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.

An Extremely Important Topic that Must Be Discussed for the Continued Survival and Preservation of Mankind as We Know It

Over the years, many people have debated and quibbled over what is most important in our lives. Should we be hard workers? What is work? Why do we do it? What is morality? What are ethics? Which is better, Cool Ranch or Nacho Cheese Doritos? Why is math so inherently evil? How many licks does it take to get to the center of a totsie-pop?

All of these are important questions. All, however, pale in regards to the most important question:

What does one do in the case of a zombie apocalypse?

Now, for those of you uneducated folk out there, there are really two types of potential zombie apocalypses. (Apocalypses? Apocalypsii?) The first is the re-animation of the dead by some dark spirit. These zombies tend to be very slow - however, they can generally only be killed by hacking them to pieces. No matter where you go, they will find you.

Pray that that kind never happens.

However, the other option is the zombie-virus apocalypse. In this scenario, zombies are not the dead - simply the infected. Physical contact with these zombies in any way other than brief touch can and probably will lead to infection. In this situation, you stand at least a little more chance of surviving, however.

The moment you receive word that the virus has broken out, there are two things you need immediately. The first is shelter. Running about in the streets is the first and best way to end up either dead or a zombie. In some situations, mobile cover may be best - a large van, for instance, or a Hummer. Of course, you want to have taken prior precautions and installed standard bullet-proof glass, spiked tires, and perhaps guard bars over the windows. Just in case.

The other thing you need is weaponry. There is no real way to survive a zombie apocalypse without a shotgun. It just doesn't work.

Many people say different things about what kind of weaponry is ideal for this situation. Some say melee weapons. I say that that's an idea even worse than idiotic, as the zombies will tear you to shreds before you finish chopping though the first one. You want to go with guns. Sure, they have limited ammo - but in a world full of zombies, you'll find that the people who once owned the guns and ammo store are now more interested in eating their neighbor's brains. This leaves practically all the resources you need available for the taking.

Of course, military grade weapons are the best. Zombies generally don't feel pain, so headshots are all that count - you'll want an assault rifle (think M4's, M16's, Scar's, etc.). Finding weapons and ammo mean you get to live a little longer.

You'll probably want to buddie up with some fellow non-zombies and find a little place to hide. Many people think hiding in the woods is the best idea, and to an extent they may be right - as long as the zombies never find you. The problem is that in the forest you have severely limited line-of-sight, as well as crappy ground to run over. It's better to board yourself up in a mansion on the rich side of whatever town you live in. There you can have a base and begin to organize ammo, weapons, and food raids while still being able to defend your turf.

The fact is, surviving a zombie apocalypse is a time thing. Eventually, they'll run out of fresh humans to eat - that means that they'll either A) Eat you (we want to avoid this one) B) Starve to death (that's a good thing) or C) Start eating eachother (an even better idea). As long as you can keep from being eaten and keep food in your belly, you stand a fair chance of making it to whatever world will follow the destruction of civilization.

A number of things to beware of:
1. Little children.

During a zombie apocalypse, you are duty bound to save ever little girl you see, as they will no doubt somehow save humanity. Little boys, on the other hand, will always either lead to the death of your squad or actually be a zombie. Fear them.

2. The loner.

If there's a loner in your squad, he's going to betray you/steal your girlfriend/kill you/steal your girlfriend and kill you while betraying you. Just go ahead and feed him to the zombies.

3. Zombies that look like people you knew.

Sorry, but they're not there deep down inside. They're zombies. They won't think twice about eating your brains, so you can't think twice about pulling the trigger on your trusty shotgun. So don't.

4. Government Broadcasts

These are always a trap. Always. If the government wants to help so badly, it can come to you. Otherwise, by the time you get to the RZ, either A) All the choppers will have left B) All the solders at the RZ will have been eaten/turned already or C) The government is running on its normal clock and doesn't show up until about three months after you've been eaten.

You might laugh, but these things are serious. Zombies are a very real part of our hypothetical future...

James
Zombie Survivalist, Mad Tactical Genius, Brilliant Planner, etc., etc.

Random Stuff in March

As always, I begin this blog post with NO idea what I'm going to write about.

I'm just weird like that. I'll start a project knowing exactly how to begin... but then somewhere around the 3rd chapter I just start working without any real goal in mind. Yeah, I'm very much a type B personality. I don't believe in order or structure. It's just no fun =P

Well, I suppose I could tell y'all what's going on in my ([supposedly {so-called}] real) world right now. This weekend our church is having its annual missions conference - we invite a lot of the missionaries that we're supporting to come talk and tell us about what's going on, get a guest speaker somewhere, and - most importantly - eat barbecue.

Ok, maybe that's not the *most* important. But I have an inordinate love for our church's barbecue - I have NO idea where they get it from,  but it's the bestest.

Oh, and, finally, after nearly four years of waiting, the Wise Man's Fear is finally in my hands. Well, ok, I only waited for two years after reading the Name of the Wind (which, for those of you who haven't heard yet, is the BEST novel... ever) but still. It's 997 pages long, and weighs 3 pounds. Yeah, that makes me very, very happy - especially since I've totally fell out of the habit of actually reading now that I'm homeschooled.

It's the same deal as with my writing - once upon a time, we had seven hour school days. Of those seven hours, perhaps 2 of them were actually spent in the reprehensible practice of learning. The other five I spent not paying attention, reading whatever I got my hands on.

I also feel like taking a moment to reiterate the fact that I hate Latin. I firmly believe that it is the source of all evil. The Romans created it to punish their subordinates. It is, without a doubt, pain incarnated into a language. It is evil, and I hate it. Grr. Even worse, it's a DEAD language!

So, really, Latin is actually a zombie. It exists to eat away at our brains and infect all the rest of society. Who said that humans were the only things that could be infected with the zombie disease?

Really, I think that my hate for it might be less about the actual language and more about the fact that I didn't get to *choose* to study Latin. I desperately want to learn Japanese. Instead, I'm having an ancient (and did I mention dead?) language shoved down my throat. Unfortunately, I don't have a personality type that allows for resigned acceptance. I'm a fighter. So I fight. If I must bash my head against a brick wall, *I* will choose which one I'm going to hit, dang it!

I *really* can't wait for senior year...

James
Stubborn One, Zombie-Slayer, Barbecue Lover, etc., etc.

Pwn A11 N00bz

There are just a few things that I really enjoy in life. Ok, that's a lie. I enjoy most things in life. But, for the sake of drama, let's say there were just a few. They would be things that made my laugh, video games, and romance. Oh, and comics. I love comics - especially manga (for those of you who don't know, that's Japanese comics).

The only problem with manga is that it, like an unfortunate number of other things in life, costs money. I've already dropped upwards of $1000 on it... yeah.

So, obviously, free stuff is the best. Free manga is better. Free manga that does romance well, makes me laugh, AND references video games... well, that's pretty daggum priceless.

Once upon a time, I went to the library quite frequently. Sadly, I no longer practice this, due to the fact that for some strange reason these people have the audacity to suggest that *I* need to return what I check out every two weeks, and then *fine* me when I don't!

Anyway, back when I did go to the library, I checked out this little manga book called MegaTokyo. I wans't expecting much, honestly. The library doesn't have a huge collection of the stuff. What I found, however, was the most incrediblest (yes, that's a word. Because I say it is) comic I'd ever read. And, even though I took me a little while to catch up because I was in the middle of the series, it totally hooked me.

Best yet, it's a free online comic.

Which is why I'm introducing all of you people to MegaTokyo. This is, without a doubt, the best web-comic on the face of this planet. No, that fact is not disputable.

It's about two guys (Piro and Largo) who decided to randomly go to Japan for fun. Unfortunate, Largo blows all their money on random things, getting the pair stuck in Japan. Piro gets a job at a comic store, and hilarity ensues. No, seriously, it's awesome. It's one of the things that's fed my love of Japan (and my desire to learn Japanese).

Be ye warned - I'd give it a PG-13 rating for occasional language.

Anyway, there is one other important thing you must learn - the art of sp34king l33t.

Actually, until I started reading MegaTokyo again randomly last week, I'd completely forgotten about l33t. It's an alternate alphabet that replaces letters with any similar looking numbers - E becomes 3, L becomes 1, I becomes 1, T becomes 7, and so on. It's pretty cool, in a nerdy way.

So, in short, it's totally worth checking out. If you d0 n07, J4m3s w111 b3 f0rc3d 2 pwn u a11.

L8r, haxors -
J4m3s
1337 h4x0r, M3G4 k00l dud3, Aw3s0m3n3ss 1nc4rn473, 3tc., 3tc.