He groaned as he twisted and contorted trying harder to steady himself, trying harder to hold on. The flames danced higher around the building creating a giant furnace. He felt sweat tear down his brow and fire lick his body. His left hand burned as he clung to the window ledge the heat searing through him like a flaming current. He felt the costume peel away from his body and felt the glove slip from his hand. He stared towards her through the slits in his mask and his heart felt the despair her face bore. Her blonde hair billowed out into the night sky and her white dress hung around her like a torn parachute. Her blue eyes gazed up towards him dazed and helpless as he trembled outstretched between her and the building. With every passing second she inched further through the palm of his hand and a shared fear gripped them both. It was in this moment that he found the last of his waning strength. He heaved the girl upwards towards the open window his hand falling away from the ledge as he dragged her back towards the building. And still those blue eyes stared dazed and helpless but now he was tumbling away. A torn mask, a ripped costume, soot covered boots and a blackened cape; a fallen hero tumbling into the smoke.
Stunned into action the girl sprinted through the crumbling house chased by red flame. She hurled down a creaking staircase and onwards towards the door. She fell helpless into the alley greeted by the eager arms of the waiting crowd and as sirens wailed and help rushed to her side she saw a crumpled figure lying alone besides a flaming building.
Her eyes flicked open wincing against the bright hospital lights. She scoured the room for a familiar face, for the flicker of a smile. It was all but empty, just a rag tag collection of machinery and tubes. It seemed very cold and she was sure there should have been a nurse nearby. Her eyes searched the room one more time, and fell across a solitary newspaper. The headline stood boldly upon the front page, “City mourns its dead savior”. It was a sickening thought, the hero was dead and it was all her fault; she had been his final quest. She checked out of the hospital later that day to glowering looks and an air of bitter resentment. There were no, ‘get well cards’ waiting at her apartment just decaying plants and dusty counter tops. She walked towards the window and for a split second she saw a shimmering figure staring back at her.
The stranger moved quietly towards the apartment entrance way. He swayed a little as he reached for the buzzer. He was swiftly greeted by a nervous voice, “Yes”. He stuttered nervously, “Cyn…Cynthia Cain”. “Yes…who is there”. The anger came flooding back to him; he remembered reading the headline that murky morning, remembered scouring the newspaper for the party responsible, remembered staring teary eyes at the posters that adorned his world. “Wait right there” and with that he plummeted through the apartment doors tearing towards her room his hands clenched into fists, his heart racing. He plowed through the door sending shards of wood bouncing across the floor. He tore towards her bellowing at the top of his lungs, “I loved him”. And Cynthia stood frozen as he came to crashing towards her his t shirt stretched tightly across his gut, and she thought for a second that she saw a signature, a t shirt signed by his hero. He lunged towards her sending them plummeting towards the window and again she was falling but this time there was no hand to grasp hers. And as she drifted towards the earth she thought wistfully of the hero who was both her savior and her demise.

Workshop 4

Jens Vorkefeld
Creative Writing
Workshop 4

I love the rockband „O2“. Since I was a young child I always enjoyed their music. No night went by that I didn’t listen to their music right before I went to bed. I think I wouldn’t even have been able to sleep without listening to their music. Now is my chance to see them live…not once, not twice, not three or four times, NO, 6 times!
I can`t believe I my mom`s new husband got me tickets for O2`s Europe tour. Paris, Rom, London, Berlin, Madrid and Prague. Omg, I am so excited.
I hope my dad doesn’t make any trouble. He used to be a policeman and therefore is always very suspicious concerning those things. He loves me, so I am sure he wont say anything. He can`t! He knows I always loved O2, so why would he forbid me to go?!
Yes, I got my dad`s permission. He wasn’t happy with the idea of following a rockband through Europe but he finally gave in. I just needed to promise him to call twice a day and to call him when we landed in Paris and when we got to our Hotel.
I love my daughter but she is so careless. She doesn’t know how dangerous the world can be and now she is going to Europe. Why did I give my permission? This is suicide, so many things could happen to her.
…
Why is she not calling? I checked her flight online and it clearly said that the plane already landed hours ago. I told her to call me immediately after they landed.
Omg, did the Hotel guy really just tell me that she hasn`t checked in yet?! The Hotel is right next to the airport, she must already be there. Why hasn`t she called yet? Maybe her phone is broken but no, she just got it a week ago as a birthday present. It can`t be broken that fast. Something must have happened to her. I knew it, how could I be so blind and think nothing would happen to her. I should know better!
My beautiful daughter, what happened to you? I will find you, I promise. Whoever did this to you can`t hide from me. I will find and kill you for what you did to my daughter. I need a plane, right now. Time is running out…

The Girl at the Door- Assignment 4

Kiah Westendorp-Holland

Writing Assignment 4

The Girl at the Door

And there I stood; the building was in ruin, fire was surrounding me, I barely made it out in time. I am only ten years old but have been through more than any 40 year old has. I’m not a killer; not really, it’s not in my personality. But if someone had killed your entire family, wouldn’t you want to kill them too? What kind of person leaves a ten-year-old girl with no family? They would have killed me too, luckily was out getting ice cream when they invaded my house, shooting my parents and my siblings. My parents were not much of parents at all, but my little brother, he didn’t deserve to die. He didn’t. I had to get revenge. With the help of a dear friend I learned how to shoot guns, I learned skills I would need to face those evil villains. I never the chance to do it, I would have if I had had the chance. I would have. Thanks to my friend, all of the men involved in the death of my family were dead, but it was a suicide mission. He is dead to. I really miss him; he was my only friend. After the nice man died, saving my life, I had nowhere to go. And that’s why I am here, I was hoping you could help me. God has to accept everyone, right?

I woke up this morning and immediately knew what kind of day it would be. My alarm went off, I thought I had pressed snooze but I guess in all my sleepiness, my finger slipped. I ended up sleeping in way too late and missed my interview. I have a job as a receptionist at a very catholic school in the city. Living most of my adult life in the nunnery, I was very close to God. I decided to leave because I felt I had “bigger and better things to do.” Yeah right. Working as a receptionist is not what I had in mind. I am still young, 42, and am not married. Being hidden away from men for almost 20 years made that dream nearly impossible. I wish I had stayed, nothing interesting happens here anyway.

I spent my morning as every morning, only about three hours later, and got my donuts and coffee, which I managed to pour all over my skirt. Because I was late, I had no time to change; I had to get to work. Being late here at the school is something that is very frowned upon, not just for the students, but for the adults as well. Sister Anne, the head mistress, decided to punish me by making me stay late sorting through paperwork. I can’t believe I have to stay here, this place kind of creeps me out anyway. Why can’t anything go right? After so many years in the nunnery, I may be losing my faith in God. I am sad, lonely, and have no friends. If something interesting doesn’t happen soon, I may just kill myself. Seriously.

After a couple hours of paperwork, I grew very bored. I knew I had to stay longer but I just didn’t want to. What are they going to do? Fire me? I am completely fine with that. I started to gather my bags when I heard a knock at the door. It was a little girl, sad looking but still obviously filled with confidence. I decided to let her in. This should be interesting.

Untitled -Workshop 4

The second one, it was like we was both back in older times and I was on horseback goin’ through the mountains of a night, goin’ through this pass in the mountains. It was cold and snowin’, hard ridin’. Hard country. He rode past me and kept on goin’. Never said nothin’ goin’ by. He just rode on past and he had his blanket wrapped around him and his head down, and when he rode past I seen he was carryin’ fire in a horn the way people used to do and I could see the horn from the light inside of it, about the color of the moon. And in the dream I knew that he was goin’ on ahead and that he was fixin’ to make a fire somewhere out there in all that dark and all that cold, and I knew that whenever I got there he would be there. Then I woke up.

-No Country for Old Men

That was my dream. My iPhone hadn’t even started going off, yet somehow I had woken up. How strange, Kate says I sleep like a hibernating polar bear that had been chloroformed. I flipped on Mr. Coffee, and went to start the shower. I paused with my hand on the faucet. Shaking my head, I tried to make sense out of that dream. I hadn’t thought of, or seen my father in years. He was as distant to Kate and I as he could be. An icy sensation prickled my leg hairs until they stood straight up, running up my body until I had goose bumps on my arms. Stepping into the scalding shower, I put aside thoughts of my father and began thinking about the most important presentation of my life.

Today was The Day. I was presenting a new corporate strategy to the board. I had spent the last year creating, revising and testing phases of this new strategy. It represented a sizeable investment on the company’s behalf, mostly in me. Today I had to prove that I actually did something to earn their money. I kept going through the presentation in my head, but every time I got to a critical point, my father’s face, lit only by fire, interrupted my thoughts. Why couldn’t I focus? I couldn’t even finish tying my tie; Kate had to help me. How sweet she is. Why did I have this feeling that it was real, what I saw had actually happened. I mean it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility, my dad lived in bumfuck-nowhere north Texas. He had a couple of horses, but why did I—

My face stung from where Kate had slapped me, ain’t she sweet? She told me I needed to concentrate and not go all glassy-eyed. I’ll be damned if I let her down. Finally, I slipped on my Omega, grabbed my iPad, gave Kate a quick peck on the cheek and headed to meet my (bread)maker.

They were staring at me, my presentation was over and their poker faces didn’t give me any hints. What was I doing here? Why did I care about their friggin’ corporate strategy? Was it going to solve any of the problems in the world? Hell no, it was a shitty company, and a shitty concept. I had just wasted a year of my life, servin’ these buffoons. Without another word I stood up, and got the hell outta there.

My flight to Dallas was only a couple of hours, but that gave me plenty of time to download a map and GPS app on my phone for the area around pa’s ranch. I remember from the dream he was up in the mountains, but I had no idear where. I figured, shoot, maybe he was just sittin’ at home with his damn dogs. He’d prolly just shoot me before I even got to the doorstep. But I knew that was wrong. That dream had happened.

The ranch house had been empty, the dogs was gone, but one of the nags was still in the stable. I saddled her up and rode east towards the mountains. My phone givin’ me a map of the area. ‘Bout a mile from the first rock crag the phone just flickered and died. Couldn’t tell if it were outta battery or somethin’ just blew it out. I threw it away and kept goin’. The sun started to go down behind me, the last rays were bahtin’ ‘tween the lumpy summits of the range. No hesitation at the first fork, left was the way; it was lighter. I looked at the watch, but the hands had frozen. I tossed it away and kept the nag walkin’. The first flakes of snow brought goose bumps to my bare arms, and the nag walked on.

The blizzard was hollerin’, I couldn’t see but ten feet in front of me. I still followed that light, left, right, left, left, right. I loosened up my tie and tossed it to the ground, useless piece of shit. Looking down at where I had tossed the tie, I noticed pa’s blanket. Looking back up I was in a clearin’. Peak to my left, peak to my right but in the center of this little valley was the light. The horn and the fire. My pa.

King of the Jungle

Lorenzo

Adofo was getting tired of Bobo always pushing everyone around. Sure, Bobo might be the alpha male, but Adofo didn’t think that it gave him the right to do whatever he wanted. Bobo goes around telling everyone what to do, he always gets the best food and eats first, and he gets all the females! Adofo was a nice guy and everyone liked him; he wondered why he couldn’t be leader of the group? After all, Bobo is a bit of a jerk, but he can be because he is the biggest and strongest of the gorillas. Adofo thought, one day someone is going to kick his ass!

One day, Bobo was down by the water getting a drink, and Adofo decided to follow him. Adofo thought, this is my chance! If I can just sneak up on him… Adofo began dashing head first towards Bobo, and right as Adofo was about to shove him into the lake, Bobo realized what was happening and quickly turned around. Bobo bared his fangs as he prepared himself for Adofo’s attack. Bobo then used Adofo’s own momentum against him and was able to roll with Adofo on top of him and then eventually throw him into the water.

A few days had passed and everyone was wondering where Adofo was. No one had seen or heard from him in days. They were about to migrate to a new eating ground, but Kibibi and Mkali, Adofo’s girlfriend and brother, did not want to leave him behind. They decided to organize a search party before they departed, but they found nothing. They thought, perhaps he was gunned down by poachers or captured to be exhibited at a zoo. Kibibi and Mkali noticed that everyone was worried, everyone except for Bobo…