A son - A story of ChubbyChaser and Jasugar

The following story is based off ChubbyChaser and Jasugar from blogtv. They aren't EXACTLY like this, of course it's fictional.

I actually started writing this while I still had a job. It was written in a different style. I knew what I wanted to do, but I was stuck with how to execute it, so I stopped writing it. I of course got laid off and I didn't touch it sense.

Then, today, I was taking a shower and I just had I guess an epiphany on how to write it. And so I did.

I have taken a "real" legend and just manipulated it the best that I could to fit it in the story the way I wanted. And with that, enjoy!

*****************************************************

I want to tell you my story.

I looked at the first line for what seemed like an eternity before scratching it out. That’s how toddlers talked to their mothers, not how scholars start a very important account of their life.

I want to tell you my story. The following events, however untrue and unbelievable they seem are how I remember them as they happened to me, and how I want you to see them.

Finding the proper way to start things has always been my problem, as evidence of the crumbled papers that cluttered my office would show. Every wasted page with wasted ink and wasted time… Time was something I was not sure I would have, so I had to finish this quickly. I took a sip of my honeywheat cider (extra honey as I had a strong sweet tooth these days), cracked my knuckles and dipped my pen into the ink.

I am an only child. My mother died after never being able to give me a brother or sister. While my mother was very sick for a long time before her passing, she was still a good mother. I would bring a book to her bed and lay with her as she read to me. She insisted upon it, as she could not do much of anything else for me. One of my favorites was a collection of magical short stories. She would often change it so I was main character, fighting monsters, marrying the princesses (to which I would squirm and say “ewww”). It was a struggle for me after she left us to join the angels. I would bring the book to my father and after he saw my choice of literature, he would hand it back saying I was too old for fairy tales. Mermaids, Dragons, Sphinx, etc were for children with no intelligence he said and then he handed me a Medical Journal from his studious bookcase. I must have had a lugubrious expression on my face because he smacked me and told me not to bother him again with childhood antics.

It was my mother my thoughts were to now. Would I be where I am today had she not died? I looked over to the plush velvet chair setting by the fireplace, the crackling of logs cutting through the silence of the small office. There was the book my mother had read to me. A collection of tales from all over the world; myths, legends, and even stories that would have you wetting your bed when the whole world was asleep (something I did that I don’t like to repeat). There weren’t longueur passages like the drab books my father had me read. I had read the entire book cover to cover in secrecy late at night when my father had forbid that I read fantasy over studying and improving my mind. What man could run a successful business with stories like that? A man needs math! Science! History! And I had read the book again most recently. I rubbed my growing stomach, and pressed my pen against the paper again.

My father was a successful and munificent man (when he wanted to be) but he never remarried. He was paranoid that any woman that came here would only be after his money and property, which he would be leaving to me upon his deathbed. A deathbed he was on now.

I turned my head towards his bedroom as I wrote the last line. He would be waking when the sun birthed over the horizon, four or five hours from now. A yawn escaped my lips and I shook my head, I couldn’t let myself become drowsy, this had to be finished.

My father has been sick for months. The doctor said it was just a cold a first, but it seems to be worse every day. Well, it WAS worse but I am getting ahead of myself.

I should tell you that before he was ill, his main focus of life was not in living, but in making sure I was a wealthy successful man like himself. We were very fortunate in possessions and stature. The house we lived in was on valuable property. There was a river nearby and quite vast hills that were proven to be a great investment.

He also focused on me starting my own family. Having a wife. He wanted to make sure he had a grandson before he met his maker, he would often say to me over a quiet dinner of roasted lamb and potatoes. He was not afraid that I wasn’t interested in women. I was very interested in the fairer sex. Only I had not met a woman that met my expectations. I was looking for THE woman. The woman that could only match what my mother was. I took many women to bed, but taking them to my heart was another thing. And now I had another pressure looming over my head. But all in all, I had grown into what my father had always wanted me to be. I was a man.

That brings us to the day that changed everything. I had been sitting in the field over by the Conner’s residence. Mr. Conner and his wife Roseanne had three children all born a year apart from each other. Mrs. Roseanne’s hopes of course were that I would wed one of her daughters, Becky or Darlene. D.J., their son, and I had been childhood friends. After finishing school though, the distance in our brotherly friendship had increased more than the yards between our houses. There wasn’t really a reason for the estranged friendship; it just wasn’t the same anymore. That didn’t keep me from sitting at the senescent tree that played a background part to so many of my adolescent memories.

The fields below the raised hill I sat upon grew corn stalks, potatoes, carrots and a variety of other edible vegetables. I relished in a brief memory of running through those chasing Becky and Darlene, their shrieks of laughter catching in the wind. It was an unusually warm afternoon in March, and as the wind started to weave itself through the branches and leaves I opened my eyes. In that moment it seemed like there was something in the wind that wasn’t the wind. It was something altogether; a quiddity, as there were two layers to this invisible force. The wind brought the rustling through the stalks below, but there was a light surrusus there too; it was a pleasing bombinating sound, a melody of mystery. The smells of earth and farms were carried with the wind, but the aroma of a rich musky floral overpowered that. It blanketed my senses and seemed to hypnotize me. I looked down into the fields, the stalks wavering in a synchronized dance, all of them pointing me where to look. In the center of the field, that no longer looked like corn stalks I espied a woman that coruscated with immense beauty.

A jolt in my rounded stomach made me scratch the tip of my pen across the brittle paper. I placed a hand on the affected area and applied a small amount of pressure as I stared at the long black streak across my paper. “Yeah yeah” I said aloud then averting my attention to quaff my honeywheat cider. The glow from the fireplace was no longer providing enough light for my tired eyes, so before starting again I perused in my side desk drawer for a candle to light in the crepuscular room.

I was frozen in time. The smell and sound of what I could only believe was HER essence enfolded me like a lasso and tugged me from my sitting place and dragged me down. I would have flown down to her if I could; it would have saved me from the bruises and permanent grass stains on the knees of my slacks. Thinking back to it now, I don’t know how I even knew what direction she was in when I was down in the corn stalks. I figure I just followed the intoxicating smell of what I recognized was jasmine and the sounds as they got louder until I was there.

I don’t know how to describe her face. I can’t say I have been bad at remembering things of this nature, but I have never proclaimed that I have a photographic memory. But how can any man forget the face of the woman that made you her own?

I remember her eyes were wide, filled with molten chocolate. Her face was adorned with freckles; she wore them like jewelry. Her smile was small and pink like the fresh grown carnations at Mr. Sampson’s shop. But she held so much more beauty than a regular carnation. She was wearing something light and flimsy but didn’t give anything away about her figure. She was short, but she wasn’t an imp. She was in one word: exotic.

I was stumbling with my words. This is not how I was around women. I had no problems walking up to one and asking her to join me for dinner or for a waltz about town. And I certainly never let one corrupt my mind like this one had without even a single word from her. But there I stood, motionless, my tongue tripping over my teeth.

When I finally spoke a weak and trembling “Hello”, as I heard it in my head I was back to the prepubescent age of 10, squeaky and unsure of what sex was, she giggled a mellifluous laugh and told me her name was Jasmine. She spoke it in an accent not known in the area. At the time I just let the name run cartwheels though my head; it was as if I had never heard the word before. “Jasmine”, I whispered, tasting the feel of how the letters played themselves. Seeing the word come from my mouth and fill the air in front of me. Her fragrance was thick like a fog, a white cloud that made everything soft and hazy. I took a step toward her and heard a snap as one of the stalks below my feet crunched. I looked down at the sound, cursing it inwardly for breaking the frisson I was feeling. I noticed again that we weren’t in the corn stalks and I asked aloud “What are these?”

“Sugar cane,” her voice came out as if each word was covered in honey. She reached out and touched one with her hand, her dark eyes never leaving mine. That was when I kissed her.

The light flickered in front of my face and I sighed. I arched my aching back against the back of my desk chair and cracked my stiff fingers loosening the joints. I drank the last of my honeywheat cider and placed the cup on the desk. My eyes burned with desire to sleep, I was sure if I looked in a mirror they would be blood shot. I hadn’t been getting much sleep lately and it didn’t look like I would be getting much anytime soon.

I continued on.

We kissed. And kissed. And kissed again over and over in that field of sugar. As soon as my lips molded against hers, she left the cane stalk and placed her hand against the back of my head, pressing me against her. I put my hands on both sides of her face and then moved one down to her neck and then lower, feeling her breast beneath my palm. I squeezed the soft supple mound of flesh and then flittered with the front with my fingertips, bringing her nipple to an erect state. Her moan in my mouth was as if I had bit directly into one of the sugar canes. I started to caress her chest with a little more force. I kissed her roughly, my desire for her reaching an uncontrollable state. This was something I had never experienced before. I wanted to rip the fabric that was keeping my skin from hers. And then she pulled away from me.

I stood there aghast, my breath heavy and forced but she was still in my arms. I moved towards her again ready to start back from where we left off, but she held a finger up to my lips to keep me from reaching her. Her touch was soft, but it seemed to keep me from pushing forward anymore.

“Take me home.”

With those three words I grabbed her hand and we ran through the sugar cane maze, cracking and breaking ones beneath our feet, her laughter trapping itself between each stalk until we entered the corn stalks and then back to the clear field.

I brought her home…

I hadn’t realized my throat was burning. I reached up and cupped my throat with my hand as if that would dull the pain. It didn’t, of course, so I pushed myself away from the desk, my chair scuffing against the grain of the floor. Grabbing my cup, I walked with taut legs towards the kitchen. The wind was howling outside knocking the branches of trees against the roof. As I poured myself another full glass of the syrupy concoction I stopped and decided to bring the whole pitcher.

Jasmine seemed to gambol more than walk. Her radiant glow and fey atmosphere just seemed so natural.

My father was coughing when we walked through the double doors into the grandiloquent entrance hall. His coughing was getting worse and even the most expensive nostrums hadn’t cured it.

I looked at the ephemeral beauty beside me and the urge to ravish her in the pristine empty hall all I could think about. I had to regain my composure; I had to calm my senses. And then my father coughed again. My face burned with embarrassment, and I can’t even remember why. I looked down at her, but her focus wasn’t on me, it was on the source of the coughing. With a grace that is unknown to any human, she went up the stairs. With a matched awkwardness, I trailed after her.

“Wait!” I called after her as she reached his bedchambers and opened the door. I was too late, but I think now back to that moment to ask if I would have stopped her, could I have? Would I have? I didn’t even try. But yes, if somehow I could have stopped her from going in there, I would have.

“Mark?” His voice was fragile but even then there was an undertone of authority in the question of my name. “Who is this woman in my room?”

“Father… I,” it was all I could get out before Jasmine was sitting aside his thin body covered by sheets. I heard him gasp as she touched her fingers to his cheek and then he rasped “Leave us.”

I stood there confused. Was he really asking me to leave? Could he not see I needed to be with her? That there was an invisible rope that tied me to her?

“Mark, are you deaf?” he said in a stronger voice.

“No, sir”, I said and grabbed the knob to his wide oak door. I closed it but left it a crack to watch and listen. I couldn’t hear her, but she was whispering to him. It sounded just like the soft sounds in the wind earlier. Her smell filled the air. I couldn’t help but close my eyes and breathe deeply, a stirring in my body at the thought of her in my arms. At that moment, she was there in front of me, the door wide open. I stumbled backwards and she laughed looking up at me the gold dust in her eyes melting into one.

I took her hand and wordlessly and lead her to my room.

I scratched my head, deep into my scalp. My hair was getting longer, my skin getting dry. I looked back over to the fire and watched as the flames danced. It was getting difficult to put things in order. The memories were becoming chimerical and that made it hard to put down on paper. It wasn’t even that long ago, but they were starting to feel like the childhood memories that feel more like dreams. All the more imperative it was to record it now. I took another deep swig to quench the thirst and sweet tooth before trekking on.

Please don’t think me of a man without values. I didn’t have my way with her like I wanted the instant we walked into my room. We sat and talked for a while actually. She told me she was from the Philippines and she just moved here. Her family travelled a lot and never stayed in one place for a long time. She was two years my junior and had never smoked. Her favorite color was when the sky was a dusty blue and the grey popped from beneath. Her fondest memory of being a child was being in Brazil and walking through a market place filled with fresh fruit and vegetables. She stopped to stand on her tip toes to look over the side at the pineapples, licking her lips and the vender reached down handing her one for free. She thanked him and spent the whole night eating it, the juice running down her chin and onto her dress. I was engrossed with the way she talked. I felt myself hanging onto her every word.

I finally asked her “What did you say to my father?”

“I asked him what did he wish for in all the world.”

I can’t explain why I was shocked to hear she would ask that. Part of me thought it was rude, but that was the way my father had raised me. Don’t delve into trivial things like wishes and fantasies. Keep your head on the ground and out of the clouds! The other part of me was just amazed by the beauty and innocence of a simple question that would normally not feel that way. “What did he say?” I asked, intrigued by what my father would have to say.

“A grandson was the answer.”

At that, I kissed her again. I knew I wanted her. I wanted every part of her. I wanted her as a woman. I wanted her as a wife. I wanted her as the mother to my children. Could she tell that by my actions? I wasn’t sure I would be able to say it with words.

I pushed her down slowly with the pressure of my body, and she let me without any resistance. She allowed my tongue to enter her mouth and my hands to roam her body. When I felt the passion stirring again to an unstoppable level, she let me leave her mouth to go down her neck, her hands moving down my back, her head moving to the side to give me more access. And when I ripped the fabric of her thin dress to put my mouth against her nipple to suckle her sweet nipple and touch her breasts she arched her back and moaned. Her skin tasted as sweet as she smelled and I was intoxicated again, trapped inside the bubble she had encased us in. I lifted myself slightly; her legs now around my thighs and started to unbutton my shirt, pulling it from my dirty slacks. She ran her hands across my erected state and I shuddered with desire. I fumbled with the latches until I could shimmy them off and throw them to the floor. I pressed myself against her again, kissing her deep as I ran my hands against her leg, moving it between to the center of the all that was good and right. As my hand went there, so was hers, stopping me. I moved my head back and tried to move my hand forward again, but she continued to deny me what I wanted. I cocked my head to the right in question and she whispered “One thing please.”

She had taken off the flimsy article of clothing that had been ripped in haste and desire. Holding it in her hands she wrapped it around my head and tying it tightly. I was very aroused and this only increased my excitement. I felt her hand against mine, leading me to paradise. I was surprised to find she was hairless. As I suspected, she was gushing wet. I smiled and was ready to complete the copulation, but I found she was bringing my hand to my mouth. I was taken aback. What was she doing?

“What… are you doing?” I asked scooting back on my haunches. This thing was unheard of. Her… this… stuff… in my MOUTH?!

“Go on, you’ll like it.” She said it, and for some reason I couldn’t say no. Obediently I opened my mouth and she placed my coated finger in there. I felt it on my tongue and couldn’t help but suck on it, craving more. It was so sugary, so pure. It had a taste of nothing I had ever had in my mouth before. I pushed her down without being able to see and placed my mouth to her mound, lapping and licking trying to get ever essence of her being. She moaned like nothing I had heard before. It was like a Siren’s song. Finally, and unbelievably it seemed at the time, I had my fill. Opening her legs I filled her with every inch of myself. Thrusting in and out in a sweaty dance of what I conceived to be what love was, we came together as one as I spilled my seed inside of her.

When I had ejaculated everything inside her, I threw myself beside her on the bed, breathing in hard, my heart beating at a pace that felt alien. I took the fabric from my eyes and turned to her, giving her a kiss before going to sleep naked and undone.

Naturally, like every time I came to this memory, I felt myself harden in desire and then ashamed and scared. It was not natural. My stomach jolted again and I pressed a calming hand to it, rubbing it back and forth. I could see the sky getting lighter. I still had some time. I was almost there and so was the day.

In the morning I woke with a deep ache in my stomach and something soft in my face. I pressed air out of my mouth to move the object out of my face, but ended up wafting it away with my hand. I grabbed my stomach and pushed myself upright. It took me a minute to remember there was someone there beside me. I wish now I had forgotten. I wish now that I had not looked. When I did, it looked like a massacre. There was my beauty, my flower, my Jasmine… covered in blood. The sheets were soaked. Her face was covered. Her arms, her legs, her breasts, her crotch, her legs. I moved to her, but it wasn’t quick enough. I grabbed her face in my hands. Hands covered in dried blood. Could I have done this? I searched for the source of blood but I couldn’t find it.

I had to think. I started to hyperventilate. No one understands how someone in this predicament feels until they are in one, too. They always say “Why didn’t you look here?” or “Why didn’t you notice this before?” Those things have to be pieced together. It has taken me this long to piece them together. So how can I tell you this so you understand?

It was becoming lighter outside. I looked down at the paper. So close… so very close.

I didn’t notice until later that her hands and feet were disfigured.That her fingers and toes were pointing BACKWARDS. I didn’t notice that there were WINGS coming from her shoulder blades. I didn’t notice these things until later when I was trying to get rid of her body.

I didn’t notice that the source of her blood was actually coming from the very place I had so desperately wanted to be. I didn’t put it together until I went to wash my face to look in the mirror and see my face was completely covered in her blood. Blood that flowed and tasted so remarkably sweet.

No, I take it back. I didn’t put it together until I sat there with my head in my hands in the velvet chair wondering what I was going to do. When I thought back to the only thing that I remember that I loved before Jasmine.

I thought about my mother. I thought about her and the stories. I ran up and grabbed the book and flipped and flipped through the old pages thinking I was crazier the more I looked without any answer. Until I found it. I found you. Alan.

Alan.

I stopped only for a moment to look down at the other page I had there. A torn old page, yellowed with age old print. A story from the Philippines about a legendary creature called “Alan”. My stomach jolted again and I buckled against my desk with the pain. I tried to steady myself to push myself upright to continue writing. But my hand trembled and the desk shook. The jolt happened again and the pitcher of honeywheat cider fell to the ground, the porcelain falling to the ground and shattering; the precious liquid spreading against the floor and seeping into the rug. My cup, filled halfway with the drink also knocked over, covering my pages. I groaned in agony, pulling myself up and gathering the pages before they got too wet. I pushed the liquid off the desk, not being able to resist licking the sticky drink from my hands. I put the papers down and tried to continue writing.

This is getting harder and harder to complete, but it must be done.

In the simplest form, Jasmine was not a human. I don’t know what her purpose was and if I helped or kept her from accomplishing what she came to do.

The jolt happened again. I screamed this time, not caring if my father woke. I stiffed the next scream with all the composure I could muster and looked out the window. The first traces of sunlight were peaking over the horizon. I looked down again at the my papers. I wrote my last words.

Please find the attached form to explain further as I am not able to.

To my father: I hope your wish was worth it.

The pain was unbearable as the son ripped himself out of Mark’s stomach. His screams started and did not end until his heart was no longer beating.

They named him “Alan”.

My One Word - Magnetic

I find myself being pulled toward you like a magnet. You are only a couple feet away from me, and yet I need to be closer. Closer and closer still until my skin finds yours. Negative & Positive ions. I can't help it, you are magnetic.

^v^v^v^ Part 2

When I started this afghan up again, I had not seen there was a mistake in some of the stitches I had done. So, all the work I did a couple days ago, I unraveled and started again. Now I have added about 18 rows to what I had before all done while watching Grey's Anatomy (on season 4 right now with a few episodes to go)

Apparently, this is not as WIDE as I had wanted. When making the starting chain I did not take into account that it would be "scrunched" due to the zig-zag nature of the pattern. No worries, it will still be able to cover a 6'3" man.. AT LEAST.

(3rd picture done with the flash on)

Afghan Redux

First off, I apologize to those few people who were following me and watching the progress of my Afghan making. After losing my job, and the fact the afghan was not going the way I had wanted, I started over using the same yarn, just changing the pattern.

This is the new afghan. I started earlier this year but then stopped and just recently picked it up again. It's weird, but I find that when it's too warm to be crocheting, that's when I want to the most.

Day 4: Afghan

Day 4.

I took a break from working on this for a few days. I added more stripes of the greens and yellow and added in a color called "Paprika" which now makes me think of Jamaica. I am slightly concerned because the stitch still seems to be going at angle. I will keep on truckin' on though.

Day 3: Afghan

Day 3.

New colors Mustard and Chocolate added to the mix. Slightly concerned, the edges seem to be going at an angle. Too far into it to unravel everything and start over. Also concerned that I did not do enough chains to make it long enough. I guess we'll see how this turns out. I like the stitch but it may not be worth it to use again anytime soon.

Day 2: Afghan

Day 2.

Was originally going to only have the 3 green colors (Guacamole, Leaf and Dark Leaf) but knew I would be needing more. When I went out to the store, I bought other colors. This is with the color Toffee and Honey added.

Day 1: Afghan

Day 1.
<3.

Choked by Love

This was written very recently. It's based loosely on Amber (minitacos) and Cliff (mybrotherinmexico) from BlogTV. When I first started writing it, I asked Amber what last name she would like to have in the story. She said "Palin" which is why that last name was used.

While they are together, anything based on LOVE was taken on my love for n00dles.

*******************************************************************************

Clifford Grant was a normal man. He was a smart man. He was a nice, kind, hard working man who believed himself to be like an open book. Clifford was a man. A man in love.

Amber Palin was a mysterious woman. She was a spontaneous woman. She was an energetic, wide eyed, and enthusiastic woman who believed herself to be very ordinary and not at all special. She was a woman. A woman in love.

The world was envious of this love. It was a love that caused uncontrollable giggles and a deep continuous warmth in your heart. It was full of infinite kisses and astronomical hugs. It was an uncatchable butterfly that had flown willingly into their nets.

Yes, this is that famous love you heard about. This is the love that would end all loves.

That is, until Amber died.

They had just woken up, snuggled into each others arms, tracing the imprints the sheets had left on their skin with the tips of their fingers. They washed together, only to end up getting dirtier. Then they took a stroll in the mid-day sun. They walked hand in hand, smiling the whole time.

Amber saw a street vendor selling her favorite treat - mini tacos! Clifford smiles as he watched her skip to the small window, bouncing as she waited for him to serve her the mouthwatering meat filled delicacy as he sat on a bench waiting.

In the distance he heard rumbling. He looked up into the sky, shielding his eyes with his hand. Clear blue sky. No sign of a storm. He look back towards the noise.

He looked too late. As he saw the charging bulls coming down the road, he also saw Amber, arms full of steaming hot mini tacos. His arm stretched out towards her wanting to pull her towards him while screaming "GO BACK!!!" at the same time, his voice loud and deep. This was all taking place in a slow motion speed, but that did not save her. The bulls were too fast and too loud and as soon as she took a step into the road to walk towards Clifford, she was pummeled, mini tacos flying through the air, cracking bones crushed with the hard crisp taco shells, brains and taco meat smeared on the ground, blood and salsa splattering on the bulls hooves and on bystanders' faces, their mouths all open in shock.

It all seemed so surreal.

After that life ending event, Clifford became a very depressed man. He was a heartbroken and lonely man. His life ended when hers did. He holed himself up curling himself up in her clothes trying to keep her essence close to him. He would cry himself to sleep, wake up and lay there, only getting up to go to the bathroom so he wouldn't have to lay in his own filth. He was losing weight fast and he was losing color in his face. This went on for days.

He pried an eye open, her black sweater that she wore on her birthday pressed against his face. The phone was ringing. He didn't want to answer. He didn't want to move or talk to anyone. He only wanted her and now she was gone. The answering machine picked up. "This is Cliff.... And this is Amber! Leave a message... or else you Nazi!" BEEEEEEP.

It was his brother. He wanted him to come down for a while. Be with family. Get out of the house. Eat a meal. He wanted Cliff to call him back. And for Cliff to take a shower.

He smelled his armpit at that comment. He *did* smell. A shower wouldn't be too bad. He got up from the bundles of Ambers clothes and walked with heavy clumsy legs into the bathroom.

While in the shower his brain wandered around. He starting thinking about all the things that he cried about. The thoughts of the last time they kissed. He missed those lips. The last time they argued. He wished he could have taken back every moment they wasted by fighting. The last time they made love. Oh how he wished he could be back inside her. Before he knew it, the water in the tub was up to his ankles. He was confused as to why the water wouldn't be going down the drain. He looked down and found a large clump of hair. Not just any hair. HER hair.

In a hypnotized fashion, he turned off the water. He walked, staring at the handful of gnatted hair. He stood naked, pellets of water dripping down forming a puddle at his feet. He rummaged mindlessly around in the bathroom cabinets until he found what he was looking for. Eureeka! He had found it and his eyes widened with intense determination. He set her wet clump of hair down on the counter and held her hairbrush in front of his face. He started pulling at the strands of dry hair, forming them into a large poufy hairball. Then he worked the dry hair into the wet, moving his hands fast, his reflection in the mirror mimicking his actions. Now he was done. He held up his mini Amber hair doll.

"Hi," he said smiling at the hair doll, pleased with his creation. But it didn't say hi back. He stood there defeated, water rolling down his legs. He walked out of the bathroom and his body flopped on the edge of his bed. The Amber hair doll laid flat and limp in his hand. The phone rang. Cliff walked over to the bedside table and picked up the phone. Starring at the doll he mumbled his answer.

"Ok," he replied to the voice on the other end. " See you then."

Cliff agreed to see his brother in Mexico.

The trip was uneventful, Cliff kept to himself and did not bother with anyone else there, his Amber Hair doll in his pocket the entire time. When he arrived to his destination his brother was there ready to take him home. He would rest, eat and then go out into the heart of the city to look around.

It all started out ok. Cliff went to bed and slept. He awoke to the smell of churro's and fajita's. He ate with his brother and his family. Before heading out, Cliff went into the bathroom to splash water on his face. He felt incomplete. He felt that half of him was gone, and it was. He looked at his reflection in the mirror, the water running down his face and neck, soaking the neckline of his shirt. He looked closer and place his fingers underneath his eyes. He needed to get more sleep, the dark circles did not do anything for his attractive face. His skin looked a sickly yellow tint, and his hair was getting too long. He looked down at the counter and then started rummaging through the bottom cabinet. He had been looking for scissors to give himself a nice trim, but he only found a buzzer. He plugged it in and then clicked it on. The repetitive “bzzzz” echoed in the small bathroom. His hair fell to the floor in strands. After getting it as close to the scalp as he could, he found a razor and shaved it completely off. Then they went out to the town.

The streets were full of shoppers and tourists. People shouting, shoving, it all became too much for Cliff. With all the bustling he lost sight of his brother. He stood there in the street, getting shoved and turned around, shouting for his brother. Cliff started feeling claustrophobic, his forehead covering in sweat, his heart racing. He moved forward and stepped through the first doorway he saw to calm his nerves.

With his eyes closed he sighed and took a deep breath letting the air fill his lungs and then pushed it out slowly through his nose. After his nervous system calmed, he opened his eyes and looked at his surroundings. He was in a dark room, dusty curtains of faded purples and magenta's filled the corners. An odd assortment of beads and vases covered counters against the walls that were covered in black and white photos of the faces of people he could assume were dead. Dim candles lit the small room, their wax making puddle patterns on the dirty floor. In the back was a woman covered in different shawls of various colors. A single candle in front of her lit her face in dancing shadows. Her fingers looked knobby and wrinkly.

"Come here," her voice broke the silence and sounded surprisingly young.

He did as she said although he felt a jolt of panic run though him. He sat down in front of her and did not ask questions.

"You've lost someone," she said this without doubt. She didn't wait for him to answer. "You are going down a downward spiral. You can either continue your fall down or climb out. It's all up to you. Give me what is in your pockets."

He pushed his hands deep down inside his jeans and threw the contents on the table. $40 worth of peso's, a lighter, a receipt from the airport gift shop, his wallet, passport and the Amber Hair Doll. His hand went to the table to grab it back, he hadn't meant to put that out there, but her hand was faster.

"Hey, give that back," he raised from his seat and grabbed across the table to retrieve his item, but before he could get it back, the old woman had left her chair and now had her back turned towards him. She was fumbling with glass jars, lifting and then replacing the lids as she looked inside until she found what she was looking for. Cliff ran towards her, his anger fueling his actions. He would choke her if he needed to, he would get his hair doll back! He ran towards where she was at, his hand removing the thin veils of cloth hanging from the ceiling from his face, she had already found the jar she was looking for and had put the doll inside. He pushed her away, her body stumbling and then regaining her balance, sticking his hand down into the jar to grab it out the doll. Brown dust covered it, and he shook it off while turning his back to the woman who was now cackling; a sound that grated in his ears and reminded him of a dying frog. He shook the doll once more and held back the urge to spit on the woman or knock over her containers. He left the woman and her cackling laugh and set off to find his brother. He wanted to go back home and sleep. After searching for about 10 minutes, he found a taxi since there weren’t any donkeys around to ride back on.
He arrived back to his brothers adobe home calling out to see if anyone was there. His voice traveled through the empty hallways, bouncing off the flat ceiling and dark rooms. Maybe they were out looking for him, maybe they didn’t even know he was missing. The thoughts were irrelevant to him right now, the only thing he could think was how tired he felt, his limbs felt heavy and it felt as though he was walking with cinder blocks on his feet.

He dragged himself into his room, untying his shoes and taking off his shirt. The bed bounced as Cliff flopped himself onto it. He grabbed the Amber Hair Doll from his pocket and stroked it with his finger. He kissed it and clasped it in his hand, and then curled his arm under his pillow and fell asleep.

When he awoke, he couldn’t find the hair doll. He searched all around the empty bed; lifting the sheets, moving the mattress, checking under the bed. He couldn’t find it anywhere. He sat down on the edge of the messy bed and put his hands on his smooth bald head. Except, it wasn’t smooth. He stopped his hand at the back of his head where he felt a large tuft of hair. He pulled at it and cringed in pain. It was his hair attached to his skull. He got up and went into the bathroom to look in the mirror. He turned the light on, the bright light blinding him for a second, neon dots flashing in front of him. When his vision returned to normal, he turned his head slightly to the left to get a better look. There it was, the Amber Mini Doll, but it was deep into his skin. He tried pulling on it again. It didn’t move. He tried to pull his hand away, but the hair had tangled itself around his fingers. He pulled again, and again, and still he could not free his hand from the hair. Then he noticed the hair was now past his fingers and it was steadily going down his hand and arm.

Cliff yanked open the medicine cabinet and searched for something to cut the hair. He found tweezers, but it seemed with every strand he cut, it would just grow back. He threw the silver tweezers to the ground and started searching for the scissors. The tweezers weren’t doing the job fast enough, maybe with scissors he would be able to free his hand out. He rummaged, but it was very difficult with one hand. The hair was now making it’s way to his elbow and up towards his shoulder. Where were those scissors?! He gave up and ran towards the kitchen, the hair now traveling across his upper back and chest. He opened the silverware drawers looking for a sharp knife or a pair of bone cutters. Items clanked and fell out of drawers as he hastily opened each one in search of the cutting tool but his search was unfruitful.

The hair was branching off now; one end moving downwards and the other half moving upwards. Cliff released a guttural noise, his frustration bringing him to tears. He turned and saw the cutting block with the steak knife and butchers cleaver and stumbled towards it. The hair was wrapping his legs together, making it increasingly difficult to walk or stand. He reached out with his hand to grab the knife, but the hair had made its way to his feet, buckling his knees. The hair that was moving upwards has reached his mouth, and as he fell he hit his head on the tiled floor of his brothers kitchen his eyes rolled to the back of his head. He didn’t feel the hair climb its way into his mouth and down into this throat, squeezing his heart and vital organs. Cliff’s body spasmed involuntarily while the hair moved deeper into places it didn’t belong. It was consuming him. He did feel it cover him completely and tighten the strands so tight his bones cracked and snapped. His last verbal noise was a strangled gurgle of blood that wasn’t audible beneath the thick mass of hair covering him.

In his mind though, he could hear her. It was Amber. And then he could see her. She was holding a plate of mini tacos in one hand and was reaching out to him with the other.

Sisterly Love

This was written in February of 2007. It was about a member on the StationZer0 site named Losty09. What a brilliant girl.

********************************************************************************************************

"Why can't you be more like your sister?"

This was something Alyssa heard all the time. Whether it was from her parents or inside her own head, she heard it all the time.

Her sister was perfect. Well, she may not have been the most perfect, but she was certainly better than Alyssa. Perfect grades, perfect job, perfect hair, perfect style. She as everything Alyssa wanted to be and couldn't be.

Alyssa sat miserably at her desk working on her chemistry project and thinking about how is she was her sister, it would have been done already. And it would be perfect. She poured some mixture of liquids into another jar.

Knock knock

The knock startled her and she bumped her arm, knocking a vial of liquid into the larger one, and more covering other things on her desk.

"Come in!" She shouted, trying to fix the spill, but with a low groan, she realized she would have to start over.

"Darling, dinner is almost ready," her mother said looking in. She noticed the mess. "Good gracious! You are going to clean that up, aren't you? You are always spilling things. Why can't you be more like your sister?"

"Yes mother," Alyssa answered, mopping the spill up with a towel. She made sure everything was cleaned off and ready to be worked on after dinner. She grabbed her glass of soda off her desk and walked to the kitchen to eat dinner.

Dinner was the same, conversation about how well Alyssa's sister was doing with her job and how well she did in school compared to Alyssa. She was glad when it was over. She drank the last of her soda and excused herself from the table. She went to her room to work on her chemistry work.

When she walked into her room, KayKay, her fluffy white cat was on her desk licking around.

"Hello my sweetums!" Alyssa said, swooping the large cat in her arms. "How is my precious today?" The cat purred in her arms and the leaped to the ground, running into the hallway.

Alyssa worked all night long on her chemistry project well into the middle of the night. When she was happy with her work, she laid on her bed and went to sleep.

The next morning, she awoke, but not in her own bed. She was not in her own room. She was not in her pajama's! She was in her sisters bed, in her sisters room, and in her sisters pajama's! She ran to the mirror hanging on the wall. It was her sister's face that was reflected back at her. Her sisters eyes got large as her hands felt around her face. What was going on here???

She ran out of her room as her mother who was sitting down at the kitchen table greeted her warmly and shouted for Alyssa to get up and ready for school. Alyssa (in her sister's body) ran to her room. There was her body sleeping in her bed, curled up in a ball.

"Hey!!!" she shook her body back and forth trying to wake her up. If Alyssa's was in her sister's body that must mean her sister was in her body!

She continued to shake the body until it seemed that she was waking up. She gave a long languid stretch, her hands and feet curling. She looked at Alyssa (in her sister's body) and crawled out of bed, pushing herself around Alyssa's legs.

"What are you doing?" Alyssa asked, keeping her voice down so her parent's didn't hear her.

There was no answer other than a deep purr and then a "Meow Mix".

"Meow mix?" she questioned. Then it struck her. Only cats would ask for Meow Mix! "KayKay is that you?"

"Hungry" was the only reply. She sat down and started licking her hand.

"Oh no. That means my sister is a cat!" she was momentarily worried, but then she realized. Her sister was a cat! She ran from the room, looking for her sister (now in a cat's body). When she couldn't find her, she went to ask her mom. "Where is KayKay?"

"Oh, there is something wrong with her this morning," she said looking at her daughter. "She would not stop howling. I put out food for her and everything and she kept going at it, clawing at my legs, jumping in my lap and clawing at my shoulders. I finally put her outside."

Behind them in the kitchen, the body of Alyssa (now KayKay the cat) was eating from the dish on the floor.

Alyssa (now her sister) walked off to her room with a smile and got ready for work.

A Lesson on Bandaids

I wrote this one also in January 2007. This was about a guy named "Batdaddy" from a site I visited (and sometimes still do visit on occasion) called StationZer0. It was inspired because he really was eating cheeto's when I wrote this.
********************************************************************

Thomas led a very satisfied life. He had a loving wife and 2 very beautiful little girls. Men envied his wit and charms and the ladies were always longing after him. While he may not have made the most money, he lived a life full of love and laughter, and that is all that he needed.

One day Thomas was at home, his wife and children were away at her sisters' house. He had just sat down in front of his computer with his bag of Cheeto's. As he plunged his hand down into the bag to reach for the cheesiest of Cheeto's, he got some of the cheese dust in a cut on his finger he had gotten earlier.

"Ow!" he exclaimed aloud. He immediately licked the aching cut. It was cheesy good, but the cheese dust had already gotten into the cut so far down, not even scraping it with his teeth could get it out. After a few minutes the pain subsided and Thomas forgot all about it. He went on with the rest of this night as he normally would.

The next morning Thomas awoke like he always would, giving his wife a kiss on her forehead before going to the bathroom to get ready for work. He brushed his teeth and got into the shower as always. It was until he was on his way to work he noticed an orange tinge to his right hand. He brought his hand to his face and turned it over trying to find the source of the color change. Then he saw the cut on his middle finger. The cut was a darker orange than the rest of the hand. You could call the color 'cheese dust orange' as that was the shade. He told himself he must have not paid attention to washing his hand enough while in the shower and decided to do it when he got to work.

Once he got to work, he was so busy he forgot about his 'cheese dust orange' hand, and went on working. He continued to work until lunch when he went out to get some nachos, he was in the mood for something cheesy.

It wasn't until he was washing his hands in the men's restroom that he noticed the lighting in there made his face and arms look the same color that his hand was this morning. "Someone needs to change these lights," he said to himself, and dried his hands to go back to work.

When he got back home, Thomas felt very strange. He smelled cheese all around him, and had a very strong craving for any type of cheese product. He ran into the kitchen and scrounged the refrigerator for something cheesy to eat, but could not find anything. He ransacked the kitchen and could not find anything. He sat on the floor and brought his hands to his face in defeat. Wait, what was that? He smelled his hands. They smelled so much like cheese! He opened his eyes and looked at them. They looked like cheese. He stuck out his tongue and tentatively licked his hand. He tasted like cheese! Before he could stop himself, he took a huge bite of himself. Nacho cheese poured out his hand in place of blood, and he did not feel any pain. He had such a hunger he continued to eat his hand and arms and continued onto his feet, legs and torso until there was nothing left of him. When his wife returned home, walking into the kitchen to fix dinner, she yelled out loud "Who made such a mess in this kitchen?? There's cheese everywhere!"

That night, she sent out a missing person report for her husband Thomas. He has not been found yet.

Johnny Learns About Eating Too Much Icr Cream

This was also written in January of 2007. This one is not about anyone in particular. Just a little bit of oddness.
**************************************************************************

Johnny made a new friend. He was a furry green monster. Johnny named him Claude. Everyday Johnny and Claude ate ice cream out of the giant freezer in Johnny's basement which his mom kept stocked. They loved the ice cream because it was very rich and creamy. Months passed and Johnny and Claude continued to eat the ice cream. Both were getting bigger and bigger! Johnny got so big that one day he could not get up out of his sitting position to go up the stairs. He told Claude to go get his mom. Claude left to do as Johnny said. Week passed, and he did not hear from Claude or his mother, but he stayed alive with the ice cream.

Weeks turned into months and months turned into years, and Johnny was at the end of the supply of ice cream. No one had showed up, and Johnny's size had increased tremendously. He could have just ate less ice cream to finally loose enough wait to walk up, or at least yelled until his voice gave out, but the depression of being left alone and forgotten made him eat continuously, he had no time to yell. Finally, as he took the last lick of ice cream from his spoon, he heard someone come down the stairs. It was a little purple monster! He yelled for the monster to come down, but as soon as the little one saw the big huge Johnny, he screamed and ran back up the stairs. Minutes later, a big green monster and a woman came down the stairs, holding a baseball bat. It was Claude and Johnny's mother! He tried to get up and yell for joy, they had finally come to save him! But the mother had forgotten about her son, you see when Johnny sent Claude to talk to his mother, Claude fell in love with her. With his awesome monster powers, he made her forget about Johnny. They then got married and had a child of their own, Xanny. Johnny's mother did not see her son, but a freakish blob of a man taking up half of her basement with tubs of empty ice cream cartons surrounding him.

She screamed for Claude to take care of him, so Claude, not knowing what else to do, beat Johnny with the baseball bat until he was dead, his body oozing with creamy delicious ice cream, which the family then ate.

Phillip's New Home

This was written in January of 2007. It's one of my more cryptic stories. It was also the first one I wrote with absolutely no real agenda.
***************************************************************

Phillip just moved into the neighborhood last month. A whole month of being there, and no one from the community had stopped by. Not one pie, or casserole in the arms of a smiling stranger greeted him.

He looked around his spacious new room. The plush furniture that was so soft if had a spongy quality gave the old lifeless space a new light. He had dual plasma HD screens to the front. His only complaints were about the cable company: the signal seemed to go down around midnight and sometimes it seemed as if he were stuck on one channel. He had two windows, one on each side. Even when they were closed, he could hear the noise from outside. He figured he must be around some sort of train station, or airport. And that was just the living room!

Phillip sat on his couch, his body sinking into the material. "Why won't anyone visit me?" he wondered aloud. He must have done something he was not aware of to have kept his new neighbors away. He looked along his walls. They were quiet bare. "Ah ha!" he thoughts, his finger pointing to the ceiling. Surely the neighbors had come by, but seeing through his windows that he had nothing on his walls made them turn around. No one would want a dry man with no taste as a friend!

Phillip knew he had to put some pictures on his wall. He rummaged through his new house and found some things the previous owner had left. Pictures of friends, family, places they had been. He chose the best pictures and got out his nails and hammer and began working on his new room, pounding on the walls and humming to himself.

Maggie closed her eyes and raised her hands to her forehead. She was in excruciating pain. It felt like someone was hammering nails into her head.