The Adventures of James #4: James And the Not-So-Great Plan

The Adventures of James #3: James and the PAST

The Adventures of James #2: The (Not Really) Epic Battle Of The Beninator

The Adventures of James #1: The Tragedy of LecGie

This is what I do when I get bored =P

Disclaimer: The following events, though directly taken from real life, are purely fictional. Any resemblance to real persons, living, dead, or imaginary, especially those written on purpose, are purely coincidental. Give James all your money. Thank you.

(If you can't read it, click on it. It makes it bigger. Magically.)

What has gone before...

So, a little bit has happened since I was last writing regularly.

First off, I switched back to real school. That's right, I'm no longer a homeschooler. Although this means I don't get to sleep in every day or never change out of my pajamas (two things which, although my homeschooler friends assured me they were just stereotypes and not actually true, I did all year) it does mean that I actually get to have human contact on a regular basis. I'm not so good with the existing-apart-from-society thing.

Second, I decided it'd be a fun pass-time to stop a lawnmower blade with my foot. A word to the wise - unless you have super awesomely strong bones (like me) and/or a relatively weak lawnmower (which may or may not be what I have), it'll probably take a few toes off. For me, it only cut up my shoes and took about... all the skin off the top of the front right side of my foot and a lil' bit of bone.

So, I got to go in an ambulance for the first time in my life. Yay. Though first about six people had to carry me up two hills.... I'm still amazed that I managed to survive that part of the whole ordeal. The funny thing is that I seriously don't remember any pain. I mean, I'm sure I felt pain, but I went into shock almost instantly. Seeing half the skin on your foot pealed back on the wrong side can do that to you.

Oh, and morphine is very good. So is hydroxin.

When used legally, of course. Don't do drugs, kids. People will draw on you and you'll forget to give your friend a ride, and then a big up arrow will obscure your whole vision. It's true - they put it on TV.

Anyway, I was on crutches for... six weeks? Eight? Something like that. Loosing mobility sucks when you have to go places, but it's seriously awesome to have a legit excuse to lie in bed and do absolutely nothing for a really long time. I also found out that my friends actually do love me. Thanks, guys.

Oh, and now I wanna be a docor. Who'd've guessed it, right?

James
Who Would Like To Point Out His New Invention - the Double Contraction

It's been a while...

Well, guys, it's been a long time since I've posted here. Quite frankly, I just ran out of material, drive, and... whatever that third thing I needed to write this thing was. Magicalness, I guess. Or caffeine. They're more or less the same thing.

Well, I've definitely got more material now. And more caffeine. And a whoooooole lot of boredom.

Well, actually, I'm just writing right now because I'm downloading stuff off of Steam, and I don't feel like watching TV right now.

So, first things first: Google+ is out. Facebook is retarded. Everyone - and when I say everyone, I mean EVERYONE, should move over to Google.

The fact of the matter is, kids, Google knows how to make its users happy. They're innovative. They add little things to make everything better, and everyone agrees that they're brilliant. Their coders own Facebook's by a factor of infinity to the power of infinity times two. (In layman's terms, that means Google doesn't do stupid things you don't want it to. Like Facebook chat does. All the time.)

On the other hand, when was the last time Facebook made a change that people liked? When was the last time you woke up, looked at a new Facebook, and declared, "But soft, I am filled with joy, and the birds doth sing their angelic music and dance in choreographed patterns, for Facebook hath changed for the good of all!"

Frickin' never, that's when.

Moreover, Facebook decided to make its most massive change ON THE DAY GOOGLE+ CAME OUT. Why? Honestly, if this doesn't certify the Facebook execs as freaking retards, I don't know what does. They obviously don't interact with their clientele in any way, shape, form, or fashion. All they had to do was give us a freaking dislike button, and Facebook would have won.

Facebook = STOOBID. Get used to it.

James
Who is Very Angry at Facebook.

Dreams

Dreams are funny things.

No, I'm not talking about people's fond wishes for the future. I'm talking about those weird things that happen in your head when you go to sleep. I really like my dreams, personally - a lot of times they give me inspiration for stuff in life. But sometimes' they're just creepy...

Like take last night, for example. I dreamed that I was driving through some random neighborhood. I parked my car and started walking across people's lawns (don't ask me why. It's a dream. I think I was looking for someone, though.) Then for some reason I got spooked and turned to go back, except I hadn't been paying close enough attention to where I was headed, so I'd forgotten where I'd left my car. I found it after a little bit and started driving away, but it got stuck in the mud. So I got out to push...

And then I saw it. A dead cat.

No, not a dead cat.

A cat that had been murdered.

Seriously, there was some evil blond chick running around and killing cats. Apparently I was afraid that she was going to kill me too, so I picked my car up (apparently my subconscious thinks quite highly of my physical prowess) and swam to the other side of the river with it. Where'd the river come from? Your guess is as good as mine...

So, yeah. I don't know why I wanted to share that with you. But I did. And you better have liked it. Or else.

Crazy dream stories are always fun, so here's y'alls chance to use that comment box down there...

James

Bored now...

So, people must be bored today.

Why do I say that, you ask? Well, first of all, it's raining. No one can go outside to frolic in any lovely meadows while birds fly in choreographed patterns. What's that? People never go outside anymore regardless of if it's raining or not? Oh. I knew that.

My point is that I'm bored. Being the very interesting person that I am (just go with it, ok?) if even I am bored, then the rest of you must be having very poor days indeed.

So, I'm going to visit Auburn tomorrow "morning". Morning is in quotes because we're leaving at 4:30. AM. So, I know that it's technically morning, but whoever came up for the technical definitions of times of day was mentally handicapped and high. But, yeah. I'm not sure what to expect, although Nathan has promised that he is going to torture me and then murder me if I don't enjoy it...

Then this Saturday we're leaving for a missions trip to North Carolina. We're going to be helping out around Cherokee, ministering to old folks and kids and painting and whatnot. It should be fun. Missions trips usually are. The only thing is, I haven't even started getting packed. I don't have a clue if I've got enough clothes... I should probably get on that, shouldn't I?

Bah. If you wait until the last minute, it only takes a minute.

So, yeah. That's all I've really got going on right now... oh, except I haven't talked about Mia (which, to clear up all debate, is pronounced like Maia) in, like, forever!

...

Alright, there's still nothing I can actually say about her except that she is now a different person than who she used to be. But that's the beauty of pseudonyms - they can refer to whoever the heck I want them to! Genius, right?

So, yeah. Talk to you kids later...

James

The Adventures of James (part 1)

A far time ago, in a galaxy long, long away, there lived a very awesome boy named James.

Now, James was sad because he had a computer that he had to share with 5 other people. This was very difficult, as all of those five people wanted to use the computer as much as possible. Since James was homeschooled, it was the only way for him to keep in touch with his friends, most of whom are very slow at texting. It was for that reason that James was very sad.

But one day, after a lot of hard work and saved money, James bought a laptop! That made James very happy.

However, nefarious forces were watching James, looking for ways to make him angry in order to turn him into the Harbinger of Destruction he had once been before loosing his memory. The Forces of Darkness sent an evil little imp to go and destroy James' new laptop, hoping to turn him back into the monster he had once been. The evil little imp stole the motherboard out of James' computer and replaced it with a block of swiss cheese without James noticing it.

This made James very sad.

However, the magical creatures of light looked down and saw that James was very sad and angry. In order to prevent another Apocalypse, they quickly talked to the neutral beings who own all the stores in the world and got James another laptop that worked. Even now the nefarious evil beings may be plotting to send another imp, but they will never prevail, for the Good Beings have stationed a Unicorn in James' house to defend against evil, nefarious imps.

The End

Stuff.

I have to say, there's not much I love more than rain.

I mean, I seriously don't understand how other people think that rainy days are "dreary" or "depressing". Sure, the sun isn't shining, but that also means that it doesn't get super hot and there's no annoying light flashing in your eyes all the time. Plus, in my line of work, it means you get a real excuse to take the day off.

Not much has happened in the last few weeks (that I can tell you about without having to kill you). I made a couple hundred bucks doing odd jobs. I slept (and didn't sleep). I downloaded City of Heroes, spent roughly an hour figuring out the character creation process and then quit playing after about 5 minutes. I've watched/listened too almost all of Rooster Teeth's stuff. I went to debate camp and right now I'm going to speech camp - both of which are/were fun, but exhausting because of the early start time. I'm not a morning person.

I drank coffee this morning for the first time in over a year, too - caffeine is the only solution I've found to the whole operating-in-the-morning problem. Or, at least, I thought caffeine was the solution. I drank a large Dr. Pepper yesterday, and that worked very well. The coffee did absolutely nothing for me. James was very sad. James is going to McDonald's tomorrow morning to get another large Dr. Pepper.

Oh, Switchfoot also announced the release date for their new CD, Vice Verses. Being my favorite band (nevermind the best band of all time) you could potentially see how that news would excite me to the nth degree if I wasn't about to keel over where I sit. It's coming out September 20, but it isn't up for pre-order on Amazon yet...

Also, Nintendo announced their new game console.... the Wii U.

Why is it called the Wii U?

Nobody freaking knows.

Seriously, it's too little, too late. Nintendo is finally jumping on the "oh, it might actually be a good idea to have good graphics" bandwagon, but not soon enough. The Wii U is going to use Direct X 10 technology - one step up from the Xbox 360, which uses DX9. However, Microsoft is expected to announce another console sometime soon... using DX11. So they'll win the graphics war (again). Furthermore, the Wii U (which, you know, is a freaking stupid name. Whatever happened to the Revolution? That was a pretty awesome name) can only use one of the new "tablet" controllers at a time. Players 2-4 must use classic Wii controllers. Why?

Nobody freaking knows.

Of course, the Wii U is going to succeed simply because it has the Wii/Nintendo name on it. But it isn't going to hook the hardcore gamers back onto Nintendo's side. Nintendo - while it is doing away with the much-hated "friend codes" - isn't going to be supplying an internet system akin to Sony's PlayStaton Network or Microsoft's Xbox Live. Instead, individual developers are going to have to run and maintain their own servers for their own games. Why? Because Nintendo is freaking stupid.

Ok, I'm not sure if you quite got it from that little rant, but I'm not a Nintendo fanboy anymore. They just make me angry.

Grr.

Well, that's all I've got for today. So remember: if you ever catch on fire, panic.

James
(Note: You see how the word panic is a different color? That's because it's a hyperlink to a video James wants you to watch so you'll understand the reference. Seriously, watch the whole thing.)

Whaaaaaaat?

Hey, kids. I know I haven't posted on here in a long time, and I'd say I'm sorry, but I'm really not. Why haven't I posted? A combination of chronic laziness and forgetfulness. Why am I not sorry? 'Cause I just ain't. Deal with it.

Ok, that's a lie. I'm kind of sorry. That's why I'm writing this post - quasi-guilt. So... yeah.

Those of you who know me probably know that I am a generally confusing person. This is generally because my personality is simply so deep and complex that simple mortals cannot even begin to grasp my nature, and other times it's just 'cause I really like to mess with people. But over the past two days I've done something that confuses even me. So, you know, it's very, very, VERY confusing.

This may change the way most of you look at me forever.

...

I'm considering going to Auburn.

There, I said it. I'm considering going to Auburn (due mostly to the convincing-ness of one Lauren Murphree).   I'm going to be visiting some time soon, and... yeah. I've just felt kind of uneasy about the decision to go to Bama. Don't ask me why - it's just kind of a weird gut feeling. I get them occasionally, and it generally pays off to follow them.

Obviously, nothing's official yet. But it's a good possibility. If any of your heads blew up because you read this post, I sincerely apologize and would like to point out that I am actually not responsible for your death in any legal way.

I fear that the world will truly end in 2012.

James

Interesting fact: On Google's spell check, when you spell officially wrong, the second option is Office Max.

School's out!

Well, for me, it's summer break. You know what that means?

A) I get to stay up late.
B) I get to sleep in late.
C) I have *nothing* to do.

The problem with being homeschooled is that, a lot of the time, you get done with school early. Now, I know that sounds awesome (and don't get me wrong - I'd rather do nothing than do school ANY day) but when nearly all your friends are still in school, being off for break can be kind of inconvenient.

Of course, it does give one ample time to catch up on sleep and laugh at his or her friends who are still slaving away in some concrete building somewhere. But the fact of the matter is that you have to find some way to occupy yourself that isn't hanging out with friends.

So, for example, you might write a blog post after writing absolutely nothing for roughly two weeks. You might get the 10-day trial for World of Warcraft and spend an inordinate amount of time killing random things. You might craft an elaborate plan to take over the world using trained forces of intelligent donkeys and armadillo suicide-bombers. You might go back and read all your favorite blogger's bingats, starting from the beginning, and comment on each telling him how wonderful he is. You might even try to practice subliminal (and, in some cases, extra...bliminal) messages to get people to do what you want.

Where am I going with all this?

Why, nowhere at all.

In other news, Red is coming to town. If you live in the Huntsville/Athens/Decatur/Tennessee area, you should check out SoulStock 2011. It's at Point Mallard Park, and it's free. And did I mention Red is gunna be there? As, like, the final band? Meaning they're, like, the main feature?

Yeah, it's worth checking out.

James
Who was bored.

Random Gripeage.

So, right now, I'm supposed to be writing an English paper - which, of course, means that I desperately wanted to write a blog post. What about? Not a clue. I just kinda wanted to roll over here and ramble... maybe grumble a little... and most of all, not write in a pre-set, confining, constricting, boring template.

I've gotten really sick of English papers this year because we're always required to write them the exact same way. You start with your exordium (a fancy, evil-languaged word for "hook") then your introduction (where three sentences are first X was Y because, second X was Y because, third X was Y because...)...

It's maddening. Oh, sure, it teaches you structure, alright. Thing is, basic English is where you study and learn structure. I just finished my second book. I'm just a tad bit past basic English now. Ergh.

What's worse is that I'm having to write about the Red Badge of Courage - my second least favorite book. Well, third. No, fourth. Well, my least favorite book after the Old Man and the Sea and anything Herman Melville ever wrote. So, you can see why I'm kinda ticked about that. Well, that and I walked into Math this morning and the teacher was basically like, "Surprise, you've got a test tomorrow even though we haven't met for two weeks because of those storms that killed all those people!"

Ok, so it didn't go down exactly like that. But, you know, same general gist.

I just can't wait for summer to be here, so I can laze off in peace. You know, instead of lazing of in turmoil. Like I am right now.

Bleh, that's all I have to say for right now. Sooner or later I'm going to come up with a funny list. Because lists are funny. The problem is, I can't think right now... maybe I'll come up with something later.

Or maybe I'll keel over from exhaustion. This whole "doing school" business is really taking its tole...

Sincerely,
James
Who Hasn't Used the Word Sincerely in a While.

The Day of Mothers

So, as it turns out, my mom is not the easiest person to shop for.

Generally, when you're getting someone something, the *easiest* way to avoid either A) Getting them something they don't want B) Getting them something that offends them C) Getting them something that ends up bringing calamity on the universe or E) Getting them something that's... well, just downright lame, is to go up to them and say, in a very clear manner, in the language said person natively speaks, "What do you want for X?" (where X is replaced by the event in question. Asking people what they want for X is a guaranteed way to get weird looks, unless you have a reputation for being weird. Then you'll just get normal looks.)

The problem is that my mom always answers with either "Oh, I don't know" or "You could make me something." So eventually we just quit asking.

Once upon a time, I made cards with little drawings in them. They were horrible drawings, but moms aren't allowed to dislike any wholesome creation made by their children, so they passed. But, you see, I'm really not good at drawing - and I also don't really like it. I realized that after I wrote and illustrated a 56-page children's book for an English assignment in 9th grade.

But now, see, little children, I have a nearly-world-famous blog. (Only 5,999,999,964 more converts until world domination!) Which means that I can just create a post about mother's day, and it counts!

Woo-hoo!

So, anyway, I am pretty sure I've got one of the awesomest moms in in the world. I mean, sure, she's not exactly technology-savvy, and I highly doubt she'll ever give up on this "clean is good" phase, but hey, she raised me. And she has to deal with Marie. And, she's, like, still alive.

Yeah, it's pretty hard to top that. In fact, I'm pretty sure it's downright impossible.

So, Happy Mother's Day, mom - and let the record show that I did, in fact, do something for Mother's Day.

James
Who Wishes to Wish a Happy Mother's Day to All Mothers, but Only For Today. Because Wishing Happy Mother's Day on a Day that Isn't Mother's Day is Just Downright Weird.

Victory!

Wow, two posts in one night. You know that means some serious crap went down...

As I'm sure all of you know, Osama bin Ladin (Usama? They've started spelling it differently...) is now dead. And not just we're-pretty-sure-we-blew-him-up dead, it's yeah-we-shot-him-in-the-face-and-have-the-body-to-prove-it dead.

And that's awesome.

Assuming that Al Queda works the way we think it does (I don't honestly have much knowledge aside from, you know, TV...) then bin Ladin was, like, the spider at the middle of the web. Everything trickled down to the people who actually carried out the actions came from him (theoretically. It's possible that there's some other mastermind hiding in the shadows, I guess, but I'll leave that one up to Tom Clancy). Without a central leader, the terrorist cells can't really get their orders.

What we're hoping for here is a war of succession. Whenever a head gets eliminated from a body, a bunch of people (usually) who think that they're all the best qualified to take up the reigns start to fight over the leadership position. If we're lucky, Al-Queda will destroy itself.

'Course, I've been rather lax in keeping up my contacts in the CIA, so I'm not 100% up-to-date with all our intel...

Oh, yeah, and I've gotta say something else. I mean, I shouldn't even have to say it, it's so obvious. But apparently I do...

Bin Ladin's death is cause for celebration. It's justice. It's the government actually doing what it's supposed to do. It's the end of an era. Hopefully, it'll also be the end of one of the most terrible organizations of our time. So, yeah, we're gunna celebrate the death of a madman. Or a very depraved man. Take your pick.

James

POWER!!!

Well, I don't know how many people will actually be able to read this (seeing as I have a fan base that lives almost 100% in Huntsville) but I finally got stinkin' power back.

For the record of history (and everyone who will read this after I become insanely famous) we all live in Huntsville, AL. Last Wednesday (the 26th... I think) North Alabama got hit by literally many tornadoes (really, really strong tornadoes) in the space of one afternoon.

Basically, a lot of people died (we're still waiting on the final number) and we've been without power since Wednesday afternoon. Most of North Alabama is still without power - something like 97%. We got lucky that we're on the same grid as a bunch of "high-priority institutions" (aka gas stations), so we got power back late last night.

All in all, my family was lucky. We had literally no damage... a few twigs came down, but nothing else. But, anyway, before the third wave of the storm on Wednesday, me and my little sister (Marie) went out looking for open stores. 'Cause, you know, we didn't know there was gunna be a third wave... and we needed flashlights. And mom told us we could.

Anyway, we took a few videos (which are quite entertaining) so I'ma put them up here.

Yeah, I know, they're horrible quality. They were taken with a phone. That's just the way these things work.

Yeah, I know it was incredibly stupid going out in the storm like that. But you know what? I'm alive. And it was fun. So we're all good.

Anyway, on a little more serious note, our prayers are with everyone who lost people/suffered damage in the storm. Like I said, we're one of the 3% of Huntsville that has power now, so if you're from here and you need to charge some stuff,  or just take a hot shower or whatever, drop by.

More fun stories to come,

James
Who Survived Being Without Power, But Has Power Now, Which Makes Him King of the World, etc., etc.

The Merry Month of... April

You know, it's hard to believe that I'm almost done with my junior year.

It seems like it was just yesterday when... um... I don't exactly know what I'm supposed to call the beginning of school - all my classes started at different times. I guess if we count everything as school, it's be at Debate Bootcamp.

So I guess it seems like just yesterday that I was at Debate bootcamp. And now here I am, about two weeks out from summer, hard pressed on all sides by Latin and Math and various other evils that I've been putting off until now.

It's been kind of a crazy year, looking back at it. I mean, if you had asked my a few hours ago, I would have said it had been a pretty fun year - unremarkable for the most part, but fun. 'Course, that's cause I don't have an eye or memory for non-Mia related details. But I stumbled across an old Word file - I've got about two dozen of them stashed away in my thumb drive under a folder labeled "Scraps of Stuff" - that was a couple entries in a kind of journal-thing I wrote back a couple months ago.

I'm pretty sure that I wrote it while I was still adjusting to the lack of constant human company when I wrote it - I mean, I sound like a freaking mad genius. I mean, I'm always a freaking genius - I'm just not generally mad (though some might dispute that with me). Anyway, I can't just copy/paste it here because it contains a little too much information pertaining to Mia... but it did get me thinking about the recent past.

All in all, the 2010-2011 school year has probably been the most ground-breaking year of my life. I got yanked out of real school and chucked into homeschool. I made about a billion more friends. I finished Samuel Faar. I learned a few words in Latin. I started college (dual-enrollment, anyway). I finally got a 30 on my ACT. I started a blog. I met Mia. I joined debate and actually learned to speak cohesively. The Wise Man's Fear came out. I started working out - voluntarily, too, which is a sure sign of the apocalypse. I actually failed failed my first math test (but still scraped by with a B in the class). I almost went mentally insane. I became a beast at Call of Duty and lost all my skills in the same year. I killed a character for the first time. I started and stopped playing WoW. I went through three mini-crushes to try and distract myself from Mia. All of them failed epically. I got a car...

And, of course, those are only the ones that I can tell you about without having to kill you.

I guess I'm not quite sure how next year is going to be better. I mean, my classes are going to be a bit more cohesive - I'm really looking forward to a couple of them. But then again, I guess if we knew what was going to happen, it wouldn't be quite as fun...

I suppose my goal right now should be to survive to the end of the year. As it is, I'm feeling like I'm gunna fail Latin. Math ain't looking too pretty, either. I really just wish that all these numbers would stop existing right about now. I'm never - and when I say never, I mean freaking never - going to need to convert normal numbers into Polar numbers or whatever it is that we're studying right now. Just a simple fact of life right there.

I'm really looking forward to summer. Not because I don't want to do anything - I'm already doing that - but because I don't want to do anything while not feeling guilty because of it. Well, that, and I'm really looking forward to being done with Veritas.

I suppose that my real beef with Veritas is that I didn't choose to be there. There is one thing that I hate above all other things, and that is being forced into something. If I choose to take a hard class, then I'll stick it out, 'cause it's my choice. If I'm forced into one, I feel the need to fight against it with all my strength in order to make a point.

Mature? Probably not. But I'm seventeen. I've got a licence for rebellion and immaturity... and stubbornness. And I stick by what I believe.

Except that time when the Dark Side had cookies.

James
Who Can't Come Up With Any Titles At the Moment

Edit: I also started playing around with the colors on the blog. I think I had a little too much fun...

An Announcement

I feel like there's something I need to say. Something I haven't said in a while. Something I've never quite communicated correctly.

I really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really can really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really you really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really find  really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really really the really really really 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That is all.

James

Who really hates math. A lot.

It's DONE!

Well, people, it's official. I have presented myself an awesomeness award for finishing the first draft of my second book in roughly one fourth of the time it took me to finish my first. 'Course, chances are, I've already told you that it's done - but, you know, this is just an official announcement to the world.

Samuel Faar: The Black Gate is finished.

Sort of.

See, now what happens is I have to go back though EVERY SINGLE SOLITARY chapter, sentence by sentence, and make it all at least 100% better. And, while I don't have a monster of a book (like Pat Rothfuss - a.k.a. my writing role-model - who had something like 400,000 words - I've only got about 100,000) it's still gunna take me quite a lot of time.

My vain hope is to have revisions done by the end of summer. I'm almost positive I won't make that deadline - I rarely make deadlines when it comes to this kind of thing - but if I don't set some kind of deadline I'll just laze off and do absolutely nothing.

So if you see me walking around with a big stack of papers and a red pen, that's what I'm working on.

So, anyway, if you haven't read Sam Faar on Inkpop yet (that's the link, right there. You see, you click on the little different colored words, and it magically takes you to the page.) you might wish to hurry - I'm planning on taking it down sometime soon. 'Cause, well, I'm paranoid like that.

So, yeah, that's all, really. I have an unfortunately boring life. I mean, aside from finish my book, the most exciting thing I've done all week is take a five hour nap...

Oh, oh, but I have a possibly fun thing. I want you people to ask me questions. Like, I don't know, any kind of questions. Random questions. Deep questions. Funny questions. And then... I can do blog posts about them! Doesn't that sound like fun?

Yeah, yeah, it's mostly an excuse to not have to think about coming up with my own material. But, hey, I'm tired. Cut me some slack.

James
Person Who Leads a Very Boring Life, Aspiring Writer, Blogger Extradonare, etc., etc.

Re-Discovering Tamriel

So, as a forewarning, this is one of my nerd posts. Chances are, only about two of you will understand what I'm talking about. Most of you won't be able to follow anything I say. But, at this point, I can't really care about that. You know why?

BECAUSE THE FIFTH ELDER SCROLLS GAME IS COMING OUT THIS YEAR!!!


Now, this is kinda sad that I'm just realizing this, 'cause they announced  Skyrim (the name of Elder Scrolls V) back in December. But, for some reason, I only watched the preview trailer last night...

And now I'm psyched.

For those of you who know nothing about video games, the Elder Scroll series (and, in fact, most everything made by Bethesdia Softworks) are all massive sandbox games. That means that you can go anywhere and do (almost) anything anytime you want to. You're not confined to a single level that you have to beat to progress - you're thrown into a massive world full of cities and people and quests and weapons and junk and told "Alright, we'll give you a main quest to give to some semblance of direction, but other than that you're on your own."

The Elder Scrolls games are all set within the world of Tamriel. I'd say that it's roughly a Roman Empire-aged world, except the existence of magic and alchemy and multiple races can really distance another world's timeline from ours. Anyway, each game thus far has taken part in a different realm of Tamriel - Daggerfall, Morrowind, Cyrodill. Except, you know, Oblivion took part in Cyrodill and the daedric plane of Oblivion... which is not technically in Tamriel...

Anyway, I got started with the fourth game, Oblivion. And, well, it's one of my favorite games ever. I can't count how many hours I plugged away at that game... Well, I could, except all my old save files got deleted, so I can't go back and look at the little "Time Played" thingy.

One of the best parts about this game is that you can be anything you freaking want to be. You wanna be a vampire paladin who steals things for a living while practicing magic? Go ahead. You want to be a lizard man who runs a brotherhood of assassins, but also works as the Emperor-to-be's helper? Yep, got that too. You wanna be a lion-man who is the most powerful magician in all the land as well as the commander of the Fighter's Guild and a master thief who also runs a brotherhood of assassins while being the Emperor-to-be's helper who is also a vampire and kills people just for the heck of it while also being the chosen of the gods to slay an ancient evil and become a freaking daedric GOD? 


Yeah. Yeah, you can do that, too.

The only problem I had with Oblivion was that, while you could be the Champion of the Fighter's Guild, the Archmage of the Mage's Guild, the Grey Fox of the Thieve's Guild, and the Listener for the Dark Brotherhood... nobody would recognize you for it.

I mean, if I'm the most powerful magician in the land, and the strongest fighter in the land, and the best thief in the land, and the greatest assassin in the land, I'd expect people would be pretty freakin' impressed with me. I'd think they'd know my name. I'd think they'd show me a little respect. I'd think they'd freakin' turn around and run for their pathetic lives whenever they saw my dark-robed figure bringing upon them the harbinger of death.

But instead, as you walk down the streets, people just say, "Good day," or "Move," or, "You look suspicious.."

Hopefully they'll change that in Skyrim. But until then, I plan to invest an inordinate amount of time in Morrowind and Oblivion, stealing the world's riches, killing the scum of the land, and generally being awesome.

So, until then...

James
Daedric Lord of Madness, Grey Fox of the Thieve's Guild, Listener for the Dark Brotherhood, etc., etc.

Profound Things #4 - Prayer

Wow. Two profound things in the same week. That's pretty crazy, seeing as I've been writing this blog for nearly three months now.

Well, there's a story (sort of) behind this one. I was driving home from babysitting for a church fundraiser event (all I've got to say about that is ugg. I'm not a kid person.) with my little sister. She's cool most of the time now-a-days... but, anyway, we were listening to some of Eminem's new music (she's a lot more into new music than I am, and I haven't heard any of his stuff... yeah, I know, I live under a rock).

Anyway, during one part of the song he says that he opens a letter from a guy who says he's been praying for him every day, and he says that it's been weighing pretty heavy on his mind. I don't know why, but it really struck me.

How many times have I prayed for him, or for anyone in the spotlight that our culture tries to imitate, or even simply for our culture?

Maybe it's just me, but I'm gunna make the challenge/observation anyway - I think, even in our Christian circles, we've bought so much into the individuality of our culture that we've stopped seeing the big picture. I know it's pretty easy for me to remember to take all my personal requests before God. But when do we pray for the people we aren't immediately around? Do we earnestly pray for people who are hostile to the faith? Do we earnestly pray for the people who are apathetic to it?

I don't have any evidence to support this, obviously, but I believe that one of the reasons that our culture is going down the drain is because we as Christians have stopped praying for it. We've stopped praying for the people. Scripture reiterates to us again and again and again just how important prayer is - it has serious, real, changing effects on the world around us, because God hears them and will act on them.

So much of the time, though, I, personally, approach prayer as more of a begrudging duty to fulfill than as our direct line of contact to the only one capable of dispelling the darkness around us. I know that God hears and acts on our prayers. But I don't always act like I believe it.

So, I guess, I just want to issue a challenge to all of you - myself included: pray. Pray for our culture. Pray for the celebrities who reject our God and lead our culture down darker paths. Pray for our government leaders. Pray for the scientists, the common man, the avid antagonist. But not only that - pray like you believe that God will do what He says He will do.

And don't do it for just a day, or just a week. Do it for the rest of your life. It's not just our duty - it's our privilege. And, honestly, it's the only way our culture is ever going to be dug out of the dark rut it's in.

James

Ugg...

Today has just been an exceedingly crappy day.

To start off with, I've got a really nasty cold - like, this is the worst I've felt in... heck, probably years, but I'm not throwing up and don't have a fever, so I have to go to school. So, when I woke up, my mouth had completely dried out (you know, 'cause I can't breathe through my nose) and I split my upper lip just by moving it.

So now that hurts.

As if to add insult to injury, I couldn't find my glasses and was late for math class... which lasted almost 30 minutes longer than normal. So, I go home, my head pounding, knowing I have to mow one of my neighbor's lawns...

...and find out that I've ALSO got to go to the dentist today.

In all fairness, actually, the dentist was probably the best part of the day. I mean, a lot of it was sitting around waiting - and the hooked-stick-cleaning part (the only part that's really unbearable for me) didn't last as long as it normally does. And my dentist said that I don't have to get my wisdom teeth removed ('cause I've got such a big mouth). So I guess that's a plus.

I went home and dug out the lawn mower to go take care of one of my neighbor's yards. It's kinda in major dis-repair... mainly because I don't think she's ever raked it, and the whole thing is on a hill. But raking isn't part of my job description (not after I scraped all the skin off both my thumbs after raking for 4+ hours last winter) so I just mowed.

Well, she was supposed to leave my money either under one of the tires of her car or under the windshield wipers. I looked for nearly half an hour (and this, remember, is with a pounding head in air that contains an ungodly amount of pollen) trying to find something that... wasn't... there...

So that definitely didn't make me happy. Walking home from her place, though, one of her neighbors flagged me down and asked if I could do her mother's lawn. I said I could (and now have a new lawn job paying $20 per cut) and started on that.

About half-way though, I hear a sudden ping and then a clunk and then that nasty noise of metal cutting metal ... and then my lawnmower quit. So I flip it over to see what had just happened...

... and half the bottom covering of my lawn mower has dropped off and is blocking the blade. Why? How? I don't know. But I spent about fifteen minutes trying to undo one of the bolts so I could get it out of the way and keep working.

Then, when I tipped the lawn mower back up, a bunch of oil came pouring out of the side though the air filter (which, I might add, we had just replaced... because the same thing had happened to the old one.) That one was easier to fix - it isn't good for them, but mowers can run for a little while with no air filter. And it's better to run with no air-filter than an oil-filled air-filter, as putting oil directly into the middle on an engine tends to cause explosions.

About half a yard later, as if to add an insult to the previous insult and injury, the belt on the auto-power for my mower slips off the tred. Meaning I have to push a heavier than normal (because it's got a self-propulsion system built in) lawn mower up hill while my head is pounding.

Then, to add an extra insult to the two insults I'd received previously and the injury, I realized I'd forgotten to put on sunscreen.

Surprisingly, though, I'm not particularly mad/angry about any of it... I guess this sanctification deal is working after all.

God is great.

Beer is good.

And people are crazy.

James
Who Does Not Own the Rights to That Song, But Billy Currington Does, So Don't Sue Me, etc., etc.

Nightbane

Those of you who've been reading my blog for a little while know that A) I'm a writer and B) My first ever (finished) work is a story about vampires called Nightbane. And, well, those of you who just started reading my blog now know that A) I'm a writer and B) My first ever (finished) work is a story about vampires called Nightbane.

And, well, since I'm a sharing person, I just wanted to share a little with you. And, you know, since I'm a blogger who doesn't know what else to write about at the moment, I'm going to do a kind of commentary on it... mostly because I'm bored, but also because I've always wanted to do a commentary. If you like it, say so, and I might do more. But, you know, that requires the use of that little comment box down there at the bottom of the page.

So, without further ado...

Prologue: Vampires

In the human world there are two kinds of darkness.  The first protects us from the harsh rays of the sun.  It helps us sleep.  It gives us a place to hide.  The other is a complete and terrifying darkness.  It is the Darkness. In its clutches, children lie awake, in fear of the monster they know is lurking under their bed.  It instills fear in the bravest of hearts and is the substance of our nightmares. 

However, although it is feared by humans, the Darkness is neither good nor evil. It simply is. At the dawn of time, it desired to find those through whom it might impose its will on the world of man. The beings who willingly chose to serve the Darkness were granted many gifts: the ability to fight, perform magic, and live forever, to name but a few. These creatures lurk in the shadows, shrouded by mystery. They are the beings that humans have christened “vampires”.

Vampires have remained on the fringes of human history, never stepping directly in its light. Since the beginning of time, they have lived in secret, shunned by those who fear their power. Even the Darkness itself chooses not to interact with most vampires. Eventually, they created a community of their own, though it is rarely a peaceful one.

Vampires are creatures of war. From a young age, children are instructed in the art of battle. Very few seek a life of peace. There are exceptions, but they are few and far between.

These exceptions are the Defenders. This group of vampires has fought since the greatest war still left to memory, Dracula’s War. They seek peace for their kind and defend the ignorant and unsuspecting humans from the vampires who wish to rule them with the grip of a tyrant – the Fallen.

The Fallen have no conscience whatsoever – no guiding moral principals to live for. The only being who can command them is the one who can kill until no one is left to oppose his blade. They plunder, kill, burn, and sack, leaving behind nothing but blood, fire, and rubble in their wake.

Some of the rulers of the Fallen, however, were not mindless killing machines. Dracula, who ruled the Fallen for two hundred years before meeting his destruction at the hands of his own son, managed to form the rabble of swords into a matchless army. Few fought against them and lived to tell the tale.

Now, however, Dracula had been dead for four hundred and fifty years. No wars have been fought since the last of his army was defeated. The glory of both the Defenders and the Fallen has long since faded, and they have become mere shades of what they once were. Even so, the Defenders who still remain hope this is a new beginning for the vampire community.

But no vampire can stay clean of blood for long…

-

So, believe it or not, roughly 80% of this is the original prologue that I wrote in my little Jack Sparrow notebook nearly five years ago. Which means, of course, that it needs MEGA work.

The main problem is that right now it's serving as a kind of a info-dump - meaning it's like BANG there are vampires and good vampires and bad vampires and Dracula and the Darkness and OMINOUSNESS.

Yes, I am aware that that isn't a proper English word.

Originally, the Defenders and the Fallen were going to be the center of the story - though I'm not really sure anymore what they were going to do. Fight over Geric (the main character), mainly? In the end they both turned into decrepit organizations left over from older days and wars.

It'd also probably be a lot cooler and more mysterious if the humans had christened the Children of Darkness with more names than just "vampire"... 

And, honestly, I'm not quite sure why I still keep trying to work the Darkness into the plot line of this book. I mean, it literally doesn't do anything... unless I save it for later... and make it the human name for the Everinti...

Ok, I figured out why Darkness is still there.

So, when I originally wrote this, I planned a (minimum) 9 book span - a trilogy describing the wars in Visaran (a.k.a. the world of the vampires), a trilogy about the vampire race's return to earth, and then a trilogy about the "next generation" of vampires. 'Course, the chances of me ever even getting the Visaran trilogy done are looking pretty slim right now...

So... yeah. That's the prologue of the book. Tell me if you want more, and I just might give it to you. If I'm feeling lucky. And you click on the button down there that says "cookies".

James

Over-Thinker, Eccentric and Slightly Insane Writer, Generally Awesome Guy, etc., etc.

Profound Thing #3 - Reality, Post-modernism, and Humans

I really don't know why this has been on my brain as much as it has recently, but it popped into my head the other day while I was mowing the lawn. I remembered one of my friends saying that there was a psychology professor who always started out his classes by bringing in a ball and saying, "This ball is not a ball."

Now, of course, it's obvious that the ball is a ball, despite what the professor says. The thing that gives his statement any weight, however, is the inherent difficulty of explaining why the ball is a ball.

I mean, think about it. What makes a ball a ball? If it's spherical? But old undersea mines were spherical, so that's obviously not all there is to being a ball. Is it a ball because it bounces? Well, there are lots of balls that don't bounce, and lots of not-balls that do bounce... i.e., a wrecking ball and silly-putty, respectively. There is just something that tells us "That is a ball" when we see one. They have inherent ball-ness.

So the professor makes his point off of first the fact that it is incredibly difficult to describe why something is what it is, then also ties in his belief in what we call post-modernism - that what's true for you is true for you and what's true for me is true for me, and somehow these two truths exist in tandem with one another. He'll say that, even though you see a red ball, he doesn't. He sees a fish, or a saw, or a deadly snake-eating chiwawa. And who are you to say that what he sees is wrong?

The idea he's trying to present, of course, is that humans define their own realities. We perceive what we choose to perceive, and, since each human is on the same level as all his brothers, no one's reality is any more true than anyone else's.

And, of course, this may - to some extent, be true. For example, take the madman. His mind alters his perception of reality. In a way, any and everything he sees is defined by what he thinks of it. In fact, the professor might propose, it is actually we who are mad, and the insane man the only one who is actually lucid.

Now, of course, modern science and philosophy have reached these conclusions because they refuse to acknowledge the existence of the super-natural. (Unless, of course, the super-natural is some kind of alien life form. Because that just makes so much more sense than believing in any kind of higher power, much less the God. That was sarcasm, for those of you who couldn't catch it.) Mankind all have an equal ability to define reality - personal, transient. God, however...

Possibly one of the most famous quotes from Alexandre Dumas's book, The Count of Monte Cristo, is when Edmond Dantes, the hero of the book, screams at his teacher, who he calls Priest, "I don't believe in God!" Priest, with a dead-pan stare, replies, "It doesn't matter. He believes in you."


And it is here that we come to the crux of the failure of post-modernism. Certainly, humans are free to believe whatever they wish. They can even, to a point, alter their perception of what is true and false. But, in the end, God defines basic reality. He is the source of Truth. He is the reason why.


Eventually, I think, science may progress to the point where it begins to grasp that, no matter how hard it tries, it can never tell us more than "how". For example, a common question among young ones - and some older ones - is "Why is the sky blue?". Scientists, with a smile on their faces, tell us exactly how the sky is blue (you know, light-waves and whatnot), and think they've answered the question.  But they haven't. They haven't told us why, because as long as you reject the idea of a God you can never answer the question why.


So, in the end, God is the source of all true Truth and knowledge. The wisdom of man is foolishness to Him, for He is the very definition of wisdom. All post-modernism boils down to simple human pride - placing ourselves where His throne should be, making ourselves out to be the definers of reality.


The problem is, he's a lot bigger, a lot stronger, and a lot more God than we are. So in the end, we become the children who cover our eyes and yell to their parents, "I can't see you, so you can't see me!"


James
Occasional Sayer of Things Profound, Blogger of Things Totally Random, Gregory, etc., etc. 

The Formal

Alright, I'll admit it - dances are a lot more fun than I'd thought they'd be. Even if I fail epically at them nine times out of ten.

For those of you who don't know, we had a Formal the other night. That's kind of like a homeschooled version of Prom, minus the pressure to find a date, most of the expenses, and modern music. It was actually pretty fun - despite the auspicious lack of non-white people.

Basically there were three parts - the standaround/break the ice part, the eating part, and the dancing part. You can probably surmise from their names what we did.

And if I was feeling witty, I'd come up with a very clever reason to tell you exactly why all your reasons are wrong, and somehow tie them into a clever assassination plot. But, unfortunately, I'm not feeling witty. Actually, I'm feeling mostly dead. It's this blasted pollen. It's messing with my head. And my throat. And I don't like it.

The best part, of course, was supper. I mean, food is always a general high point in any experience. But this food was pretty freaking amazing. And so were the people at my table. I think it was the first time I'd hung out with people from my homeschool who were actually predominately in the same grade as me. Apparently the lines that divide grades are almost non-existent at LCA, which is strange for me.

Bah, I'm trying to think of something else funny to write, but I'm not in a funny-ness mood. So, instead, we will talk about something... profound.


In the next post.

James
Epic (Failure of a ) Dancer, Generally Cool Person, but Also a Person Who's Coolness is Negatively Affected by Pollen, etc., etc.

April Fools!

So, I don't know if any of you have noticed, but I've been playing with the little word-thingies over there. -> They now no longer read boring things like "followers", but attempt to ascribe to you, the readers, the awesomeness that you deserve. I've also started adding slightly witty tags along with my posts, and, if you scroll waaaaaaay down to the bottom, you'll find a search bar.

Just in case, you know, you were too lazy to click on the post you wanted to read...

As many of you know, today is April Fool's day. Traditionally, this is a day where people play practical jokes on other people... because they can. I've heard all sorts of stories about how it got started in the first place, but somehow I get the feeling that most of them were started as April Fool's jokes themselves.

Now, all day long I've been straining to come up with a good April Fool's joke to tell here. But no matter how hard I try, I just can't think of a single, even mildly funny prank. That should give you some idea just how exhausting this week has been for me. At the moment, I'm hyped up on sugar and caffeine and absolutely nothing else. Is that healthy? Probably not. But, hey, you're only young once, right?

Well, in keeping with my traditions, I have to recommend some things for you people to watch in whatever spare time you have after reading this blog. My non-biological sister, Lauren, introduced me to Charlieissocoollike today. Basically, he's a British video blogger who's downright hilarious. I mean, he's British - that in and of itself is more than enough to warrant checking it out.

I also realized I haven't written anything about Mia recently. I haven't been keeping you people updated in any way, shape, form, or fashion. In some ways, I feel kinda guilty for that. Not very, though, 'cause (of course) nothing's happened. That's the way my life goes... a lot of nothing followed by an occasional dose of nothing.

Bah, listen to me. I sound like a bitter old man. I should be happy that I'm finally back in the money. Of course, after you spend your whole afternoon mowing the lawn of a... questionable individual who has been out of town for over a year and STILL hasn't paid you for the last time you mowed their lawn a year ago, and you know you're only getting 15$ for it, it's kinda hard.

Oh, did any of you get my April Fools joke? Ha, I fooled you all into thinking I had no idea what to do for April Fools! SUCKERS!!!

... Uh-oh. The Lameness Police are breaking down my door. I gotta run.

James
Failure at April Fool's Jokes, Man of Un-eventful Life, Person Too Asleep to Come Up With a Third Title, etc., etc.

Happy Birthday to Me!

Well, guys, it's official. I'm now seventeen, which means that I can now legally buy M-rated games and tickets to R-rated movies on my own. Ah, happy, happy day.

If only there were any M-rated games or R-rated movies I wanted to go buy/see... But I'm sure it'll come in handy sooner or later. I mean, it isn't like retail stores now barely carry any PC games that you can buy, forcing everyone to buy online simply because online stores are the only ones with any selection, right?

...

Stupid consoles, ruining everything for us classic PC-ers...

Anyway, in other news, it's spring time again! Which means that the grass is growing again! Which means my wallet is growing again! Which means that I no longer have to pinch pennies and forego meals to stay afloat! Huzzah and happiness. And the best part is, just about all my old jobs from last summer are holding over, with some added bonuses. At this rate, I might not even have to go out and get a "real" job...

Another thing that comes along with spring is good sweet tea. And when I say sweet tea, I mean sweet tea. I have a tenancy to put a little too much sugar in my tea... but, hey, it tastes really good!

But tea also has some kind of magical effect on me. After I drink it, I can write about a billion times better. And a billion times longer. I mean, just since I've made my first batch, I've gotten more done on my book than I have in the past month. I broke through another set of writer's block, and I'm FINALLY to the climax of Samuel Faar.

I have to say, it's awesome to be almost done with a book after only a year. Nightbane took me 4 years just to complete the first draft... Samuel Faar was started on February 20, 2010. Ok, so, maybe I'm a little past the one-year mark, but I'm pretty close. And for it's level of awesomeness...

Well, let's just say I'm proud of my little project.

If I am fortuitously blessed, Sam Faar will be the book I get published. If I'm even more fortuitously blessed, it'll do well. 'Course, I'm not planning on sending out query letters until I'm sure it's really good. It's like my author-rolemodel, Pat Rothfuss, said - when it comes time, and you finally get accepted by some agent somewhere, you sure as heck better have the best piece of work you can.

So, chapters 1-20 are up on inkpop now. If you haven't read it yet, you should go now - I'm planning on taking it down after I finish the first draft.

Why, you ask? 'Cause I'm slightly paranoid. Besides, it's not really doing much up there... you have to be really involved with the site to advance through the ranks, and I just haven't got time for it.

James
Writer, Sweet-Tea Addict, King of the Paranoid, etc., etc.

Yeah, I'm a Geek. Sue Me.

So, any of you who've known me for any length of time (or have read this blog... at all...) know that I am a total geek. It's important to distinguish the term "geek" from the term "nerd", though I technically fall into both camps. A geek is primarily obsessed with technology and all things thus related - Star Wars, Star Trek, and anything involving lasers and aliens is "geeky".

On the other end of the spectrum, nerds are those who like older things. Traditionally, they are fond of learning, studying, etc., but someone who is a fan of Epic Fantasy can also be defined as a nerd.

So, since I'm both a Sci-Fi fan and an Epic Fantasy fan, I suppose the most accurate term to describe me would be "Neek". I am very fond of my neekness. After all, there were wayyyy more geeks and nerds last generation than jocks. When they grew up, they made being a geek/nerd cool in the new society in which we now live. Thus, being not only a geek or nerd but a neek, I am, in fact, twice as cool as everyone else. But I digress.

Dang, I've always wanted to say that!

So, the other day, I picked up Pokemon White. Yes, yes, I am about to reach my 517th birthday. And yes, I am still an avid fan of the Pokemon games. It's just part of my nature that I absolutely refuse to give up. I don't care how lame you might think it is. It's a part of me and that's that. Nothing you can say or do about it.

Ok, that's a lie. If you offered me any sum upward of $50, I would quit Pokemon.

Anyway, for those of you who aren't familiar with the games, every single one has been built off the same premise: You are a Pokemon trainer. This means you train Pokemon. To fight. You must catch various Pokemon in order to fill up your Pokedex for a Professor who is "researching" Pokemon. (In actuality, all they actually do is stand around and let you do all the work. And they don't even pay you, either! Isn't that a violation of child labor laws or something?) In the course of your journey, you also have to conquer 8 Pokemon Gyms and then the Elite Four in order to become the Pokemon Champion.

Why battles that border on animal abuse are legal, we'll never know. Why ten year olds are allowed to travel all over the world, we'll never know. Why capturing Pokemon and making them fight for you makes them happy... we'll never know. But, hey, this is a kid's game. You're not supposed to ask questions.

So, Pokemon White is mostly the same as the older generations. You've got a new island, new Pokemon, new Gyms, but the same basic storyline. Apparently they've tried to make a "deeper" storyline by introducing a group called Team Plasma who want to liberate all Pokemon by stealing them from their trainers... but in my opinion, the original Team Rocket was much deeper. And at least the looked like evil people, instead of just doofaces...

Now, I've enjoyed this game so far. I really have. There's just something I absolutely cannot get over.

The Pokemon in this game look retarded.

I mean, not only is one of the starter Pokemon a freaking pig, but at its third evolve form it becomes a Mexican Lucidore pig. The coolest starter, the otter Pokemon, stops being an otter after it evolves the second time! And, not only that, but some of these new Pokemon are downright creepy! I mean, according to the Pokedex, there's one Pokemon that actually is made from departed human souls. Another is a candle that pretends to guide people, but then leads them off the path... to EAT THEIR SOULS!!!!

WHAT THE HECK, GAMEFREAK!?! THIS IS A FREAKING KID'S GAME!

The real clincher, though, is this.

Surely, you say, that can't actually be a trash-bag Pokemon. Surely GameFreak hasn't sunk that low.

Well, guys, according to the Pokedex, this Pokemon was formed when some trashbags encountered some type of nuclear waste.

Need I say more?

James
Proud Neek, Pokefan, Person Possessing x2 Cool Modifier Skillz, etc., etc.

More Random Things You Should Check Out

Yeah, well, if any of you were wondering about the last two blog posts, they're just part of a little idea for a blog mini-series I had. The Five. I just realized, though, they really need their own blog. 'Cause, you know, I want to get on my blog and gripe about stuff when I feel like it, you know? So I'll  probably go launch another blog after this. Again, don't expect any sort of consistency in times of updates, especially with the Five. After all, realistically, people getting chased by a mega-evil wouldn't have access to a computer every day, right?

Anyway, spring stinks. I mean, the first few days are awesome, but then the bloody pollen gets in the air and totally kills you. I spent just about all day inside with a migraine from the stuff... I mean, it's just terrible. This is what you're saving, environmentalists. The green things that taste bad and make our heads hurt.

Also, if you're ever bored and feel like laughing, and don't really care about comedy that includes language, you've got to check out the Nostalgia Critic. He does reviews of old (mostly crappy) movies that are absolutely hilarious. But they DO include quite a bit of language, so don't watch then around young children or micro-managing parents.

I also recently started reading a web-comic called Looking for Group. It's kind of a parody on WoW, Lord of the Rings, The Wheel of Time, and... well, fantasy in general. It's very funny.

You know, I realized that the homeschooler leads a very sad little life. I mean, we're stuck in our houses 75% of day, with nothing to do but evil, evil homework. We have to get all our entertainment from the computer or books. While that's not necessarily bad, when you're so cut off from social interaction... well, it just ain't good for  ya. People start to go crazy that way.

Then again, I definitely don't always do work... I'm about as self-motivated as a mule. And not just any mule. Not even just any dead mule. We are talking a mule that has been shot do death, trampled to a pulp, burned to a crisp, had its bones ground to dust, bombarded with radioactivity, blown up, and then stuffed into a rocket and fired into the sun... AND THEN sucked into a black hole.

So, as you can imagine, I should be stressed out right now by the fact that I have a research paper due in a week, a debate tournament Friday, and an English paper to finish on top of all the math homework I don't remember doing. But I'm not. You know why? 'Cause I don't believe in being stressed. It's all a plot by the Government to control our lives. When you give in and let the system run you, they win. And you can give in. You gotta fight the power. Stick it to the man!

Ok, so maybe I'm just lazy. Sue me.

No, actually, don't. You might win.

James
Supremely Awesome Person, Entirely Unmotivated Person, Extremely Important Person, etc., etc.

Edit: Just got The Five's blog up here.

A New Guide

I'm honestly shocked this blog still exists.

I mean, I really, really, really expected the Order to have taken this down by now. Maybe they think no one will believe it, but I don't think so. This new guy they sent to us - Anders - he's different from all the rest they've sent us. I think the Order might be changing its game.

I'm writing this from the back of a van. We're doing about 90 down the freeway (sorry, can't tell you which one. That would probably the Others right to us). Greg is driving, of course. He always insists on driving, and Jordan always lets him. I swear, though, if the Others don't kill us, Greg will. He never actually got his licence, and I don't think it's for want of trying.

I realized that I never really got to tell you what happened to us - why we're leaving again. I got too caught up in the back story - and believe me, there's a lot of it. We've been running from the Others for nearly three years, after all. But there'll be time for all that later, I guess. Assuming we survive.

Yesterday, Jordan got a call from the Order. It always starts like that. They call us, usually totally out of the blue, and tell us we've been compromised. They send one of their members to us, and we pack all our things and hit the road.

Most of the members they send us - we call them Guides - look like they belong in a library. They're generally old, bespectacled, and almost always of some nationality other than American. We've had... eleven? Twelve? I can't remember - they all start to blur together after a while. Like I said before, a number of them have gotten killed trying to protect us.

Anders is totally different from the rest. He's still pretty young - well, he's older than us, but not by much - and he looks like he can handle himself. He's about... ah... 6'6", military haircut, pale. Lots of scars. He's British, too, but he doesn't talk much. At all, really. He hasn't told us where we're going, or how the Others found us this time. That's not normal - most of the Guides lecture us for about five hours on what we did wrong. Like it's our fault we're being chased by some kind of superpower.

We've been on the road since five in the morning. I've tried - on multiple occasions - to get Anders to tell us what's going on. I thought we were leaving because the Others had found us again, but I just realized that he never actually said that. Maybe we're leaving for a different reason this time. Maybe we're actually going to fight.

There's something about living your life on the run that just kills you inside. Every last one of us is sick of constantly jumping from place to place, never safe, never knowing if we're going to make a mistake and get all of us caught. We all want to take the fight to the Others. We've got powers, and we bloody well want to use them. Even if we died in the process, at least we wouldn't have to run anymore.

Well, Amy's kicking me, telling me to go to sleep. It has been a pretty long day, even if nothing's actually happened. And I should get some rest. You never know when you'll need it...

James
The Last of the Five

The Truth

They told us we'd be safe here. But of course They said that. That's what They always say, and They're always wrong. I don't even know why I'm surprised anymore. It's like Amy always says - I'm an eternal optimist. I never expect the worst to happen. Funny thing is, in our lives, it always does.

I realize I've probably lost all of you already. The thing is, nothing you know about me is true. They brought us here five months ago. If you have memories of me from before that, it's because They put them there. They can do that, and a heck of a lot more. They can do practically anything, seems like, except keep us hidden.

Argh, I'm not doing a very good job of explaining. It's kinda hard, though, when I can't even make sense of any of this.

Alright, it basically boils down to this. There are two powers in our world. The normal people don't see them, but they're always there. We're talking big, super-mega powers. Like, powers that own Disney and the government kind of powers. One of them is called the Order - that's what Jordan told us they're called, anyway. He's our leader, and the only one who's actually spoken to the head of the Order. The Order is our friend - I think. They've kept us alive for the past three years, anyway. For most of that time, we didn't even have a name for them - we just called them They, or Them. Whatever, you get what I'm trying to say.

Jordan says that the Order is some kind of weird mix between a cult and a company. We don't have any idea how big it really is - they only send one or two of their operatives to us at a time, usually when they've failed yet again to hide us properly. Quite a number of them have died in the process of saving us. I can believe the weird part, too - they've done some crazy stuff in the past in order to hide us. They've got a lot of magic at their fingertips, at least - they've fit us into societies as if we'd grown up there.

Oh, yeah, forgot to mention - magic is real. It'll help us a lot if you just went ahead and accepted that.

We don't have a name for the other organization. We usually call them the Others. All we really know about them is that they're the Order's sworn enemy, and they want us bad enough to kill any and everything that gets in their way. Which is kinda a given if you're a super-mega power, I guess. They've been chasing us ever since the Order found us. Ever since our lives ended.

There are five of us - five refugees. There's Jordan, our leader. If it weren't for him, we wouldn't be alive today. Greg is a warrior to the bone. He's probably killed more of the Others' minions than anyone the Order has sent to us. Stephanie is a genius. I mean, I've heard of people being able to cook up bombs and whatnot in their basements, but the stuff she does with science is just downright scary. Amy understands our gifts better than any of us. Sure, that isn't saying much - but she's absolutely brilliant with them. And then, of course, there's me. I'm... well, I'm just me, honestly.

We thought we were normal kids. We all grew up pretty normally, anyway. But the fact is, we're not. It's why the Order is protecting us. It's why the Others want us. Because each of us have a gift. I don't mean a Christmas present - I mean an ability. I call it magic. Of course, Stephanie absolutely refuses to concede that point. She's a firm believer in understandable science. But I think it's magic, and Amy agrees with me. That gives me some semblance of ground for my claim, I think.

We can all do things. Jared can control the earth using only his mind. Whenever Greg gets mad or starts fighting, he turns into a freaking Human Torch. Stephanie is a telepath and a telekenetic - meaning she can hear peoples thoughts and move stuff without even touching it. Amy controls water - it's downright impressive what she can do with it, too. I've seen her create mirages using just the water in the air, tricking people who were chasing us into going the wrong way. She's saved us more times than I can count.

I can control the wind. It sounds cool, sure, but it really isn't. I mean, if I was able to summon up tornadoes whenever I felt like it, that would be cool. As it is, I can scare our enemies away with a very threatening breeze. No, seriously. It's downright menacing.

That's sarcasm, for those of you who can't read in tones of voice.

Gah, Jordan's calling me. We have to move out soon. I just have to finish this up - I'm sorry if it isn't too coherent. Maybe I should start from the beginning - the real beginning - next time. Assuming I live long enough to see another computer again. I'm writing this 'cause you all have to know the truth. I'm sick of hiding this way. Sure, the Order will probably delete this before it ever even makes it up on the net - they own the internet, essentially - but I have to at least try. Maybe, if people know about us, we'll make some friends. And maybe if we have friends, we'll be able to stop running and start fighting. Maybe.

Or maybe I'm just grasping at straws, being over-optimistic. Argh, he's yelling at me, now. I really gotta go. Write more soon (baring gruesome dismemberment or some-such painful death)

James
The Last of the Five

Of Bingats and Magicians

Well, for those of you who've been bugging me about it,  I'm sorry it's taken so long. I'm just prone to be (on occasion) very, very, very, very, very, very work-avoidant.

Yes, work-avoidant. We don't like to use the word lazy around here. It has far too many negative connotations.

Anyway, I figure I'm probably going to have to post a whole slew of... well, posts in the near future to make up for it. But, first, we need to work out something. Posts needs a synonym. Obviously, it is rather repetitive and annoying to talk about "posting posts" (never mind possibly offensive to certain members of my kin). But the word "post" has no real synonyms. Sure, there's article, but it just doesn't fit in the situation of a blog.

So, from now on, we will use the word bingat. We post new bingats. That's pronounced "BING-AT". It's derived from the Pig Latin "Ingatbay" which means "a post".

Now that we've got that settled, in this bingat I'm going to give you a chapter of something I've already written, namely because I feel like I have to write a post before I go watch the Nostalgia Critic (more on him later) or Buffy. So here, ladies and gents, is the first chapter of Samuel Faar.

Yeah, I know I've already posted a link to this in my first post. But this is for all you lazy people. Besides, I'll probably be taking Sam Faar down off of inkpop after I finish it. Call me paranoid.

And, obviously, I can't post it all up here. Because then someone could steal it. But I can show you some. Again, any kind of feedback is majorly appreciated (not to mention demanded upon pain of death). So....

Chapter 1: In Which I Sneak Out to a Movie and Get Caught by Daemons

I jumped the fence and hit the ground running for whatever my life was worth. It’s pretty amazing what adrenaline can do to you when it kicks in. I was athletic enough, sure, but I had never run this fast in my life. Unfortunately, the crazy old witch behind me was just as fast.

I was being chased down a back alley in the little city of Mordred, Illinois, by an old lady. Sad, I know. But this lady wasn’t like your typical nice old grandma – she was decked out in Goth gear from head to toe. If it was black and could be worn, this lady had it on. I mean, even her teeth were black – though that might have been less of a fashion statement than the rest. 


Normally you just cross the street to avoid passing people like her. Normally they don’t start screaming or brandishing knives at you. Normally sixty-year-old women don’t run like track stars, and even when they do they don’t normally chase you. So I guess you could say this was the point in my life when everything stopped being normal.

Granted, it was late to be walking around the city – eleven o’ clock – but I had just gotten out of a movie with my friends that my mom technically hadn’t forbidden me from seeing. When I asked her about it, she had given me an earful about how violent it was supposed to be and how much language it had. The usual. But the word no had never actually come out of her mouth, so I took her input as more of a suggestion. Of course, I had made sure to sneak out of the house just in case she did say no if I asked her again, but still. My friends had already taken off – they’re all rich enough to afford their own cars. Me, I have to go the old fashioned way – good ole Converse. Mom would’ve noticed a car coming and going from our apartment, anyway. That’s just the kind of person she is.

But really, this is too far into the story to start if you want the whole picture. You’re supposed to begin at the beginning. If you really want the whole thing, you have to start about two weeks ago when our new history teacher, Mr. Dunmer, first came to Mordred. No, wait. I’m still forgetting something…

Oh, yeah. My name’s Samuel Faar. Everyone just calls me Sam, though. Nice to meet you. Now, where was I? Oh, right. Mr. Dunmer. 

Our old history teacher, Mrs. Batts, had been a crazy old hag. I mean, literally crazy. She had put my friend Troy in detention for smiling at his girlfriend once. PDA, she called it. So, as you can probably guess, no one was exactly sad to see her go. People who had Mr. Dunmer the period before us had spent most of lunch telling us how awesome he was – apparently he didn’t assign homework, didn’t dress like an old dude, and was actually pretty funny. Being the eternal skeptic, I was expecting him to fall short of the hype. 

The first impression I got of Mr. Dunmer was that he was pretty cool for an old guy – he walked into class the very first day in dark blue Converse high-tops with faded jeans and an old tweed jacket. He had a kind of scruffy short brown beard, which he rubbed whenever he talked. His hair was mused as well, but his eyes were very sharp behind his casual dress.

Most new teachers start with the whole “My name is Mr./Mrs. X and I will be teaching subject Y. Now, would everyone please stand up one at a time and tell me your name and something interesting about yourself so I can get to know you.” Mr. Dunmer was different. He sat down on top of the mahogany teacher’s desk at the front of the room and looked the class over quietly, scanning each face in turn. There was a kind of awkward silence – the kind that only happens when the kids aren’t exactly sure how strict a teacher is, so they wait for the bravest ones to test him to his limit before acting up. I was sitting at the back of the class, staring out the window at the beautiful day outside. Really, I thought, it was a crime to keep kids like us locked up inside all day to study things we really didn’t want to know anything about…

“History is a complicated subject to teach,” Mr. Dunmer began. “Namely because we are never sure how anything truly occurred. History is written by the victors, and the victors are always biased. The losers are biased too, but their manuscripts get burned more often than the winners’.” No one except the really attentive students – the nerds, in layman’s terms – were listening to him now. He was just giving some pre-prepared speech about how honored he was to be able to teach the young minds of the next generation or some-such garbage. I tuned out and started thinking about what I was going to do after school.

“But I bet you’ve heard all that before,” Mr. Dunmer said with a slight smile, noticing the class’s loss of interest in his speech. I have to say Mr. Dunmer had one of those cool sounding voices that sent chills down your spine whenever you heard him talking. “The kids in fourth period were telling me about your last teacher, Mrs…”

“Batts,” one of the smart kids in the front offered.

“Crazy as one,” another of the nerds made a dumb joke. No one laughed, not even Mr. Dunmer. That was good – I can’t stand teachers who pretended that any joke a student offered up was funny.

“But she wasn’t very difficult,” Leah – one of the few smart kids I actually talked to – piped up.

“For you,” my friend Troy muttered. “For us people of normal intelligence, she was a nightmare.”

Mr. Dunmer smiled at this. “I think this is where I’m supposed to insert my teacher’s speech about application to studies versus intelligence. Copy and paste the last one you heard and put it here.”

A couple of kids laughed at that. As they did so, Mr. Dunmer reached back behind his desk and drew out a full-sized, gleaming, honest-to-goodness sword. Well, ok, I didn’t really know what a full-sized sword looks like, but if I had to guess, it would look something like that. I have to say, the best way to get someone’s attention is to show them something that’s shiny and sharp. Whether you have ADD or not, sharp shiny things attract attention like magnets. Or roadside bombs. Or teachers waving sharp shiny things.

“We’ll be studying ancient empires this semester,” he told us, “starting with Rome. This blade is a replica of one that the Roman Legion would have used. Now, some of you might think that studying history is pointless or a waste of time,” he threw a glance right at me, as if he’d been able to hear my thoughts earlier, “but it’s one of the most important areas we can study. Anyone who does not learn from the mistakes of history is doomed to repeat them.”

He went on into a full lecture about the Roman army and its exploits, which I had to admit was actually pretty interesting. Everyone likes stories about old battles. He used the sword like a pointer for most of the time, and made a few jokes that actually made me laugh. That’s a pretty rare talent for a teacher. By the time the bell rang, I realized that I was actually enjoying myself. Mr. Dunmer’s only assignment was to come back to class tomorrow.

Unfortunately, my mother ruined my plans for the evening by calling me the second the final bell rang.

“Sam, are you done with school?”

“No, mom. I’m answering your call in the middle of class.”

“Very funny, young man. I need you back at home.”

“But I was gunna go to the mall with –”

“I don’t want to hear it. You come straight home.”

“But I –”

“You heard me.”

For a few moments, I really considered going to the mall anyway. In the end I decided against it – just in case I needed my mother’s good favor to do something in the near future – and waved good-bye to my friends as I started the walk home.

My apartment wasn’t very far from the school – half a mile at the most. We lived on the third floor of the apartment – me, my mom, and my stepfather, Jackson. Jackson and I share a mutual hatred of one another. I hate him because he’s a creepy pervert who’s about a hundred pounds overweight and drinks beer more often than water. He hates me because I’m another mouth to feed. I’m not sure what my mom sees in him, other than the fact that he pays the bills occasionally. I wasn’t planning on visiting after I went off to college, though.

When I walked in the door, Jackson was reclining back in his personal chair with the TV on. I was surprised to see that he was watching the news, but he also had a giant dark brown beer stain on his tank top – the only piece of clothing he wore besides his boxers. I figured he was probably drunk – but then again, that might have been from last week. Jackson “worked” as an overseer for a construction company – meaning he called the guys who were supposed to be working once in the morning and evening to ask them if they were on schedule. The rest of the time, he just sat his fat butt in his chair and ate chips and drank beer.

He looked up and told me, “Shut up, kid. I’m trying to listen to this.”

That was his greeting to me every day. It didn’t matter if I was making any noise or not. I noticed, however, that mom was also watching the news from the kitchen with a worried look on her face. I glanced at the headline – “Gruesome Murder Spree Continues – Police Say No Leads”. I tossed my bag down in the kitchen and turned to my mom.

“Why do I have to be here?” I snapped at her. “I can barely breathe through the fumes.” I gestured to the form of Jackson.

“These attacks are getting more and more frequent,” my mom answered in her worried-about-everything tone. Her eyes never left the television, which was showing footage of a gruesome murder scene. “I think you’ll be safer here.”

I groaned. “Mom, I’m more likely to get killed by Jackson than by some random murderer in broad daylight. And he would have to get up from his chair to do that!”

“I heard that, you little snot-wipe!” Jackson called back. My mother gave me a look that clearly said, ‘don’t antagonize him.’ I sighed and picked up my book bag again.

“I’ll be in my room if you need me,” I muttered.

Mom’s always been a worrier like that. Once, a kid down the street went missing for a week. Everyone said it was a kidnapping, but it turned out that the kid had just run away from home because his parents had taken away his Game Boy. Even so, Mom kept me inside for nearly a month.

Of course, these murders were much more serious – nearly twenty-five people had gotten killed in the past three weeks. The police didn’t have any leads, and the murderer had no preferred method – some people had had their throats slit, some ended up with a bullet in the head, some were poisoned, some riddled with knife wounds. The only theory the police had was that it was the work of some new cult because at one of the crime scenes someone had drawn a pentagram in the victim’s blood. It was pure speculation, of course – anyone could have drawn a pentagram to create a false lead. But, as serious as this might be getting, it’s no reason to put your life totally on hold.

I chucked my stuff on my bed and turned my attention to my computer – the only item in my room that wasn’t more that forty years old. My bed, in one corner, was a rickety old twin that I was almost too tall for. In another corner was a bookshelf filled with books I hadn’t – and didn’t want to – read. An ancient TV sat atop my dresser – it had been broken for a few years. Even when it had worked, it had only been black and white. My walls were bare, my floor littered with my clothes. The only bright spot in the entire place was the monitor on my desk and the little black box beside it.

I had saved for nearly five years to buy that computer. I had assembled it myself from the best parts money could buy. Jackson had no idea I had it – he never came to my room, and I had smuggled it in piece by piece. I plugged my iPod – the only other piece of modern equipment I owned, if you can still count first generation nano as ‘modern’ – into my speakers and turned them up loud, then settled into my computer chair. 

I didn’t know why, but I wanted to know more about Mr. Dunmer. There was just something weird about him – something in my gut told me he wasn’t an ordinary teacher. Of course, I could have just asked him about himself, but getting chummy with teachers was definitely not high on my to-do list. So I did the next best thing – Google.

Of course, a second after I typed “Mr. Dunmer” into the search box and hit enter, I realized that there was only a one in a billion chance I would come across the Mr. Dunmer I was looking for. I had no idea what his first name was. I searched the school’s website, but they didn’t have it in the listed faculty. They must not have had time to update it yet, I decided. I began to loose interest and turned my attention to saving the world from terrorists using only my keyboard and mouse. Normal people call that a video game.

The next two weeks can be described in one word – boring. I went to school, went home, went to sleep, and then repeated the pattern for fourteen long days. In that time, Mr. Dunmer was the only person with an interesting class – he brought in more ancient Roman artifacts, staged a mock battle on the front lawn with wooden swords and spears, and didn’t assign us any homework. Everyone labeled him as one of the ‘cool’ teachers. On the day my life changed forever, though, Mr. Dunmer wasn’t in class.

“He’s not here today,” one of the guys from our group, Aaron, warned us. “But man…” He gave us a bright grin. “We got one heck of a sub.”

His girlfriend, Miranda, hit him pretty hard for that, so I assumed the sub was a girl. My assumptions were correct – as we walked into history that day, we were greeted by “one heck of a sub.”

She didn’t look like she was that much older than us, really – nineteen, maybe. I figured she was working with the hands-on learning project at the local college. I hadn’t known they worked with our school, but since when does the staff tell us anything? She was pretty tall for a girl even in flats, with straight, layered blond hair and sharp eyes like Mr. Dunmer’s. And, as Troy was quick to point out, she had more curves than most supermodels.

She quickly crippled any hopes we had had for a free period by writing her name – Ms. McGregor – and an assignment under it. She turned back to us and said, in a beautiful British accent, “Start working. This assignment is due first thing tomorrow.”

Max – a jock who sat in the back with us – raised his hand. “Where’s Mr. D?” he asked without waiting to be called on. The kids had been quick to assign the nickname to Mr. Dunmer, and he hadn’t protested.

“He had to step out for a little while this morning. He’ll be back tomorrow, no doubt. Now, start working.”

She took a seat behind Mr. Dunmer’s desk and leaned back, shoving her hands deep into the pockets of her pea coat. She was watching the clock just as wistfully as most of the kids in the class. Almost no one brought his or her book to history – Mr. Dunmer never made us use them. The time passed with agonizing slowness until I received a note from Troy.

Hey, it said. You free tonight? We’re all going to see Hill of Blood.

Mom wasn’t too enthusiastic when I asked her about it a few weeks ago, I replied. Plus, she’s got me under house arrest until that psycho who killed all those people is behind bars. I was about to pass it back to him, but then added, What time?

Troy grinned at me as he read it. 8:30. We can give you a ride, if you need one.

Naw, I’ll walk. Mom would probably notice a car coming and going from my place. We don’t get much traffic and she’s, ah... she’s weird like that.

As Troy was trying to pass the note back to me, Ms. McGregor appeared from nowhere and intercepted it. I hadn’t even noticed her getting up from her desk. She took the paper and looked it over, and I noticed that she had very pretty eyes – a kind of grayish blue that seemed to swirl as she read. I wondered again how much older than us she could really be – I had turned eighteen last month – and how she had managed to land a job as a sub here, of all places. It would have made more sense for the hands-on program to work with elementary schools, not places where the students would be almost as old as the substitutes.

“Mr. Faar,” Ms. McGregor addressed me, “you realize that I am technically supposed to inform your parents of this?” She waved the piece of paper under my nose as if I didn’t know what she was talking about.

Now, everyone has talents. Troy, he’s great at football. Already got signed on to be a quarterback at a big college. And Leah, she’s won every science fair since she was old enough to pronounce the words “quantum physics” and “nuclear”. Even my mom is a brilliant cook. Me? My talent is saying just the right thing to piss people off, especially people in authority.

“Give me a break,” I countered. “You, what, just turned nineteen? Just ‘cause you’re a teacher doesn’t mean you can boss us around.”

Ms. McGregor gritted her teeth, but didn’t counter my comment about age. “The fact that I am a teacher gives me the right to boss you around,” she snarled. Ticked off as I was, I had to admit that I liked the accent. “And you had better be happy that I’m not going to report this, because I have better things to do with my time than look up and call your mother to tell her you’re sneaking out to a film.” 

She locked eyes with me for a few seconds, and the clouds of grey seemed to swirl faster as she did so. I countered the gaze, folding my arms across my chest. We were broken from the contest by the ring of the bell, signaling the end of class. I brushed past her, catching the scent of lilac in her hair as I did so, and disappeared into the hall.

---

I’ve snuck out of our little apartment more than once. When your mom worries about everything with a fear that borders pretty close on paranoia, you have to develop methods to work around her. The one that’s never failed me yet is to eat supper early, then tell my mother I’m going to be studying for the rest of the evening for some test or another. I turn up my music and put it on repeat, then crawl out the window in my room. The uneven bricks outside make perfect handholds for me to climb down to Lester the Janitor’s tiny balcony a floor below us. He’s cool and lets me go through his apartment to get out – he still remembers what it’s like to be a kid, unlike some other adults I could mention. I return the same way I go. As of yet, my mother has never been any the wiser.

It’s about half a mile to the movie theater we always go to. The only good thing about not having a car is that it keeps you in shape. Our apartment is in the city district, so I’ve learned the quickest ways to get anywhere by trial and error, using the crazy network of alleyways to get where I need to go.

The movie, I remember, wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t great either. Just a hack-em-up action movie with no real plot. Despite Troy’s promise that “everyone” was going, it was just me, Leah, Troy, and his girlfriend, Jane. I wondered if the whole thing was a set-up – Jane was always trying to play matchmaker with me and Leah. Now, don’t get me wrong – Leah isn’t ugly. In fact, she’s kinda cute in the glasses and smart person way. She’s the most brilliant person I know. I’ve just never been attracted to her that way. We’ve been friends for so long that it would be like dating a sister. Jane, for some odd reason, just can’t get that picture.

We parted ways after the movie – Jane wanted us to go to a party at some guy’s house, but Leah didn’t like parties. I would have gone if it hadn’t been at Ed’s house – just about every time he hosted a party, half the kids there got busted by the cops for underage drinking. So I made my way back to my apartment complex through the alleyways. 

I’d walked through the alleys late at night before. They’re really not all they’re cracked up to be – sure, you run across a few hobos muttering to themselves from time to time, but the hobos are harmless. The most dangerous things back there are the dumpsters that haven’t been emptied for years. Usually.

I was about half-way home when the crazy old woman attacked me.

I was walking down a dark alley created by the space between two office buildings. The moon was the only light that shone there, but it was full tonight – more than bright enough to navigate by. I was passing a dumpster when this absolutely ancient old hag materialized out of the shadows right next to me. She was dressed like a modern day Goth would – torn black clothing, more piercings than you could count. The long, wispy locks of greasy hair that she still possessed had been dyed black as well. I made to step around her, but she caught my shoulder with one bony hand.

Her grip was impossibly strong for someone of her age. If my heart had been beating fast with surprise before this, it was now desperately trying to break free of my chest. The woman turned her head to one side as I tried – with no success – to pull away from her. She smiled a wide toothy grin at me – or at least, it would have been toothy if she had had all her teeth. As it was, there were more gaps than actual teeth, and the ones that were still there were black and rotting.

“You’ll make a nice collection to my trophies, won’t you, pretty?” she murmured in a creepy voice, and raised her right hand. In it, she clutched a silver knife.

I went into total panic mode. My knee lashed up and caught her a blow in the stomach, and I heard the wind rush out of her lungs with a woosh. That one moment was enough to loosen her grip enough for me to slip away and take off down the alleyway at a hundred miles an hour. I swear, I had never moved that fast in my life. But, as I turned my head, I saw her following right behind me, shrieking dementedly.

I hate to admit, no noble last thoughts ran through my mind. I didn’t see my life flash before my eyes – maybe that would happen later – and I didn’t suddenly start having deep theological questions. Honestly, I wasn’t thinking much further than, I’m going to die. I’m going to die. I faked a right and ran left at a cross section in the alleys – the whole city of Mordred was built like a maze. The route I had chosen curved around to the right and became… 

A dead end. The alley was blocked by a chain-link fence.

Without stopping to think, I hopped up on a dumpster and made a flying leap for the fence. I caught on at the top of it, hastily scrambling over and jumping down. I landed hard on my left foot, but the adrenaline running through my blood was enough to make me forget the impact pretty quickly. I had to get back to a main road, I knew that. But which way would lead me out of the alleys? I selected a path on the left at random, checking to see if I had lost the crazy old lady at the fence.

She was about three feet behind me.

Putting on an extra burst of speed, I skidded around another corner, grabbing trash bags, metal cans – anything I could get my hands on – and flinging them behind me, hoping to slow her down some. This was insane. I was running for my life from a grandma with a knife. This didn’t happen in real life. It couldn’t happen –

I hadn’t completed the thought before the old woman tackled me like a football player. I fell to the ground in a heap, but didn’t stop trying to struggle free. I lashed out with my foot, landing a good kick in her face. I saw a few rotted teeth fall out as she recoiled, and I tried to pull myself out of her grasp – but she was too strong. She lifted the knife high into the air and plunged it downward toward my heart. I caught her arm with both my hands and struggled to keep the point from inching closer and closer to my chest. The old woman possessed impossible strength, though. The blade came closer, and closer…

“Solaris!” a loud voice behind me roared, and suddenly I was blinded by an incredible flash of white light. The woman screeched in pain and reeled away from me. All I could think to do was rub my eyes. The whole world was a mix of black and red spots.

“Go back to the pit you came from, daemon!” the voice came again, and I heard a wet thunk. The woman gave one final shriek, which was cut off by another wet, gruesome sound. I continued to rub my eyes, trying to restore my vision. It was coming back very, very slowly – I could make out general shapes now. I could see someone standing over what I assumed was the body of the old woman – her head was now missing, though. Another body walked into my line of sight and knelt down to stay on my level.

“Shiathra, Samuel,” a soft voice I recognized – but couldn’t place – said to me. Somehow, I knew the word meant ‘be at peace’. “You will forget all of this ever happened. You tripped on your way back home from the movie and twisted your ankle. Because of that, you cannot climb back into your room. Your mother will catch you coming back in.”

The other shape chuckled with a man’s voice. “You really don’t like it when people break the rules, do you, Claire?”

“It’s better for him this way. His mother was only trying to protect him, anyway.”

“A lot of good it did me,” I muttered as I kept rubbing my eyes. Both the figures immediately whipped their attention back to me as I staggered to my feet.

“Is the blinding spell still working on him?” the man’s voice asked.

“It shouldn’t matter,” the woman replied. “I can see his eyes. That’s supposed to be enough for the Glamour to work.”

My mind still wasn’t working quite right. “Blinding spell? Glamour? What the heck are you people talking about?” Finally, my memory snapped back into its proper place. “Mr. Dunmer, is that you?”

“Impossible,” the girl whispered. I recognized the accent now – British. It was Ms. McGregor. “That’s just not possible.”

“Are you sure you did the glamour correctly?” Mr. Dunmer asked her. 

“Again, what the heck are you talking about?” My sight was starting to make out details again. I brushed a strand of my longish dark hair out of my eyes as I looked at Ms. McGregor – Claire, Mr. Dunmer had called her. “What the heck happened back there? Why was that old freak – holy crap!”

I took a step back from the place where the woman’s body had once been. The form was no longer human – the skin was red and gnarled, and spines twisted out of it from various places along its arms and legs. The blood leaking from its neck was black, and the head was that of a monster – four yellowing fangs protruded from its jaws, and black ram’s horns spiraled out of either side of its heads. The eye sockets were totally empty, as if whatever had originally filled them had been gouged out a long time ago.

“Impossible,” Claire repeated. “You can see it?”

“What do you mean?” I looked at her like she was crazy. “It’s right there! What the heck is that thing? Where did it come from? What happened to that crazy old lady? What the heck is going on?”

“But he’s at least eighteen,” Claire whispered as if I wasn’t there. “There’s no way… It’s just not possible…”

“What are you talking about?” I cried, but Mr. Dunmer cut me off.

“Later,” he said, his voice turning deadly serious. “We should leave here as soon as possible. There may be more about.”

“More what?”

“Daemons,” Mr. Dunmer replied as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “What else?”

That was when I knew I was really in trouble.