Ch.18 Passing Old Man Torance

It was an old city but not ancient. It's high, sturdy walls were scorched and pitted from past wars and feuds. The residents had contemplated tearing the walls down. They didn't need them. There was peace now. But they served now as a reminder of a destructive, even violent, past and a hope for a brighter future and better days to come. 

Oddly enough, the city smelled of burnt toast. Old man Torance loved that smell and he would sit on his front porch in his wooden rocking chair and breathe in that scent and sigh and say, "What a strange life this has become."

Everyday, Torance would watch as people came and left through the city's iron gate. Some of them were awed by the sight of the city's gate. Others were excited to see the operas that made this city so famous. Still others slouched through the gate with not a penny to their name. And they came here in hopes of a better life. 

But today, Torance was intrigued by the couple that now walked through the gates. They were Exhausted and dirty but obviously they had someplace very important to go. One of them had been here before, he was sure. She held her head high and boldly walked through the gate. She walked briskly despite her exhausted condition. Her keen eyes were wide and alert. Briefly her gaze fell on Torance, but her gaze didn't rest on him for very long. 

Her friend, however, was not so confident. He was exhausted and sickly pale with large bags under his eyes. And he struggled to keep up with her. Their long journey had taken it's toll on him. Torance felt a brief pang of sadness for them.

He shook his head. Yes, he had seen her before. It had been two years since she was last here. His sadness deepened and he knew that the peace he felt here would not last long. 

He took a deep breath allowing the familiar smell of burnt toast to comfort him. He sighed and whispered under his breath,

"What a strange life this has become"...

Ch.17 Fool Caught in the Storm

It is said that the most peaceful time of the day is just before dawn. It is a time when the world still lays beneath a blanket of fading stars. The sky is still dark. The earth remains quiet. It is a time of silence. And yet, the atmosphere is filled with anticipation. It is the calm before the storm. And in just a couple of hours the sun will rise with a hurricane of colors. And as another day begins, another day ends.

We can't speed up this process. We can't slow it down. There is nothing that we can do to change this cycle. It is one of the only things that humans can't change. Seasons come and seasons go, days come and days go, and time will always move on in a steady stream.

Time was something Adadora wished to have more of; something Wedge wished to get rid of and something Travis wished he could rewind. But time doesn't work like that. Once you've lost it, you can't get it back. Once you've got it, you can't ignore it. Once a moment is gone, it's gone forever.

The barn they were sleeping in was not abandoned. And the smell of horses filled Travis' nostrils. He wasn't sure if his new found companions were sleeping. But it didn't matter now. They had been running for so long and he was so tired. The thought of leaving once they fell asleep had crossed his mind. But the voice had filled his thoughts.

The black horse has arrived. 

Those words confused him. What did they mean? What is the 'black horse'?

He pulled Quinn's watch from his pocket and traced his fingers around the engraving of her name. Time had gone too fast for them. He remembered the last time they had seen each other. They had argued over something but he couldn't remember exactly what. They had argued, parted ways, and never saw each other again.

Adadora's voice came in the dark. She leaned in close to his ear and whispered.

"Are you asleep?"

He hesitated before responding sleepily, "Not anymore."

"Good. The black horse has arrived. I know those words mean nothing to you. But you must trust me, those words mean your life and mine. We must hurry."

"What about his life?"

Even in the dark, he could sense Adadora sneer and she hissed harshly, "If he stays here, he might survive the black horse. We must leave quickly."

"I need sleep."

"We don't have enough time."

She pulled him to his feet making as little noise as possible and they escaped into the rising sun. Dawn had finally come. The storm that had been brewing had now arrived.

Wedge smiled to himself. He opened one eye and watched them flee into the early morning sun.

"Fools." He muttered.

Ch.16 What do I do next?

It is a known fact among experts that the basal ganglia are a set of structures in the base of the forebrain. It remains difficult to understand what exactly these structures do, but it is believed that they play a key role in action selection. Action selection is the term used to describe the most basic problem that humans face: what do I do next?

Jumping out of the second story window had seemed like a good idea at the time. But now, as he lay on the ground wriggling his toes in hopes he didn’t break anything, he realized it wasn’t such a good idea after all.

Nothing was broken, as far as he could tell, but he hadn’t attempted to get up yet. At first, he just lay there breathing in and out and asking himself why he had jumped and what was he going to do now. He inclined his head toward the window where Adadora's shocked face appeared.

What do I do next? Travis wondered, but only breifly.

Travis pulled himself to his feet and ran. He ignored the commotion behind him. He didn't turn around to watch as both Adadora and Wedge landed gracefully from the same window. He could hear them shouting to him but he couldn't understand their words.

But than there was another voice behind him. Someone he didn't recognize. This voice of a stranger spoke words he didn't understand.

"The black horse has arrived." The voice echoed all around him.

He turned around, stumbled and kept running. But in that brief moment he realized that three people who, just seconds ago, were enemies, were momentarily allies.

Behind him bright lights flashed illuminating the road ahead, a voice cried out it's cryptic warning, and Adadora and Wedge were chasing after him. But they weren't chasing after him, they were escaping with him.

The black horse has arrived...

Ch.15 Mud and Water

Her mission had at least been simple, even if it was a tedious one. No one had even known that Quinn had a brother. No one had cared. It was Quinn who was special. It was she who was wanted and needed. The Mistress hand picked her. Who was this twin brother?

The Mistress gave Adadora this important mission. Find the twin brother. Deliver Quinn's message to him. And bring the twin brother to her. He would take Quinn's place. Maybe he was as special as Quinn.

But now, all that had changed once again. Once again, things had gone very wrong. He was here. He had returned and there wasn't anything she could do about it. With her watch still ticking backwards, she knew that time was running out.

Her eyes quickly scanned the room. Travis would be useless. He seemed to be overcome with shock as he leaned heavily against the window. Adadora would be alone in her fight.

"Addy" Wedge seemed pleased, "you always show up just when the circumstances get hot."

Leaning against the wall and crossing her arms, Adadora retorted coolly, "Things are definitely getting hot. What are you doing here?"

Wedge snorted. "Why do you think I'm here? Did you think that I would return to make peace with my past? Maybe you wanted me to return to the last place we met and you would be standing there waiting for me and I would admit to my mistakes and beg for mercy and you know how the story ends. Addy, you are so predictable."

It was Adadora's turn to scoff. "My name is Adadora. Did you really think I was pining away for you?"

Wedge seemed to take just a moment to consider this. Than he shrugged and lowered his gun.

"You spent a whole year hunting this man down. He was nearly invisible. It's as if he never existed. What does The Mistress want with him anyway? He can't be of any use to her. He doesn't know the difference between mud and water."

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"As a matter of fact I would."

"Too bad. Too bad. You will never know how special Travis really is."

"Oh, he's special all right. Didn't The Mistress at one time think I was special? I would hate to think that her standards have fallen so low."

"Yeah. Well, you got overconfident and..." Adadora left her sentence unfinished.

For it was at this moment that they both realized a stiff cold, night breeze had chilled the air and Travis was nowhere to be seen...

Is it a song? Or is it a poem? Or is it a bleeding heart?

Don't forget to take a moment

To shed a few tears.

We all need some time

To release our fears.

Never forget our humanity.

Never become so strong,

that we lose integrity.

This is way we are different.

This is what makes us unique.

Why do people think that it's a weakness?

Why can't they see the truth in life?

We all have emotional needs

What's wrong with showing

The things that we feel?

What makes us a man or not?

Is it the tears that fall?

Or the lack there of?

Sometimes our pain is so hard to bear

That we all need a moment

For our head to clear.

Even if your tears still fall,

It'll be alright

You'll have me to call.

Author's Note: This is for anyone who's ever lost someone. This is for those who realize it's good to cry and for those who need to learn how.

Ch.14 The Secret of Illumination

Her eyes seemed to casually scan the hallways, but in reality she was intent on finding him. She had to find him. She knew he was here, for hadn't she seen him? It had just been out of the corner of her eye. It had just been a fleeting glance, a reflection even, but he had been there. She had seen him.

Her mind wondered for a moment why he would even be here. Had he been searching for her? Was he even here for her or was he after something else? But in reality, it didn't matter why he was here.

She picked up her pace. He obviously wasn't in the hallways. She knew where he would be. She broke into a run. The people she passed jumped aside, some diving into open rooms and others flattened themselves against the wall allowing her plenty of room.

It was a heavy wooden door in the basement, where nobody would ever think to look. She stopped and stood before the door. It had been almost three years since she had been here. And she shivered as she thought of the last time. She had been here with him. They had stood before this door together and waited anxiously for The Mistress to permit their entry. But she now stood alone before this door. And The Mistress was no longer here.

A lot of things had changed. And everything started with that night that Wedge and Adadora stood here.

She pushed the door open and slowly walked down the stairs into the room below. It was a large room with a high ceiling. The mural that had been painted on every wall was now faded, dusty and indistinguishable. She pulled out her light and shined it about the room.

But there was nothing and there was no one to be seen. It was in this moment that she realized he hadn't wanted to find her. She raced back upstairs. She ran down the hallway and up the stairs and down the hallway and to the door at the end. She burst through that door.

"Wedge!"

Light from the hallway flooded into the room and illuminated two figures. One faced the window in shock and disbelief and the other held the gun...

Rain, rain go away

I don't mind the rain, really. I like to sit in my room with a nice cup of hot choco and watch the rain slide down my window. But why do that? What is the point of watching the rain? When you have something that you really really want to do, it has a tendency to get in the way.

Take, for example, today. I had plans for today. Nothing big. I was going to go out in service and I was going to work around 5ish. When I woke up this morning, it was raining. Oh well, I've gone out in service in the rain before. But this isn't just rain. It's torrential downpour. It's raining so hard that I can't even go to the mailbox without getting so wet that I need to hang my clothes up to dry. Does that seem fair to you?

So, what do I do instead? I sit at home and 'get things done'. This is also known as 'get as little done as possible in the longest amount of time as possible'. Thus, I'm here, at my computer blogging about how I had planned to go out in service and how i'm now stuck 'getting things done'. Do you get the picture?

Well, it's still raining. Sigh.

Ch.13 The Face at the Window

Wilton Read's Institution for the Criminally Insane was not exactly what Travis had expected. Of course as he walked into the seemingly abandoned building he didn't know what to expect; a skeletal figure of a dead nurse sitting behind a steel desk with cobwebs covering her bones and spiders residing in her ribs...maybe. But, whatever it was that he did expect, this institution did not fill it.

To his surprise, he was rather impressed by the cleanliness. Not a cobweb could be seen, not a single spider scurried across the floor and if there was a skeletal figure to be found, Travis could not see it.

What he did see went against all his logical reasoning. The building was not abandoned as he had previously thought. There were only a handful of people around him and passing him in the halls but there were people and Travis had to stop himself from staring as he passed them in the well lit corridors.

"Stop staring." Adadora grabbed his t-shirt and pulled him along. "We have a place at the end of the hall and if you would stop gaping at everybody we see, we might get there before the sun rises."

Travis did stop staring but he couldn't help but notice that everyone in the hallway stepped aside allowing them to pass. It was if Adadora was someone of utmost importance here and everyone else knew who she was. A few of them even saluted her.

They continued down the hall taking a left here and another left here and going up two flights of stairs and a left then a right and another right and before Travis knew it, he had no idea where he was or how to get back to the front door. He was completely and hopelessly lost.

"Are you lost yet?" Adadora stopped at a door at the end of the hall and turned around.

He did not want her to know, to see how helpless he really was. "No. I have a great sense of direction."

Adadora laughed. She wasn't fooled. "I think you are the worst liar I have ever met. To begin, you were literally grinding your teeth. And you twitched. Just faintly but I did not miss it." She unlocked the door and held it wide open. "I am going to leave you here for a moment. I have...some business to attend to. Never fear, I won't be long."

Once she closed the door, Travis found himself engulfed in darkness. There was little light to see by and Travis groped in the dark along the wall for a light switch or a lamp or something. But his search proved worthless. There wasn't enough light shining through the open window to be very helpful, but what little light there was revealed a face, a persons standing behind him. And Travis froze. It wasn't Adadora's face. It was a man's face.

"So...do you trust her? No, don't turn around. It'll be easier if you don't see me."

Travis remained where he was. He couldn't see specific features of the man's face but he had heard that voice before.

"What do you want with me?"

"I don't want you exactly. But you and I, we have a mutual friend. And she is keenly interested in you. And I do want to know why."

That was a question Travis had been asking all day. "If I knew, I wouldn't be here. And I don't think I'd want to tell you."

"Ok. That's all I wanted to know. Now the question still stands. Do you trust her? And the answer I want to hear is...no. Will you give me the correct answer?"

Travis clenched his fists. Trust wasn't something everyone threw around the table the way they threw around money. And he didn't trust anyone.

"I don't have any reason to trust you."

The face at the window shrugged. "Oh, well. At least I tried. That makes my job a little easier. You can call me Wedge."

Author's Note: For reference to Wedge read the chapter entitled "Wedged into Darkness"

Ch.12 It's Not Abandoned

Our minds are truly an amazing part of us. Our minds can process information faster than any super computer. We can see in such an array of color that not even the best artist can match the depth of color. One of the greatest abilities of our mind is our speech. We have the ability to speak and understand speech and some of us can speak multiple languages. And with this knowledge, we can be taught to read. Our minds can recognize words so quickly that even if a few letters are missing here and there, our minds can replace the letters and we can understand the what we are reading.

It Travis was correct, the half crumbled, half faded sign he was reading said, "Wilton Read's Institution for the Criminally Unstable."

The hospital was abandoned, or so it seemed to Travis. He felt threatened by the tall three story building with it's blackened exterior layered with years of neglected vines and it's crumbling stone walls.

Travis shuddered.

Adadora had carried him for miles before throwing him down here in front of an iron gate which silently guarded an abandoned mental institution. Something inside Travis snapped.

"What have I done to deserve this? Why are we here? Before a few days ago, I lived a nice comfortable quiet life! Now you are tying me to chairs! I'm being thrown out of windows! I'm being carried for miles and dumped in front of the gates to this...this...hell! Who do you think..."

Travis had exploded into a barrage of questions but Adadora silenced him with a flick of her wrist and a hand clapped firmly across his mouth. She dropped her voice to an urgent whisper.

"You will remain quiet. All questions will be answered...in time. For now, you need to follow me. You need to trust me. Your life depends on that."

Somewhere in the distance thunder rumbled and she pulled from nowhere Quinn's silver pocket watch and placed it into his now outstretched hand.

Travis wasn't done asking questions. He didn't trust Adadora completely. He didn't want to follow her into this hell. But for now, it was in his best to interest to do as she asked. So he settled for grumbling bitterly to himself as he followed her through the iron gate and into a dark, threatening mental hospital.

But out of the darkness came a voice. A new voice. A strange voice. The voice was only a whisper, his breath was warm and it tickled Travis' ear.

"Don't trust her."

Travis turned, but not quickly enough. The voice had vanished. For now....

Ch.11 Second Story Window

Everyone at one point or another must learn a very valuable lesson. This is not an easy lesson and sometimes we learn this lesson early. But sometimes it takes many years for this lesson to really take a hold on our lives. However, once this lesson is learned, it is never forgotten and we try to pass this lesson onto our children and grandchildren. There comes a time in our lives when we learn that we don't always get what we want.

Travis was learning this lesson as he stared at the menacing woman in the doorway. The woman with the scar on her left cheek. He did not want this woman here. But, as we know, we don't always get what we want in life.

"Adadora," the menacing woman in the doorway sneered, "we meet again."

Adadora, the auburn haired girl, couldn't help but grimace."Tessa, this meeting is as distressing as the last."

Tessa laughed. Travis thought it was a musical laugh. It was dark music. Music they played at funerals. Music that made you so depressed, you didn't want to live anymore.

The laugh vanished and her face turned cold. "Perhaps, it will be as deadly as well."

From behind Tessa came four men dressed all in black. The each carried a Katana. The blade glinted in the sunlight. Travis turned a pasty shade of white. The only weapon Adadora had was a knife. A simple basic black combat knife.

"Not today, Tessa."

Travis wasn't sure exactly what happened. But he was sure he was falling. He was vaguely aware that time had slowed down and he could see the shower of glass that fell with him. Their sharp edges also glinted in the sun and the picture of the katana came back to his mind. He had enough time to realize that his apartment was on the second floor before the street below him broke his fall...and the chair he was tied to.

He was only on the ground for seconds but those seconds felt like hours to him. At first his body was numb and he couldn't feel the pain. But that didn't take long. He watched, as if from a distance, the figure of Adadora leaping from the second story window. He stared in amazement as she landed on her feet and let herself roll into the impact before she lept back onto her feet.

To further his shock and amazement, she scooped him up and threw him over her shoulder and carried him like a sac of potatoes. And she began to run.

Travis had no idea where he was being taken. But he did know that at that moment, he didn't have much choice. He was going wherever she was taking him. And for the second time that day, Travis realized you don't always get what you want in life...

Author's Note: Where oh where will Travis go?? Where oh where will he be?? And thank you Joe for allowing me to use the name Adadora :-)

Here Kitty Kitty!

I would like to begin this blog by telling you that in November (I think it was November) my roommate Sarah got a cat. His name is Simon. It's kind of funny because Sarah's last name is Baker. So...our cat is named Simon Baker (you do get that, right?).

I would also like to mention that we all love this cat. He is adorable. He loves to play hide and go seek. He'll start chasing someone and they'll go hide in the laundry room and slowly, ever so slowly, he'll sneak into the laundry room. At which, we jump out at him and he goes running. He runs into Sarah's room where he hides and we have to find him. FYI: He's small. He's much better at hiding than we are. Once we find him, he jumps at us and we run into the laundry room. He LOVES this game.

So...this cat is not without love and attention. And if he feels like he isn't getting enough attention, he'll let you know.

This blog however is not to inform of the way in which we love our Simon Baker cat. This blog is to inform that despite this cat's lovable (and mischievous) personality, he is PSYCHO!! I will prove it to you.

My alarm went off this morning at 7:45. I get to sleep in today. I don't have to be at work till 10:30. Pretty sweet, huh? Anyway, he heard my alarm and knew that this means the prey has awoken! And yes, he views me as prey. So he did this enormous leap onto my keyboard and from there to the top of my bunk bed.

At first he was purring. He sat there while I stroked him and he snuggled onto the bed with me. And then...he was POSSESSED! I'm sure of it.

He suddenly jumped up and lept onto my face wrapping his paws around my head. He even got a paw stuck in my tangled mass of hair. And he began chewing on my cheek. Chewing. This is not an exaggeration. He got this strange psychotic feeling that I was on the menu for breakfast! Obviously, this did not please me. I tried to shove him away but remember when I told you a paw was stuck in my hair? I wasn't joking. The only thing I could do was grab my blanket and protect my face.

At this point, and with difficulty, Simon untangled himself from my hair and around my head. He did this for the sole reason that he saw my feet were now uncovered. He made a mad dash for my feet and proceeded to munch on those instead!

Does anyone see my problem here? I AM NOT breakfast! Nor will I ever be breakfast! But this cat is convinced I am. This is not the first time he has done this. Oh, no. I have many adventures such as this and each time I have escaped being his next meal. Perhaps next time, he will win...

Random...Inspiration

The light shone through the window illuminating the battle blade that rested anxiously against the wall. It longed to have a hand grasp it's hilt. It longed to feel the heat of battle against it's blade. And yet it sat there. Rusted with time and useless to it's owner.

It's owner was a knight now stooped with age and scarred from head to toe with his own battles. It had been years since he had carried his blade. Decades since he had felt the the rush of war. He now looked longingly in the blade's direction.

He took up his staff which was just as crooked and stooped as the old man. Leaning against his staff heavily, he limped outside and to his stable.

Exhausted from a long journey, the young man slept soundly on the bales of hay. This young man, barely out of boyhood, had the same fire in his eyes and blood in his heart as the old man once had. The old man took pity on him and allowed him to take his rest here. But the sun now shone and there was much to do.

The old man gently shook the younger man to his senses. He awoke with a start, his grey eyes blazing.

"Lorcan, the sky is red this morning." His eyes clouded over and he leaned on his staff. "A storm is brewing over the water. I can feel it."

Lorcan muttered something to himself.

"Don't say that, young man. I have a sword for you. The blade may be a bit rusty but it will serve you well as it served me so many times before. You will take this blade to Dubhlainn. He will forge you a blade as fierce as you are. A blade that will prove useful to you as you bring peace to this country."

Ch.10 The Weight of Words

The hologram of Quinn was like a knife being lodged into his chest and then cruelly twisted. Was this some kind of joke? His eyes were riveted to this likeness of her. This is the first time he had seen his sister in five years. And this would be the last. And then the hologram spoke.

Words. Her words leapt out at Travis like a snake, a venomous snake, a cobra, it's neck spread threateningly. And Travis listened to these words allowing this cobra to release it's venom and seep into his veins. He could not fully understand the full definition of these words. He could not fully grasp the weight of this responsibility. But what he did understand was her voice. Her words came out in a frenzied, urgent rush and yet her voice seemed week.

"The watch...counting down...end of the world as we know it...they will find you...trust them...matchbox...light the match and see the vision in red...woman with a scar...don't trust her...she...can destroy you..."

Woman with a scar. This seemed vaguely familiar. He had seen a woman with a scar. He began groping for a memory he couldn't find.

"When you find the matchbox...don't open it...the mistress...the power to use it...I know you can do this...the fate of the world rests in your hands..."

Quinn stopped and drew a shaky breath. She closed her eyes as she gathered strength. Was that a tear in her eye?

"One more thing. You can do this Travis. I believe you can even if you don't. I know I wasn't there for you like I should have been. I don't know when you'll get this. It's been so long. I forgive you, Travis. And I hope you can forgive me too. Close your mouth, Travis."

Travis closed his mouth.

"One last thing. I love you."

With those words, the image faded away. Travis held very still. He didn't dare move. He feared that if he moved, those last words would somehow disappear. Those words would fade away just as quickly as the image had. He replayed them over in his mind. He had forgiven her. He had forgiven her a long time ago. He had just never told her. He had never thought she would forgive him. But now everything had changed. And those last words were bitter sweet in his mouth.

The auburn haired girl seemed to appear out of nowhere and the magic was gone. Quinn was gone.

"You must trust me."

"I don't have much choice, do I?"

At this point, several things happened at once. First, they heard shouting outside. Second, the auburn haired girl pulled out her knife. Third, the door to the apartment burst open with a crack and a bang. Fourth, a woman stood menacingly in the doorway.

And once again, he found his memory. A memory of a woman sitting next to him at the bar. A memory of a calling card tucked neatly away in his pocket. A memory of a woman with a scar on her left cheek...

Ch.9 Face of a Coaster

Travis was embaressed. It wasn't just the fact that he was tied to a chair. And it wasn't just the fact that a girl with auburn hair had tied him to that chair to that chair. Travis was not vain enough to worry about his male pride. Despite himself, he was impressed at her speed and strength. And yet this fact did not help. Travis was embaressed.

The past few days had not been easy on Travis. He had been informed of his sister's death two days ago. Quinn had been dead for two years and he had only known for two days. When the news finally reached him, he did the only thing he could think of. Thus, the Red Nose Tavern had received a rather large tip. And Travis spent the next day sick.

Yet, things did not get any easier. Travis received a package. In this carefully wrapped package was a watch. This was not just any watch. This watch belonged to Quinn. And this watch went backwards.

With all this to think about, Travis felt strangely vulnerable and unprotected. And the last thing Travis wanted was the auburn haired girl to have one more thing to laugh at him for.

"Look at this!" The auburn haired girl did laugh. "This is him! This is the man you want me to bring! Are you sure?"

She seemed to be talking to somebody else but Travis couldn't see anyone else around.

She suddenly turned her words to travis. "Don't look so vulnerable. You're begining to remind me of a lost puppy."

Travis instinctively straightened in the chair.

"I don't know who you are. I don't know why you are here. I don't care. But I want to remind you that you have imprisoned me in this chair in my own home." He said through gritted teeth.

"Well I want to remind you that if you hadn't turned violent I wouldn't have had to imprison you." She began to close all the blinds and curtains and refused to allow any light seep into the room. "I'm delivering a message."

"Couldn't you have just sent me a sing-a-gram or something? It would've been easier."

"This message is from Quinn." She tossed a coaster into his lap.

A coaster has many uses. Most people use coasters to protect sensitive wooden table tops from the damaging effects of a wet glass. Some people hang cork coasters onto their walls and tack important appointments to them. Some people use coasters for decoration. But this coaster was used for none of that. By the time it had landed into Travis' lap, a hologram was already being projected in front of him.

A 3D hologram of Quinn...

We Interrupt This Broadcast...For A Beer?

For those of you who know me, know what kind of weekend this has been. You are probably wondering why I'm beginning this blog with those words and you are probably wondering what kind of horrors I am about to reveal to you. I will squelch any rumors right here. I have not done anything that horrid. I was, however, a happy girl on Saturday morning. Saturday morning, August 7, 2010.

Many people have asked me what my first drink was. I will explain. Friday night, we had a small going away party for James Ward (we'll miss you James) at the Keniston's house. Pam (love you Pam) invited me to spend the night. We stayed awake till midnight. Hmmm...midnight means it's Saturday, right? So, my first drink was Saturday morning (very early) and it was a Corona. 

One person kindly (lol) reminded me that Corona was wimpy. Well, I thoroughly enjoyed my Corona. And the Cosmo I had later on Saturday evening. And I thank you very much for that (you know who you are). 

So, it is now official. I am old. :-)

Ch.8 The Silver Watch Brings Unwanted Guest

The girl with auburn hair looked up at him, puzzled. Than her eyes came to rest on the silver watch in his hand and she shoved past him and into the apartment.

Unwanted guests rarely understand that they are unwanted and even if they do, they choose to ignore that fact as they sit down at your table and pour themselves a nice cup of tea and ask you to please pass the sugar. You pass them the sugar like any good host but unlike a good host you sit there thinking of all the ways you can convince your unwanted guest to leave. If you have ever had an unwanted guest in her house, someone you hadn't wished to see at a time you wished to be alone, than you can understand how Travis felt as this girl shoved past him. Of course, this guest did not sit herself down to tea nor did she want any sugar. But Travis was thinking of ways to convince this new guest to leave.

He had already come to the realization that this auburn haired girl was not Quinn. But she resembled Quinn. And that was enough so Travis did not want to see her.

He pointed to the door which she had left open. He opened his mouth but closed it quickly. The words had frozen on his tongue. She stared at him unblinking. He tried again opening and closing his mouth and still the words would not come.

"You look like a fish." These were the first words the unwanted guest spoke.

I will spare you from reading about Travis' temper. I will spare you the bitter words that boomed from his mouth. I will also spare you from reading about her stubbornness and thus I will spare you from reading her rude response. I will, however, tell you that a certain silver watch with a certain engraving that had started this whole mess, did hit the wall behind the girl with auburn hair. And I will tell you that a glass vase did shatter on the door frame behind Travis.

I will also tell you that this brief, for yes it was a very brief fight, did end with Travis tied to a chair...

Ch.7 Tik.Tik.Tik.

Our memory is a rather strange phenomenon. Sometimes, we remember each detail in crystal clear accuracy. Sometimes, details we needed become lost in our memory. Hyperthymesia is a memory disorder characterized by a superior autobiographical memory. In other words, those who have this disorder can remember every detail of every day of their lives. They can describe the events of any given date, what day of the week that day fell on and they can even describe trivial details such as the weather. There are only four confirmed cases of this disorder.

Sometimes, we choose to forget. Our minds will erase events from our memory just like erasing chalk from a blackboard. These events are so miserable, we want to forget.

Travis had wanted to forget something. Something that was so miserable, he had gone to extremes to forget. And he had succeeded.

Travis had staggered out of The Red Nose Tavern that night. He drank an entire bottle of scotch. He only drank half of the second bottle but he had brought that one home with him. He had spent the next day in bed, sick. The desired result was a memory loss.

While Travis had wanted to forget, his mind wasn't quite ready to let him. And this event tugged threateningly at the back of his mind.

Even two days after his visit to The Red Nose Tavern, Travis' head pounded and throbbed. He stared at the brown paper package on his counter top. He didn't remember putting there. He didn't remember receiving a brown paper package. But, considering his circumstances, he didn't find that unusual. What he did find unusual was the lack of address on this package. It was neither addressed to anyone nor did it say who sent it. It just sat there on his counter top.

After five minutes of staring blankly at a brown paper package, Travis decided to open it. He pulled a knife from the drawer and sliced through the paper and the box underneath. He ripped it open and out fell a watch. A silver pocket watch complete with a chain.

Strange, he thought. Travis never had had a use for a pocket watch.

He put the watch up to his ear. Tik. Tik. Tik. It worked well. With a snap, it opened. But this was not an ordinary pocket watch. This watch was counting time backward. The hands were going around the watch face counterclockwise.

Strange, he thought again. Could it be broken?

He turned the watch over in his hands. Engraved on the back, in simple print, was a name. One name. Our memory truly is a strange phenomenon. Even though we choose to forget something, if it's really important, we remember it anyway. And at some point, something will bring back our memory. Sometimes our mind is ready to deal with this miserable memory. And other times our mind is not.

Travis' memory came flooding back to him as he stared at the name on the back of the watch. A name he had wanted to forget. For engraved in the silver pocket watch, in simple print, was the name Quinn.

A knock interrupted his thoughts. He ignored it. The knock came again shortly thereafter. This time a little more persistent. He ignored it. This time, the person banged loudly and insistently. Travis covered his ringing ears and stumbled to the door. He flung it open angrily. He got ready to turn them away, but stopped.

"Quinn?"

The girl with auburn hair looked up at him, puzzled...

Author's Note: The memory disorder I described at the beginning is a very real disorder and everything I said about is fact.

Ch.6 Travis and Tavern. Tavern and Travis.

Light the match and see the vision in red.

Two weeks after this strange message was uttered, these words scrolled across every television in the world. They were heard over every radio. At first, the world only wondered at their meaning. Rumors were spread as to the source of this strange message. But soon wars started. Allied countries arrogantly turned against each other. The world became a boiling pot. And just as quickly, the worlds ended. Each country humbly signed treaties proclaiming peace. The world was almost destroyed because of these words.

There were a few who understood what these words truly meant. They got the message within. But these few did not know what to do with such a message and they began to blindly search for answers.

Two years later, the boiling pot of politics simmered down. But it was not over. Those words still scrolled across every television and blared over every radio. But for most people, those words had been forgotten.

The Red Nose Tavern was nestled into an alleyway in heart of the city. No one knows the name of that city and if you went to visit this tavern today, you would find it like everything else in that city: in ruins.

Everything had it's own mirror image next to it. On the far wall of the tavern was a faded painting of a round man holding up a mug of beer. But it wasn't the size of the beer or the man's fat belly that captured people's attention. It was his bulbous red nose. This man, his name has also been forgotten, built this tavern. And there were two mirror paintings of him as well. The point is, if you didn't have a headache, if your vision wasn't blurry when you walked into the tavern, it would be when you staggered out.

Travis sat at the bar. He was not a man to nurse his drink and this night was no exception. There we find him, at the bar, with an almost empty bottle of scotch.

The bartender seemed pleased with his customer. He stroked his mustache happily and placed a second bottle of scotch next to Travis.

"'Ere ya are, sir. I spect you'll drink this one quick like too." His accent was thick but untracable.

Travis turned to the woman next to him. She had given him the news that now possessed him to drink. He guzzled the rest of the scotch and slurred:

"Two years. It's been two years and now you choose to tell me."

She tried to smile reassuringly but only a drunk would miss the menace behind that smile. Even the bartender grimaced.

"Two years ago, we did not know she had a brother." She paused trying to regain her composure. "Believe me, if we had known, we would've spoken with you a lot sooner. So...her last words mean nothing to you?"

Travis knew of what words she was speaking of. But, he like everyone else, had only seen them scroll across his television and heard them over the radio. He never knew they were Quinn's, his sister's, last words.

Travis' face hardened as his next words came in a muttered slur, "I'm opening my second bottle of scotch now. You should leave before I finish it."

He tilted the bottle back and took a large swig.

"Here's my card. When you're sober, call me."

She placed a white card in his front pocket and brushed her hair away from her face. With that, she turned and left.

The bartender shuddered. He was glad she was gone. Turning to Travis he said,

"A woman like that, with that much menace, ain't welcome in mine bar."

Vaguely, he wondered how she had received that scar on her cheek...

A tent, a fire and...what?! No Marshmallows?

I have a confession to make. Well, to be exact, I have two confessions (this is a bad start to the day). Number 1: I wrote out the next installment for my little story I'm writing but...I left it at my apartment. I thus will not see it until Tuesday when I return home. I will try to type out what I wrote on Wed. Number 2: Yes. I'm afraid it's true!! No one brought any marshmallows! 

Here we are (there were about 14 or so) and I didn't see a single marshmallow! I'm just as guilty as the rest. I went shopping for food and do you think I grabbed s'more stuff? Nah! I did bring the cheez-its though. But not s'more stuff. I'm appalled for myself! I can't imagine what my readers are thinking (please comment on this. S'mores around a campfire is essential to life). 

Besides the lack of essential marshmallows and the abundance of rain on Saturday, the weekend went well. Baxter state park is a beautiful place to go camping and with Mount Katahdin nearby, there is lots to do outside. 

I would like to express my concern though. I'm sure that most of you out there will not share the same concern. You may even think "I would love to go camping there". I'm concerned with the future of camping. Here we are in the middle of...well...almost nowhere, camping, enjoying good times with good friends beneath the unhindered sky (unhindered by Portland's lights) when I learn something.

Someone has had the audacity to put showers on the campground!! Showers!! Can you  believe this?? I was shocked. Camping, which generally has no showers, was my only excuse not to worry about my hair being greasy. I'm camping! Now, everyone could look at  me and say, "Wow, Kim, your hair is a mess." And I can't even respond, "Well, I'm camping. I don't really have access to showers." I couldn't say that. I had access to a shower! What in heaven's name was I supposed to do then??!!! Does anyone else here see my dilemma? 

Ch.5 The Mistress and A Message

If you have ever found yourself a guest in a strangers house, perhaps a long lost uncle recently found or a new friend, then I'm sure you can understand the feeling of waking up the next morning and not knowing where you are. It's that momentary panic of staring at an unfamiliar ceiling. It's that heart stopping sensation that you don't know how you got there. It's that "maybe I'm still dreaming" so you pinch yourself feeling.

"Maybe I'm still dreaming." Quinn pinched herself.

She found herself very much awake. Quinn stared at the unfamiliar ceiling and didn't know where she was. Her heart nearly stopped when she couldn't remember how she got there. There was a gentle hum that seemed to permeate the air. The bed she was sitting in seemed to rock gently, swaying back and forth. But it was the stranger that leaned over her bed that frightened her the most.

"Don't talk." She was a nurse according to her dress. "You're body is in shock. We must get you to the agency immediately."

"How did I...get...here?" Her breath came in gasps.

With one jerky motion the nurse cocked her head to the side and placed her cold hand into Quinn's. It was an android. Quinn sighed. Her nurse was an android but Quinn still had no idea where she was.

"Our scanners found you. You are currently on board the AMV Wetlands. Please remain still. Your condition remains critical."

But Quinn would not remain still. She did not want to be on board the AMV Wetlands. The matchbox was now gone. Wedge (was that his name? Quinn wasn't sure she could remember correctly) had pried it from her fingers. She attempted to sit up.

I cannot describe to you the difficulty; I cannot express the pain in her abdomen and I cannot put into words the dizziness and nausea and the sudden vertigo that Quinn experienced. I wasn't there. But I can tell you that Quinn felt all of that and yet she did not lay back down. She did not yelp or cry out. She forced herself to stand.

Her body shook all over and she stood up on shaky, weak legs. The nurse rushed to her side and attempted to lay her back onto the bed. But Quinn refused.

"Bring me to the mistress. I must speak to the mistress. There is a message the world must hear."

She knew what she had to do and slowly, feebly she began to give the nurse specific instructions. These instructions, sadly lost in the shifting time, were Quinn's last words. But her message will last forever.

Light the match and see the vision in red...

Ch.4 Wedged in Darkness

We find our hero running for her life. She was running with a deadly secret in her hand and a strangers warning in her pocket. And if you have ever found yourself in Quinn's predicament (And, reader, I hope that you have not) you can understand the pain shooting up her legs. You can understand the tightness in her chest. And, furthermore, you can understand the uncertainty, the fear and the lingering doubt that began to claw at the back of her mind.

Quinn ran through Melba's streets, her mind tugging at the memories of Melba's maps she had spent so much time studying. She was on Stewart St. Storer St. brought you to Stognate St. which takes you out of the city to the north. But Quinn did not want to go to the north.

East. Slinky River was to the east of Stewart St. On that river was a boat cleverly disguised as a swamp. Her instructions were clear. If things went wrong (you and I both know that things went wrong) she was to run to that boat and they would bring her to the agency.

Quinn turned left onto Snow Ave which led straight to the river. What Quinn did not see was the man lurking in the shadows like a ghost, a silent deadly ghost.

Quinn crouched in the marsh at the bank of the river, watching the boat and searching for any signs of trouble. She could not see any. Although with vines and branches wrapped the way they were around the boat and with moss creeping it's way up the hull, it was difficult to see much of anything.

"You received my warning." A voice in the darkness whispered.

Quinn turned to face this new voice, her aching body tense and ready to strike. She turned only to find...no one was there.

"You received and you obeyed." The voice was behind her.

Quinn turned once more but again no one was there.

"Who are you?" Her urgent whisper escaped her lips.

"You know who I am...Adadora."

Quinn turned around once again expecting to find emptiness, but there he was, his face buried in the shadows. Quinn could only see a dark featureless shadow as he ran his hand through his hair.

"You're not...I knew I shouldn't have trusted that fool." He hissed. "You have the box?"

"Yes."

"Did you look inside?"

"I had clear, strict instructions not to. Who are you?"

"Well that's good. That makes my job a little easier." There was a snap hiss. "You can call me Wedge."

Quinn grabbed at her abdomen. Her vision became blurry. Her knees felt week and she began to sway. Everything was at a distance as if from a dream. Numbness enveloped her body and darkness began to close in around her. Her body crumpled to the marshy ground.

"But...why?" Her last words escaped her lips as Wedge gently pulled her fingers away from the matchbox...

Author's Note: Do you honestly believe I'm going to kill off my hero? Keep up and you will see :-)

Ch.3 Sequence of Events

"Don't accept the matchbox. The secret it contains can kill you. Run. For God's sake, run."

These words were neither written for Quinn (she already had the matchbox) nor were they encoded. Whoever felt the need to pen these words on a gum wrapper did not come from the agency.

Quinn looked up at the man she was dancing with. He winked playfully at her. But Quinn was in no mood to wink back.

"Why did you write this?" She asked in hushed, urgent tones.

He faltered. His gray eyes flicked to the back of the dance hall. His confidence was shattered and he began to stammer.

"I...I...was given...instructions. You...you have auburn hair. I was so...sure he meant you."

Time is a funny thing. Once wasted, time can never be recycled or reused. It's gone forever. If, for instance, you were in a race and you had to get from point A to point C in one hour, but you spent a half hour at point B, you can never get that half hour back. It's gone. It's been sucked into a black hole for eternity and time just keeps going. Time was something Quinn was running out of.

Risking a glance at her pursuer, Quinn saw her scanning the crowd. Her piercing eye searching for the fastest, simplest and most convenient way to get to Quinn.

At this moment, three things happened in quick succession. The sequence of events are as follows: First, the dance ended. Second, a stranger stumbled backwards into Quinn's pursuer. Third, Quinn ran.

The city of Melba is an isolated, wealthy city. It's residences refused to believe the outside world existed. Thus, this was the perfect city to hold the world's most important, and apparently most dangerous, secret. They ignored what they did not understand. Thus, Quinn was very much ignored as she ran through the unknown streets of Melba. She didn't know where to go. She didn't know what she would do.

"Don't take the matchbox. The secret it contains can kill you."

Quinn began to wonder what secret this matchbox contained...

(Authors Note: Although the city mention here is real (it exists in Idaho) I would like to mention that it's description is fictional and in no way reflects in any way on it's actual residences)

The Trouble With Machines

For those of you who are interested in hearing Quinn's story, no worries. This is only a brief interruption and I will continue her journey later on this week. 

I am beginning to feel that machines (particularly computers) are  made by the devil himself. What's the point in having a computer that is going to save time if you spend all that time you save fixing it? I have spent every work morning complaining to my father (to say he loves computers is an understatement) that my program, quickbooks, refuses to work. I can't work without quickbooks. All the time that I save by not writing everything in a ledger is now wasted with fighting for domination over a machine. It's a war that will never be won. 

The next problem with computers: what works on one computer may not work on another. What's the point in that? What works on Windows 7 may not work on Windows Vista. And forget Windows XP. That's "old school" now. Nothing seems to work on that anymore. By the time the average person can afford to upgrade the computer, the company already has a new one out and what you are using is now out of date and unused. ARRRRRRRGH!

Problem number 3: the computer virus. I never thought I'd have to call a doctor for my computer. But, sadly, in todays world, computers now host "viruses". Oh, and to make it all better, these "viruses" don't just infect your computer. They travel and infect other computers as well. What am I supposed to say? "Sorry. I can't go out today. My computer is contagious." And now we're back to the original problem of wasting time on fixing the computer. I need a good supply of aspirin to keep my computer running. I don't have that much aspirin!

Does anyone else feel my pain here? Am I the only person here who sees the problem with these things? What ever happened to the good, hard working and never fails pen and paper routine? 

Ch.2 Quinn's Precarious Decision

The problem with hats for a disguise lies in it being niether perpetual nor entirly persuasive. If, for example, your pursuer were a stranger who was trying to return a gum wrapper (which contained a phone number along with encoded instructions) that you dropped, your pursuer would be disoriented by your disguise. The result thus being you never received your encoded instructions and the person you were supposed to meet begins to believe you dead.

However, if your pursuer is a cold hearted woman with a glass eye, a permanently furrowed brow and a scar from her left temple to the top of her left lip (a scar you had given her in the past), your pursuer would soon see through your disguise and begin her malignant scheme.

Of this fact, Quinn was very well aware.

As Quinn took the hand of her neighbor to begin a swing, she felt a gumwrapper pressed into her hand. Momentarily distracted, she looked up at him and he smiled down at her.

"It's a bit stormy tonight, eh?" Was all he said to her.

Quinn had never seen this man in her life, but she knew the meaning of those words. Number One: she was not alone. Number Two: Something hadn't gone wrong. Everything had gone wrong. Accepting the gum wrapper was sign of trust. Trust was not something Quinn gave away easily.

Hesitantly, Quinn took the wrapper. And as this stranger swung her around, Quinn saw her mistake. The wrapper had not been meant for her...

Ch.1 The Matchbox and Red Tie Affair

She stared at the dance hall. Her eyes riveted to the rhythm of the crowd. She held nothing but a box of matches which contained a very important message and a hat. Hats work as great disguises if your being followed. Once you turn the corner, you put the hat on but the person who is following you isn't looking for a hat. He's looking for a head of auburn hair. She quickly put the hat on and made her way into the crowd. Her instructions were simple, clear and precise. She was to find the man in the pin striped suit and red tie. He would be there, to the right of the stage, dancing with a girl who also has luxurious auburn hair. She was to dance with him and slip the match box into is hand as they began a promenade.

But something had gone wrong. Shee had followed her here and now she was searching for her. Yes, she found a man in the pin stripe suit, but he was dancing with someone else and he was not wearing a red tie. The man she was truly looking for was not here and her follower was one step behind her. So she did the only thing she knew.

She had been following the rhythm of the crowd with her eyes and now she quickly made her way into it. She heard the music and could feel her body moving to the rhythm but her mind and heart were on the task at hand.

There he was in the window. The man she was looking for, she was sure of it. But he was not dancing and he was not looking at her. He was running. He was running and pulling the girl with auburn hair behind him.

Something was wrong. Quinn felt all alone in the dance hall with her follower coming for her and the match box still in her hand. This match box which contained the biggest secret in all of human history. This could change the fate of the world...

The Stench of Spiders

My flashlight illuminated my way into the dark opening. I stared blankly at the 1 1/2' by 3' opening into a crawl space. I began to hate myself for the sudden fear that instantly washed over me. The small space was dark and damp and I could only think of one thing. My stomach heaved as I recognized the loathsome stench. It was the stench of spiders. I could almost hear the sound of their legs as they crept toward me, their unsuspecting prey. I could almost feel their teeth sinking into my skin, releasing their venom. 

But I was prepared. I held the hammer high above my head ready to lash out at the first spider I saw. A few of their webs became entangled in my hair. I quickly brushed them away as best I could. The soldiers were coming, marching across the dirt and I couldn't become distracted with webs in my hair. 

"I need the hammer." My father's voice interrupted my thoughts. Reluctantly, I pulled myself half into the crawl space and turned my only defense over to my father. I was now defenseless and positive I had seen a brown spider retreating into the shadows, waiting for me. I looked down at my hands, which were now covered in dirt and grime. Perhaps this served as a form of camouflage. I contemplated this and decided (rather quickly) that the only answer to that question was a resounding "NO". They had seen me and they would be coming. 

Dad returned my only weapon to me. I relaxed as I became armed once more. The nightmarish battle field was soon over. I stepped out into the sunlight as the breeze tickled my skin. I wiped away imaginary spiders. "You can't smell spiders." Dad complained. I'm pretty sure he was wrong. In the end the only casualty came to an unsuspecting wood tick that had made it's way up my arm. But I'm still nauseated from the stench of spiders. 

Music To My Ears

Tell me (anyone who reads this, comment on  this) what is your favorite part of the convention? Is it the excitement of a new release? or Is it the lesson found in the drama? or Is it an embrace from an old friend? or Is is the comfort of the Christian brotherhood?

My favorite part of the convention is the music. No, I don't mean the songs you sing before, after and in the middle of the sessions. Nor do I mean the music you listen to just before the session starts. While the music is always beautiful, I'm not speaking of this music. I am speaking of a deeper music. This music moves me to my very soul. The melody is a reminder of Jehovah's blessing. The notes ring loud and clear of Christian unity. It is not difficult to hear this music. You do not have to strain your ears to hear it. You must however take the time to listen. Listen to the buzz of your brothers and sisters as they enter the civic center. The center had been silent only a moment ago, but now, now the music grows in volume and intensity. The sound of friendly conversation, where only a moment ago, there was none. The sound of laughter as we left the depressing world behind us. The sound of troubles and concerns from this system being dropped at the door to be replaced by joy and love and relief from this old system. This is the music of happiness; the music of our Christian brotherhood. This is music to my ears.

Can you hear it?

Commencing Lift Off

Well...this is new for me. I have never blogged before and I was trying desperately to think of what I should blog. Can you believe that? It took me over 15 minutes to come up with something. Isn't that pathetic?? Please, don't comment on that question. So, after much debate with my advisor (you know who you are), I've started a blog. When you think about it, what is a blog? Is it not just a journal? An online journal that you can thus share your thoughts, your life and everything else. OK, so this is it. 

I would like to commence this blog with an explanation of Manic Monday. No, it has nothing to do with the song. I hate Mondays. I have repeatedly said that Monday's are like a desert. A delicious looking pie topped with ice cream and fresh out of the oven. But, when you bite into this pie, you realize there is no filling and the ice cream is fat-free sugar-free. What's the point in that? I really do hate Mondays.

So, I have called this blog Manic Monday because I am going to blog every Monday (that is my goal at least). My hope is, that it will give me a good reason to enjoy Monday's. Besides, no one wants a boring blog, so I have all week to find interesting things to blog about :-) Yes, I realize it's Friday. But I had to start sometime, right? Today was as good as any. I will blog again on Monday and I promise I will have something a little bit more interesting.