The shotgun deafeningly tears through the woman’s legs, shredding everything near the knees and bringing her body to the ground.
The body doesn’t lay still for long. Only seconds after hitting the ground it is already struggling to drag its broken form back onto devastated legs. The words horrifying and pitiful mesh together in his head as he is forced to consider what he’s seeing while he watches the mindless creature desperately trying to accomplish the impossible just to get at him and presumably rip him to pieces with teeth and fingers that are already torn so badly that bone is protruding dangerously from some fingertips.
Mercy and anger urge the same reaction as he levels the barrel at the snarling face of the thing clumsily pulling itself towards him and he presses his index finger against the trigger. A mist of bone and blood, brain and flesh spreads out and paints the asphalt behind it as rhe woman flops dead to the pavement.
He stands there, staring down at the mess laying at his feet for a moment longer before tucking the gun against his chest and darting across the street hoping that he can distance himself from the scene before any of the other residents are drawn there by the shots he fired.
There was no choice anymore, not as far as he was concerned. He had to go back again, to return to a home that felt utterly alien and forbidding, a place he thought he had left behind a long time ago with the intent to never return.
That unspeakable damned thing was still there, churning beneath the surface of everything that had once seemed so familiar and innocent to him; everything that he had grown up with, everything that he had known and loved as a child, until the brittle facade of safety and normalcy was torn away and he had been forced to stare, slack jawed and terrified into the unknown and unholy reality that riddled the substrate.
Nestled there in the foothills, it seemed like such a typical (almost wholesome) small town environment; a bit of early settlement history mingled with that of the indigenous people of the region, some mom & pop businesses, and an old discontinued gypsum mine that hadn’t been active since before he was born.
His childhood had been filled with an abundance of nature and plenty of outdoor activities; strange that it was the hideous, formless aspect of some of that very nature that most concerned him and plagued him, even decades later, with nightmares.
It had killed again, after being dormant and apparently harmless for all those intervening years. It had been disturbed, foolishly, by one of his childhood friends, another victim of the unwelcome knowledge that this thing existed beneath the feet of the couple hundred residents of their hometown.
What had gotten into that fucking idiot’s head? He asked himself that question over and over again as he prepared to return home for the funeral. The strange circumstances surrounding the death were clear enough that he had some idea what had happened, it was the ‘why’ of it all that troubled him. He damn well intended to find out the answer.
He hated being back in South Dakota; that was why he had moved to the West coast in the first place, just to distance himself from the Midwest in general. Plus, distance from the region provided him with distance from that fucking thing that he knew was still down there, lurking in the earth.
For all he knew, those things were everywhere, some nameless organism that had eluded discovery, but he didn’t care. He knew of this one with certainty, and he gladly subscribed to the perspective that what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. He was blissfully and willfully ignorant of any such things that might be residing beneath the surface of the Oregon home that he loved so dearly.
Here he was though, back in the white trash fantasy camp wasteland that he grew up with, and he just wanted to go back home.
When I enrolled in college as a double major, studying physics and chemistry, it was with grand, lofty dreams of working for JPL…after which I intended to travel to the UK and spend some time at Reading University, working in cybernetics. I wanted to transition from my dual majors to a Ph.D program in nanoscience & nanoengineering…education and expertise which I could utilize in efforts to develop artificial organs for transplant, better organs than those that we are born with, ones that could extend life indefinitely.
Instead I only made it three years into my undergraduate studies before real life got in the way…working full-time, raising children full-time, and attending college as well; it was simply too much to have on my plate, something had to give, and my higher education was being placed on the back burner far too often. My GPA was suffering, my ability to focus on necessary studies as well, and there was really no choice but to ultimately leave school…something that I really did not want to do, but schedules were too much in conflict.
Here I am, waiting to see the Mars landing, reminiscing about the dreams that I had for my future not altogether so long ago. My girlfriend received notice today that she was on the Dean’s List for her school where she is studying to be a medical assistant, and I was reminded of how I never had the requisite attention to put toward my education to do the same. I am reminded of how far short I have fallen from what I wanted for myself, what everyone seemed to believe I was capable of being.
Chandra wants me to cut down my hours to part-time and enroll in school again after she’s finished with her own school and gotten into a career where she is earning adequate income to compensate for the decrease on my end. I worry that I still won’t have what it takes…but I would do my best not to let her (or myself) down.
I wonder where my future will lead. I returned to my first love, writing…and I feel satisfied as hell doing so…if only I could really get back to it with as much focus and discipline as I need. I don’t know what to do, but I know that I need to do it.
That’s all…just some random thoughts for the night.
Land well on Mars, you beautiful piece of elegant machinery. Make us proud and increase our knowledge and understanding of the universe we’re such an insignificant part of. I am watching, and so are many others.
I have spent a little while deliberating with myself…trying to determine the best way that I can manage to frame a proposal…proposal for marriage, that is.
Something romantic, something sweet, something that might even bring tears to her eyes.
I want to do this right. I want to make it something that she will treasure and look back upon with unparalleled fondness for the rest of her life.
I have plenty of time left to think about this particular subject…there won’t be an engagement until she and I both have finalized divorces, and I still won’t be able to afford the ring that she deserves until some time after that, I’m sure…not without some major changes in my financial status.
I keep wishing that I could do something worthwhile to change my life in a fairly expedient manner, something to make me feel more worthy of her choosing to spend her life with me. I know that she is happy with me just the way that I am, and I can’t begin to express the gratitude that I feel for that…but I want to give her the life that I know she deserves, and to be able to provide the degree of comfort and happiness that I want us to all share as a family. I really need to get more writing done, and it needs to be fucking spectacular…because there is no other way that I could conceive of that I might be able to build the sort of life that I want for us. It won’t matter when people don’t even read what I’ve already written…I wish that I could be taken seriously as an author, but it doesn’t feel like that is happening.
I’ve gotten off track though.
I want to be in a position to give her the wedding that she deserves. I want us to have a lovely little vacation for our honeymoon. I want to be able to take actual vacations as a family…to places outside of South Dakota. I really want to have a better life than the one I have been living, to provide my children and my future wife (and her children as well) with a better life than I had…and so far I have been doing a less than stellar job of that.
It’s a moot point though, I can want in one hand and shit in the other…and we know which one will fill up first. I am putting the cart before the horse anyhow…I need to figure out how to propose to her before I worry about putting together the right wedding for us…or any sort of honeymoon.
Anyone who has any suggestions…I am happy to hear them.
Losing my job of two and a half years on June 28th was a profound surprise for me, especially the reasons and justifications that were brought to the table as impetus for the termination. It seems like some people simply can’t be trusted, no matter how much they seem to be something akin to “friends” in a working relationship context.
People will lie and manipulate where they can, they will take things that were said and rip them from the proper context in which they were shared (including their own parts in the conversations in question)…and they will hang you out to dry even when there is no apparent purpose or benefit involved aside from the sheer pleasure of doing so.
I’m not particularly bitter about it, I know enough about human nature to take that in stride and feel nothing more than trace amounts of disdain for the individuals who took my name and rubbed it in filth and shit. People do those things, even to people that they like and respect…or maybe I am wrong in suspecting that I was actually liked and respected by those persons involved. Life goes on.
I needed to get away from that place anyhow. I had been wanting to change careers for a solid year or more, but I have a propensity for becoming complacent and comfortable where I shouldn’t…and this was one of those scenarios.
I wanted out, I wanted something different, I was unhappy and unsatisfied there, and I actually found myself dreading the hours that I was going to be spending there…but let’s be honest, I wasn’t going to quit anytime soon.
I’m trying to use this negative turn of events as something beneficial, a forced opportunity to turn things around.
I start a new job this coming Tuesday, after less than three weeks of being unemployed…and I am cautiously optimistic about the transition. I can look forward to no real drop in rate of pay and no substantial decrease in the quality of benefits that are available, on top of which I am finally able to look forward to no longer working into or through the middle of the night for the first time in more than a decade.
Hopefully it will be conducive to my ability to write, not working the odd hours that I had been for so long…but that is another thing I am cautiously optimistic about.
Besides, I have a lovely and supportive girlfriend that I intend to marry not so far down the road…and how could I help but be optimistic with her in my life?
It’s amazing how much more legitimate I feel when telling people that I’m a writer now that there is a hard copy, paperback format for my novel, Unspoken.
This couldn’t have happened at a better time seeing as how I became unexpectedly unemployed on the 28th of June…the same day that I received the “proof” copy of my book for my perusal and critiquing. That one bright spot helped to keep me from plummeting into self-loathing and misery upon being without a job…almost as much as having my lovely Chandra here by my side reassuring me and providing me with the love and support that I desperately needed when, as a single father, my sole source of income suddenly evaporated.
I had my first interview less than 24 hours ago and hopefully that will remedy the unemployed status that I’m already coming to despise. The free time is nice and I have been making the best of it…to the best of my ability at least.
Anyone who does happen to read this, please feel free to support a struggling “artist” and check out my novel and the digital-only collection of poetry that can be found on Amazon. How’s that for shameful? Here I am, trying to tug at whatever sympathy might be available to be milked. You can’t hold it against me though.
I should be writing.
I have two short stories that I need to complete if I intend to submit them before the deadline is up on two particular anthologies that are of a great deal of interest to me. It would take me almost no time to finish both of them, at which point I could relax and move along to other projects that I have in the works…projects without deadlines looming, like the novella that I had wanted to make available digitally before the end of January. Hell, I even went so far as to have the cover art designed and everything.
I should be writing…but I am not.
I haven’t been sleeping much or well lately, and my concentration has been for shit because of this. I’ve even been slacking off on my daily exercise routines, and I feel all bloated, icky and corpulent because of it.
I hope that today will be the day when I turn all of that around. I am desperately hoping for a few hours of peaceful, uninterrupted slumber to follow this post…and when I wake I hope to hit the ground running and put in a solid hour or more of exercise, including some intense cardio to get the oxygen flowing to my brain for the purpose of igniting those creative sparks that I need in order to get back to work on what I should be doing.
Because…I should be writing.