Running

 I must make myself run. Run away from all this, from what I have done, from what he wants, but still my feet are locked in place. Eyes refuse to move and every breath is a struggle. You always hear about the fight or flight response but no one really talks about the stone like lockout that's probably much more common. Some sights seemingly shock the brain so much that it can't even remember the simple tasks of expanding and contracting the lungs. Suddenly a fear of my heart stopping and my blood turning to viscous sludge worms its way into my mind. The creak of the beam from the weight swaying in the wind of the open window feels almost deafening in the silence. The grotesque nature of such a common sound coming from such a horrific situation adds a tremendous pressure to the sound. Back and forth. Back and forth he sways. Below, an overturned chair by the simple, cluttered desk creates a story. The short note, handwritten and held down by the smooth, gold rock confirms the tale. A man too far gone finds a way to go the last little bit to gone. Back and forth he sways with the spring breeze bringing the smell of fresh cut grass and hints of barbeque. The scene and smell turns the stomach and finally something moves, shame its just lunch looking to rejoin the party.

On the way to the shuttle, I reach my hand into my pocket. Fingers trace lines and faults so familiar now across a cool, smooth stone. I turn it over a couple of times feeling the one big divot on what I consider to be the bottom and instantly I'm back at home. Mom is the kitchen somewhere banging around cheap, chipped plates yelling about dinner being ready soon. Nate and I roll our eyes at the prospect of more spaghetti. Tonight is mom's night to cook and it's almost always too sweet red sauce and just prior to al dente noodles that almost crunch when bitten. We always hated those nights but the nostalgia paints a vaneer over the less than stellar cooking and makes my mouth water as if remembering fine cuisine. I'm snapped back to present by the pleasant chime of the intercom warning of a message. Boarding to begin soon. With that, I let the stone fall into it's dark little pocket and shove those memories into similar recesses in my mind. Now, the body and mind are on a different auto pilot. Ticket, check. Boarding papers, check. Travel visa and itenarary, check. I even loosen the strap of my duffle so that it can be passed to the final screening. With minor reluctance, I fish the gold colored stone from my pocket. After giving it one last look, this time more damaging memories welling up, I hurriedly stow it in another little Pocket in my bag. 

The lines at security and check in move quickly. The early morning hours are for the more seasoned traveler, with 

Boreas

   Alex 

    "Good morning ladies and gentlemen. We are approaching our re-entry angle to the planet and request that y'all strap in and secure any personal belongings into to their stowed positions. Atmospheric readings are indicating we will be in for some chop on our approach with EDL time projected to 65 minutes." The pilot's normally smooth, sincere voice crackled over the shuttle's intercom. Flight crew were already making the rounds, checking seats and harnesses to ensure all passengers were strapped in. Alex was used to the brusque tones of military crews during deployments like this so the polite attitude of the civilian crew almost made him forget where he was. The craft was also a bit more plush than the drab buckets he normally dropped in. Instead of barebones jump seats built to be removed at a moments notice, these were heavier and purpose built for comfort. The acceleration spin-ward towards the planet's surface was more gentle in the heavy gelled seat he was in and the thought of continuing such luxuries made his decision much easier to bare. 

    "Excuse me sir, could you please stow you electronics?" The female drop crewmate smiled at him as she politely pointed at his personal computer opened on his lap. With a nod and a smile back, Alex folded up the device and locked it in the compartment under his seat. The young woman gave him another big smile and worked her back down the aisle to ensure others had down the same. Yeah, he thought, maybe this was the better decision. Ten minutes later, re-entry began. While Alex had done this a hundred times over, sometimes even with suborbital flack haphazardly searching for soft flesh to tear into whizzing by the craft, it never got easier for him. They had been on the float for almost two weeks since the transfer station and the shuttle towards Boreas, the planet that would be his home for the next month or so and longer if he committed to the new job offer. The idea of moving off world, away from everyone and everything he grew up with was intoxicating as it was terrifying. His family was small and his list of close friends smaller but there was this overwhelming sensation that he was leaving something massive behind. Which, he guessed, was a little true as the whole planet that nourished and housed him for his entire life was nothing more than tiny dot on the interstellar map displayed on the view panel on the seat in front of him. Here, new beginnings called him down. A restart. A chance to make a name for himself. The term "manifest destiny" wrestled its way up from the dustier parts of his memory. History never was a subject he cared much for but there was certain joy at putting a name to what he was feeling. What call was pulling him. 

    After a few minutes, he could feel his own weight begin to gain more urgency as they silently slid in closer to the planet's surface. Even in the military craft he landed in as a contractor grew quiet just like the cabin he was in now. The bravado and boisterousness always fell away to a tense sort of disquiet as the craft tore through the atmosphere at over 15,000 miles an hour with little to no shaking. The disconnect was always mind boggling and was only made worse but the slow but intimidating growth of red out the window. Like watching a sunset, the windows gradually changed from a subtle pink hue to a ferocious burning red as the atmosphere around them was literally on fire from being ripped apart. The hush inside the cabin was always amplified by the utter lack of sound outside. He was used to the subtle hum of in atmosphere shuttles, with their engines continuously making noise which was almost like a comfort. The sound of efficient engines humming just within audible range made him believe that they were masters of gravity, that human ingenuity and engineering was keeping him safe. That wasn't here with re-entry. There were no engines humming, no sound of wind rushing by, no subtle chatting of other passengers. Nothing. It was just a collective silence with breaths being held as the entire cabin glowed red as if lit by candlelight. Alex nervously looked over towards the cute crewmate who reminded him to lock away his equipment who was now secured to a small chair that had been unfolded from the wall so that she could face the passengers. She caught him looking at her and gave a polite smile and nod of her head before returning to scanning the other passengers with a cool look that betrayed no nervousness. He grew embarrassed and ashamed at his own fear and tried to look out the window again to level himself. That was a mistake as the fireball around them was now at it's peak intensity and the thought of burning up violently filled his mind with dread. Well, he thought, maybe I will take this job just to avoid this more. 

    The closer they got to the planet's surface, the steadier the feeling of weight felt in his bones and joints. Already his ankle started reminding him of the plate and screws that were hastily installed not too long ago. He had spent so much time on the float he almost forgot what that constant, nagging pain felt like but it gave him something other than a violent, fiery death to obsess over. It had been awhile since his last drop but the routine of internally nagging about the aches and pains gathered over years of rough living gave him a sense of comfort in familiarity. Outside, the world no longer appeared to be on fire and a gigantic blue ocean filled his view. From this height, the surface looked flat and peaceful but he knew this planet was known for its rough seas and powerful storms that worked almost like clockwork. Thankfully his time here should see him missing the season of blizzards by at least a month but the prospect of himself being snowed in and getting paid wasn't too bad a prospect. Looking up at the crewmate again, seeing her polite smile once more, he thought maybe with some company it wouldn't be that bad. They were now in the deceleration phase of re-entry and now, with the rush of the reverse thrusters filling the cabin with noise, the spell had been broken and bits of conversation could be heard around the space. A woman laughed and a man belched a bit too loud for polite company and the tension in the air seemed to disappear almost completely. 25 minutes and a minor hiccup or two of turbulence later, they were on the ground. 

    The taxi from the runway to the terminal from orbital re-entry always took longer than Alex expected as they disembarked almost an hour after landing. Standing back up was almost a chore as his body had to reacclimate to constant gravity. Looking around, he could see the others also shaking off dizziness and that rubbery leg feeling as the body got reminded to what it was like to be planet side. The walk of the craft was a sullen shuffle as the fatigue of the trip caught up with everyone after the tension of re-entry. Thankfully, the terminal was quiet and a small, wheeled shuttle car was waiting for him with the driver holding a sign with his name on it. With just a nod, the driver grabbed Alex's two bags and neatly stowed them in the harness on the back of the vehicle and offered to take his computer bag. 

    "I can handle this one, thank you." Alex told the driver who only responded with a nod and a hand wave to the passenger side of the shuttle. Once Alex was settled, the car sped off quietly on it's electric motor down a travel way designated for other such cars. Traffic was light so the driver drove faster than what was typical in a civilian terminal. Immediately Alex surmised this driver, with his curt demeanor and clearly well toned muscles that stretched his jumpsuit was most likely some private security officer. "Thanks for picking me up. I appreciate it from all that time on the float." Alex ventured a conversation with this man to prove his guess was right or not. 

    "You're welcome, Mr. Withers," he replied. Alex ventured more. 

    "Where we heading Mr..." 

    "Jon sir, Mr Jon. I am taking you to the garage Mr. Withers." That proved it to him. The constant use of Mr. told him ex military and most likely paid security. The new outfits didn't allow the use of Sir or Ma-am as they wanted to seem more formal over militaristic. 

    "That's good Mr. Jon. I assume you are driving me to the compound?"

    "That is correct, Mr. Withers". Curt and perfunctory, just what Alex would expect from a man like him. It was alright. He spent months on end with others like him and knew it was all just part of the job. Usually didn't take long for him to find the human underneath the automaton veneer but Alex took this a cue that idle chit chat wasn't necessary and took in the sights. The electric car whizzed along a hard rubber stretch inside a closed tunnel that connected the off world terminal from the rest of the airport. Lumbering up the other side of the roadway was the larger shuttle bus that would pick up the rest of the folks who landed with him. Again, he thought, there definitely were perks of the private sector. The tunnel they were in was enclosed with only small windows every so many feet but the view Alex could glimpse outside was awe inspiring. Massive rolling hills covered in snow with rows of thick, green trees flowed like water outside the tight tunnel. The sky was bright and grey at the same time as a thin cloud cover blocked this planet's sun a bit. Alex took note of the eerie look as this sun appeared to be more muted than the one back home. He read somewhere that the atmosphere here tended to reflect a bit more light than the one back home which made the light seem more muted. This was almost completely cancelled though by the blinding reflection off the snow. It almost looked glassy outside which only deepened the illusion of a white ocean outside. 

    After a few minutes of silent driving, Mr. Jon had casually wheeled the electric car to a automated charging station and quietly began gathering Alex's bags. Alex simply followed behind the fast walking man in blue-green jumpsuit towards a waiting vehicle outfitted with wheels in the front and small tracks in the back. 

    "This is quite the vehicle Mr. Jon." Alex whistled as he admired the almost tank like car in front of him. The grey paintjob with slightly darker grey banding gave the impression that it was more about being camouflaged than stylish. There were no logos on the vehicle and only black alpha-numeric designation on the back implied it was part of some fleet. A bit of nervousness crept back into Alex as history again wormed its way up his brain. Vehicles like this were typically part of a fleet but not a commercial one. 

    "Yes, Mr. Withers. Unfortunately the storm earlier has blocked normal paths and our hoppers are currently in use. We will need to use the ExV here to get you to the compound, Mr. Withers." Seemingly satisfied with his explanation, Mr. Jon once again neatly secured Alex's bags in yet another vehicle and motioned for Alex to hop into the rear of the ExV.  

Messing around

         Shadows always came back. From the brightest days they grow. Starting small, just under your feet, they stretch and reach beyond you to the very edges of you and further. For a few months now, I have felt the shadows spread and wiggle beneath me. They call and whisper at night and practically scream during the day. There is no safety. There is no security they say. 

The idea of a haunted house has always intrigued and terrified me. The notion that forces beyond our understanding could malevolently hide in plain sight among the furniture and trappings of a home is a very paranoia inducing thought. The notion of privacy and safety is practically destroyed upon the realization that ghosts are real. How could we know that we were truly alone? How could we know that we were truly safe in our own home? Perhaps that's why we like the notion of a haunted house specifically and not the idea of ghosts being a more ubiquitous feature of the world. The idea of a specific place where they could congregate gives us the horror fantasy we want while simultaneously allowing us to have a retreat should things get too spooky, too scary for us to deal with. Or maybe haunted houses are a simply an illustration of how our memory works. Memory and the ability to recall memories is based largely on associations, mementos of the memory lets call it. For example, the smell of popcorn can remind of us the first time we took a date to a movie. The feel of cool water on hot skin can remind of us cramming into public pools in summer to beat the heat so why can't a home associate itself with feelings so malignant and terrible that it is easier to call them horror than to accept them as reality. Perhaps that's all haunted houses are, a memento of the emotional or mental torture that can happen in a home. Note too that it's almost always a haunted house. Why not a haunted bank, or a haunted mall? Now obviously there can be examples of any place other than a home but haunted house is so built into our culture that any other combo simply screams campy. 

I'm back

I've taken a bit of a hiatus from this platform and I can honestly say I miss it. I miss conjuring up words, birthing worlds teeming with life. I miss expressing myself in ways I typically don't out lots. I miss the game of it all honestly, the house and seek of plot.

I need to strive for completion. To finally finish a story, complete with beginning, middle and end. All before I end! Words used to be my escape, my tunnel from me to you oh fickle imagination. I must dig once more. I must express and change

Burning

His name was Clive and with such an interesting name you would imagine a leather glad, enigmatic ladies' man or a slack jawed yokel ogling ladies much too young but Clive rested somewhere in between. His stomach rested a little too far past his belt, he clothes a little too loose to his frame, and the circles around his eyes a little too dark to be mistaken for a healthy man. He was just an every man in every sense of the word.

Clive was all too keen on what he was and his worth upon this Earth. A man of the earth, lower case mind you, his momma would tell him. For earth and dirt were not low things but rather were the things that like sprung from. Without the cool embrace of rich soil to protect, where would the seeds begin to find root? Where would the mighty tree stand firm? Where would the grasses and vegetables that nourish beast and man sortin from? Clive knew his place was one of quiet dignity over glamorous bravado. Clive was a man of Earth.

Come one spring, from soil well tilled by Clive, a son sprouted. A son, who like the trees and vegetation before him, grew well with Clive's engrave. Watered with knowledge and sunned with love from a quiet but hearty family, the son blossomed into well grown stock.

Others were not as lucky though. For with every prize winner, there is loser prized even if by just chance alone. Clive's son had a foil, an opposite birthed and named not too far from himself but raised in such a way as to be considered further than light is said to be from dark. The soils which bore the foil were dry, and cold, and full of hard rocks that cut. The foil was raised mean and alone.

Two men, born unto this world similarly but raised as if one were alien to each other are where this story takes place. Clive and his son Patrick and the foil, Steven.