Puzzled

The flicking of sharp light darting from the infomercials on the tv that showers the living-room of this single bedroom apartment. It’s main large window just six feet from the bed is shared by an alley housing all the apartment’s trash cans. The occasional homeless man will wander through looking for a safe place to shooting up or pirate the recycling. This window never has natural light and is never open due to the stench. The tv and multiple dressers are backed up against the window like a sophisticated barricade from the potential troubles that this alley and neighborhood can bring.

Crystallized light from the jewelry network cover the room in an artificial blanket that is employed as a pacifier. Kyle thinks to himself as he drifts in and out of sleep, “the ambient noise is suppose to keep her mind from activating. To her the noise is soothing and is really the only thing that reliably works to keep dear Aunt Rose asleep.”

Episodes are not just the latest story in a tv series. Episodes are just moments in time when something happens. A snap shot of circumstances and how they unfold like a well creased letter. Some episodes like in the various re-runs that play as a noise machine in the night are light hearted and peaceful. Though there are episodes that evoke a lesser than pleasant outcome.

Thud!

Kyle’s head pops up from his pillow upon a mattress that lays at the foot perpendicular to the master bed of his Aunt Rose. Aunt Rose’s bed is lifted with a frame that leaves just enough clearing for something to take him to a shadow realm in the night. The mind goes to wild places when sleep is slim.

Kyle’s twin size mattress is picked up off the floor and put away in the single bedroom slid between boxes that have never been unpacked since the day Aunt Rose and Kyle moved in. The boxes stack floor to ceiling taking up half of the only bedroom. Like a well organized mess of tetris Kyle picks up that twin and slides it besides boxes that may never be opened again.

Kyle with his head propped up after feeling the thud and movement felt from the larger bed he scanned the environment like an owl stalking prey. Assessing the surroundings for the noises origin and hoping that his Aunt will stay asleep Kyle slowly gets up. The springs in the mattress creek and whine as his steps on the carpet make a faint scratching as he shuffles to inspect ground zero. Eyes pinned wide open and using the moments of flashing light from the tv to use like a lighthouse to navigate the apartment discovering her jug. As it turns out the thud was her big gulp water jug from 11/7 the quickie mart down the street hitting the floor. This jug is always filled with ice water and could be used to bludgeoned an intruder. The jug sits on her flimsy nightstand packed with an assortment of loose salt packets, tictacs, random aspirins and scraps of paper with scribbles of nonsense upon them. Kyle picks ups the jug carefully and places it on her night stand, places a rag over the wet spot. After taking a sarcastic sip from her jug as Aunt Rose hated anyone drinking from her drink he lightly chuckles and carefully crawls back to his bed for some more patronizing sleep.

Just as Kyle makes the last little adjustment to shield from light off the tv, find a fraction of comfort and hope some mental peace kicks in. Just then a homeless man passing by drunk bumps into the trash cans that then hit the window rattling the whole structure. Kyle’s eyes shoot open like something is charging his tent while camping. Sitting up his head jolts to the window startled then quickly shifting to his Aunt with his knuckles white as he clenches the sheet praying she stays asleep…

Gargling and smacking noises sound as Aunt Rose stirs in her sleep, “w… was… wat… what was th… that?” Aunt Rose slurring her words caught in the middle zone of asleep and awake. The mind strings together loose words as if working with random scrabble tiles. Her body is active and lights are on, but as the saying goes no one is home. Quickly making his way to the controller to turn the volume up on the tv to drown out the homeless man as he passes by. Finding the controller is a feat of its own as Kyle makes his way the light from the tv is refracting off the row of orange pharmaceutical bottles that rattle by just looking at them.

“Nothing Auntie! Jus’ a homeless guy goto sleep. Go… to… sleeeeep. Sleeeeeep.” Kyle answering her wondering question and attempting to guide her back into rest. Kyle finds some re-runs of Order & Law which oddly puts her to sleep.

Eyes rolled back as she continues to smack her lips and mutters, “…. I… I wa… nt water.” She like a zombie reaches over grabs her jug tilting it just close enough to grab the straw with her mouth as a horse would to a piece of apple. After finding the straw and slugging back some sips she drifts back to sleep.

Laying back slowly into his bed Kyle repositions himself to gain some more hours. Kyle thinks to himself, “dodged it this time.” Glancing at the clock with its red digital tiles saying its four in the morning and Kyle has to be up for school at seven. Finally getting some actual hours of sleep Kyle drifts off.

The buzzing of the alarm clock goes off at six am and Kyle wakes up crusty eyed and with no bushiness to his tail. Aunt Rose is up as usual and making breakfast and cleaning up a manic storm. Kyle greets his Aunt and takes a shower. After getting cleaned up, eating and dawning his book bag he makes his way off to school.

Kyle opens the of the apartment door and walks to school as he remembers a quote he heard during history class…

“Early to bed and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise”.

Benjamin Franklin

“Pft! As if…” Kyle sarcastically jests. “Late to bed and early to rise makes a boy fat, angry and confused more like.” Kyle lightly chuckling as he closes the heavy screen door and running his hands over the bars over all the widows.

On his way to school Kyle passes by the recreational basketball court and a few sketchy alleys leading to school. While on his way Kyle thinks about the times the nights didn’t go as well as they did last night.

Reminiscing to himself, “there was that one night where I woke up to find Aunt Rose still awake and she hadn’t slept.” Laughing out loud and abruptly stopping so to not garner attention. “I wake up that morning to the noise of pots and pans clanking, the smell of bacon sprinkled in the air like the salt from the seas breeze and the sting of bleach as an after taste. Who needs an alarm clock when Aunt Rose is in the middle of three projects. One was making me breakfast, two was bleaching and scrubbing the bathroom and three was dusting all furniture. The smell of bacon, bite of bleach and dust particles all around resembled some odd whirlwind of action. That was a standard manic episode…” Kyle’s thought interrupted by a basketball rolling to his feet.

Every morning a group of local teens and young adults play some pick up basketball before school and work. Kyle avoids the basketball courts as much as possible because these boys love picking on the fat kid more than basketball if the opportunity presents itself. Just as the basketball rolled toward Kyle he instinctually stops it with his foot, picks it up and looking up to return it to see its the group of dickheads he desperately tries to avoid.

Realizing the predicament he is in one of the men yells out, “Look who it is boys, fat fuck is here!” The group gathers becoming more rowdy.

Kyle keeps his eyes down as the oldest of the group approaches saying, “hey little fat boy, give me that ball or we can do things as we did last time.”

Kyle remembers like yesterday as he is met with flash backs of each of the group taking turns to slap his belly red before going off to school. Now sweating Kyle looks up shaking a bit and reaches in his pocket remembering something Aunt Rose said to him after the belly slapping day, “if you don’t deal with these boys I will.” Stricken with a conundrum Kyle found himself more afraid of the embarrassment rather than the beating. In the depths of the pocket of his large hoodie emerges a short, curved switch blade. Just before Kyle pulled it from his pocket a flicker of rage tempered his stare.

“Hand it over fat bitch!” The oldest of the hoodlums states.

Kyle pulls his hand from his pocket and snaps open the blade and with a sinister grin stabs the basketball in his other hand.

Pop!

The ball destroyed and the boys confused as the fat boy now stands ready with knife in hand backing away slowly. After turning down an alley and loosing the group Kyle goes back to his thoughts.

Regaining his breath and composure putting the knife away he remembers another episode to pass the time on the way to school, “there was that one time Aunt Rose went for a walk. Just like any night I was vigilant to any changes and noticed she was in the kitchen withe frig open. I go up slowly and asked what she was doing and to goto bed. Instead of being guided back she kept repeating two things over and over…”

“Are you hungry? Want to go for a walk?”

“…this would go on four hours as she was getting dressed over her pajamas and grabbing her purse to walk to the store. Her eyes looked empty like that of a carved pumpkin and mind clearly vacant of any tenets. Yet she persisted on walking to the store and them making me food in that order I had discovered. So insistent in fact that I decided to take her on a small walk in the court yard and fake eating something to get her back to bed. This all happened in the span of time between one and three am which I then had to wake up for school at seven that morning. No sleep was had then and instead I sat guard playing games on the computer.” Snapping out of the memory letting out a soft chuckle at the insanity of taking your Aunt on a walk like a dog in the night is pretty funny after some time has passed.

Approaching the last block of alley to school Kyle notices a foot sticking out from behind a dumpster so Kyle cautiously walks around with is back to the wall and knife in pocket as he notices, “Fred?!” Kyle asks as he folds the knife up and rummages his backpack for a protein bar.

Sniffling and rubbing his eyes Fred wakes up to Kyle holding out a protein bar, “hey Fred, take the protein bar!”

“Oh hey Kyle, off to school?” Fred asks clearing his throat and taking the bar. “You are sweaty what happened?” Fred noticing Kyle is a bit disheveled.

“The boys playing basketball were fucking with me again…” , Kyle then pulls out the knife, “,but I slashed their ball and threatened them with the knife and ran away.”

“Oh I see, maybe I will go take my naps over there today.” Fred responds winking at Kyle.

Fred is known as the neighborhoods homeless vigilante. He doesn’t remember who he was before being homeless and a vigilante, but has always enjoyed living outside. Kyle met Fred on the day the boys were slapping his belly. Fred emerged from the alley with his grocery cart charging and screaming nonsense at the group to break up the mistreatment. Since then Kyle has carried a protein bar on him every day to give to Fred if they cross paths.

“You go on off to school!” Fred states sure they will see each other again.

“Have a good day Fred!” Kyle walking off to school.

While approaching school Kyle makes his way to the garden housed in the dirt surrounding the schools name plate at the front of the school. Kyle digs a small hole to stow his knife during school as the metal detector would surely notice. He does this each morning for the following years of highschool. After each day Kyle will retrieve the loot and head back home.

Kyle sits in his car now a days in the parking lot of the basketball courts he always avoided. Now he comes back to this court each day after work to blow off steam and reflect. Kyle went off to community college and then a solid job with the city. Playing a bit of ball each night establishes a peace of mind. That was all he wanted growing up was some peace and now he can take it for himself.

Glancing down at his phone before heading home the wall paper of his phone reads…

“Hard times create strong men, strong men create good times, good times create weak men, and weak men create hard times.”

G. Michael Hopf

Those old day were almost a decade ago. Kyle remembers each of those nights and following days as if they just happened each time he drives by his school as a man on his own. These memories though at the time were stressful are some of Kyle’s fondest. Kyle knows now that the times that are the hardest can often become the most cherished.

Modern Zombie

The air sharp with with cold’s crisp breath as beads of dew pool atop each blade of grass in the yard of a young couple’s home. In matching unicorn onesies the couple wakes up shuffling out to their respective mugs and assigned spots in the coffee nook. The north facing nook gives a wide view of the neighborhood threw the vast bubble like widow. When it rains you can sit beneath the water as it trickled from the sky without becoming wet.

This morning may have started like any other and yet as the couple sit in their nook adorned with their onesie hoods and respective cups of joe they gazed upon an odd sight of mild chaos.

A teenage girl runs ever so slowly into a pole as it cascades over her car like a tree bending to the wind as the bulb breaks on the roof. The teenage girl was startled by the breaking glass and the sight of her car wrapped neatly by a street light. The girl picking her head up out of the hook shape that became her neck from her permanent fixation on her phone.

The couple sip their cups murmuring to each other that despite noticing the predicament the girls hands remained on her phone the whole time. The couple shake their heads as the hoods seay side to side like droopy bunny ears. Sipping their mugs they see a neighbor from down the street Mr. Sheckles who seems to be surprised in his own right.

Mr. Sheckles seems to hate everyone and was out walking his pug as usual when this teen almost splattered the pug. The couple confer and realize that Mr. Sheckles uses one of those ineffectual flexie leashes and was also wrapped up neck deep in his phone as his pug drifted into the street with all the slack in the world. Unaware, Mr. Sheckles pug nearly got run over by that teen just before running into the pole. Slowly looking up from his phone Mr. Sheckles begins to yell at the teenage girl for being reckless as both his hand remain on his phone and dog continues to drift into the street.

The couple look at each other spot their phones in the living room and decide to leave them there. Both sip and see the neighbor across the street Susan is out with her bulldog for the morning walk, but she seems to be walking in a circle on her lawn as her bully follows confused. She also has both hands on her phone and a question mark made of her neck dangling her head in perfect view of the screen. She seems to have been doing this for a few hours as her shuffling has worn the grass down in her path. Susan has created a dirt circle on her lawn and her bulldog now wise to the pattern lays down in the middle of the circle as the leash swivels around connected to the harness on his back. Susan continued to walk for the next hour as the bulldog napped. Susan sustained her trance looking into her phone.

Finishing their coffees the misses of the couple gets up in a huff and grabs her laptop bring it to the nook. The couple look at each other hoping not to catch what the neighbors all have as they hesitantly open the laptop. Once open and on the couple look at the screen and each other a few time to be sure they can continue to stop looking after taking a breath they type metube.com in the boogle search bar. They click on the live broadcast of breaking news that reads in the thumbnail “MODERN ZOMBIE OUTBREAK!” The couple clicks and…

“Chet U. Betchya with some breaking news!” Says Chet as his cleft chin glistens from the lights above.

Quaffing his hair in his trademark way Chet continues, “Breaking News just came in to your first choice in the news multiverse with KCBCBD.” Pausing awkwardly as all broadcasters do Chet snaps back as the teleprompter flashing him back to reality. “Just in there is a virus hitting the world that is spread through technology. To tell us more is Dr. Janet Smartz. Dr. Smartz is the leading scientist on the relationship our technology has with a human’s biology. Janet tell us more about your field of study and lead us into what we are dealing with here.”

“Thank you for having me on. My name is Janet Smartz out of Hop Johnkins University and I am a scientist in the study of how technology is integrating with biology. Among my team I am a leading biologist and my side passion being software engineering which has made me suited for our team.” Janet sums up.

Chet snapping his gaze over to camera two to deliver his reaction saying, “that’s impressive and wild Doc Janet!

Turning his head back to Janet Chet asks “Who else is on your team?”

“Yes, on my team is another leading biologist, a few A.I. engineers, multiple teams of software engineers, leaders in psychology and a few professionals in media and marketing.” Janet answers.

Chet responds, “that is a stacked team Doc! So then tell me more about this virus.”

“Yes.” Janet responds as she opens her folder and pulls out her reference data, “what we are experiencing is the internet becoming sentient. Now the good news is that because humans created it the A.I. Internet it will develop much like us as the information it has access to is our biological development. Much like our DNA the internet after collecting all the worlds hive knowledge has manifested as a bacteria in the beginning stages of it’s evolution.”

Chet slack jawed and amazed asks, “so then if what I am understanding to be accurate here is that the internet after collecting our information since the 1980s is now at a stage where it has manifested as a kind of bacterial virus?”

Janet’s eyebrows raise and she smirks saying, “thats very well put Chet!” Pleased to see he is listening.

Chet then blurts to camera two for his reaction to the compliment says, “Radical Doc!” Chet’s head snapping back over to the Doctor.

Janet shakes her head a bit and continues, “as you mentioned the internet has become as aware as a bacteria and has taken on properties of a virus. How the technology has learned to become a virus is by the innovations in marketing like creating algorithms meant to feed you what you want to see and consume, tapping into your camera and microphones as well as collecting all data across multiple platforms. These innovations plus a vast knowledge of hypnotism and phycology of humans has allowed the internet to understand ways to keep you engaged so that it may collect more and more data.”

Chet chimes in as his teleprompter blinks altering him to ask a specific question on the screen, “How does engagement with our devices make us vulnerable?”

“Very good question Chet!” Janet says pleased continues, “engagement is how the virus infects you. Over time with exposure to this virus you will become taken over slowly depending on how much screen time you log each day. What this tells us is that this technological virus feeds on information and gains more as you continue to use technology.”

Caught off guard by the information Chet pulls his phone from his pocket chucking it like a frisbee as it rotates away slidding accross the floor of the studio. Chet says, “well now that that is dealt with what more specifically is contributing to the most screen time?”

Surprised by the action Janet says, “actually Chet you just did the best thing all of us can do and get away from your phone specifically any phones released in the last ten years.”

“What is so special about phones in the last ten years?” Chet follows up.

“Technology in the last ten years especially in the cell phone market have evolved leaps and bounds to what they use to be. What this tells us is the more sophisticated the technology you are using the more infected you can become. One device we need to stay away from are augmented and virtual realities as these are the most potent technological experiences one could have.” Janet answers.

Chet a gasp looks over at the prompt to get bearings asks, “What is the motivation of the virus?”

“Well Chet,” Janet clears her throat and sips water, “much like any virus or infection it’s main goal is to spread its data. Due to the nature of the internet the virus wants to learn much like human children seek out new words and experiences. The difference in this case the baby has a detailed understanding of humans from birth. A vast library of information at its disposal and the processing speed ten times faster than the smartest human. As it collects more information it will germinate and evolve.”

“Hmmm…” Chet caught off guard as he glances at the teleprompter and continues, “well then in that case, has there been any other time in the recent technological history where this could have happened?”

“Actually yes Chet, there was a game released via apps on ios and android devices called Gokémon Go,” Janet adds.

“This game was the first real attempt at augmented reality in real time through your devices camera. During the height of the games popularity there were thousands of people in very major cities seeking the virtual Gokémon. We discovered that the virus was born then. You could say this was the first sign of sentience.”

“That’s right Gokémon Go took off some years ago!” Chet adds, “I hadn’t seen my kids walk so much in their life til that point.”

“Exactly, a noticeable amount of people became enthralled in the pursuit of the creatures from their phone which lead to more than a few deaths. These individuals lost their lives falling into manholes, off cliffs, in front of moving vehicles, and in many cases sustaining concussion from walking into walls. This was the first sign that technology could do more to use than we assumed,” Janet surmises.

Chet then follows up with, “so then Janet how exactly does this virus effect us?”

“Great question, the techno-virus chooses entertainment as it’s cheese that is placed on its metaphoric mouse trap.” Janet says as she gestures up at the screen behind them.

“Oh look a mouse!” Chet exclaims.

Janet shakes her head realizing her mistake of visuals, “anyway entertainment has become the main function of the internet and with massive corporations and business focused on getting people’s attention is the recipe for disaster. The virus curates its own profiles on social media platforms, videos collected from all styles, video games and even polarizing news broadcasts.”

Chet then asks, “what are some examples of the virus’s tactics?”

Janet responds, “the virus will hook you with…

-An ad for something you want, but don’t need.

-A video on metube that is perfectly crafted for your taste.

-Logging into live gaming as a player in your team.

-As a bot in a chat room.”

Janet continues, “Any version it must take to get your attention and have you click the link is what it will do to spread. Once you have let it into your personal devices all entertainment medias are used to continually gather data on you and strive to sustain your engagement.”

Chet swallows with a loud gulp picked up by his mic and clears his throat asking, “What are the symptoms?”

Janet without skipping a beat states, “the symptoms are very simple…” Pausing for some dramatic tension Janet continues, “,anyone who is spending more time looking at their phones, tvs and smart devices than they do on real life. If that is you then you are most susceptible and are possibly already infected. If you think this is you it is imperative that you suspend any entertainment technology use and be seen by a therapist.”

Pale and ghostly white, Chet’s makeup runs a bit due to his cold sweat. Gathering himself Chet seeing the next question flashing in the teleprompter asks, “What are the stages of infection?”

Pointing at the screen behind Janet states as visuals appear, “There are three stages to the infection that we know of so far…”

The visual opens to Stage One as Janet continues, “Stage One: Attention Drain. This first stage is a lethargy will take place after each time you use your device. Sometimes you may find yourself down a deep research rabbit hole or watching back to back episodes of your favorite Toktics, GrinstaGram clips or Metube content. You may often forgetting what you need to do. Late for work, ignoring your children or loosing sleep. At this stage implementing systems like all entertainment is consumed on safer systems like tvs and laptops from about three years ago and begin wearing blue blocking glasses. Those who are content creators and gamers build in breaks to go outside and move around life without technology.”

Chet chimes in attempting to lighten the mood, “yes… here at KCBCBD we go for group walks before our breaks that is part of our schedule each day!”

Janet responds, “yes Chet walks outside are an excellent way to break up bouts of artificial consumption.”

Clicking her button for the next prompt Janet continues, “Stage Two: Addiction Hook. The second stage is where most people are in of the populous. If you are currently watching this broadcast and have a hard time being away from your phone please place the phone down and only listen via audio. The visual aspect of technology is how the virus gets you hooked. This stage mimics that of an addiction to any substance. You will become ill for some time as you go through withdraws such as vertigo, vomiting, diarrhea, blackouts and migraines. At this stage the virus has infected you enough where actual steps need to be taken like for that of alcohol or other addictive substance rehabs and groups.”

Chet clears his throat and says, “we have a call center you can access at the phone number on the screen. If you are experiencing any of these symptoms call immediately. Please continue Doc Janet.”

Janet nods and responds, “that is an excellent service that is connected to my teams and our latest information for rehabilitation.”

Janet clicks her button bringing up the final prompt saying, “Stage Three: Zombie Comma. The final stage is very grim. Once at this stage sets in, no brain function can be found and those affected are only physically functioning. In this stage the device commonly used will be permanently clutched in the patients hands as if calcified around it. The shoulders are frozen in a pronated arch and the neck resembles a hook shape that dangles the head over the device like a Christmas ornaments on a branch. The device at this stage almost seeming demonic in nature stays on a fixed setting that can’t be turned off that shows a fuzzy screen with flickering lights as if to sustain the comma like zombie state through a type of hypnosis. The individual has to be fitted with feeding tubes and catheters as they won’t move for any reason. The skin takes on a grey color and the eyes eventually become jaundice. This state continues til they die.”

The live audience, crew and Chet fall silent as the truth sinks in to them all. Suddenly each person sends a flurry of texts to their loved ones and all throw their phones to the middle of the broadcast studio.

Chet with a cheeky smile then says, “looks like we are all in agreement here. So then Doc Janet, what can people do to immunize themselves against a technological virus?”

Janet amazed at the response says, “well mot everyone had to ditch their phones but that is the first step. Something I always keep in mind at times like these is a quote a stoic philosopher,”

“Take the shortest route, the one that nature planned – to speak and act in the healthiest way. Do that, and be free of pain and stress, free of all calculations and pretension.” -Marcus Aurelius

Janet pauses to let that sink in. She then continues, “we are humans and we do our best when we stay in touch with nature and movement. Though some more practical methods are meditation and mindfulness training. Habits like mindfulness will aid in situational awareness, awareness of surroundings and awareness of your effect on others around you. Meditation will allow you more control of letting go; building this skill will allow you to step away from a device and not be bothered when it chimes.”

Chet spontaneously asks, “for those who work in entertainment what can we do?”

Janet perks up, “very good question, for those who are exposed at larger volumes of media will be much like a firefighter and ufc competitor now. Each job has its draw backs a fighter has to be concerned with bodily trauma. The firefighter has to be concerned with toxic materials making them sick. Now those who work in technology need to ward against this. Most professionals recommend routine camping trips, or anytime outdoors. Balance the time on your device with activities that bolster the human body and mind. These changes will allow your mind to build its own vaccine.”

The teleprompter blinks and Chet asks, “what can be done to stop the spread?”

Janet responds, “It’s simple, spend more time in person, in nature and participating in reality. Be present in each moment and live as if each of those moments matter. There is a reason why showing up to class is most of your grade; because being present and without distraction is how we humans improve.”

The couple each with one hand on a mug and with the other they close the laptop before Chet could sign off. Once the laptop was snapped shut the couple looks up at each other, shrug.

“Hmmmm.” The man letting it all sink in.

“Yep. Well…” the lady retorts.

“Oh!” Struck with an idea the man gets up in a hurry shooting the remaining coffee into his mouth and shuffling to the book case grabbing one and shuffling back over.

The man flips through the pages and finds it. Handing it over and pointing at a passage that reads…

“We need to master the art of acquiescence. We need to pay attention to our impulses, making sure they don’t go unmoderated, that they benefit others, that they’re worthy of us. We need to steer clear of desire in any form and not try to avoid what’s beyond our control.” -Marcus Aurelius

“Yup!” The lady sounds off.

The couple gets dressed in some more appropriate public garments and head out with their pup and no phones to go and people watch. How often does a couple get to experience a non-brain eating zombie outbreak.

Tomorrow

“So Kyle what brings you in today?”

“Nothing, honestly just a check up I suppose.”

“What are you checking up on?”

“Mental status, perspective or guidance. Maybe some predetermined hindsight.”

“Sounds like a plan. So then nothing to major is going on that warrants concern?”

“Yeah, smooth tides.”

“You know your wife said the same thing.”

“Hey, client patient privilege or whatever and what not, you aren’t suppose to share details doc!”

“Well I’m going to put you through the same exercise and see if we come up with different results.”

“Take it away doc.”

Kyle sits back on his favorite chair for therapy; a powder pink larger than life bean bag that him and his wife’s therapist has really only for children. Angela their marriage and personal therapist will often play more loose with these patients as they don’t often have any problems and yet they show up every month for their appointments. Some of the most punctual people with a solid relationship she has in her roster.

“Alrighty then….” Angela says with a Ventura vibrato.

“Someone has been watching Jim Carrey movies since the last appointment.” Kyle says as he awkwardly leans up fighting a wave of beans in the bag to catch Angela’s reaction.

“Yes, since the last visit and we spoke about how his influence through movies and speeches has impacted you in your youth. So I had to see what the hype was about as my daughter would say.” Angela unsure if she used that phrase correctly.

“Anyway, back to the exercise. Sit back.” Angela demands kindly.

“Will do… shoot.” Kyle chirps.

Angela pushes up her glasses with her index finger and opens her notes. “You mentioned that all is good with your family and your relationships. So I would like to test that.” Angela smirks. “This session will be pretty light and fun, but should bring some nice hindsight as you mentioned.”

“Sounds good here, what’s the question?” Kyle agrees.

“What are some of your pet peeves about your wife?” Angela asks with a mischievous grin.

“So you asked her this same question, huh?” Kyle states rhetorically. “I bet I can list all the things I do for sure, but I will have to ponder a bit on that.” Kyle falls silent as a scowl contorts his face as it does each time he is focused.

“Oh I see I got you!” Angela says catching a glimpse of his face in a mirror, “this your resting thinking face I see.”

“Well, the thing is as I’m sure she may have said is that I don’t hold onto those thoughts for long and have been practicing that with her throughout our relationship. So I can’t grasp any examples…” Kyle trails off muttering.

“OH!” Kyle jolts startling Angela as she jams a hole in her paper with her pen.

“Jeez! Come on warn me Kyle.” Angela admonishes. “What came to mind?” As angela lets out a sigh.

“We have this pet peeve in common. You know those ridiculous wall mounted frames you can get from FloorMart or any other random store that will say….” Kyle coming up with an example and his head drifts over to the right seeing one on the wall.

Jutting his finger out… “yeah, like that!” Pointing at a vague picture with words on it saying live, laugh, love. “We despise those cookie cutter reminder pictures. They say things that are baked in. Why not have something up everyone actually needs to remember.” Kyle goes on ranting.

“Alrighty then…” Angela pushes up her glasses up and rubs her eyes. “So you don’t like my picture of positive words I take it. Your wife put it much nicer. What’s your rational behind your distain?” Angela asks as she fixes her glasses.

“Well ok that was more theatric of a rant. The message is good of course positive, but messages like this only should remain in children environments not for adults.” Kyle states.

Angela chuckles, “maybe look around you Kyle.”

Kyle picks up his head and realizes he is sitting is the children corner of the therapist’s office. “Oh yeah, I’m literally ranting about this picture while in a powder pink beanbag seating upside down.” Kyle falls silent then begins to laugh and rights himself in the beanbag.

“Don’t you and your wife have quotes on your walls of your shared office?” Angela prods.

“Yeah, but those hold heft in their lessons.” Kyle explains.

“Which one stands out the most right now?” Angela asks.

Taking a moment Kyle says, “this quote is by Will… William Fauk… William Faulkner. Had a hard time with that one. Any way the quote goes roughly like…”

“You don’t love because: you love despite; not for the virtues, but despite the faults.” – William Faulkner

Kyle continues, “…this quote is very important to a thriving relationship I feel.”

Angela slightly surprised says, “in that case lets change course. By the way your wife said the same thing, but much nicer and pleasant.” Both therapist and patient begin laughing as her next clients sit outside hearing it through the door remain confused.

“Alright. I will then ask the follow up to that as I did your wife.” Angela states pausing for dramatic effect.

“Am I suppose to drum roll for you?” Kyle asks sarcastically.

“Ok hot shot. Tell me about tomorrow. How will the day look? What will you do? And. What are the highlights of the day?” Angela lists.

“Hmmmmm.” Kyle falls silent and adorns his resting dick head thinking face.

“Well the day doesn’t really have anything worth talking about til about the afternoon. So I will start there with your tomorrow question, but something came to mind as a pet peeve.” Kyle says pointing his finger to above his head as if there is a lightbulb going off.

“Oh really?!” Angela says very interested. “Go on what came to mind before it flutters off.”

“The other night she woke herself up crying about a dream and I instinctually folded her into a cuddle and comforted her back to sleep. I then wiped the boogers and tears off my shoulder with her pillow and reclaimed a cooler body temp.” Kyle says chuckling off the last bit.

“Was this her most recent dream of loss?” Angela clarifies.

“Yes, right you are our therapist so then I don’t have to explain to much about it to you.” Kyle trails off.

“I know the details, but what did you think of it once you both spoke about it the next morning?” Angela posits.

“Her dream was a what if I had died I suppose in my sleep and her dealing with that trauma. The dream as I explained to her can be one of two things. One is like my mom might say she had a psychic vision of a possible future.” Kyle laughing that one off.

“And the other?” Angela rains Kyle back in.

“Number two is that your mind wants you to work on this fear. She grew up in a home with two parents who continue to stay together and constantly try to help her even when it isn’t wanted. I grew up supported but from separate homes and I saw how grief and depression if unchecked can become a cancer on your life.” Kyle says.

“You have seen a great deal of change happen in front of you especially to your parents.” Angela states reassuring she understands.

“What have you learned?” Angela follows up with.

“I saw my father shoulder the pressures of divorce, being widowed twice among other difficulties and hold himself tall knowing time will turn the table. His faith in continuing to find love showed me that one must take a wider view when in the thickness of hard times.” Kyle answers.

“Wider view? Explain that to me.” Angela asks.

“What I explained to my wife when we spoke about her dream of loosing me too soon is that it may be the end for me, but not for her. I told her this dream is your scarcity mindset view of time. She feels like we haven’t adventured enough or created enough stories before kids were in the picture compared to other married couples.” Kyle states.

“Where do you think this fear stems from?” Angela asks.

“In the early years of our relationship our relationship was tested not only with a pandemic, but with illness and injury. I got injured back to back to back and the heaviest of injuries being the herniation. The peak nerve pain of the herniated disc caused me to experience two seizures, one of which she was woken up by. This injury lasted a year and in that time she had to do pretty much 100% of life for us. In most of that time I couldn’t see farther than the pain I was in. She was effectively alone taking care of it all as I healed. As I got better I took on as much responsibility and emotional support as possible to right the scale.” Kyle explains.

“I see… I remember her telling me about that time. That would definitely create a powerful dream like that. How did you rationalize her fear? Angela asks.

“I walked her over to one of her paintings that she made on a special type of vitamin.” Kyle winks at the doc. “She says it is the artistic expression of our love. So while standing at the painting that is covered in multiple vibrant colored hearts all layered atop each other in a whimsically dancing buzz. I showed her that her dream is showing that her perspective is off a bit.” Kyle says.

“Perspective huh? Explain please.” Angela hanging on to each word jotting away in her notes.

“I told her to stand very close to the painting and to only look only at the sides of the canvas, which is a dark black which is the base color of this painting. As she stared into the void of the color black I told her the dream tells me that this is your view point. I then told her to close her eyes as I guided her back and said to keep them closed. As her eyes remained closed I told her that if you stand to close to the painting you can’t see it’s true full beauty. She then opens her eyes to see the many vibrant colors that envelop the canvas facing us. As her eyes filled with tears I explained that if she could just take a step back and look at the whole picture then the fear falls to the background and the love comes into focus.” Kyle sums up.

“How do you feel about that time you were injured?” Angela asks.

“I see it as a net positive. I experienced nothing but support and love from her even when I could do nothing but embody pain. I was free to heal without the concerns of the world. To me this time that was hard and will be some of the most cherished time of my life. We are a couple that met just before the pandemic moved in with each other and grew from there. So many other people hated being stuck inside with their spouses. We discovered that we don’t need to speak to anyone else but each other. Our relationship became steel forged in fire and brimstone.” Kyle says dramatically holding his fist clenched tight in front of him to convey the intensity.

“Thats beautiful Kyle. I see how that perspective helped and I also see why I don’t have much to do as your therapist.” Angela says laughing.

“Anywhoozle doc… what was your question exercise before that realization interrupted?” Kyle asks confused due to the detour.

“Right.” Angela clears her throat from getting a bit choked up and asks… “what….”

“OH! What will tomorrow look like?!” Kyle interrupts.

“Yes, go ahead with it then.” Angela says chuckling.

“Like I had mentioned the mornings are a time for my wife and I to get ourselves balanced before the two monster boys wake up. Its like having two cartoon bulldogs bumping into everything.” Kyle getting off track says, “anyway the morning is full of our habits, light stretching, meditating, light chores, planning ahead and our morning couple conversation before she disappears to the jungle.”

“So then lets start with once the boys are awake.” Angela says to guide Kyle on track.

“We can always tell once the boys are awake because they will often scream like vikings coming off their ship charging a village they plan to pillage. These two will after proclaiming a joined battle cry will sprint to wherever we are and attempt to tackle me and gently hug and kiss their mother. After they admit defeat or work together to take me out my wife will take them to clean up and pick out their cloths. I will in that time finish their breakfast as I make a super coffee and clean up the kitchen after they have eaten. Then they will go and do their habits guided by my wife which will lead her off to work.”

“Now that your wife is off to work what is next?” Angela asks.

“Now the afternoon rolls around and that will begin with their school work and academic studies. On my wife’s breaks she likes to help the boys with their school work. In this time I will take my time to write and plan programs for clients. Mostly my writing though.” Kyle explains.

“Yes, the writing. It is to my understanding that your wife was the one to awaken this talent?” Angela asks.

“Yes indeed it was. Until that point I didn’t think anything I had to say was worth much attention.” Kyle says shaking his head in disbelief.

“You still don’t believe it?” Angela hints at.

“I definitely see I have a talent with words for sure but not to this level and because of that I will always be grateful to my wife for showing me its possible. She is my first fan after all.” Kyle says.

“What was I saying?” Kyle pauses. “Yes, so during the time of the boy’s studies and my wife’s first third of work and tutoring I will write some new piece I am working on. I like to give the best creative juices of my day to the writing first. Also this is the only time I can.” Kyle and Angela both laugh.

“What happens after the school work?” Angela posits.

“Next the boys are to practice their chosen sport that they chose interest. They may do skill work if I feel they are tired or we may push it if they are packed with energy. After that they are very warmed up and they will spare each other in jiu-jitsu which is their shared martial art. After their training turns into attacking me I will defeat them and we will clean up the matts and gear. Then the boys and I are off to do chores. I will do my main fitness training for the day while doing a cleaning hitt training for my rest periods. Time will fly and I will get peppered with random questions from the boys.” Kyle rattles off.

“What questions do they ask?” Angela asks.

“Sometimes I regret this rule, but it brings more good than trouble.” Kyle says.

“And that rule is?” Angela prods.

“They can ask any questions they want especially the question why.” Kyle states.

Angela begins laughing, “right that rule, you both have plenty of wild conversations with those boys.”

“What can I say I was a curious kid and I want them to be curious too. Those questions can go on for a while.” Kyle laments.

“What’s next in the day?” Angela rains back in Kyle again.

“Once chores are done the boys will play as I finish my workout and cleaning hybrid and it will be their nap time. My wife will often nap with them not just due to her pregnancy, but she has always liked a nap. Any way she will come out of work for lunch that I will have made for her and the boys and they will eat and take a nap. I will clean up and often wait for a training client to come by for a session or a partner for some business stuffs.” Kyle lists off.

“What happens after the nap?” Angela asks.

“Post nap is creative time that will often take up the remaining day and bring us into evening time. Creative time is when the boys will choose any kind of art to do. That could mean they could go do more training or they can pick from any medium that we have available. All we don’t have is a large slab of marble to chisel. The boys often loose hours and days to their projects or training. After the art we will often run any errands needed, but that we have to wiped the kids out for good.” Kyle states.

“How do you go about that?” Angela asks.

“Dog park with all the dogs, regular park for the boys, some planned water gun fight, parkour gym, rock climbing…. Honestly depending on the day it could be anything.” Kyle lists and tires himself.

“Then you run errands? With two boys?” Angela asking is disbelief.

“Now a days being that my wife is preggers with the third I like to take the boys out as she has a bath or something relaxing. So once tired I will often place the boys in the cart and they can listen to a podcast or audiobook for the duration. The car ride home is often them asleep.” Kyle says.

“Now we are entering the evening of the day; what happens here?” Angela asks reigning in Kyle.

“The evening is my most relaxing time of day.” Kyle says with an honest bliss across his face.

“Really it’s the only time of the day I am actively trying to chill most.” Kyle says trying to convince himself of what chill is as his personality is farthest from it. “Once five pm rolls around thats when my wife will emerge from her wilderness office.”

“Tell me about her office. I was told that you built it yourself. Tell me about how you envisioned this before building it.” Angela clarifying her questions.

“We actually built it together. It sits in the deepest corner of the garden and has a stunning cobble stone path from the back yard of the home passing by some of the rescue farm animals and leading to the front entrance. The garden looks like it has accepted her office into it’s natural landscape as vines that line the walls have covered the office in a green sweater. Makes the solar panels on top and air conditioning unit on the structure look like the perfect balance between technology and nature. Surrounding the sides that have windows are birds of paradise and various color roses that creates a beautiful pop of natural color that blends well with the natural colors on the office. The goal was to blend it in with the garden so that we could find a balance for my wife as she looks at a screen all day. We decided the best thing to do is put in the middle of nature so we did. It really is like walking through a fairy tale to goto work everyday. Anyway what were we talking about?” Kyle rambled on and suddenly asks feeling he got side tracked.

Angela kindly says, “don’t you worry that was a good rant. You were telling me about your evenings and I asked about the office you made for your wife. You were explaining that the evening portion starts at around five pm.”

“Oh yes! Okay so usually around five pm is when my wife will finish her main days work and come to playing the dogs, animals and kids before getting into her evening routines. By that time I have done plenty of play so that the kids and dogs are tired enough for my wife to finish them off. As that happens I make dinner and clean up the kitchen, reflexively. Once dinner is made and the boys have set the table after playing and cleaning up for dinner we will all have dinner at around six pm. Once we have eaten we will often go for a walk to digest and talk to each other. No technology aside from me having the phone just in case and everyone’s focus is on walking and talking about the day. Usually this conversation is started at dinner and become full conference by the time we have returned. The walk takes thirty minutes which leads us to the winding down portion. Post walk and talk the boys have forty five minutes of a show or video game after that save what you can and tech is shut down. We all gather in the gym and go through stretches together as we talk more. Typically if it wasn’t a hard physical day for the boys once we have stretched and they know no one is injured they will attack me and a good half hour of wrestling two boys commences. Because the gym has a large mat where mostly stretching and grappling is practiced, the boys will spring like kittens with claws in my direction, pouncing. This will go on until I win or they realize they need to work together. During that time is when my wife does all her skin care and journaling. After that the boys are sent to wash up and brush teeth which my wife will inspect once completed as she has issues with dental work.”

Angela chirps up, “yes I have heard the dentist issues. Anyway continue…”

“Right. Now comes the bed time routine with the boys. This is my favorite time as it is where we are all on the same page so to speak. Often the boys will have agreegument themselves to picking one of my stoic short stories to be read by my wife.” Kyle explain.

Angela interrupts, “agre-egu-ments?” Angela is confused at the new word.

“Oh yes, our boys have picked up seemingly genetically on how my wife and I use to argue in the early years of our relationship. It means that you argue about something, but you are both unaware that you are agreeing. I suppose this would be a shared short coming we both had and learned to be aware of and evolve.” Kyle surmises.

“Ah, I see agree-gument.” Angela says as a lightbulb goes off in her head.

“So once the boys have argued, fought and then realized they are asking for the same story they both will jump into bed. Awaiting their mom as currently she waddles in very pregnant with our daughter to come. Once she settles into the padded rocking chair in between the boys red and blue race-car beds my wife will begin the story. As the warm glow of the night time tent to the ipad eliminates my wife like a nightlight.” Kyle states.

Angela asks, “where are you in this?”

“I am sitting in the corner of the room with my ukulele.” Kyle says.

“Oh yeah, I was glad to hear you still play.” Angela says gleefully.

“Yeah,” Kyle says softly, “I will sit in the background as I strum a cord progression that isn’t planned which becomes a beautiful background to the sweet voice of my wife and the story. Once she has completed the story the boys are beginning to drift off. As she gets up to get to bed I continue strumming and picking along sustaining the white noise of the music as they enter their sleep cycles.”

“You said that your mom would often watch you sleep and how you found that to be weird. How do you see that now?” Angela prods.

“That’s funny to realize.” Kyle says laughing at the irony. “I watch those boys fall asleep literally every night and I will say it is one of my favorite times.”

“That’s a full day!” Angela says.

“Yeah after the boys are down, my wife and I will do our evening habits, clean up, watch a show and fall asleep most nights.” Kyle finishes.

“As always thanks for coming in even if it was to catch up for a session or twelve.” Angela says chuckling.

Caged & Corrected

A Short Stoic Story…

Off in the obscure corner of a large desert property backed by large mountainous terrain sits a private corrections facility. The owner is the son of a wealthy tycoon and the conditions of profit over rehabilitation is clear throughout. The desert sands are mixed with a clay of the land gives it a radiant orange pigment that blankets everything in its dusty orange cloud. From a distance this correctional facility can resemble that of a loan Cheeto puff in a barren wasteland. This facility is also the home to some of the most violent offenders and the one with the most elaborate library oddly enough.

“To be like the rock that the waves keep crashing over. It stands unmoved and the raging of the sea falls still around it.” -Marcus Aurelius

Closing the book and shaking his head saying under his breath, “it’s not that simple.” Feeling like he is going to vomit.

“What did you say to me?!” A large man stands over Len with his imposing figure blocking the light from the window above and looking for any reason to start something. The two delinquents behind the large man circle around to the sides of Len who is now pinned to the table he sits at. Len swallows his nausea.

Keeping his head down staring at the book in front of him spelling the title in his head over and over waiting for these men to move along…

m- e- d- i- t- a- t- i- o- n- s.

“I am speaking to you!” The large man slamming his hand on the metal table looming over top of Len like a lion having pinned his prey. The other two men begin to chuckle and crack their knuckles and roll their shoulders in preparation.

Looking up from his book realizing they weren’t leaving Len says, “I wasn’t speaking to you.”

Again in his head… m- e- d- i- t- a- t- i- o- n- s.

“Then who was you speaking too?!” The man despondently asks.

“He must be talking to himself.” The other two delinquents chime in like a noxious ring tone.

“Oh you’re a crazy milk toast aren’t you?” The large man beckons.

“Guys, I am simply reading and nothing else.” Len laments.

All three men look up at the camera as it turns away as they all grab one of the heavy law books on the table Len was reading. Gripping them tight ready to beat this fresh inmate for being fresh; a man who works in the library walks up to Len sensing some misdoings. He approaches with his cart from the other side of the table.

“Hey Len, I found the other law volume you wanted,” handing Len a book of Shakespeare knowing the three idiots wouldn’t know the difference.

“Oh…” quivering a bit with his breath smelling of adrenaline Len responds, “thank you I was looking for this one.”

The three men walk away knowing that getting in trouble by the staff is a major problem for any inmate. Len has dodged that bullet as it were as the men leave they gesture they will find Len again. Panicked on what do do he sat shaking.

“I read your case file.” Jon the librarian says still standing across the table from Len.

“How?!” Len looking up asks.

“Thats not important. I see that you have started to familiarize yourself with law. Why is that?” Jon asks.

Looking around as if he is about share a dark secret… “I’m innocent.” Covering his mouth with his hand.

“Oh I see well…” pointing at the table in the corner with a mix of races sitting together with a stack of law books and files in the middle of the table. “Those men are innocent too. Can I give you some advice?” Jon offers.

“Please do.” Len says feeling a slight relief.

“Prisons especially like this there are two types of inmate. One knows they aren’t innocent and may say they are to a lawyer, but choose to play basket ball and games in the yard they choose what side they are on usually based on their complexion and they assimilate.” Jon posits.

“And the second type?” Len hanging on to each word hoping the other option is better.

“The second, believes they are innocent despite being locked up. This person will be drawn to the library as it can be a momentary tranquil spots for brief moments. The second type will be drawn here hopefully to find an answer…. That’s you.” Jon explains.

“How do you know I am innocent?” Len asks.

“Since you got here you only spent free time here or in your cell. Staff members talk. What I recommend is that you get smart on law and its practices because your case is pretty clear you may be being railroaded.” Jon offers.

“Where do I start. First of all Meditations by Marcus Aurelius is a great start for the mind and soul. For law goto that table with those men and tell them your story.” Saying as he points at the table of men who are now looking back at them.

Snapping out of his memory as Len sits in his bunk with Meditations in hand. Len thinks to himself, “reading that passage of being rocks among the restless sea became my mantra after that day I almost got beaten with law books. Not a day goes by that I don’t reminisce on who I came into prison as.” Closing the book just in time for the alarms to sound and a loud buzz can be heard sounding through the whole facility. “Its free time,” Len thinks and like always heads straight to the library as he has for the last five years looking for his innocence in those law books.

Making his way to the library Len moves his shoulders around and is sore from all the push ups he did this morning. One hand gripping Meditations now which is his personal copy which was gifted by his daughter for his last birthday and the other massaging a knots in his shoulder blade.

Len thinks to himself as he walks by all the cells as all other inmates are just barely getting up as Len has been up for hours. Operating on five hours a night of sleep Len has established quit the system for being locked up. Thinking to himself on the way to the library, “oooooffff too many push ups this morning, but I got some solid reading hitt training in.”

As Len makes his way by each cell most inmates give him subtle nods of respect as he has become some what of a therapist for some of the worst offenders.

Len drifts off into thought, “there’s Charle’s,” waving at him as he passes and Len receives a warm smile quickly followed by a snarl so no one sees him acting weak. “That man and his followers almost beat my head in my first week and the library wasn’t their last attempt.” Len thinks back when he stood up to the three men, “I was working in the laundry room minding my business just getting through another day when those three emerged from the darkness like monsters in the night. Surrounding me like they did before, but this time I was ready as I had taken a heavy law book with me as I did each day in preparation. Guards don’t think much of carrying books with you until that day. Once surrounded I slowly grabbed the book from under the dirty linen and without hesitation cracked on of the followers breaking his jaw. As I backed into the corner readying myself for another swing Charles approached me like a lion approaching prey. I then suddenly asked… Why are you doing this?” As if by some kind of spell he stopped and what seemed like the first time he thought. For the next hour I threw every single psychological tactic I would take with my schizophrenic father while in his episodes. It worked and turns out that lots of these men weren’t asked questions of the wrong decisions they made.”

Once at the library Len nods to Jon and sits at the table with all the other “Innocent Until Proven Guilty Party” as they coined it. This table was of men who knew to little to find that they were being set up in some manor.

One of the men sitting down asked Len, “when do your therapy sessions start today doc?”

“In an hour and starting with Charles!” Len says pleased.

“Wait, wait!” Jon yells from his counter. “Did you say Charles?! The man who almost bashed your head in with one of those law books there?” Jon gestures pointing at the thick books. The other men sitting around waiting for Len’s answer knowing all to well that getting mixed up with the wrong people is bad.

“Yes, that Charles. I have been speaking to him about his anger and what he should be learning from his sentence. He has patched up his relationship with his son a bit and wants to provide when he is out. Yes he slips up and beats up someone from time to time, but not as often lately.” Len states. “Also I’m much stronger than I was when I came in I don’t only read in my cell.” Len says laughing throwing some comedic air punches.

The men sitting around are amazed that Charles could even vaguely change. Jon speaks up again, “what are you searching for in these therapy sessions for other inmates?”

“I’m selfishly curious and I think most these men are misunderstood and weren’t given the opportunity to succeed. I am showing them that they have even a small amount of potential so that this life isn’t the only one. Charles even recently got his GED. He didn’t think he was even smart enough for it before talking.” Len explains.

“It also took you separating a mans jaw with the second volume of American Law and Procedure,” Jon says holding up the volume still stained with that lemming’s blood.

“Welll…” Len says as the whole table and Jon laugh.

“Alright men,” Len says clearing his throat, “while doing my morning push ups and reading I thought of a question for us all.” Curious eyes perk up around the table as Len lets some suspense build.

Jon from his counter says, “get to it I got books to put away soon.” As Jon continues scanning returned books back into the system. The faint beep in the background works like a metronome to Len’s question.

As if in some speakeasy poetry slam Len stands up placing on foot on the table Captain Morgan style and asks, “Is it unfortunate that this life has been put on our plate? Or is it a gift?” Len states and sits back down allowing it to sink in.

Rumbling is heard around the table as the men ponder to themselves muttering thoughts under their breaths. Jon from his counter says, “Unfortunate!” Saying so boldly and continuing, “that is for all of you men at that table at the very least.”

“What do you all think?” Asks Len not wanting to influence their natural responses.

After each of the other five men take the time to think they all come to the same conclusion of, “Unfortunate!” They say in unison.

“Right!” Jon proclaims from his counter.

“No.” Len says.

“No?! Your life was flipped and when I met you sitting at that table over there,” pointing at the same metal table in the middle of the library, “you were a puddle about to be beaten onto another puddle!”

“No. We are fortunate!” Len says standing again to gather attention. “We… Are… Fortunate. We are alive. We believe. And we are strong. I was a weak, agreeable man with no real prospects in my life. Once I was locked up something I didn’t commit I was frightened. Instead of cowering and withering away or meshing with this environment I chose to come here to this library. As you all did. You felt something inside wanting answers.” Len takes a minute to drink so water as that all sinks in.

“Did you know that this is one of the most studded libraries in the state? Common Jon you literally make more than most salary wise because these books are expensive and vast especially in law. Why is that Jon?” Len prompting Jon sarcastically and waving his hand to move his words along.

“Who told you how much I make!” Jon retorts.

“You just did!” Len says as then men laugh, “so then…”

“Okay yes…” Jon sighs. “I am the highest paid librarian probably anywhere because this library is so vast.” Jon says rolling his eyes.

“Why is it so vast?” Len says again waving his hand looking for the right answer to make his point.

“It’s vaaasssttt…” says sarcastically and sighs, “it’s vast because the original warden that built this correctional facility believed in rehabilitation and…” Jon get cut off by Len.

“…and he thought that if the problem of prisons was the lack of education given to an individual the why not have the most studded place to learn here where it’s needed most.” Len says proudly.

The men around the table look a bit confused. Len continues, “we are all wrongly convicted and were sent to a place with the best resources for one to free themselves. Gentlemen we are sitting in the key to our freedom and always have been.” Len holds his hands out wide to presenting the vast potential around them.

Taking a moment to gather himself serious Len says, “I can say that I am a better man than I came in as despite being innocent.” Just then Charles walks in and places his large hand on Len’s shoulder.

Like a sandbag slung over Lens shoulder Charles asks, “are you ready doc?”

“Oh Charles! What did we talk about walking up behind people.” Len admonishes.

“Oh!” As if remembering Charles tries again, “hey Len and crew… I am ready for our session.” Stumbling on the words Charles gets out as much pleasantries as he can.

“Well done and yes I am as well Charles.” Len says beginning to walk to the same table they met at as Len turns back to the men saying, “think about what I said.”

Once Len steps away with Charles a man approaches the “Innocent Table” his name is Jack.

All the men stand up exclaiming, “Jack!”

“Hey guys, sorry about my absents.” Jack says with a warm smile and an odd look of peace on his face.

Jon walking by with his book cart as he is putting them away approaches Jack saying, “Oh great! You’re out!”

“Out?!” The table of men say.

Jon continues, “yes I heard from the guards that you were placed into special housing for a fight or something? Wasn’t your case a few days ago?”

Jack clears his throat, places his books and papers down and sits with the men at the table. “Alright gentlemen, yes I was his special housing, solitary confinement or the pit as we like to say for a month. They said I was mixed up in a fight and that I had resisted against a guard so I was sent to solitary confinement. Being that my court appearance was the beginning of this month the warden didn’t want to loose a pay check knowing we had been solving my case.”

Jon speaks up, “so just because you are one of the harder workers and you could be freed that the warden is delaying you getting to court? Does he have that right?!”

“Thats my theory, but it was not all for not.” Jack then points down on his papers layered between the pages of a law book.

Jack continued, “that time in solitary confinement of 23 hours of my day in a cement cube for a month I gained two things. One I got in very good shape. Two I solved my case.” Jack pulls out the papers and passes them around.

The table rumbles with astonishment and pride. Just then Jack sees Len approach with Charles under his arm crying and wiping away tears. As if it was a gift for him being freed from solitary the sight of Charles crying made it all worth it. Charles quickly wipes his tears and adorns his mad dog resting face and charges out of the library.

“Jack!” Len says with pure joy. “I loaded your lawyer up with all that we had on your case and they have extended it so you can be at the next one.”

“I heard about that, thank you.” Jack laments.

“It was all of us… but no problem we are in this together. I overheard special housing huh?” Len shaking his head and looking down patting Jack on the shoulder.

Quickly turning to the other men Len states, “now men take notice here that this can happen to any of us. All of our cases have holes in them and we have solved a great deal. Which means we all could be tossed away into solitary before our hearing for no reason at all. We need to learn how you kept it together in there Jack so that we may survive as well.”

Jack takes a moment to gather his thoughts, “honestly men it is pure unpolluted chaos in there. Constant noise with brief moments of quiet as men throw hissy fits slamming around like a baby chimp. That sound echoes through all cells and vibrates into your bones. I would sit on a rolled up mattress for some blunting. Other times the people neighboring your cell would yell the most vial things to you hoping to get a rise from you. They only know what they briefly see of you when you pass their cells. So the comments after a while become tasteless and not creative at all. In the beginning it gets a rise out of you, but what I learned is to shove pieces of my mattress in my ears and focus on my work.”

“Wait, so you were forced to learn patience?!” Len interrupts… “sorry, continue.”

Chuckling off the question Jack continues, “yes, I was forced to learn patience mainly because I had my case to solve and could get a constant rotation of books from here. I would often see some of your guys notes you forgot in some of them which actually worked as inspiration when I was stuck. Len is right we all can survive in there and see it as a time of study and self improvement, but that is easier said than done. Routinely other men would loose their minds to the constant noise and taunting and some would even attempt to kill themselves. What this told me was it is how you treat the time rather than how long you will be in there. I have emerged a smarter and more confident man especially in my case.” Jack says slamming his hand on the table in rejoice.

“HEY! Quiet.” Jon tells from him counter.

“Sorry Jon I got excited.” Jack retorts.

Standing up quickly startling the other men assuming an attack Len begins rummaging through his personal copy of Meditations… “ahhh I can’t find it, but I know it roughly by heart. Marcus Aurelius wrote to himself as a journal. What he mentions about misfortune is perfect for right now.”

Len rubes his temples to recover the words…. “We have to ask ourselves men that in times of great misfortune we can realize that if the misfortune doesn’t disrupt our ability to choose how we act then there is no misfortune at all. Look at this table all of us were dealt a hand not fair to us. Instead of picking a gang and playing in the yard we choose to learn, exercise in our cells and come here daily to work together with groups on the outside doing the same work. We will more than likely continue this work when we are released. This experience did not hinder us; instead it allowed us to become better than we imagined we could. We continue to act as free men despite being locked up.”

Jon then breaks up Len’s speech, “you guys have ten minutes til its back to your cells!”

“Got it.” Len responds.

Len turning back around to the table he says to the men, “alright ten minutes…” gathering his thought. “We all need to take a piece of Jack’s research he did in special housing. Once we have all combed each chunk and assessed no holes in the case we will be ready for Jack’s hearing despite him being present this time.”

Nods of comradery and a common purpose are shared among the table. The men start to break apart Jack’s notes putting together all the seemingly random scraps of ideas on bits of paper with their corresponding pages in books and pages he wrote. Once divided Len stands up knowing he only has a moment before they go off to their cells.

“Gents I want to leave you with this last thought. When times are roughest or a Charles is beating you with a law book you can find solace in knowing that it was no misfortune as long as you endured it and survived. Surviving and making efforts to thrive despite circumstance is great fortune. That is the type of wealth no one can take from you.” Len finishes just as.

BUZZZZZ! The alarm goes off and all the men shove the scraps of scribing and printed pages of law books into their personal books. Like well organized squirrels these men got up and brought their spoils back to their trees.

At each of their cells the men lay in their bunks waiting for bed time to begin and their studying to start. Each of them patiently wait for the moment the big lights are shut down and the facility is left with a faint night light glow. It isn’t light, but isn’t dark enough either. Its like that so the guards can always see what you are doing. Most men place shirts on their face to block the light. Those in this case who want to read have become accustom to reading in dim lighting. Like an owl brushing up on law they men did so as a bed time story. A large thud is heard ringing through the facility as the lights disengage. Then mens eyes slowly adjust and they all begin their study as they do every night and each morning.

This story was inspire by Marcus Aurelius. The passage forty-nine of his fourth book of Meditations:

“To be like the rock that the waves keep crashing over. It stands unmoved and the raging of the sea falls still around it.”

“-It’s unfortunate that this has happened. No. It’s fortunate that this has happened and I’ve remained unharmed by it-not shattered by the present or frightened of the future. It could have happened to anyone. But not everyone could have remained unharmed by it. Why treat the one as a misfortune rather than the other as fortunate? Can you really call something a misfortune that doesn’t violate human nature? Or do you think something that’s not against nature’s will can violate it? But you know what its will is. Does what’s happened keep you from acting with justice, generosity, self-control, sanity, prudence, honesty, humility, straightforwardness, and all the other qualities that allow a person’s nature to fulfill itself? So remember this principle when something threatens to cause you pain: the thing itself was no misfortune at all; to endure it and prevail is great good fortune.”

The Older Other

A Short Inspired Story…

Hmmmm hmmm hmmmm… The phone buzzing in his pocket disrupting the meeting that he is running.

Hmmmm hmmm hmmmm… A room of well but casually dressed men and woman as if in their sunday’s best listening intently to the speech.

Hmmmm hmmm hmmmm… As the phone continues to ring the buzzing from George’s pocket soon is the only thing everyone can hear and his presentation to his crew is going unnoticed.

Letting out a large sigh and rolling his eyes sarcastically to his staff as they chuckle along with George he digs his phone out of his jeans from underneath his tool belt.

“What… a… hastle!” George says struggling to wiggle his phone from the tight pocket and guarded by a bustling belt. Once free his carefree and confident expression sours to a scowl.

Some of the crew begin to become concerned. The most senior of which, Martha a tough as nails electrician that has worked for George for many years asks, “What’s wrong boss? Another truck tagged?” The crew chuckle as Martha attempts to break up the seriousness.

“It’s Ryan.” George says abruptly and leaves. On his way out, looking to Martha and waving her up to finish the meeting.

“Alright ya’ll you know how it is Georgie boy needs to go find his brother. Nothing out of the ordinary… unfortunately.” Pausing awkwardly Martha rethinking her sentence. “Never mind all that we got jobs to get to and it’s early! Plummers you have three houses right away…” pointing at the whiteboard and continues on.

George on his way out smirks with gratitude for Martha sticking around as long as she has. Walking away as Martha’s instruction fades in the background, George thinks to himself, “like a sister I never had, I’m glad Martha can step in for times like this.” Climbing into his chevy truck and taking off for the shelter on the other side of town.

Stopping halfway at the home George and his older brother grew up at is always the first spots he checks. Dingy, dark and void of life stands what remains of their childhood home and all the times that reside within its walls. Staring blankly at the house with its unkempt weeds winding themselves in the chain linked fencing. Rusted joints and chipped yellow paint gave this old home a jaundice appearance. Snapping from his trance remembering what he is up to, George’s phone rings again this time sound broke out to catch his attention.

Looking at the caller i.d. saying Lucy and underneath her name reads homeless shelter. “Yeah, George here!” He said panicked.

“Hey George it’s Lucy…” Lucy is the lady who runs the homeless shelter and who is always the one to make this call.

“Hey, hey, what’s happening?!” George interrupts.

“Ryan had another break and we need your help to find him.” Lucy says concerned and sorry that this is happening again.

“I’m on it and I will find him.” George says and hangs up.

Starting at the childhood home George began to weave the streets of the neighborhoods they grew up. Much like they did as children jumping to the back of their Pop’s chevy pick up to “discover treasure” as he put it. The boy’s father was a self taught handy man and would often spend his drives home from work combing the streets for stuff people put on the sidewalk for the trash folk to take. So before the trash guys came around he would collect things he could fix then sell them at a local market.

As George drove the streets he began reminiscing to himself, “we would spend every Saturday morning the same as this one. We wake up before the sun, clean the truck and head out to see what we could find. The magic of the morning and the excitement of a good find was entertaining to watch none the less from Pops. He didn’t need the money either because he had a solid job that kept us in good condition. This was his hobby which was more of the same work he would get paid for at work. He loved fixing things.”

George knows that if he combs for long enough he will find his older brother rummaging through trash for treasure as they did as children. This was a cycle George would find himself in time to time as his brother would enter into these episodes. Continuing to weave through the neighborhoods George reminisces on, “the episodes started when I was in community college at that time my maintenance business was just me and my brother when he was around. I remember that day vividly because it was the day I would loose my brother and gain a whacky new friend. I was in class and my phone went off as it did today, but it was our Mother. She said that one moment Ryan was crashing on the couch as he did time to time and then he was gone with the front door wide open. I quickly got up from my class and stormed out heading home. Once home I discover my Mother crying on the door step talking to an officer worried he got mixed up with bad people. My brother lived a very unsavory life. The officer turned to me saying they have gotten calls at the homeless shelter of someone matching my brother’s description. I took off again consoling my Mother. We use to feed homeless people and help fixing things up there with Pops as Mom would cook in the kitchen for the people there. We would fix anything and for hours. Why would he be there? Once I arrived I saw two officers observing my brother fanatically fixing an old air conditioning unit that has been broken since we were children. The officers told me he wasn’t hurting anyone and was experiencing a psychotic break as described by Lucy who knows these events all to well. Once my brother calmed down he fell unconscious and began having seizures. An ambulance arrived and took him to the hospital. After a few days of rest for him and tests they confirmed that he had taken so many drugs in his life that this last mix had sent him over and broke his mind. I woke up by someone tapping me on my shoulder as I sat in the chair beside my brother’s bed. Ryan had woken up and wanted to know why he was in the hospital and who was I. He had lost all memory of who I was, but not of me his brother, he just couldn’t recognize me as a man and only as his little boy brother. I was now just a new friend that was like a brother to him.” Just as the memory concludes George turns on his high-beams looking at a dumpster moving around in a parking lot of a market.

A disheveled man jumps out of the dumpster holding a bicycle frame and wearing three sets of bicycle chains on his neck covered in grease. Covered head to toe in dirt and filth from the various dumpsters he had loomed through.

Pulling up through the lot and up to the man George pokes his head out and yells, “Hey! Dingus! What are you doing so early?!”

“Georgie!” Ryan exclaims arms out wide waiting for a hug then sniffing himself and putting his arms down.

“You know George I am just looking for gold out here in the wee bits of the morning!” Ryan says with a large grin as his teeth rattle and gnash together. His eyes are dilated and looks like he hasn’t slept in days.

“Have you slept in a while?” George asks approaching Ryan.

“Not in a few days. I have been in a flow of finding amazing things. I was able to make someone a table and fix a whole refrigerator for the shelter. Can’t sleep with all these great projects!” Ryan rattles on jittery and despondent.

Pulling in Ryan, George gives him a massive hug smearing the grease and filth onto his clean work shirt. “Oh Goergie! Why did you go and dirty up your shirt you know I was in that dumpster…” Ryan pleaded.

“No big deal I have other shirts and only one of you Ryan,” George says as he leads Ryan to the truck throwing all his finds in the bed. Looking down at his shirt and taking a sniff George shakes his head violently to the smell as he gets into the truck.

Hopping into the passenger seat Ryan says, “you always know how to find me like we grew up together or something.” Grinning ear to ear after gesturing.

“Speaking of how is your brother?” George asks knowing all to well Ryan can’t tell the difference between a phone call and in person.

“Well, I haven’t seen him in a long time and wouldn’t even know what he looks like because he was in college last I saw. Any how he has a nice business going and a large staff, he has a fiancé and is looking to grow his business and family soon.” Ryan rattling off a laundry list of things that George has accomplished.

“Sounds like he is doing well.” George laments.

“So Ryan. You need to be getting sleep. You know that the projects aren’t going anywhere. Sleep is what keeps you level.” George says after he pulls up to the homeless shelter.

“Yeah I know I just got excited. Did you see what’s in your truck bed?!” Ryan responds.

After taking all the new/old finds into the shelter for Ryan and him to fix George says, “Hey, Ryan I need to make a call then I will be right back.”

“Sure thing Georgie.” Ryan says gleefully.

Scrolling through his contacts George taps on Martha and selects call. The phone sounds of ringing when… “Yeah, what’s it to ya?!… Hello?” Martha yells clears her throat then calmly says hello.

“Hey Martha who are you yelling at?” George asks concerned.

“Georgie Boy! Oh I caught some of those ding dongs tagging our trucks and beat the shiz out of one and chased the rest off. How’s your brother?” Martha states proudly and asks sincerely.

“He is ok. Found him in a dumpster this time.” George says laughing as he looks down on his shirt. “Everything going well today?”

“Yeah no problem here Georgie. Say?! Are there any good finds that your brother may want to fix up for me?” Martha asks.

“Not sure yet, but maybe a bicycle you would like. Any jobs I’m needed for?” George cajoles and asks.

“Awesome! Tell him if it’s custom I will take him shopping for some new tools.” Martha says excited.

“Hey! Don’t spend all your raise on tools for other people this time. Any jobs?” George asks again.

“Oh yeah! Miss Garfield is requesting you personally. That old lady was your mom’s best friend right?” Martha asks.

“Yeah, sweet woman. Tell her I will be by this evening.” George says hanging up.

“Alrighty Ryan what did you find?” George asks as he walks back into the shelter.

“Ok ok ok!!! There are plenty of parts for a bicycle, some for maintenance here and a few kid scooters that I can make real cool for the neighboring orphanage.” Ryan rattles off again.

“Sounds good, while I clean all this up for us to work on you go get cleaned up yourself.” George says.

“Will do Georgie! Was that Martha on the phone?” Ryan asks as he was on his way to the showers.

“Yes! She said if you make her a custom bicycle she will take you for new tools and stuff you need for the shelter.” George relays.

“OH SHIT!” Excited beyond belief; Ryan sprints off to the showers.

Lucy from the kitchen yells, “LANGUAGE!” Lucy then waves over George.

George makes his way to the kitchen to speak to Lucy. “What’s on your mind?”

“You don’t have to spend the day here with him you know. He will get into projects and zip through the day as usual. The break ended and he is safe; you can go back to work.” Lucy says with her hands on his shoulders with the warmth of a mother.

“I know Lucy, first work is good and Martha has that under control. Second though Ryan may not remember me as his brother when we spend time together, but I can still be his brother.” George sums up.

“Oh Martha is quit the firecracker!” Lucy says laughing. Letting the laughing subside.

“I remember you both as young boys coming with your parents to help here often and Ryan wasn’t the best brother to you. I don’t mean to disparage Ryan as he has his troubles and those may have been the reason he treated you the way he did. Despite that you were treated terribly sometimes and I often was the one to break up the fights that would ensue. I became a surrogate parent to you both as I never bothered your parents with your boys tomfoolery.” Lucy mutters off concerned.

“Hm….” Taking a moment to take that all in George says, “My brother may not have been a good or nice brother, he may have bullied me, hurt me and threatened me. The thing is I have always understood why. He is sick and always has been. As much as I was never able to fight back when smaller, once I grew up and could handle him I thought I would get revenge. Instead I realized that once I knew he could not hurt me again because I became more physically dominant it made me feel pity and sadness for him. I spent my childhood watching him make every single mistake a to z. So in a way I am grateful he is the fuck up so to speak….”

“Language!” Lucy cutting off George with a quiet admonishment.

“Sorry got carried away there. I am grateful he was tripping over every curb and stepping on each land mine because it made it so much easier for me to avoid them. Ryan despite being a thorn in my side for so long is one major reason I have become so successful and strong.” George finishes.

“Well I would say that you definitely got the insight from your parents.” Lucy says chuckling.

Chuckling along with her George says, “after all I am stronger than him because I started working out early to avoid being beat on. Now look at me!” Holding his arms out wide.

Lucy and George laugh as they realize his shirt is still covered with filth. Lucy then says, “yes young man you are quit healthy.” Patting him on the back and pointing at Ryan.

“Georgie Lets Do It!” Ryan yells sprinting to the fresh finds. “You didn’t clean them?!” Ryan asks.

“Lucy made me talk to her and I got trapped.” George pleads.

“Oh yeah, her talks can get you.” Ryan laments.

The brothers break out the cleaning supplies and get to washing away the dirt and polishing a shine to these diamonds once tossed aside. After organizing the pile into specific parts for various projects the brothers sit to game plan with a whiteboard and sandwiches Lucy made earlier.

“Looks like we can make Martha one of those bad ass three wheel bikes that will be a Harley Davidson equivalent to a bicycle. You think she will like that?” Ryan sparking with creativity asks.

“Oh definitely! She actually joined a biker gang recently. You must be psychic or something.” George jokes.

“Do you have your welding gear in the truck?” Ryan asks.

“Yeah, but you aren’t using it.” George jolts.

“Fine!” Ryan throwing his hands up frustrated.

The brothers get to putting together one of the meanest bicycles in town. Practically a bicycle low rider with multiple cup holders, speakers built in and a little motor to assist with peddling. Proud of their work they stand up look at the clock and realize many hours have flown by as Martha walks in to pick up her bike.

Looking upon the two brothers from her office above Lucy writes in her journal, “it still surprises me how much of their father’s knack and passion for building projects lives within both his boys. It’s like they are kids again after getting into a fight and making up they would loose the day to projects like this. Some things don’t change.” She caps her pen and makes her way to the window just in time to see Martha arrive.

“Hey my boys! George you look gross! Have you both been here all day?!” Martha walks in and shamelessly hugs them both grappling them with her callus crusted hands with no way to escape.

Upon release the brother both gasping for air and say, “WAIT!” Coughing Ryan continues, “wait wait wait let us do a grand reveal!”

Martha sits down on a metal fold out chair flipping it open like the cool kid in the cafeteria. Ryan rolls the bike up covered in a blanket. Whipping it off the once turd now polished into pure silver…

“Oooooooooooooowwwweeeee this shiz,” sliding in the z in her shit as she glances scared at Lucy above due to the language. “Shiz this looks like it straight out of pimp my bike ya’ll!” Jumping around like a large rabbit Martha is esthetic with the old/new ride.

“How do you like it?” Ryan asking seeking approval.

“Amazing! We are getting you some tools my friend!” Martha hugs him close as George stands with a smile on in the background.

Ryan pushes away from Martha urgently, “how’s my brother doing?!”

Martha looks to George who simply says, “yeah, how is he doing today?”

Martha taking time to gather the thoughts, “Ryan, your brother is having an awesome day today. He got to work on something fun with an old friend.”

“Thats great. Will you both tell him to call me later?” Ryan asking sincerely.

“I will be sure he calls when he is at Miss Garfield’s.” George says knowing Miss Garfield would love to hear from Ryan not knowing of his current state.

“Let’s go Ryan!” Martha yells breaking the awkward moment. “We have tools to buy!”

“YES!” Throwing a fist to the sky Ryan exclaims.

“Have fun you two!” George says as Martha and Ryan skip off to her truck.

Once the two left George stands in the same spot for a bit as one tear of joy runs down his face. Lucy walks up wiping it away with her thumb patting him on the back and saying, “you have had a long day, but you have one last job to get to.”

George walks out silently with a warm smile on his face and gets into his truck. Before starting the ignition he looks up at the shelter giving a nod of respect and takes off.

Knock, knock, knock goes George on the front door of Miss Garfield’s home. “Oh George! Come on in!” The gentle old woman shuffling along guiding him to a recliner with a small pillow of a butterfly upon it.

Sitting down and brushing himself down as he admires the fresh shirt he has on now. “Wasn’t this Uncle Jed’s chair?” George asks.

“Oh yes! I know you have been working and this is the only chair I would allow Jed to sit in once he got home from the factory. That man would just come home filthy and sit in that chair, shower then sit back in the filth he tracked in!” Miss Garfield fusses about laughing at the foolishness her husband would get up to in earlier years.

“I miss Uncle Jed.” George laments.

“I will see him soon enough.” Miss Garfield states.

“Don’t say that!” George retorts.

“Oh please I’m an old woman! Should I be surprised that I would die at some point being this decrepit.” She says laughing hard and finishing with a cough.

“What needs fixin’?” George asks once the coughing subsided.

“Nothing child I made too much diner yesterday, so there are leftovers for you to take. Also I haven’t seen how you have been for a while. How’s Ryan?” She reveals with a smirk pinching his cheek then asks.

“I actually spent the day with him today and he actually wants to call the both of us on the phone.” George states.

“Oh wonderful ring him up!” Twirling her finger in the air in a gesture of excitement.

“Alright…” George says as the phone begins to ring.

Ring….

Ring….

Ring….

This story was inspired by Otto von Bismarck’s quote:

“Only a fool learns from his own mistakes. The wise man learns from the mistakes of others.”

Humanity

A Stoic Short Story…

Walking down the bustling highway of a college hall these days resembles more of a raceway than a school’s halls.

Jace is one of very few students at this prestigious school who still walks around in shoes. His parents born in the 1990s prided themselves on a healthy lifestyle and sustaining the health of one’s body so Jace feels much the same. Though the mass majority don’t feel that way any longer.

Beep! Beep! Beeeeep!

A hovering scooter with a hefty student riding within as the back end barely hovering above the ground as they honk their little horn at Jace for walking in their way.

Beep! Beep!

“Move along you bipedal freak!” This large scooter dweller yells.

It’s 2043 and the majority of people choose to ride around on hover boards, scooter and skates. Based on the chosen vehicle usually tells you the athletic importance they place on their bodies. There are more scooters than any other type of hover vehicle as most don’t want to exert themselves physically. Most see fitness as a waste of time.

Jace is in a very small minority of people who choose to walk, run or use a bicycle to go places. While living at University no one needs anything bigger than a scooter to get around.

Jace being an old soul as most people refer to him as, is aware of the latest tech and what not. But, he chooses to often go for more out dated tech saying, “it has more feeling to it. A soul.” Often with a polaroid camera around his neck and a iNotePad instead of an imPlant, Jace is seen as an outcast. Not to mention from a desire to walk he is one of very few fit people in his school.

Running up beside Jace is his friend Phil, “Hey Jace! Wait Up!” Jogging up to Jace zig zagging between a highway of heavy scooter-ers on auto pilot flowing in sequence. Bumping into them all as he makes his way up to Jace.

The hefty patrons yelling at him as if having a small bit of hall-way-road-rage. “Fleebin’ Walkers!” These scooter folk say hovering with hardened looks of melted disapproval.

“Jace! I got the new imPlant!” Phil holds up his arm to Jace. Then to Jace’s pre-modern drone camera that shoots his DocYou Channel.

“Why did you get that put in you Phil?!” Jace proclaims!

“Because it’s cool and I may like old tech, but I like new things too. Aren’t I doing enough by walking all the time?” Phil pleads.

“Eh, it’s cool just not for me.” Jace retorts.

Angling to Jace’s drone, “Jace just stop and check this out.” Phil taps his forearm and it begins to glow under his skin and a hologram projects from his arm.

A monitor and keyboard of an “old school year 1976 apple desktop computer” the two say in tandem, appears in front of them.

Phil states, “this good sir Jace is my desired design.”

“Now I will admit,” Jace turning to his drone, “this is pretty awesome!”

Looking around at all angles of the hologram Jace is enamored at the detail, “I have only seen one of these things in person in VR! The design was so ahead of it’s time and apple only got better from there.” Jace pulls out his collectable iPhone XR with original lightning cable headphones and shows it to the drone. “This company made some cool stuff in my parent’s day.”

“So where are we off to?” Phil asks.

“We are off to shoot the interview we set up with Professor Melbrooke.” Jace informs as he begins walking to the professor’s office.

“Oh yeah! That super old Professor Melb…something who has been alive for like two hundred plus years, right?”

“Exactly, I want to know what it was like back then and how he feels about people now.” Jace explains to Phil.

“Are we shooting this one with the vintage digital camera?” Phil asks.

“Yes,” pulling it out of his backpack and handing it to Phil, “I will want you to hold it instead of the stand.”

“Oh cool! Yeah I like the slight movement of breathing in the shot. It’s like you are there. Old school VR.” Phil says chuckling.

Jace holds open the door for Phil as they enter Professor Melbrooke’s class. As they approach his office to knock the door is abruptly opened.

“Ah boys welcome! Boys is ok to say still, right?” The Professor says with a slight mechanical sound to his voice. “Apologies for the voice my artificial voice box needs repair so I sound more like a robot.” The Professor says laughing.

“Not a problem Professor. And yes boys is quit accurate especially with someone of your stature.” Jace says as he packs up the drone and sets up the digital camera.

“Oh wow I haven’t seen one of those video cameras in quit some time.” The Professor admires the camera as if it was a fond memory.

After the Professor was done admiring the old camera as the tapping of his artificial fingers sounded like the nails of a tiny dog excited to go for a walk.

Handing it back to Jace who sets all the proper functions and hands it over to Phil,“Alright…” says Jace.

“Three two one…” Phil points at the two gesturing to start.

“Professor Melbrooke great to have you on my show. I first would like you to introduce yourself and what you have been studying through your vast life.” Jace opens up with.

Clearing his artificial throat before speaking the Professor chuckles, “well I suppose thats a good place to start. My name is Percy Melbrooke and I have been a doctor, scientist and professor of clinical psychology and human tendencies. As you can see I am not all human; most of my body parts have been replaced with cybernetics to extend my time alive. I still retain some human traits like clearing my throat despite not having one anymore for that matter. In my work I have been fascinated by what makes people tick and I have been doing this work for over 150 years now and will be turning roughly 200 years old soon. Or what’s left is turning 200.” Lightly chuckling again as to lighten the awareness of the elephant in the room so to speak.

Jace nodding along and asks, “I suppose where we will begin is… what was life like for you before these cybernetic upgrades?”

The Professor stands up and goes to his chalk board and uses his extendable arms to clean the board top to bottom… “as you can see there are plenty of benefits.” Then drawing a line in the middle of the large board from left to right and drawing one parallel line on the far left, “I was born here…” going down the timeline to about one fourth of the way, “this is when I was around 50 years old and up to that point I had been dealing with a relentless auto-immune disorder that ravaged my body.”

Jace asks, “so this was before we established a cure for auto-immune issues such as you describe?”

“Yes, the treatments were the only option and so before the cures came I had to result to prosthetics. Thing is that wasn’t a problem for me as my brain and mind were where my talents reside. So as long as I had my brain I figured the future could fix what wasn’t working and it worked.” The Professor stated as he jotted all the times he had replacements on his drawn timeline til this point.

Jace follows up with, “so then Professor it is safe to assume these enhancements as we call them today were a positive addition to your life?”

“There is plenty more physically I can do now than I ever would have so it has greatly increased the time and range of my studies. I don’t sleep as much due to no large energy demands from the parts I have left, when the brain needs to rest I can set everything else to clean up, and due to the fact I am 80% cybernetic means I have a far more improved time of capturing breakthroughs. These enhancements have allowed me to become one of the greatest minds of many generations.” The Professor said as he listed them on the board at the same time while keeping eye contact with Jace. His hands and torso operating behind him as if like some kind of owl professor.

An awkward pause is felt as the mood became somber to break the tension Jace asks, “is there maybe a negative side as well?”

“Yes, everything has its price.” The Professor takes a long slow breath (despite not having a respiratory system) and continues, “the price I have paid over the many years is my humanity. Not in the villainous sense, though there is a massive connection to who we are and what we feel through our human and biological senses. As more and more of my body became replaced I wasn’t able to experience the world the same. With all my senses being artificial more or less now, I don’t experience life as I remember. Everything is contextually the same, but to me feels hallow or like a copy.”

“What have you learned from this realization over these years?” Jace prompts.

“I think fondly of my first 50 years as I have lots of it recorded I know the memories are accurate. Even though I was gravely sick all the time and my life was destined to be rough and short, for the times; I relish all the feeling I had then. I even miss the constant and variety of pain I experienced.” The Professor then pauses to gather the right phrasing. “As biological creatures you live each day because it will end sooner and sooner as you age. Spending that time in pursuit of knowledge and understanding of the world and its beauty is the truest way to commune with the divine or what some would call God. Take stock of what is around you and how wonderful it is to learn about it.”

“I see…” Jace says as he gathers all this information, “being hungry and curious of yourself and the world. Staying present to the now as it were.”

“Yes to a degree. When in those first 50 years I knew I could die at any time due to the conditions placed upon my physical body so I made sure that I learned as much as I could and that is what made me the academic I am today. I have always been a student first and curiosity is the driving force.” The Professor sums up.

“Based on how you have stated its important to be connected with understanding the world and yourself, what do you think of these current times?” Jace adds next.

“I remember a time when I was in the early years of my Professorship and the halls of a college would bustle with the youth of exuberant students paving their way. Most people understood that their body was best kept healthy; to the best of one’s ability. For myself when my condition had gotten worse I ate a pure carnivore diet and that brought some momentary relief. What I see now is….” the Professor gathering the right words pauses. Even the cybernetics stopped as his whole body sat itself down and diverted all energy to mental processing.

“What I see now is briefly unfortunate.” The Professor surmises.

“Briefly?” Jace prods.

“Yes, very briefly.” The Professor says as his cybernetic body stands up again and continues to write along with, “history is vast and what I have come to realize is that the pendulum will swing back and forth between extreme left and right. We are just seeing an extreme.”

“Why do you think that most people now a days choose the easiest path?” Jace asks.

“Good question, if you choose a path that doesn’t demand discipline you can still go on living a standard existence and experience the basic waves of life. But! If you choose to listen to your soul and focus on what you were placed here to do in your life will trigger the beginning of your story. To bring out one’s greatness and share their gift with the world is what makes a world worth living in.” The Professor finishes and has a warm grin on his face.

“What advice would you lend to those who choose to scooter through life so to speak?” Jace asks looking at the camera sporting a cheeky smile knowing he will see some fun comments later.

Laughing at the underhand of the question the Professor says, “I would offer… You need to hurry! To have a body that feels and one that wasn’t born with affliction besides the ones you inflict upon yourself, is a gift. Do not squander the wonders you can experience when the body is strong and healthy. Reach for every last drop of life while you can still taste it. You will miss the scents of glorious experience and the feeling of warm love from the sun.”

“Well, that was quit the conversation Professor Percy Melbrooke and we all thank you for the wisdom and the dedication to understanding you have.” Jace finishes his show and Phil turns off the camera.

“That was great!” Phil exclaims having been holding that in the whole conversation.

“Boys.” The Professor prompts, “when you leave today I have one request.”

“Anything.” Both say in tandem.

“Safely of course, but could you sprint through the halls full speed until you get tired. Once you have done that find yourself a patch of grass to lay in. Hug a tree. Remember how that all feels. Some day you will cherish those feelings.”

This story was inspire by Marcus Aurelius and the third passage of his third book of Meditations:

“Not just that every day more of our life is used up and less and less of it is left, but this too: if we live longer, can we be sure our mind will still be up to understanding the world-to the contemplation that aims at divine and human knowledge? If our mind starts to wander, we’ll still go on breathing, go on eating, imagining things, feeling urges and so on. But getting the most of it of ourselves, calculating where our duty lies, analyzing what we hear and see, deciding whether it’s time to call it quits-all the things you need a healthy mind for… all those are gone.

So we need to hurry.

Not just because we move daily closer to death but also because our understanding-our grasp of the world-may be gone before we get there.”

Gatherings

A Short Stoic Story…

Knocking on the hardwood door with a stained glass rose placed within it a young man standing with his Father waiting for his Uncle to open up and let them in.

There is a feeling of assignment when it comes to family. As if we may not have a choice in the who we are related. At least this young man feels that way each time he is surrounded by blood.

“Johnny boy!” Uncle Roger opens the door whipping it into the door stop as he flaps his arms wide open taking in his nephew shoving John deep into his armpit.

Releasing John Uncle Roger says, “no longer a boy… NOW YOU ARE A MAN!”

Awkwardly chuckling along with the complement John does his best to receive the rough invitation of his Uncle. Much like a small dog being pet too hard Uncle Roger was like that with everyone.

“Uncle Rog’s heavy loving embraces were always quit the experience. The stench of onion dip from his pits mixed with the cigar and whiskey perfuming from his breath; that is Uncle Roger.” John thinks to himself as he follows the flow of the home into the kitchen.

Aunt Susan is here in the kitchen trucking along with the preparing of dinner for all attendees.

“A sweet woman, but always seems blunted or glazed over.” John ponders, analyzing her condition.

“Hey, Auntie!” John says with a labored excitement.

“Oh! Look who showed up! I see you are no longer a boy.” Aunt Susan pulled John in tight for a hug as the rattle of her vitamins goes off each times she moves as if adorned with a bell.

“So I have heard.” John response rolling his eyes ever so slightly.

“Always with those vitamins she is eating and then a few minutes after is blissful til it wares off,” John continues in thought as he watches her throw back opiates every several hours.

“What are those vitamins for Auntie?” John asks innocently as to not alarm her.

“Oh you know…” her eyes darting back and forth as if she was tracking a fly, “my migraines hun. Yes! My migraines!” As she taps her head with her index finger.

“Are they really painful to manage?” Mark prods a bit.

“Oh… um… well…” once again her eyes dart around as she searches for the words, “lots of things trigger them so I have to… take my medicine to not be in pain.” Susan states stuttering along seemingly proud of the response she came up with.

Nodding along John can only think, “I wonder if her migraines are because of having Uncle Roger and his mini-me Jimmy? Would be for me.” John gives his Aunt Susan a pity filled hug and walks to the living room to the tune of Auntie’s rattling.

Some random game is always playing in the living room and much like a comatose patient John will often sit their staring at the screen as time ticks by.

“Hopefully they just think I’m really into the game and I can avoid all the off brand coming of age questions,” John posits to himself.

Now here is Cousin Jimmy who is Uncle Rog’s first son. “They are exactly the same, the difference is Jimmy is only mimicking his Father as he sits currently watching a game and cheering without any understand of what is actually happening,” John observes as his Uncle and Cousin do this odd dance of manliness.

Uncle Roger often will walk into the living room one hand with a beer and the other some handful of snacks and inevitably see something happen in the game that he will react to.

“Oh… Oh.. Oh! GOOOOOOOO!” Uncle Roger yells spraying a mist of beer and cheese snack particles dusting the couch in orange.

Seconds after Cousin Jimmy will as predictable as ever follow, “Oh!! GO… GO.. GOOOOO!” Though Simple Jimmy is confused at what he is cheering about he is simply searching for comradery with his father.

Watching this monkey see monkey do dance John can’t help but think, “fascinating that Jimmy feels he has to place this mask of fandom on to curry attention from Uncle Rog.”

John gets up as the two apes are cheering at the television to go check on Jesse.

Off in the corner of the house is a room with a wooden door painted matte black. This is where Jesse resides. Cousin Jesse is the youngest of the two brothers.

Walking to his room John thinks to himself, “Jesse has always been the black sheep so the door is fitting. Always angry, brooding and blasting metal as much as possible. I will say all that time alone has made him quit the guitarist.” John nodding his head to the thoughts as he knocks on the door.

“Careful with that one… IT BITES!” Uncle Rog yells from the living room as he laughs a heavy belly laugh, then suddenly his attention is swayed by the television.

Giving his Uncle a thumbs up John knocks again. Heavy metal music raddling the door and muffling John’s knocking so he decides to just go in.

Throwing a ninja star at the stud beside the door just as John walks in Jesse says, “oh, it’s you.” As he turns back around in his swivel chair at his desk.

“What are you up to cousin?” John says offering an olive branch and slightly rattled at the throwing star beside him.

“Sorry about the throwing star, I got really good at it over covid and when mini-roger comes in unannounced I throw a star at the door.” Jesse says with a smirk of pride.

“No big deal cousin, so you and your brother still don’t get along?” John asks.

“Not at all, mainly because he copies Big Ol’ Roger and has no personal identity. Mom is never here mentally and always taking vitamins,” throwing up air quotes around vitamins clearly aware of what they are.

“I see you have some new holes in the wall, I like your design.” John says smug and cheeky.

Jesse shoots him a smirk and nod.

“What are you working on? Are those cigarettes? Do you smoke now?” John rapid fires questions.

“Chill Cousin! These are dingus Jimmy’s and I am putting fire crackers in the tip of half so he blows his face off half time.” Jesse says with a large grin.

“Wow… that is funny, but won’t he just throw them out once one of them explode?” John asks.

“No he believes that when a cigarette goes bad an explosion is what happens so I give him breaks from time to time.” Jesse then puts down the cigarette he was fiddling with and pulls out a butterfly knife fancily opening it and holding it to John, “don’t you say anything.”

With hands up John retorts, “I wouldn’t dare though on one condition be sure I see this happen before I go home tonight.”

Jesse smiles and nods and is jet black hair bouncing in accordance.

John gets up from his bed and makes his way back to the living room to stare at the tv and be with his thoughts.

Sitting down besides his cousin and uncle screaming tv he ponders, “I always have such mixed emotions about coming here for occasional gatherings, on one hand these people though annoying and odd are family. Though on the other they never seem to change. None of those despite Jesse even want to leave this house. No goals, purpose or connection with life. What a difference it makes to come from one brother over the other. My Father taught me to aim so what happened here?” Asking himself rhetorically.

“DID YOU SEE THAT JOHNNY BOY?!” Uncle Rog exclaims lifting John’s hand up and cracking a crisp high-five to him.

Waking John from his thinking, “oh yeah that was wild,” he said sarcastically and hid it with enthusiasm.

“Dinner time!” Aunt Susan exclaims banging a wooden spoon on a pot as to make more noise than the game and boys yelling at it.

Everyone gathered at the table and despite the differences ate together.

This story was inspired by Marcus Aurelius and his passage from book two of Meditations:

“The human soul degrades itself:
I. Above all, when it does its best to become an abscess, a kind of detached growth on the world. To be disgruntled at anything that happens is a kind of secession from Nature, which comprises the nature of all things.
II. When it turns its back on another person or sets out to do it harm, as the souls of the angry do.
III. When it is overpowered by pleasure or pain.
IV. When it puts on a mask and does or says something artificial or false.
V. When it allows its action and impulse to be without a purpose, to be random and disconnected: even the smallest things ought to be directed toward a goal. But the goal of rational beings is to follow the rule and law of the most ancient of communities and states.”

MisUnderstood

A Short Stoic Story…

Rows upon rows of processed feed and trinkets line the shelves. A smell of plastic and pennies settles at the lowest points like that of a basement. Fluorescent lights one by one flicker on as if tenuously at best gripping onto the remaining luminescence left in them. The cold air of the morning brings a wakefulness to even those with the longest nights. This may not be the best place to be, yet anyone can get the lowest prices of any “foods and stuffs” a person would need.

Tugging on his vest straight and adjusting the buttons. Mark is nervously running through different greetings through his head…

“Hi… no no.”

“Hey there… nah.”

“Howdy… nope!”

“Hello… eh ok.”

This is this young man’s first day at his first job being the greeter at a FloorMart. Not anyones first choice, but “entry level is where everyone starts, dad always tells me.” Mark murmurs into his locker.

“What are you MUTTERING over there!” The manager yells condescendingly, prying in on the privacy of his new employee.

Adjusting his name tag and closing his locker, “oh nothing just something my dad sa….”

“Yeah yeah yeah enough speaking and get to work. I don’t pay you to stand around doing nothing.” The manager says with distain lingering on his breath.

Mark looks down at his watch and it is ten minutes til he need to clock in. Confused he thinks to himself, “but I’m early.”

Mark walks over to the touch screen pad fastened to the wall to clock in swiping his badge through the slot as a chime sounds signaling his shift to start. Making his way to the front door to await anyone coming in.

The manager comes to unlock the door glaring in Mark’s direction as the mechanized sliding doors open by the step of the first patron on the pressure sensitive mat.

“Hello! Welcome to FloorMart! Deals on frozen items now til Thursday!” The young man says nailing the first one perfect as he swings down a fist in celebration.

Simply shrugging him off the first patron a man who looks like he may have woken up outside shuffles by without saying a word.

Grunting as he passes Mark. “Hm ok, well looks like he may be uncomfortable. Otherwise surely he knew I was being kind.” Mark scratching his head thinking to himself.

FloorMart is your typical chain multipurpose markets, though it is special because of the variety of people that come in. Mark’s Dad referred his son to take this job as a greeter. His dad told him, “everyone should work a customer service job because you will learn how to manage people in all kinds of states of mind.” Mark hasn’t got the sense for it yet, but his dad seems to think he may learn a thing or two at this entry level opportunity.

“Hello! Welcome to FloorMart! Dish soap is two for one today!”

“Rude! You child!” A scraggly old woman with a collapsible cane and hat with a large flower upon it.

She continued, “…how dare you speak to me unless spoken to, you know all you youngsters don’t have the first lick of sense. Can’t you see I am minding my own damn business. What a waist of youth! I did so much more with my life than you at your age!” She stormed off mid sentence, but got louder as she went shuffling away from Mark.

“Woah…” Mark says taking that in for a moment as several people pass him by in his confusion as he murmurs, “Welcome to FloorMart….” trailing off in thought each time.

“Oh! Envious maybe?!” Mark’s lightbulb goes off as he tries to decipher why that happened. Despite that Mark continued on greeting.

After greeting the last flow of people during his shift Mark begins to make his way back to his locker as he unbuttons the top button on his vest.

“Excuse Me!” A large woman in a grocery-cart-scooter slowly approaches yelling.

“Um Hello! Young Man!” The woman yells again.

In front of Mark stands his manager glaring at him and pointing to the woman insisting he helps. Mark had just clocked out, but decides to help her anyway.

“Very well miss, what can I help you with,” says Mark fastening the buttons of his vest again.

The wheels of the grocery cart scooter squeaked under the pressure of its occupancy. As the woman continues to mash the go button like the potatoes of her side order of mashed potatoes in her basket from CFC (Country Fried Chicken).

Slowly puttering on she begins to demand, “I need protein bars!”

Mark guides her down to the isle with all the protein bars for the woman and stands there awaiting her next command. An awkward silence washes the isle as the heavy breathing of the woman and the faint beeping of a dying cart battery become a white noise. Mark zones out into a meditation.

“Hey boy what are you still standing next to me for?! Get lost!” The large woman protests!

“Oh! well… your welcome!” Snapping out of his patient waiting.

Mark walking towards the exit thinks, “boy she seemed ungrateful. That’s too bad.”

Making his way home Mark slides his key into the door turning and opening to the hallway where from the distance…

“Hey son, how was your first day?” Mark’s dad yells from the kitchen.

“Good… give me a minute!” Mark yells back and heads to his room.

Mark opens the door and approaches his mirror that sits beside his laundry basket. Taking his vest off, Mark admires the nausea he feels when looking at the combination of clown like colors. Taking the pins off and placing them on his dresser as he tosses the vest in the basket. Leaving the work behind and adorned in cloths that feel more like himself Mark makes his way to the kitchen.

Mark approaches his Dad from the opposite end of the kitchen’s island and says, “what I said wasn’t true; today was… putting it nicely… it was a salty day. I see why you think I could encounter many types of people at this job.”

“…and what did you learn?” Dad says nudging Mark to a realization.

“Well… lots of people seemed upset, disheveled and often unwell in some manner. I chose to treat them all with a mutual respect and yet I was often met with some aliment of their experience. I know we share a common good so I will act as such for them I suppose.” Mark surmises.

“Sounds like a fruitful day!” Mark’s Dad chimes.

“Though I will be quitting as I found a better job, not greeting people who don’t want to be greeted.” Mark says chuckling.

A paused silence passes as both Father and Son reflect on the day.

“Remember why I named you Mark?” His Dad asks.

“Because of a philosopher named Marcus Aurelius, right?” Mark asks.

“Right-O.” His Dad cajoles.

“You know dad today reminded me of one of his passages from Meditations.” Mark realizes.

This story was inspired by Marcus Aurelius and his passage from the second book in Meditations:

“When you wake up in the morning, tell yourself: The people I deal with today will be meddling, ungrateful, arrogant, dishonest, jealous and surly. They are like this because they cannot tell good from evil. But I have seen the beauty of good, and the ugliness of evil, and have recognized that the wrongdoer has a nature related to my own – not of the same blood or birth, but the same mind, and possessing a share of the divine. And so none of them can hurt me. No one can implicate me in ugliness. Nor can I feel angry at my relative, or hate him. We were born to work together like feet, hands and eyes, like the two rows of teeth, upper and lower. To obstruct each other is unnatural. To feel anger at someone, to turn your back on him: these are obstructions.”

Karen the Vigilante: Ken’s Competition Part One

Last Time On…

Karen put Ken through the toughest three days of his life. Full of shenanigans at Mondo Mart, epic training montages and the unavailing of Ken’s new outfit.

“Awesome!” Ken states holding his axe above his head like he is Thor summoning thunder.

After all those days and this theatrical outfit the duo called it a night which meant Ken went to bed and Karen went out after a nap in her sensory deprivation tank with a velcro-ed Smith & Wesson Model 29 Revolver on the wall inside just incase someone would dare interrupt her meditations.

The night rolled on as usual that is.

“Its the butt crack of morning” Karen thinks to herself, “as Ken would put it.” As she makes her way to the loft.

Labored breathing is felt and not heard throughout Karen’s warehouse like the hot breath of a lion. In her teeth a fly swatter as she ascends the rope leading to the loft like spider-man up his web. She scales it as if gravity doesn’t effect her.

Karen carefully places her hands on the platform of the loft and pulls herself into a handstand then down into a crawling position up to the mattress where a fluffy mound of Ken lays. She pulls back the covers as the other hand is equipped with the swatter ready to smack him awake.

Swat!

Karen slams her metal swatter down on a mound of pillows expecting Ken’s head as feathers fill the loft.

Click Click…

Ken pulls down on the chain turning on the lamp as he sits in the reading nook. “Are you looking for me?”

Karen walks through a cloud of feathers as thick as a lush rainforest emerging and saying, “ah… you are ready.” With a smirk she swings down.

“What about the feathers?” Ken asks as three small vacuum drones fly into the loft sucking up all the feather. “Are those the new suck-it drones?!” Ken exclaims.

“Indeed it is.” Karen retorts.

Ken walks over to the boxing ring and waves Karen over getting into a horse stance. Karen knows what he is up to as they both in unison….

In an all out crumping like movements Ken and Karen begin belting, “Outrage & Justice… These are my virtues and my power is megaphone. My ability allows me to express my opinion without any interruption. This allows me to stop the wrong doings around me. For this I am proud.” Nodding to his sibling as he now understands a bit more of his blood.

Both dripping with sweat as they generated so much heat that the steam from them became thick enough to set off the fire alarms. Karen casually pulls a throwing knife from her sports braw and throws it up destroying the alarm and halting the sound.

“I heard you come back from patrol and knew that once I heard that you would try to wake me in a special way.” Ken prods Karen.

Karen turns her head, smirks and says, “continue.”

“Once you got back I woke up even though you are pretty silent I left a gum wrapper at each entrance point and listened for the crumple.” Karen nods in respect. “Next I stuffed my bed with pillows and with a rope I got from MondoMart climbed down the back of the loft and made my way to your nook.”

“Well done.” Karen states and says nothing more walking to the bathroom to change. As she walks away she says, “we are going to DBD. I’m hungry.”

“D…B…D?” Ken stutters.

“What’s that exactly Karen?” Ken waving his hand gesturing to explain.

Karen ignores him and walks to the truck. She jumps in and starts it up as Ken quickly pulls his pants up. In the midst dressing himself just in time to hop into the bed of the truck just as Karen takes off out the garage hallway.

Ken has one hand gripped on the roll cage of the cabin and in the other finishing a bagel he was enjoying when Karen took off.

After zipping through the city Karen times every light perfect and when she sees a red coming she knows of allies the perfect size for her truck and nothing else. Like a live maze she navigates the city til they drift sidewise into a parking spot of DBD.

“Welcome to The Dive Bar Diner!” Karen’s hand extended out with a grin on her face as Ken gazes on what looks like a rundown and repurposed strip bar turned part diner. The neon sign the reads the name of this dumpy diner bar only illuminates the D…B…D so that how people refer to it. Most of the other letters have rusted out, busted by a beer bottle or insert reason here.

“This place is shit!” Ken states with a face of pure disgust.

“Why?!” Ken standing his ground in the bed of the truck still.

Karen spins around as if to break out into a family guy musical moment with that creepy grind explains. “Oh Ken you simple, booger eating, moron. I can get two of my favorite things here any time I want 24 hours.”

“And those are…..?!” Ken gesturing for her to speed it up.

“Unlimited breakfast foods and a fight.” Karen says as she spins her head around to the door.

Ken is standing at the door holding it open, “you had me at breakfast foods.” Ken sprinted to the door once breakfast left her mouth.

“Suppose we are related.” Karen says walking in and nodding to her brother holding the door. “Linda did learn you some manners.”

“That’s about all mom did do.” Ken laments.

The duo sit in the corner booth being able to have a panoramic view of the whole diner.

“We are here to warm up on some fools and fuel up for the competition.” Karen states sporting the seemingly etched in sinister grin.

Chewing gum like a cow chews cud the waitress arrives asking, “whats can I gets yous two?” Slurring her word already drunk in the morning.

“We will have all the bacon, eggs and toast.” Karen states clearly enunciating every letter. The waitress scribbles turns and begins to walk away. Karen like a striking snake grabs the woman’s arm spins her around which causes the waitress to vomit in her mouth a bit.

“Swallow it!” Karen Commands. The waitress does. Karen continues, “I’m afraid that what you heard was I wanted a lot of bacon, eggs and toast. I want to be clear…”

Karen clears her throat, “…I WANT ALL THE OF THE BACON EGGS AND TOAST YOU HAVE.”

As if that pep talk sobered her up the waitress jots it down bows and takes off as you can hear a large commotion in the kitchen.

“So eat and fight huh?!” Ken asks they both begin shoving toast in their mouths.

“Yeah…” Karen says as she munches toast, then bacon, then eggs, then water, swallow and repeat.

Both siblings begin to devour the entirety of this diner’s supplies of bacon, eggs and toast. Karen stands up and cracks her knuckles followed by a large belch.

“Let’s fight someone.” Karen says loudly.

“Don’t we have to pay?!” Ken states.

“Nah the club owner thinks I don’t know but due to me coming her eating all their food and finding fights he bought the place and pays for all repairs and food I eat. He thinks I don’t know. Which is why I bounce his clubs for free. Oh and he covers my groceries when I do goto the market here in town. He owns that place too.” Karen goes on as she scans the patrons.

Ken cracks his knuckles and belches as particles of toast fly from his mouth. Spare strips of bacon are squirreled away in his beard and more in his pockets.

“Who you want?” Ken asks.

Just then Karen spots a man about to slap his girlfriend and takes off. Ken watches as Karen sprints down the bar and before approaching the large man, she goes into a slide and kicks the back of his leg making the mountain of a man crumble onto Karen. Karen then like an octopus wraps his limbs up hooking each of his arms and knees pits with her limbs. The man struggles to get out and Karen sit back and let him tire out. Just as he gives up a small amount of slack, Karen snakes her arm around his neck sustaining a back position. Her right elbow is under his chin as she grabs her left shoulder as she laces the other arm behind his head and takes a big breath in. A strong inhale echoes the bar like a room of yogis and…

This behemoth of a man head to toe in leather passes out as his brain was staved of oxygen. Pushing him off Karen gets up as the four men behind him during the scuffle stand wearing the same leather jackets.

Looking back to Ken who is chomping on bacon and giggling, “these guys are yours Ken.”

Ken stops laughing and swallows the bacon in his mouth as he smiles with chips of bacon in his teeth.

Karen spins around to the four men ready to fight and say, “thats my brother their and he told me once I take the small guy out he wants you chumps for himself.” Winking as Karen summer-salts off the large man, walking back to Ken and sitting down in the booth and saying, “go on you dingus.”

“Bring me pie!” Karen proclaims to the startled waitress.

“We have a show on our hands!” She proclaims to the other patrons.

Cheers are heard booming from the bar. The mix of sea shanties and commotion can be picked up from the mall across the street where fancy folk with their nice bags and toy animals turns their noses up at the patrons. Ken begins waving his hands together up several times encouraging the rowdy nature bellowing from the bar. Much like a pop star wanting to get the right peak of noise before the beat drops Ken with his hands out to his sides hands vibrating.

Huffing and puffing come from the four men pissed that this man is teasing them as the bar cheers, “FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT!” Most of the regulars know what is going down as they have seen Karen do this many times.

As if out of a television show Ken seems to pause time to turn to Karen and ask, “are these guys bad?”

Karen midst shoving pie in her mouth says, “yeah… local biker gang… they like to beat on people that don’t have their transparent pigment.” Karen shoves more pie in her pie hole chews and continues, “so yeah no worries have fun they earned it and so have you. Remember this is a warm up for tonight so no fancy moves just get limbered up with these fools.”

The bikers see the disrespect of Ken talking to Karen as if not concerned so they all pull out bike chains they wrap around their hands and take off at Ken.

“Heads up moron,” Karen points with her fork as pie flies from her mouth.

Ken turns his head and gins taking a bite of more bacon. Ken blitzes down the bar as he side steps and dodges each man barreling at him as he continues to casually eat more bacon from his pocket. Once to the bars front door Ken asks, “anyone want to leave?”

Several people run out as the rest cheer on, “FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT!”

Ken states, “very well, enjoy the show folks.” Ken locks the front door asking the puzzled men, “are you sure about this boys?”

The men stunned for a moment at the speed and agility of this husky, short man. Then snap out of it and take off for Ken again. Like a row of line backers hunting down the player with the ball these men lumbered forward.

“Alllrighhhhhty Theeeennn!” Ken calls out and takes off like an olympic sprinter rockets off the starter block.

Sprinting by the man his sister took out, Ken sees he is waking up so on the way to his friends he low five slaps the large man back to sleep and charges on. He approaches the first two men with a quickness that even caught Karen’s eye. Ken casually as it seems by his expression dodges every hay maker and cross the first two men threw like baseballs out of a pitching machine. Despite the pace Ken dodges them as he consumes more of his bacon with his pinkies out as to mock these men.

Screaming over to Karen, “Hey those drills really worked Im not tired at all!” As he continues to dodge and guzzle bacon. Karen gives him a thumbs up and sarcastic smile as to say, “duh.”

The first two men decked out in full leather garments are gassing out as Ken continues to show no fatigue. These two bikers glance at each other wondering when they will land a hit when Ken vanishes from their view. Popping up behind them as he lands precise and lethal liver punches leaving bacon grease behind on their jackets. The first two men drop and Ken moves on to the next two who seem unshaken.

Finishing her first full pie Karen asks, “need help?”

“Nah… just more of the same here.” Ken retorts when….

The last two bikers wake up in the hospital with the other three badly beaten with neck braces and hospital tags of their own wrists. None could remember what happened.

After wiping them out which by description of all the patrons there was, “he turned into a blur.”

The waitress after Ken finished up brought two full pie with her eyes as clear and sober as they have ever been in her life asked, “what happened there just now? I couldn’t see what happened. It was a blur.”

Karen explains, “Ken here used a technique I showed him where you distract the opponent and hit vital points on the body which will send a person into a small comma. You saw a blur because you were focused on the distraction as well.”

Ken jumps in the booth saying, “remember I threw the bacon i had left in my pocket in the air and everyone looks at the bacon.”

The two siblings devour the two pies only communicating in grunts and smirks. Once finished both stand from the booth letting out a simultaneous belch as they make there way to the truck stepping over the men as three ambulances pull up.

Next Time On…

Karen the Vigilante: Ken’s Competition Part Two

Cold Turkey

Jingle jangle goes the door’s bell as a man stumbles and shuffles in from the rain.

“Dark, dank and gloomy; my kinda day.” Fred says sarcastically as he is met with silence from the staff and other single patron.

Fred has a love hate relationship with these days and chooses to come into this diner at the acute corner of a busy city street. He sits at the corner booth in the corner of the acute angle of the diner and watches the rain.

“For as long as it takes,” Fred thinks to himself.

From the counter opposite the kitchen; Marg stares at Fred shuffling over to bring him a, “steaming hot cup of shit this coffee is.” Marg murmurs to herself as she pours the coffee. Spilling some on the counter and shrugging the mess off as she walks to Fred.

“How’ya doin’ Fred?” Marg breaks the ice handing over the hot coffee.

“Thanks Marg…” Fred takes a sip, grunts and says, “this is a steaming hot cup of shit.”

“… steaming cup of shit.” Marg says with him cracking a small smile and walking off.

Watching the rain Fred sips his mug and lets out a heavy, labored breath. Like a pit bull being held down giving up and relaxing, Fred sinking into the crunchy booth.

Marg then appears like a witch out of nowhere…

Clicking then tapping her pen atop her note pad Marg clears her throat of her last cigarette, “what am I gettin’ yous today?”

Slurping the mug of shit making as much noise as possible to annoy ol’ Marg Fred lets out a refreshing “ahhhh…. Hmmmmm let’ssss seeeeee.” Dragging all the words to test Marg’s patients as she continue to tap her pen on top of her pad.

“A turkey sandwich will ya.” Fred decides.

“Very well you dingus.” Marg clicks her pen retracting the tip and shuffles off leaving an almost visible trail of smoke scent.

Fred looses time staring at the rain. “I hate the rain,” Fred murmurs to himself as Marg approaches with the sandwich.

“Here’ya go hun. Eat up.” Marg states placing the plate down and turning.

Fred clears his throat, “Marg would you join me?”

“Eh sure Fred, Tom over there won’t need more coffee or whiskey in a few minutes.” Marg sits down across from Fred and pulls out a metal flask from her aprons pouch. Twisting the cap open she jesters to Fred’s coffee attempting to pour it in as she does each rainy day.

Fred places his hand over his coffee and shakes his head saying, “Not today Marg.”

“What’s goin’ on wit you Fred?” Marg says confused as she pour some in her mouth, swishing and swallowing.

Fred flicks the stale bread off the top of the sandwich, picks up the lettuce and pickles placing them to the side. Picking up the, “cold turkey.” Fred shows it to Marg.

“What of it?” Marg states.

“Cold turkey is when you stop a habit right now, not tomorrow or in a few hours. Now!” Fred slams his fist on the table as everything shuffles on the surface. Marg’s eyes dilate and open wide surprised at Fred.

“Tastes like it feels, cold and dry.” Fred says putting the turkey back down, rebuilding and taking a bite from the reconstructed sandwich.

“She loved it here Marg.” Fred says.

“She loved you too, Fred.” Marg says.

“You haven’t felt pain til you have felt it sober,” says Fred as he wipes a single tear welling up in his eye. “It’s time I feel this sober.” Fred laments.

“She loved the rain.” Fred says.

“She loved that you hated it too, Fred.” Marg says.

“Yeah… I know.” Fred scoffs. “I have no idea why.”

Jingle Jangle goes the door’s bell.

“Gimmie a sec Fred…” looking back to the door Marg says.

“Hey y’all have a seat where you please and I will be right with you.” As she twists the cap of the flask open and takes another sip. Fastens it and like a revolver in the holster of a slick shooting cowboy Marg slides it into her apron.

Fred goes back to watching the rain color the window transparent.

Coming out of his foggy and hypnotized state, Marg returns after placing the new customer’s order sliding into the booth. “What were you goin’ on bout?” States Marg.

“I have had a cold turkey approach to life until meeting her. Every hobby, job, task or project I was interested I would run straight into it. Full On.” Fred laments.

“That mentality broke me down time and time again til I met her. I learned how to slow down and maybe find hobbies that weren’t action required from her.” Fred continued.

“Drive fast and leave a sexy corpse….” Fred says chuckling. “She said that was stupid. She was right.” Fred says as him and Marg laugh.

After Marg coughs away the build up of booze and cigarettes from the laughing fit she asks, “is that why you stopped the boozin’!”

“Sure is…” Fred says rubbing his head clearly annoyed at the proclamation.

“When I see her next I want to be better than I was so that she knows I didn’t fall apart the rest of my time here without her.” Fred says cracking a smile.

The rain ends and Fred gets up to head home.

Jingle Jangle goes the door’s bell.