Inventio

• Student authored
  
  
• Digital media of any genre or topic.
  
  
• Additional webtext to contextualize the submission.
  
  
  
  

I Don't See It.

It's a crystal. Nothing more. But if you turn it this way and look into it, it will show you your dreams.

Meagan needed a coke.

Meagan needed a lot of things; She needed Michael to call her, she needed him to not break up with her. She needed her parents to come back from vacation, and she needed somebody to ask if she was okay, so that she could tell them to go away and leave her alone. But mostly, right now, she needed a coke.

Meagan took this as an overall improvement to the night, because, since she started the movie and thought about needing a coke, she hadn't thought about Michael.

The thought of Michael losing place to a coke made her cry again. She cried somewhere between the kitchen fridge and the wide screen in the den. Right about where the back doors were.

It was a good cry, and lasted several minutes, before, with a sad sniff and a wet sleeve, the cry ended. Meagan stood from her spot in front of the glass double doors, and got on with getting herself a coke. There was something magical about cola drinks, they fizzed and popped a misty spray onto Meagan's upper lip. when it got into her mouth it only got better. She could almost describe it as a smooth, cool burn. It was a good thing.

Meagan, with her can of coke, began back to the den, and the movie. However just between the now closed kitchen fridge, and the motionless movie image in the den, Meagan heard a knock. At the front door.

It was a very specific type of knock. Not the pounding of a fist. Rather it was an urgent rapping. As if made by the mid-knuckles of fingers. Meagan didn't move right away, it wasn't Michael's knock, and she would have ignored completely it if the knocker hadn't been so persistent.

"All right, hold up," in a dramatic huff, Marched marched to the front door, "Christ, is somebody dying."

Meagan unlocked and opened the door to see what all the fuss was about. The knocker pushed the door in. Meagan found herself being pulled to the floor as the door shut behind the man.

"Stay down," he held her as he pressed himself against the the door, "and be quite."

"Please don't hurt me mister," She struggled against him, as he pulled her tightly to him.

"You'll be fine, just stay calm," he whispered into her ear. The words moved through Meagan's body like a warmth. She felt peace spread through her. Her breathing slowed, and her muscles relaxed. The two sat by the door, the man mumbling a quite refrain.

"Hey," he whispered to her after a few minutes, "I'll be needing those back," the man nodded with his head to his legs. Meagan stood up from his lap, and watched him as he began to peer through the narrow windows of etched glassed by the door.

The man looked older, white haired. possibly at the end of middle aged or near the start of elderly. What struck Meagan as most peculiar was the the shiny blue gown that covered his stout frame, and the feathered costume wings strapped to his back.

"Sorry if gave you a scare there, but I'll be needing to stay here until sun up, I don't think going back out again will be safe for a while."

"Do you mind telling me why you barged into my house?"

He kept looking out of the window, "Sorry, something was chasing me."

"what like a dog, or something?"

He shook his head, "dogs don't chase me, I'm an angel."

"I should have guessed, the wings are a dead giveaway."

His peering ended, leaving a look of concern pursed on his lips, "no, these are fake, I'm in disguise," he said as he took the wings off and made for the kitchen, "Do you have anything to drink? I'm David by the way."

Meagan followed, "That's great, look, you can't stay here, okay," David didn't answer. Instead he opened the fridge pulled out a coke, and began to drink.

"Hey, didn't you hear me? I said, you can't stay."

David held up a finger asking for a chance to swallow before he answered, "Look, I could just as easily tie you up and stay here all night without asking, but I'd rather we get along for the while I'm here."

"Angels normally tie up seventeen year old girls?"

"When we have to," David finished his coke and this time got some water instead.

Meagan pulled up a seat at the kitchen island, resting her head on her hand. She watched David.

"Hey, labyrinth," he pointed to the screen, " great movie."

"So why are you disguised as an angel?"

"I'm not," he said in a manner of fact, "this is a costume, I was actually trying to come off as a human."

"I didn't know humans normally dress in angel costumes," Meagan had never met a crazy person before, She always thought that a psycho would have been more unstable, more crazy. But this David seemed harmless.

"When they go to costume parties they might, it was kind of a hide in plain site type of thing," David walked across the room, "do you have a TV down stairs?"

He was a little nuts, but Meagan liked him, he reminded her of her dad, if her dad had a ten year old's understanding of sarcasm, "Why?"

He looked out of the windows and doors at the back of the house, "I'm not really comfortable up here, the thing chasing me might decide to have a look into the house, I'd rather it not know that you were helping me."

Paranoid too. This was kind of neat.

Meagan was glad for the company, just some nice guy, who was a little senile.

She went and took the movie out of the DVD player, and put it on in the basement. the two sat, watching, eating popcorn, making comments about the movie, about David Bowie, until finally David asked her.

"So what happened? I mean, it seems like you've been putting of thinking about something, and when I got here I could have sworn you'd been crying."

Meagan wasn't sure that she wanted to talk about it, but now that it was on her mind she couldn't help but spill the story. She told David about Michael and her, about him leaving her for another girl, about her cheating on him a couple times, but he had no idea. She swore. A lot came out, how much she needed him, how much she knew she couldn't trust him. What did he mean 'HE couldn't trust her', she asked, he left her for some fucking slut. David listened, agreeing with her every few minutes with an appropriate, "I can't believe it," or the occasional "fuck him."

Meagan was surprised how understanding David was. he listened. Not like Michael. he was funny and confident. He seemed younger than before too. Now that she had been sitting with him and could see him in a better light than before she saw that he wasn't as old as she first took him for. He was actually middle aged guy, and a bit burly. His light blonde hair needed a little styling, but it was cute, as if he could have been sexy if he really thought about it.

She was glad that he showed up that night. She was glad that they talked. He had threatened to tie her up, though. She thought about that. It reminded her that there was something dangerous about him. She thought about how things would have gone if he had tied her up. Images of him holding her body down, the rope around her wrists, around her chest. She imagined herself lying helpless across the coffee table, her knees against the hard wood floors.

"Are you okay?" David asked.

Oh my god, she thought. She had been blushing, and David had seen. She covered her face with her hands, mostly to hide the smile that spread from ear to ear.

"Uh oh," he said smiling, "Did I weird you out? maybe I should have tied you up to begin with?"

"Maybe you should have?" she smiled, and found herself biting her lip.

He just looked at her. It made her nervous and excited, "Do you want me to kiss you," he asked.

Meagan didn't say anything, she just bit harder on her lip as David moved closer, his lips parting. When he was only inches away she threw herself at him, her lips against his lips, pushing her tongue to find his tongue.

His arms pulled off her top, and pressed her down onto her back. She realized as his hands grabbed the elastic of her pajama pants, pulling down, that he could have broke her in half if he wanted to. She wanted to feel him inside her...

There was knock at the door.

"Fuck, ignore it, just ignore it," his hot breath brushed past her ear.

"Uh-huh," she moaned, as his hand rubbed the lips between her legs.

"Excuse me," both Meagan and David yelped, jumping off of each other. As quick as she could, with the nearest pillow, Meagan hid herself from the man sitting in the rocking chair.

"By all means continue, I was just wondering when you'd be done." The man's baby blue dress shirt shone from within his dark, black and blue pinstriped suit and metallic blue tie.

"Raz..." David stopped in the middle of the word, glancing at Meagan, "Milton, look I'm sorry, but I'll tell you where I stashed it."

"David," The man on the couch, Milton, was calm, his movements were fluid, "We already know where you hid the heart, finding it isn't why I'm here."

"Please mister I don't know what's going on," Meagan didn't want to be involved in this, the look of terror on David's face told her that she didn't.

"Miss," The man called Milton didn't look at her, "your role in this little drama has no lines," he said nothing else and just looked at david. Waiting.

"Milton," David tried to make his voice sound stern. It didn't, "you can't touch me, you have no idea what kind of hell will come down if you..."

"Don't speak to me of hell," Milton cut David off, "the only things you know of hell are the rumor's you've heard from your perch, but don't worry," Milton threw a manila folder at David's feet, "you'll have a better idea of things soon enough."

David stared at the folder, "what is that?"

"That, David, is a discharge, you see the heavenly host has been watching your exploits more intently than even we have, and in response to some of your most recent activities you have been deemed fallen."

"Bullshit," Davids voice was indignant, "This is bullshit."

"You've lost the protection of heaven, which would normally endear you to my heart, but since you've been such a repeated pain in my ass, I think I'll just let you find out about hell the way the humans do, First things first..."

"Milton please, I can help, I have information..."

"Let's get you out of those clothes."

Meagan screamed when she heard the gunshot. Cringing behind the pillow that was her only protection. She grit her teeth, this couldn't be happening, she thought, Why was this happening to her.

"Come on," came Milton's voice. It was gentle and quite, "Come on."

Meagan peaked over the pillow, thinking he was talking to her. He wasn't. Meagan found the man named Milton kneeling close over David. David lay there lifeless as Milton held a small jar near Davids mouth. He made a waving motion with his other hand, as if he was waving the air over David's lips into the jar.

Meagan began to cry as she watched Milton close the jar and walk up the stairs, without looking back at her.

She couldn't move. She curled up behind her pillow, her eyes fixed on the still bleeding body of David. He looked old again, his hair was gray, his face showed the wrinkles she had seen before.

Eventually Meagan would run from her house, to her neighbors', or to Michael's. The police would be called and she would be questioned. She would not be told David's identity or why the police found the case and the man so puzzling. But that wouldn't be for hours yet. for the time being Meagan huddled, curled up behind a pillow looking over at the dead angel David.

Taken Twice Dialy

They control the brain, the infected appear to be human. When I was young I thought humans would evolve to eventually become, taller, smarter, somehow greater and more idealized. it wasn't the case. Actually the next step of human evolution was an immunity. Populations of humans once adapted to malaria by developing the sickle cell, the evolved sickle cell would prevent the infection but but it was a compromise.

James rubbed his eyes and pulled his pen from his book. The woman on the bed strained against her restraints, her belly had begun to show signs of pregnancy, signs that she was, in fact, still a human.

James wasn't really sure how to handle the problem, but he was mankind's last chance. Even if she was human again, he couldn't be sure.

When they came, nobody noticed it at first, but me. People started to act differently. The media report that in some towns nests, of the creatures had been destroyed. My infected parents told me that these were just movies. But I knew better, they were the documentations of our few victories.

The problem was that we didn't know about our defeats. I think they had control of media early on, then, quietly, the infection spread from city to city; back into places that we thought were safe. people called them body snatchers, like in the movie. soon enough there were no uninfected left.

except for me.

the old grandfather clock in the hall chimed for 10 o'clock. James put down his pen and went over to the bed. "How are you feeling today."

The woman on the bed didn't look at him, "you ask me that everyday."

"It's something that people do," his voice was cold and professional. he picked up the rifle on the side of the bed with one hand and aimed it at her head. with the other he untied her restraints. she curled into herself. Every day twice a day they went through the ritual. She showered at gun point, she ate. she was allowed to walk in the yard for an hour, for the was health for the unborn child, and so that if she was human again she could at least have some freedom. James couldn't be sure. After her yard time she was put back in her restraints and medicated.

It isn't rape, if she isn't human.

You couldn't tell who was affected and who wasn't. the snatchers could make their host seem human, but they weren't. they were like a hive mind, nothing more than extensions of a center connected to each other like workers to a queen. They were here to gorge itself on every resource, every human.

I was once infected as well, I remember feeling it inside my brain, pushing me to the back. but it didn't take. I won, and somewhere inside of me it died. My infected parents took me to a hospital, and did tests, I think something in me, prevented them from being able to use me as a host

They had me locked up for a while, trying to understand what was "wrong with me." They Gave me a bottle of pills and let me go. The Pills weakened me, made me like them, I could feel the thing inside pushing me to the back. Twice daily, i took the pills until I realized that I only had to stop. the snatcher died inside me.

I think could still be sensed by the others, as long as I didn't draw two much attention to myself, didn't act differently than the rest of them, not like I used to. They didn't notice me, I went about my business, and so did they.

James stretched, and fed himself from the heated can of beans. The farm house kept him surrounded by forests and corn fields. it was a private, safe place, away from the world. it was here that James thought up the plan.

It came to me that I must have been somehow immune. They were a disease and i was some form of cure. If the cure was in my blood I would find it. Three months ago I went into town and caught one, she was apart from the group, I remember having gone to school with her. I knew she was infected because like the others when I was young they stared at me like I was the freak. I thought I was for a long time, but then I learned that I was the only one not infected, they were the the weak ones. They were fed upon.

I'm sure they've noticed her missing, but so far they hadn't made it here to find her. If I could produce children with my own immunity to them then humanity might stand a chance, to multiply beneath their radar, and take our existence back one life at a time. but I couldn't find an uninfected female, so I took this one. but there is a problem with the plan.

James stopped writing in his journal to look at the woman laying on the bed. her eyes puffy and red. He remembered how she cried when he first took her, how she asked him to stop. Was he wrong? No he thought, she wasn't human.

I have proven that infected and uninfected can conceive together but new questions have arisen. Does the child growing inside her cure her of the infection, will the child be born uninfected. She cries every day, and tells me that she's human, but how can I tell. I won't allow an infected child into the world. They control the brain, the infected appear to be human.

Have Scythe. Will Travel

The train left another Station. One of a few between Normal Illinois and Chicago. As the train picked up speed it passed though the small town of Dwight. Anna watched as the houses passed, some where small one level ranch style affairs; brick, aluminum siding, that kind of thing. Some of the houses where older, cracks at the edges, Victorian styles. Anna liked those. The chipped paint, the creaky stairs, it all made her think of the history of the old houses. She thought about who lived in the houses years ago, she thought about how they died. Did her predecessor have to help any of them. Mr. Snickers meowed next to her. She she rubbed her gentle finger tips over his skull. He purred.
The undead where funny like that. A zombie couldn’t talk at all, while a skeleton, which lacked the fleshy tissue needed for vocalization, usually had a raspy cough of a voice, and a wraith or banshee could sing... it sing like Madonna when it wanted to. It really depended on how much power you wanted to invest in it. Mr. Snickers started out as a zombie. He had died while Anna was working. it was her second harvest and she thought the mark was a middle aged business man on a street corner. while she was waiting for the man to get hit by a bus, a random kitty, a cat actually, spotted her and kept trying to pounce after the laces of her etnies. She looked at the shoes, DOOM sown into the backs in cursive pink, it made her smile. As the man was about to walk into the path of a bus The cat bolted of past him. The sudden flash of little black feline startled the man to a stand still, and the cat, who now sat next to her on the train, caught the 215 out of the loop instead.
Anna was totally prepared for dealing with humans. eventually they would figure out what happened and would follow Anna to their judgment (assuming they didn’t get there on their own), but this was different.
Anna stopped her reminiscing as a man came up to the second level of the train. Anna watched him, so did Mr. Snickers. He looked like a college student, His baby blue graphic tee was about four sizes too small, which was impressive since he looked like he wore a small normally, and his aviator sunglasses reflected the sunlight coming in from the windows of the train. He walked up to the Anna’s and Mr. Snickers’ seats and looked down at them. not actually at Anna or Mr. Snickers but more at the seats themselves. The aviator sunglasses came down to reveal eyes that looked like they saw a big black spider stretching across both seats. The man looked further down the train and left to find a someplace more comfortable. Mr. Snickers nipped at Anna’s finger.
Anna thought back to that day in Chicago. After the cat died, Anna didn’t know what to do. She never thought that a cat would have to be shown the way across. She thought that was something only humans went through. While she sat their wondering whether or not she screwed up and why nobody gave her a manual for the job, the cat went back into it’s body and started walking around.
Anna got out of her seat to get a drink. She told Mr. Snickers to stay put so that no one tried to take their seats. He meowed agreeably. Anna walked up the isle toward the snack car. People look out their windows as she passed. Or they looked at their laptops. Anything not to look at the petite redhead carrying a giant scythe. Five seats from the back of the train car a man began leering at the cleavage of the woman next to him, she didn’t seem to happy.
Mr. Snickers was so cute, remembered Anna. His little zombie shuffle took him only a few feet before he suddenly realized that he wanted brains. With one eye hanging loose, and leaving a trail of blood he shambled up to the business man trying to get at what he had in his skull. When it happened, Anna wondered why she thought the feline zombie was so cute. Seeing the living dead cat pawing at his leg, the man panicked and ran out into the path of his wife’s humvey.
Luckily, he had no problem dying and Anna didn’t have to worry about him.
Anna remembered that since the Whole thing seemed so coincidental, she made up her mind then that she would keep the cat with her, that was when she named him Mr. Snickers, and turned him into a wraith. The process wasn’t easy by any means, first she had to strip the meat, and she had to take two days off of work, which wasn’t terrible because there where only two complications and both where in Seattle, and lets face it, she thought, Seattle could do with a couple days of excitement before she got to it.
Anna was now in the snack car and as usual nobody noticed her, so she went around the counter and helped herself to some of the sweet iced tea. “MMMM,” she hummed after her first sip of the tea passed her lips. The women behind the counter excused herself to go the bathroom, “I have to fix my makeup,” she said in a hurry. Anna stepped back around the counter and headed for her seat in the passenger car.
Anna remembered how surprised she was that she made her first wraith with no problem, She was so surprised that she thought to herself, “I don’t need a manual after all.” As Mr. Snickers’ little skeletal body rose, bones holding together, an ethereal smoke grew out of him until it solidified into a little Kitty sized black cloak. The whole thing was so cute, that Anna Picked up Mr. Snickers, and rubbed her nose against where his used to be, just like she planned to do once she got back to her seat on the train. Also, She thought, she would snuggle him as well.
Anna came back to her seat on the second level of the passenger car and looked down at Mr. Snickers. The cat gave it’s creator a curious look. Anna made her move.
“KITTY,” she yelled as she executed a heartfelt scooping up and snuggling, Anna sat back in her seat with Mr. Snickers’ standing on her lap with his little smoky ghost tongue licking her nose.
“I don’t feel a pull today Mr. Snicker’s, So I think we have the day off, “Anna said as she focused her attention out of the window. “Maybe, when we get to Chicago, we can take another train somewhere, or maybe well have a look around city.” She could feel Mr. Snickers’ bony feet pressed against her chest, she scratched the back of his neck.
Mr. Snickers Meowed softly.

Repeat After Me.

"Hey, Mom?" Julie walked down the stares, a curious look on her face, "Mom?"

"In here hun," Her mother called from the den, "You should see this." Julie's mother was watching TV. A psychic was telling the talk show host and a woman with a cartoon puppy on her shirt that the woman with the cartoon puppy on her shirt was having relationship problems. The Woman (puppy shirt and all) was shocked as she confessed that she hadn't had a steady relationship in years... in fact she hadn't been with a man since her husband left her... years ago.

"I seriously, can't believe that you buy into this," Said Julie.

Her mother didn't answer, but sipped her red wine while still watching the TV, "did you need something?"

"Yeah, I found this in the basement," Julie handed her mother a hard bound book, a round red stain was visible on the cover.

"Oh my god, I haven't seen that in year's, how did you find this," Julie's mother opened the pages of the book to reveal slightly smudged pen and pencil sketches.

"I had to get something out of the basement," probably better to keep vague, thought Julie. She came across the book while in the basement with Bill, her boyfriend. her shoulders blades were still sore from the concrete floor. Bill liked being on top.

"Are these your drawings?" Julie asked her mother, as she leaned against the love seat to look over her mother's shoulder.

Her mother nodded as she sipped her wine. "yeah, but I forgot all about these, I haven't seen it since we moved out of the apartment."

"I didn't know you could draw like that," Julie looked over her mother's shoulder as they flipped through the pages.

Her mother sighed, "Oh yeah, I used to love drawing, in high school I used to illustrate for the school magazine."

"I love this one," Julie pointed over her mother's shoulder, "It reminds me of the story I wrote."

"Which one, hun," Her mother said it almost as if she had no idea that Julie wrote.

"The one for class," She searched her mother's face for recognition, "I gave it to you and dad last week..."

"Oh, that reminds me," her mother said, "your father's working late again tonight and the home owners association is meeting here because the Pickinses have been running their sprinkler system at off hours, so can you go out in a bit and pick up drinks and snacks?"
Julie rolled her eyes, "yeah, no problem."

Her mother sipped her wine and went back to the book of sketches, "You know? When I was younger I wanted to be an artist."

"Seriously?"

"Uh huh," her mother flipped a page.

"Did you ever do anything with it?"

Julie's mother coughed a laugh, "No, I don't think it would've gone anywhere, plus art school would have taken me away from your father, and I didn't want that to happen."

"You gave up art school for dad?"

Her mother nodded, licking her lips, "Well, I loved you father, and I knew that I would never find something as good as what your father and I had again." Julia's mother sighed deep and flipped a few more pages. She stopped on a drawing of a middle aged Elizabeth Taylor snapping her finger, "I don't even think I would have been that great of an artist, I just did it as a hobby."
The conversation became quite. Only the sounds of psychics and TV talk show hosts could be heard with the occasional sound of swallowing.

"They're really great," said Julie walking out of the den and up the stairs to her room. Books filled a shelf in the corner and a hand full of scribbled notebooks sat on her desk next too her computer. She had a message from Bill:

Hey Babe,
Just got my room assignment for ill. State
WE"RE IN THE SAME DORM!!!! :-D
next year is gonna B great!
Call me, Luv U.

Julie smiled as she read the message and looked at the welcome folder from Illinois State University, the red bird mascot stood out from behind the university logo, and the tag line, "Spread the Red" seemed vaguely sexual to Julia. She just stared into the folder and then, without any reason that she could remember, she reached into her desk drawer, where she put it months ago, and pulled out an application to the University of Iowa. She began filling it out.

Office Without a View

Sarriel looked at the files on his desk. Today he had a new charge. This one was here for various wrong doings in the area of excess. Drugs, food, sex, religion, it didn't matter, they all ended up here. At least their files did. Sarriel was a clerk of assessment and recommendation, in the department of excesses (formerly called the department of gluttony and later changed due to the word becoming passe'). But Sarriel liked gluttony. The word was straight forward and easy to understand. Hell's legal attendants would argue that the word did not adequately convey the charges for which individuals where damned, because most souls perceived gluttony as pertaining only to the action of eating, while excess was more... universal.

Sarriel didn't get what the big deal was.

with a lazy sigh, Sarriel jabbed his pen tip into the bloody face, shaped like a bowl, that sat on his desk, and wrote his recommendations on the file. "subject has lead a life of self victimization. It is recommended that rehabilitation should consist of urging the subject to cater to the needs of others... for eternity," Sarriel was no longer sure why he even bothered to write eternity. As if anything else would have been recommended.

Sarriel spaced out looking at the clock. It was from the souls of procrastinators, and it told him he wasn't getting off anytime soon. Sarriel remembering his motivational poster's assurance that "if nobody worked the bellows, hell would freeze over."

"Hey, Afraim," he called over his cubicle wall, where he heard a repetitive bumping, " what are you doing."

"Working," came the casual voice of the demon.

Afraim was actually bouncing a crusher, a ball made from the soul's of the slothful, against the wall of his cubicle. It had something to do with idleness. Sarriel slid his chair in behind Afraim.

"What the hell are we doing here?"

"Well, if the pain monster comes around, I'm working."

"That's not what I mean, when I came down here, I thought we were gonna fashion a new destiny for ourselves, It's all Lucifer ever talked about. So when he marched against ... the throne, I was right there next to him."

"Next to him?" Afraim was considering a heap of lint that he had pulled from his belly button before he wiped it under his chair, "nobody marched next to The Light Bringer, he was out in front the whole time, ahead of all of us."

"You know what I mean, at least I was in rank, and I pushed to the front, you might not have seen that from the back."

"Hey, I provided a pivotal support function... I served as the back end of the bell curve, and made all of you look much more fierce."

"Whatever," Sarriel primmed his horns, "what I'm saying is that we came down here to be master's of our own destinies..."

"I came down so I didn't have to deal with all the singing," said Afraim.

Sarriel shook his head, "look at where we are, all I do all day is recommend standardized punishments for the damned, why the hell am I doing this."

"Page fifteen of the department handbook," Afraim announced with as much pride as could be mustered without any effort, "'by punishment we extract vital energy from the sinner.' We have to keep this place running," Afraim chucked the crusher, it hit a jagged spike on the lip of the cubicle wall and stuck there. It let out a quite scream.

"Ouch," laughed Afraim, "that has to hurt."

"I'm not even a demon of Gluttony..."

"Excess," reminded Afraim.

"You know I've never even been to earth, and everyday I have to hear about these guys who are up there everyday."

"Like who," asked Afraim, getting his crusher down.

"You know, the demons up there," Sarriel pointed to the ceiling, "fighting the fight, encouraging sin; getting to sin. Every day they get paid to do what I MIGHT be able to do for two weeks out of the century, if i can afford it. Which I can't," Sarriel let out a deep sigh, "how did they get that hook-up?"

Afraim shrugged his shoulders and tried to spin the crusher on the tip of one of his talons, "Luck I guess. Right place, right time, probably new the right demons, too."

Sarriel shook his head, "yeah, and I'm stuck here, you know I got passed up for promotion again," Sarriel waited for Afraim to nod, "I work just as hard as anyone here, I work harder than you," Sarriel jabbed a finger at the flab around his belly, considering how out of shape being at this job was making him "Anyway, I have to get back to work."

" 'Kay," Afraim shook the absent stare from his face, "you gonna be alright?"
"I'll be fine, it just feels like I'm never gonna get out of here," Sarriel slid back to his cubicle.

As he got back to his desk he heard Afraim mutter, "Isn't that the point."

Descending the Harmonic Minor

One
two
three
four

“We used to open for Styx, this had to have been over thirty years ago,”

G Em
Grace Cathedral hill, all wrapped in the
C
bones of a setting sun, all dust and stone and

moribund.


“Here try it like this,”
I can’t get the bar chords. I've had lessons with Glen for six months now and I still can't get bar chords as well as I should. The song starts easy enough but the second we get to the F Major my strings fret out. I just have to press harder. The wall at the back of the guitar studio Is filled with the past, God knows how many, years worth of Guitar World Magazines. While Keith Richards and Flea, stare at me from there issue covers, I wonder... I don’t want to think about it.
“You just have to practice more,”
I nod.
“Well that’s all for today, and do you have this months payment,”
I hand over fifty six dollars.
“See you next week.”
It dawns on me as I walk past the poster of his old band "WaaZoo" that, despite the fact that he will be making money off me, a man as Passionate as he is about his art must hate teaching me.

“our name was WaaZoo, and we toured with Styx in our last year,”

D
I paid twenty-five cents

To light
D7
a little white candle
G
for a New Year's Day.

The the towers of St. Mary's Basilica, are graceful spires overlooking the great square of Old Town Krakow. Every hour you can hear the Hejnal trumped from the taller of the Basilica's two towers. It ends abruptly on it's broken note, to commemorate the Trumpeter of Krakow, Shot through the throat by, of all things, a Mongol arrow.
Here the city is all a bustle with tourists, street performers, and Polish nationals out shopping or working in the many modern locals operating within building over 500 years old. A traveler might focus on the gothic architecture of the buildings and laugh at the name of the tavern "Under the Ram" until stumbling face first into an American who could have starred in a National Lampoon movie. I pretend to not speak English as he asks me where his kids can get a hotdog. If he did know that I spoke english he would want to talk to me, and tell me how strange Polish people are because they don't speak english, and I wouldn't want him to have to explain to his children what a douche bag is.
I head west, behind St. Mary's Basilica. Here things are quite, only a few people, a couple taverns, and a small fountain. Polish taverns will serve you beer with a little raspberry syrup in it, unless you say no. They also have a shot, it’s name translates into Rabid Dog, and it’s a double shot of vodka, half shot of raspberry syrup, and a few drops of tabasco sauce... it’s deliciously violent going down.
When the sunlight is trying to cascade down the buildings but only actually makes it half way from the southern wall of the cathedral to to the table that your sitting at outside of the tavern, your probably better off drinking hot tea with the shot of cream liqueur. Here the sound of the come and go of the great square is turned to a soft mumble by the old buildings, and tight roads amplify the echos from within. Further down two men are playing guitars. two nuns stop in an archway whispering to one another. The players' facial stubble blurs what might be a tan with what might be dust from across Europe. I sit back, fill my pipe...

(RECORD SCRATCH)

“dude you smoke a pipe?”
“yea, since, like, junior year in high-school, now stop interrupting,”

(and spin)

“why did you guys stopped touring?”

Em
I sat and watched it

burn away
C
Then turned and

weaved through the

slow decay.

"Just practice hammers and pulloffs for ten minutes each day."
I’m catching on quick, as always, but then I just hit a wall. I don’t want to tell him that I’m playing video games instead of practicing, “I’m piled under with homework,” (final Fantasy IX has gripping story).
Why can't I focus, I ask myself. After a year of lessons with someone as good as Glen I should be far more advanced than i am now. When I hear the CD all I can think about is being on stage again, Screaming death metal, at a crowd, but even then I’m not playing guitar, I only do that when I hear classical music, and those dreams don’t involve crowds. We’re not working on that same song anymore, I just hope the F major doesn’t come up again. As he explains to me that I all it takes is is an hour each day, pick five fingering techniques, do each for ten minutes and then work on a song for ten minutes. I wonder... I don’t want to think about it.
I want to be a musician. I know I do, don't tell me I can't. When I picked up the guitar I was better than most of my friends who were in bands... but I don't get any better, I play, but I should practice.

“Well, we actually were offered a record deal with Geffin”

D
I paid twenty-five cents

To light
D7
a little white candle.


The pipe smoke rolls inside my mouth like an intangible word, a word I don't want to let out. I inhale for a second, it’s something you know you shouldn’t do. the buzz comes on. I let the smoke fly... I watch as the wind between buildings is exposed for it’s shape as the smoke disperses and twirls into the ethereal to mingle it’s matter with the notes played by the guitar players.
The Streets of Old Town Krakow are cobbled. Back out toward the city square and the front of the Basilica, I hear the clop of horse hooves as carriages are being pulled. A few people are ushered out of the double doors at the back of the church, they shake hands and hug and walk down the street. Before the priest can close the door, a hint of incense permeates the aroma of burning tobacco. Sweet and bitter mix beneath the eyes of gargoyles and cherubs who are hiding among the moulding that adorns the gray, tan, and brown facades of the buildings.
I put the finishing touches on the drawing of a stone angel on the wall of the cathedral, it’s not perfect, but its good enough. Who is this angel? where did he come from what’s his story. the guitarist play their classical style, mixed with Polish folk. I can’t even imagine what how they move their hands. “there’s something in my I, but I’ll be fine,” I can’t play like that.

“But I decided that I didn’t want that, touring wasn’t in me, I wanted to teach, and I wanted to be in chicago. I didn’t want somebody telling me that there wasn’t any money in modern classical, I felt bad leaving the band, but it wasn’t what I was meant for, and I could have done it, but I wouldn’t have been happy with it. So, I teach, and I play on the weekends at bars to help with some of the bills, and I like it.”

C G
And the world may belong
Em
for you,
C G
but he'll never belong
Em
to you.

I’m leaving for Poland in a week, death metal is blasting in the car as I’m driving through the Chicago South Side. I know the shop isn’t too far out of my way so I take a detour. It’s still there “... Guitar Studios,” I haven’t talked to him in five, I think it was five, months, about one month after he told me about leaving "WaaZoo", I miss the lessons and I miss talking with him, but I’m usually too busy to stop in and when I do, he’s giving a lesson. I drive past, “oh well,” I think, “maybe another day.”

“Hey, things are getting busier, I think I’ll have to stop taking lessons for a while, but I want to thank you, you’ve been the best teacher I’ve ever had.”

C
But on a motorbike,
Cm
when all the city lights
D D7
blind your eyes tonight


I take a drag of the pipe, and finish off my tea. I will never be able to play like those two, it isn’t in me.

C D
Are you Feeling better now? ....
G Em
Are you feeling better now?
G Em
Are you feeling better now?