Skip navigation

National Library Week

This week is National Library Week, and so I would like to share a few of the things that have been going on at my library.

We’ve had a couple of very successful programs for our local teens. We hosted a Blind Date With a Book, where library books were wrapped in paper and labeled only with a small singles-ad-style blurb.

Happy Valentine's Day, book lovers.

Happy Valentine’s Day, book lovers.

Teens were encouraged to take home a book based solely on the paragraph attached. This sense of mystery allowed for them to be surprised by an author that they may not have encountered, or to unwittingly revisit an old favorite.

Up next was our Readbox display. I’m sure most of you are familiar with Redbox, the DVD and video game rental kiosks.

It's like a Redbox, only better.

It’s like a Redbox, only better.

And finally, some days it’s important to just have fun at the library. Nothing helps this like a subtle addition to our self-check station.

"Luke, this is where you scan your library card."

“Luke, this is where you scan your library card.”

If you’ve not visited your local library lately, you should. See what’s new. Libraries are evolving to meet your 21st century needs. Happy National Library Week.

A Message From Anonymous Operations

Today’s post was originally going to be something very different, but in light of the recent events in Boston, I felt compelled to share this instead.

A Message From Anonymous Operations:

This is a message to everyone , everywhere. Pass this message on.

“In the coming days we will have our heartstrings pulled and our humanity questioned. In the wake of the tragedy in Boston while we contemplate, information share, cry outrage and shame, and wave our tear stained fists at the sky something else is happening. While we are in mourning, there are those plotting to seize advantage of us. While you are reading this someone, somewhere is creating a ‘ribbon campaign’, another person is warming up the presses to make t-shirts and stickers, and yet another is formulating a plan for a fake donation system. While these people plot and plan there are others who are sitting at their desks crafting their words to use this tragedy to their own ends. They will question your charity, your patriotism, your beliefs and you actions or lack thereof. Until you come to their point of view they will not stop. You will see pictures of the dead and the dying, the maimed and the broken, the aftermath and the accused.

Turn a blind eye to this. Demand truth and do not give over to empty symbolic gestures driven by profiteering and greed feeding off of tragedy. When you give of yourself, give to those who need it directly. When you write, write as if you were the family, you were the victim, as if it was you who was killed. Do not let the mass media propaganda machine poison a single mind that you have access to. Do not let the conspiracy theorists with their outrageous speculations and sponsors sucker you into buying duct tape and plastic while stuck to your radio. Mourn the dead. Help the living. Educate the ignorant. Most importantly show that this and every other tragedy of it’s like will not polarize you to the ‘left’ or the ‘right’ but to the humanity. To every person who has died in this way. To every person who is wounded this way. To every person on their knees in anguish. The message to you is “We hear you. We will help you”. When you speak let your voice mean something. When you speak , speak with knowledge, wisdom, facts, and as much serenity as you can muster. Do not speak in anger, fear, hatred, or any other emotion that will only feed the monster that created this tragedy. You are better than this. Together we are better than this. We are the ones who run towards, not away. We are the gateway to a future where this does not happen, by sacrificing of ourselves in the now when it does happen. Do not let your act, your words, your sacrifices be in vain. Do not let the profiteers feed on this tragedy. Do not let the truth go unheard. Do not let this go unanswered, but do not let the answer be yet another act of needless violence against innocents. To paraphrase the words of William Shakespeare ; We are like stars, and while some of us may fall, our sky will not want. “

Shadow of the Colossus, or My Latest Distraction From Writing

In October 2005, a video game was released that pushed the limits of the Playstation 2, a console then in the last years of its supported life. That game was Shadow of the Colossus. I never owned a PS2, and so I never directly encountered the game in its original run. Recently, however, my girlfriend received a PS3, and so I’ve been delving into the console’s library via my library. It turns out that a couple of years ago Shadow of the Colossus was given the high-def treatment for a PS3 re-release. I hope that you’ll all forgive my not writing much over the last week, because my free time has been devoured by this gorgeous game. 

Jaw-dropping.

This is the first enemy you encounter.

You play as Wander, a young man who has journeyed to a forbidden land to resurrect a girl named Mono. Your only companion on this journey is Agro, your loyal horse. Upon arriving in a temple, Wander speaks to a being of great power who offers to revive Mono. In order to do so, Wander must destroy the sixteen statues that line the temple, but it is impossible for him to do so directly. Instead, he must seek out and defeat the sixteen colossi represented by each statue.

As the writer over at New Gamer Nation so eloquently said, “It was and still is an awe-inducing game, littered with memorable moments from start to finish due to its grand scale and design.” The first foe, Valus, pictured above, is by no means the largest of the sixteen colossi that our protagonist, Wander, sets out to defeat. Each colossus is a unique puzzle to solve, combining platforming elements with combat.

There is an unshakable feeling of loneliness throughout the game, emphasized by the soundtrack and the sheer scale of the world, empty but for the colossi (and a scattering of lizards and birds). A somber tone pervades the entire game, and I felt a true sense of awe and sorrow as each colossus fell by my hand. I won’t say anything regarding the rest of the plot, but I will say this: I have never been so emotionally invested in a video game. What Wander is willing to do for Mono’s sake brought me to tears.

If you own a PS3 (or a PS2, and you can snag the original version), you owe it to yourself as a gamer to play Shadow of the Colossus. Trust me.

The Secret Door Writing Challenge

This week’s writing challenge from the delightful Mr. Wendig has given me an opportunity to revisit an older piece. Back in August of 2011, I wrote a short story entitled “A Ball of Light in One’s Hand” for a writing challenge hosted by Sonia M. The story was a 500 word microfiction piece for a prompt that asked us to write about doorways. I obliged, and you can read part one at the link above. Today, I’m sharing a piece written for Chuck’s latest challenge over at Terrible Minds. We were given a link to The Secret Door and told to write a 1,000 word microfiction story based on the location we found on the other side of the door. I’m very pleased to be able to share this with you. This is Damien’s Return.

“Damien’s Return”

Damien landed on all fours on a blindingly white surface. Blinking, he stood only to stumble again as he realized he couldn’t find any sort of visible horizon. Everything around him was the same dazzling absence of anything that resembled anything. He shook his head in an attempt to orient himself, finally managing to stand on what he forced himself to consider the floor.

Wherever that last door had taken him, he was able to breathe, and the bookseller was nowhere in sight. “Phew… She must not have been able to follow me here. Wherever the hell ‘here’ even is.” It hadn’t been like any of his jumps before, no matter where or when any of the doors had taken him. She’d always been able to find him, track him somehow, but then all of the other doors he’d passed through had been real, physical ones. It was sheer desperation that had made him try for the picture in the book. No other door had been in sight, and her last words had chilled him. “Give me the book, boy, and I’ll kill you quickly.”

It hadn’t been an idle threat, and he knew it. He’d lost friends in the weeks since leaving her shop, the book clutched to his chest. She’d come for it, no regard for any who stood in her way. His cousin Ari had been found outside of Damien’s apartment, his blood pooling on the pale green hallway tile. Two of his coworkers the week after, dead in their cubicles with words carved over and over again into their skin: “The book.” Damien was well acquainted with the smells of paper and ink, but the bookseller taught him the smell of death, and it mingled with the more familiar scents. Here, though, only paper and ink remained. Paper and ink…

“I’m in the book,” he whispered. He took a hesitant step and heard the familiar crinkle of a crisp sheet of paper. “All of this white… I’m on a damn page.”

“Indeed, you are, young Damien.”

The boy whirled to see who had spoken. As he spun, a thin line of black began to spread, a horizon drawing itself across the white. “Who said that?”

“I did.” The black continued to crawl across the white until it had completely encircled Damien. The new horizon yawned and an elderly man stepped forth out of the black. “My name is Rhu, and I am the author of the book in which you have taken refuge. I must say, you’re the first one to think about hiding in here. Well done, Damien.”

“How did I get here, Rhu, and how do I get back out?”

“Do you really want to go back, my boy? After all, she’s in a fine temper, what with having lost you again. I’m sure that she suspects that you’ve made it here, but that scares her as well. You see, outside she controls the doors, but here in the book my power is absolute.”

“You haven’t answered my questions yet.”

“Very well. You got here the same way you’ve gotten everywhere and everywhen else you’ve ever gone since picking up this book. You learned the secrets of door travel that I originally mastered, thanks to my writings. When you needed an escape from her, the book responded to your need and gave you a way out. In, rather. As far as getting back out, I can send you away from here, if that’s what you desire. I can send you back to the real world, but there is no guarantee that you’ll be safe from her. Her power grows by the day.”

“Who is she?”

“A former student of mine, I’m afraid. She thought that by locking me away in my own book, she’d get rid of me. Instead, I’ve managed to get the book into the hands of those who might be able to defeat her. That’s why you found her bookshop that day, Damien. You have the ability to stop her once and for all, but the first thing you need is time. I can give that to you, if you wish to avenge the deaths of your friends.”

“I…What do I have to do?”

“Trust me, Damien. She can’t have sole control, and the number of people who might stand against her is dwindling. There is a place far from her. As I said, I can’t guarantee your safety, but I can grant you a bit of time. You see, I’ve been writing in here when she doesn’t have the book, adding to what I know, what I’ve learned. It might give you enough of an edge to win, but you’ll have to follow the instructions exactly as they are written. Can you do this?”

“I can.” If it meant stopping the woman who smelled of paper and ink and death, he would give it everything. A grim smile appeared on his face. “I just have to read?”

“Yes. The book will return to your hand as soon as you leave here.” Rhu grasped the black horizon, lifted it, and shaped it. A moment later a door appeared, black and inky at first, but gradually coming into shape as a heavy oaken door with a large silver knocker in form of a lion’s head. “Your door, Damien. Thank you, and goodbye.”

The old man vanished. Damien stepped toward the door, took a deep breath, and opened it. The noise was overwhelming, a deafening roar of wind and a clash of steel on steel. He was at the back of a train, winding along the side of a mountain. A small village sat in the valley below him, tranquil in comparison.

“This is the place,” he said, bracing against the railing. “But where’s the book?” As he spoke, a glow appeared above him. Damien stretched out his hand, and the light coalesced into the familiar black leather-bound volume that smelled of paper and ink. He opened the book and began to read.

To be continued…

Terrible Minds Writing Challenge: Grave

This week’s challenge from Chuck gave us ten randomly chosen words (library, ethereal, storm, dolphin, replay, undertaker, envelope, satellite, chisel, and cube). We were asked to pick five of them to include as elements within the story for a thousand word piece. Here’s “Grave,” featuring library, storm, envelope, undertaker, and satellite, albeit a couple of hours late.

Grave

Lightning crackled across the sky, chasing itself from cloud to cloud as Devlin slung his spade over his shoulder. The storm had been building on the horizon for hours, and the apprentice undertaker had plenty of time to finish his last task, but he’d spent much of his afternoon hiding from his master, Thom. So it was that he found himself crawling out of a newly-dug grave as the first drops of rain began to fall.

Sure, Thom was kind enough on the surface. He’d taken Devlin in several years before, allowing his parents to care for his younger brother and pursue their own careers in archaeology. The old man knew he wasn’t going to be able to carry on his job for more than another year or so, but still, he didn’t have to beat Devlin every time he found him reading. His ears still ached from the boxing they’d been given that afternoon. At least his book hadn’t been thrown away this time.

Digging graves was a bore, always the same dimensions, always the same shovel. The only thing that changed was where in the yard he would be digging. At least the people in the books he read got to escape from their dull lives, off on some adventure. Dev sighed and made his way back to Thom’s cabin at the northern edge of the graveyard. At least the day’s work was done. He called out as he entered the door, the first raindrops hitting the ground as he propped his shovel against the door frame. “Thom? I’m done.”

“Ah, good. I see you managed to beat the storm. Dinner’s nearly ready, if you’ve completed your work.” The senior undertaker stood from a chair near the stove. A fire blazed in the fireplace, lending warmth to the cabin as the temperature dropped outside.

“I did. Mission accomplished, boss.”

“You know it would take you a hell of a lot less time if you didn’t read when you were supposed to be digging.”

“I know.”

“I’m not training you to read all day.”

“I know.”

“Is it going to happen again?” Thom raised his fist.

Devlin sighed. “No, Thom.”

“Good. Glad we talked. Sausage and cabbage soup for dinner. Enjoy. I’m going to bed before the weather gets any worse. Goodnight, Dev.”

“Night, Thom.”

Once the old man had gone to bed, Devlin sat at the table and sipped at a bowl of soup. The week’s mail had come in while he’d been at work and was sitting on the chair beside him, so he picked it up and idly thumbed through the various letters, magazines from coffin makers, and postcards from customers until he spotted a small yellowed envelope with his name on it.

Inside the envelope was a matching piece of paper, a letter in neat handwriting, green ink shining in the firelight.

“Dear Devlin,” it read, “Your father and I are very proud of you. We know that your apprenticeship hasn’t been easy. It’s never easy to have to spend your life doing something you don’t want to do. Still, it’s very important for you to have this opportunity. With the work you’re doing now, you’ll be able to earn a stable living. Who knows? In ten or fifteen years, you might be able to pursue more of your passions.

“You’re very lucky you know. Your brother has to travel to the satellite villages to find work anymore, and no one is about to offer him an apprenticeship. Still, I suppose things could be a lot worse for us right now. Your father and I are busy with our own work, naturally. The excavation of the library is going far better than we’d expected and the scrolls and tomes that we’re finding are in remarkable condition. It amazes me how well the desert manages to preserve artifacts for us.

“We continue to search for the heart of the library. We’ve found a clue that is pointing us even deeper underground. Oh, to have lived at the peak of this civilization! The level of skill it must have taken to be able to create something so massive, a facility of this size, beneath a mountain! Devlin, the words cannot possibly describe the way I feel right now. We’re sorry that you can’t join us. You’d love it here. It’s warm and beautiful, and the chances we have to find something big are growing better by the day. We love you, Dev, and can’t wait to see you. Love, Mum and Dad.

“P.S. Your father is working on some sketches to send when the post goes out again. I hope you like them.”

Devlin set the letter aside. His soup had gone cold, so he poured the remnants out and paced around the dining room. The library. His parents had talked about it for years before leaving for the excavation, and in his childhood he had considered it the stuff of legend. Now here he was, hundreds of miles away, the great desert separating him from them, bound by the terms of his apprenticeship. He longed to join them. There was a sense of finality about the work he did for Thom, with each grave he dug serving as someone’s end. The library was history in the making, each day bringing new discoveries for his parents. Even his brother was finding new things in the satellite villages that surrounded his home.

Dev sighed and sat back down. The terms of his apprenticeship bound him, and Thom was too clever to allow him to sneak off any time soon. As he stretched in the chair, a flash of lightning outside the window illuminated the whole room, throwing his spade into sharp relief. “There is a fresh grave outside,” he glanced at the envelope. “And Thom’s got no family to speak of…” The thunder boomed, rattling the cabin. Devlin sat in thought as the storm raged on and the rain continued to fall. “It is an option…”

The End of Winter

“The End of Winter”

Streetlamps on the far shore flicker in
And out of view as the snow accumulates
On the slick surface of the lake.

Moonlight filters through the dancing clouds,
Catching the flash of a fox’s tail
Vanishing into a trimmed hedge.

Embers glow in the fireplace, a dying
Reminder of the warmth we shared
Not an hour ago, now lost.

Equality

What does equality mean? According to the dictionary I keep here at my desk, it’s the noun form of equal, which means “of the same measure, quantity, value, quality, number, degree, or status as another.”  That’s all well and good, right? After all, our founding fathers always talked about all men being created equal.

Except that for a very, very long time, this wasn’t true. The earliest definitions of that phrase meant that all of the white, land-owning men of the world were created equal. From the day that phrase appeared on the Declaration of  Independence, it took over 140 years for women to earn the right to vote. It took another forty years for the Civil Rights Act to be passed. Today, nearly fifty years after that landmark step toward true equality, we find ourselves as a nation looking at the next big leap for human rights, because for many Americans that statement is still untrue.

As I write this, the Supreme Court of the United States is discussing the issue of marriage. That’s right, marriage.

No adjectives necessary.

No adjectives necessary.

You know how that same dictionary defines marriage? “The state of being united to another person as a usually contractual relationship according to law or custom.” Pretty sure there’s nothing in there about restrictions based on religion or gender. Then again, this dictionary was printed in 2004, roughly two thousand years after the source of most of the arguments against marriage equality.

Now a year ago, one of my cousins shared a little note he called “A Conservative Defends Gay Marriage.” It’s a little bit lengthy, but given that it was written during an election season, that’s a bit more understandable. It’ll be included at the end of this post if you’d like to read it. I’d highly recommend it, though I will have to say that I’m quite likely the most liberal member of my family.

This is currently the top social issue dominating our lives here in the United States, when Argentina, Belgium, Canada, Denmark, Iceland, the Netherlands, Norway, Portugal, Spain, South Africa, and Sweden already allow same-sex marriage, and similar bills are being considered in Andorra, Colombia, Finland, France, Germany, Luxembourg, Nepal, New Zealand, Taiwan, the U.K., and Uruguay. Why must it take so long for us for us to realize that people are people, and therefore equal regardless of gender, age, race, or orientation?

Another quick history lesson. Until 1967, interracial marriage was still illegal in parts of the United States. It took us three years after passing the Civil Rights Act to allow interracial marriage. Three freaking years. It took less time to assemble the main components of the International Space Station, and that was multiple countries working in cooperation. So seriously, why is it taking us this long to legalize marriage and bring all of the people of the United States into true equality?

Let’s make all people well and truly equal. Maybe then our government can move on to something like, I don’t know, world peace. Hey, I can dream, can’t I?

*     *     *     *     *     *     *

“A Conservative Defends Gay Marriage”

“This note has been brewing with me for a while.  As the presidential race drags on, I keep hearing about some candidates and their platforms, some of which include phrases like “defending traditional marriage” or the like.  I think it’s high time that we, as conservatives, get over it.  The divorce rate in this country, as well as our celebrity-obsessed culture and the Kardashians and Britney Spears’ of the world, etc.,  have made much more of a mockery of “traditional marriage” than any gay couple ever could.

As the subject started to rise to prominence over the last 3-4 years, my first, gut reaction to it was “absolutely not.”  Marriage?  Laughable.  But time and reflection have allowed me some perspective, and as a conservative, and as someone who at least tries to be a good Christian, I find that I don’t have a leg to stand on when it comes to the notion of gay marriage.  It’s silly to try and claim an institution that is supposed to be a reflection of God’s “binding” two people together (in the religious sense…) can only apply when the couple is one man, one woman.  Love; true, honest, devoted love for another human being, knows no such bounds.

I know that I have gay friends…I would surmise that a vast majority of people in general do (some unknowingly, of course)…some still closeted out of fear for their lives or social and familial status, and some out there waving the rainbow-colored flag.  I don’t want my friends to be defined by their color, religious belief (or lack thereof), sexual orientation or any of that.  If I have ever made any of you feel that way, I sincerely apologize.  It’s never been my intention to make you feel anything less than what you deserve,  and if I have, I’m sorry.  You deserve better than that from me.  I had an uncle that spent years ostracized from our family, all the way to his death, for no other reason than he was gay.  I refuse to perpetuate that any longer.

The point is, there are issues that we face as a country that are FAR, FAR more important than whether gay couples can be married.  We face unprecedented economic problems in this country that affect our daily lives in ways that gay marriage NEVER, EVER will.  It’s not worth fighting over, and if conservatives continue to stump on this issue, it will only serve to keep our message of smaller government and fiscal responsibility out of the ears of millions of potential voters, who instead only hear the bleating and braying of people that ignore the fact that the world has changed, and in my opinion, for the better.

One recent exchange that I was a part of on a friend’s thread here on Facebook was about the issue of gay marriage.  I don’t know the guy that posted the following, but he said, in part:

 

There are nothing about my rights that are “gay”…quit calling them “gay” rights…just call them rights…and yes I want all of them. Marriage isn’t a business the government should be in on either side. It’s a religious act historically and if there is a separation of church from state than we can’t engage in “marriage” from a government perspective at all. But we want the same rights for our partners and ourselves if we do decide to marry…but let the church decide who they want to marry and we just need to call the rest Civil Unions from a government perspective.

 and I replied:

 

I was once totally against “gay marriage.” If you ask me, “why?” – I can’t give you a good answer. It just seemed to me that was supposed to be my reaction to it. I’ve totally softened my stance on the issue, and your quote “… let the church decide who they want to marry and we just need to call the rest Civil Unions from a government perspective…” is exactly how I feel. It is up to the church to decide, and if they don’t want to accommodate gay marriage, they shouldn’t have to…just as you are free to find a congregation that WILL welcome you and your partner with open arms. Life is too short to keep perpetuating hate and discrimination against ANYBODY.

 I thought that his perspective was kinda brilliant, and refreshingly honest about the debate.  Marriage IS historically a religious institution.  There are churches that are accepting of gay marriage, and ones that are not.  If being married in a church is important to the couple, the onus is on them to find a congregation that will embrace them.  We can’t make churches bend to societal changes (that pesky separation of church and state thing, you see).  Churches will only adapt  when and IF they need to, or want to.  There’s nothing wrong with that.

I was just reading today (Jan.4th) that a conservative group in Colorado was trying to get the message out promoting civil unions.  The article in the Denver Post included this line:

It shouldn’t be that civil unions and gay marriage can be slotted as Democratic causes or inflammatory Republican talking points. These are human rights issues that ought to cut across party affiliation.

I couldn’t agree more.  I’m tired of social issues being used as political footballs on both sides of the aisle.  It’s unavoidable, I know…due to the fact that both sides will continue to pander to the extreme fringe of their parties, while leaving those who gravitate towards the middle to sway back and forth, never really understanding which party or ideology is for them.

In recent years, it was the abortion debate…another one I’m sick of hearing presidential candidates debate.  I don’t give a damn which candidate is for it, and which is against it.  I just don’t care.  Abortion is a tragic thing, something that no one (I hope at least) decides on a whim.  To hear pro-lifers tell it, women are lining up to have abortions just because they can.  I don’t believe anyone comes to that decision lightly, and if they ultimately decide to go through with it, I’d much rather they could do it safely and legally.  That position makes me both a bad conservative, and a bad Catholic.  Still, it’s how I feel…my opinion.  You’re not going to find me protesting for or against abortion, EVER.  I hope I’m never in the position of having to be party to such a decision. I’d hope that alternatives were discussed, but ultimately, it is not a decision for me to make, especially not on behalf of someone else.

Sadly, I don’t think that there are any conservative presidential candidates who share my perspective on these matters.  So, our side will continue to be portrayed as bigoted, small-minded, homophobic, awful people who want to see the rich get richer and the poor stay poor.  The debate HAS to be about more than these few so-called  hot-button issues, but won’t be because things like economics are boring, non-emotional, mind-numbing…they lack the “sexiness” that we all apparently need in our headlines.

I hope that changes…and soon.  We need to be debating the REAL challenges we face.  The more we argue about things like this, the sooner we are going to find ourselves looking back on what was once the greatest nation, and wondering what the hell happened.”

Trifecta Writing Challenge: Week Sixty

This week, I decided to compete in a Trifecta writing challenge for the first time. As usual, it’s V’s fault. For the challenge this week, we were given three words. They could be used in any order, but we were only allowed to add 33 words for a total of 36. Our words were rain, rebellion, and remember. Here’s my entry.

 

*       *       *

It’s been thirty years this week. Thirty long years since the day that the blood fell like rain. The city in the clouds above us had erupted in war, a full fledged rebellion.

I still remember.

 

 

They Fight Crime

And here’s yet another entry for a Chuck Wendig Writing Challenge. This one is brought to you by They Fight Crime. Go check it out. It might just help you come up with that character idea you needed.

My description from They Fight Crime was this: “He’s a scarfaced Catholic stage actor on the hunt for the last specimen of a great and near-mythical creature. She’s a beautiful hip-hop college professor with an evil twin sister. They fight crime!”

And without further ado…

“So, where are we staking out tonight, Doc?” Clark carefully applied a layer of foundation over the pale pink reminders of the fire that lingered on his jaw, neck, and shoulder with a practiced hand. “Same place as last night?”

“No, dear,” Professor Andrews replied as she slipped into the room. “Tonight I was thinking that we’d keep an eye out on the bus stop on 45th. I’ve heard a couple of reports of attacks in that area in the last week.”

“And you think that it’s the same person each time?” he asked.

“Well, ‘person’ is a loose term. I heard hints that it might actually have been him.”

“The werewolf?” Clark paused, triangular sponge in hand.

“Mmmhmm.” She grabbed a pair of headphones and placed them around her neck. “After all, the moon’s been full. The M.O. certainly fits.”

Clark finished his makeup and checked the results in the mirror. No sign now remained of the scars that normally marred his face. Still, the burns ached. The theatre fire had been almost ten years ago, but the pain and the scars lingered, and the makeup could only cover the physical injuries. “Melissa,” he said, “you know how long I’ve been after him, don’t you?”

Professor Andrews stepped behind him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “Clark, darling, of course I know. I’m just worried that you’re going to get caught up in some sort of revenge fantasy like my sister did.” She placed a kiss on his cheek.

“How long has she been in prison now, six months?”

“Seven,” Melissa replied. “We don’t have to worry about her. That’s not the point. If our boy is the one attacking these people, this is our chance to finally put him away.” She played with the chain around Clark’s neck, straightening the crucifix on it as she did so. “And once he’s gone, then we’ll be free to do whatever we like with the rest of our lives.”

“Would you go back to teaching full time?”

“If I could find a college that would take me on. Alyssa did a number on my reputation back when she was pretending to be me. But maybe we could find a place that’s looking for help with their theatre program too. There’s got to be more to your career than small-time performances of The Rocky Horror Picture Show and that web ad campaign you did last summer. ”

“Hey, you loved seeing me as Brad.”

“Pretty sure that has nothing to do with your ability to act. After all, he’s Barry Bostwick in the movie.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, I guess that was a little harsh. I mean, he was pretty funny in Spin City and those Peps…oh, right.”

“Yeah.”

“Clark, it’s not that I think you’re a bad actor. I just think that you’re better suited to what we do right now.”

“You really think I’m good?”

“The best. Other than me, of course. And at least I didn’t make some joke about burning down the theatre because you were awful.”

Clark’s hands went to his foundation-covered scars for a moment before he realized she was still smiling. “Thanks, Melissa. You know, when you first came to me to offer me the job, I was half-convinced that you were only using me as a source for holy water. It’s a big relief to know that there’s more to it than that.”

Melissa straightened and walked back to her wardrobe, pulling out black t-shirt after black t-shirt and throwing them into a pile on the floor. “Oh, I knew you wanted revenge, but I figured you had to have some talent if you were going up against the rest of his pack on your own. Never would have guessed you were that crazy. Proved me wrong, didn’t you? Damn, I can never find the one I’m looking for,” she muttered darkly.

“What are you doing?” Clark called over his shoulder. He was preoccupied with his cell phone now, searching for more information about the recent attacks.

“Trying to find my Wu Tang Clan shirt, but it’s not here.”

“It’s in the laundry. You got blood on it last time.”

“Clark, I need that shirt. It’s the only way that the guys we fight know that I’m ‘Nothing to…'”

“I’m pretty sure the katana’s a dead giveaway for that one.”

“Valid point. I’ll go with Snoop. Maybe it’ll make our boy giggle when he sees it, and I can hit him while he’s distracted. Did you have a chance to get the silver edging added?”

“Yeah, but you owe Maki another two grand. He melted down a lot of heirlooms for that, and he’s pretty convinced that his great-grandfather is haunting him again.” He laced up a pair of combat boots.

“Fine. We’ll pay for it with the reward money when we stop this werewolf, then we’ll deal with Old Man Yamada.”

“Sounds like a plan. We better get moving, then. It’ll take us at least thirty minutes to get to 45th.”

Melissa pulled two holstered pistols from the wardrobe and handed them to Clark. “You’re driving,” she said. “Those are loaded with the silver-tipped rounds, just in case.”

“Thanks Mel.” Clark stood and attached the holsters to his belt. “Nearly ten years, but we’re down to the last known one. Let’s end this.”

Adding a sword belt to her own outfit, Melissa turned to face him. “Together.”

“Son of a bitch burned me once. Not this time.” Clark quickly crossed himself. “Let’s go.”

Rain

I wrote this piece last summer, when the Waldo Canyon Fire was finally contained and life in this part of Colorado was finally returning to normal. Here’s “Rain.”

 

Rain is here again.
Life-giving.
Fire-quenching.
Clouds roll down the
Mountains that once
Belched smoke into
The sky.
Rain now.
Elemental. Raw.
Cold beauty pouring
Down.