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And now for something completely different.

I've always said that I wanted to help people with my writing. That's one principle I've wanted to keep and I'm hoping I'm about to take another step in the right direction.

I don't remember exactly how the subject came up, but a friend and I were talking about working on something together. We decided we wanted to do something that could ultimately get us in a local paper, magazine, etc. We kicked ideas around for a couple of days and decided on an advice column. I'm going to start working on the blog for it tonight, so it's gonna look like shit for awhile, but it will be functional.

I'd like anyone that reads this blog to send me an email about a problem they have, something on their mind or just something random for us to ramble against. If you've read enough of this, then you should know what to expect. So seriously, send me something at It'll all be completely anonymous and entertaining.

Hope to hear from you soon...

To The Girl Who Taught Me The Art Of Letting Go

When I decided to write you, I didn’t know what it was I wanted to say. Even now I’m not sure what words will flow from this pen by the time we reach this letter’s end. Let’s just see where it takes us.

I do know that I wanted to tell you how much I miss you. To tell you how your absence has left a very important part of me empty. I fill your side of the bed with clothes so the empty space doesn’t feel like a chasm, seducing me into a fall that will never end.

I was going to let you know I still haven’t forgiven you. Every single day I hate you a little more and the hatred is wrapped into a painful ball inside my stomach. Now I can’t eat, sleep or anything else because all I see is your face and it serves as a constant fucking reminder of what you did.

You should also know that everything in my life is going great. I’ve met someone else who is everything I had made you out to be. I go out every night, surrounded by friends and family and I never feel that familiar ache of loneliness.
But not a single word of any of that is true.

I hardly ever think about you or us anymore. My life is a lot better and easier without you in it. That wasn’t supposed to come off as harsh as it sounded.

I’ve put our past behind me and forgiven you (and myself) for everything. I’m not going to hate you anymore, because to say that I do would give some sort of implication that you still mean something to me…but you don’t. Every day your scent grows fainter and your face more blurry.

It’d be pathetic to tell you that everything in my life is amazing when it’s not, strictly with the intention of hurting you. I’m still single, but I’m OK with it. Honestly, I stay in a by myself more often than not. I do still feel alone, but it’s different because it lacks the razor’s edge. Sorry, I know I shouldn’t have brought up that last part.

While things are nowhere close to perfect, I’m discovering happiness for the first time in my life. I hope you are doing the same. And that, love, is the truth.

Without a single regret,


Bitter Meanderings of an Agoraphobic.

It's five o'clock when I finally get home, the extra traffic from the memorial day weekend rush pushing my arrival back a whole thirty minutes. I've lived in this apartment for two months. My art is on the walls, my books and nick nacks on the shelves, but it has yet to feel like home.

My roomate comes in an hour or so after I do and goes through the motions of getting ready for the night's date. We make small talk for a bit while I watch an old episode of The Tick before he leaves. Shortly after, I pick up some smokes and Whataburger so I wouldn't have to leave the apartment again.

Over the next several hours, I watch a couple of movies and smoke...that's about it. It's late when he shows back up, unexpectedly, with his date in tow. I'll give him some credit, she's beautiful. Now, picture this. You're on a date with a guy and you decide to go back to his place. When you get there, you see his 23 year old roommate (me) sitting all alone on a Friday night in torn jeans and a old, faded shirt (I was doing laundry) playing X-Men on Super Nintendo. I felt so fucking pathetic. He then gave her the tour and took her back to his room so he could bang the hell out of her.

I finished what I was doing, decided on not having a smoke because his window is connected to the balcony and went to bed. I took two ambien to cut the time I'd have to listen to her moan in half.

I wake up a little early, because Saturday is the only day I really get the place to myself. Upon going into the kitchen I see the sink full of dishes he's created and has yet to wash. He'll move them around place to place and I refuse to pick up after him.

My aunt gives me a call around two to invite me over to lunch, which I somewhat reluctantly attend. Whenever there's a get together with my Dad's side of the family you can feel the tension in the air like the static before a thunderstorm. No one likes each other, but we all put up with one another because we've all been told we have to. My little cousin rambles on incessantly, desperate for some positive male attention that he never receives. I leave when I start to get the shakes.

I'm not back home two minutes when I get a call from my roommate asking me out to dinner with him and his mom to celebrate his birthday. I try to kindly decline, but he lays down the guilt trip.

"Come on, man. You won't even do this for my birthday?" Goddamn that's low.

"Alright I'll go." When I hang up I consider calling up every ex-girlfriend I've ever had to ask them if they've still got my balls. When I find the one who does, I'd ask her to fed ex them back to me. First class, though, they're fragile.

The first thing he says to me when he gets home is "Sorry, if we kept you up with the noise last night." He was smiling, signifying that he's not really sorry, he just wanted to make sure I knew about his conquest. I did and I didn't give a shit.

We hop in his truck, pick up his son and head over to his mom's. I don't say a single word the whole time and it's him that breaks the silence.

"So...have you talked to _____ lately?" I know he didn't mean anything by this.

"Well I told her about it a few weeks ago, then I didn't talk to her again until last Monday."


"Some guy was coming into town to see her and see said she was too busy making everything perfect for him to talk to me. That was the last."



Ok, let me explain a (very) little about this situation. I'm not an unattractive guy. I'm witty, somewhat intelligent and I could probably get a date with just about any girl I want to, but that's as far as it will probably ever go. I'll only hint at the rest because some secrets will remain mine.

We meet up with his mom and ride to the restaurant together. It's one of those Japanese teppan-yaki style places where they cook the food in front of you while doing fancy tricks. I sit on the end and don't say much. I've found that I don't have to say a single word for 75% of the conversations I have to exist. During the performance I don't show the slightest bit of emotion. I don't know what's worse, the fact that I'm becoming completely stolid, or my total apathy towards it. I do manage to entertain myself with the notion of Mcdonalds cooking their food this way, though.

After the meal, we go back to his mom's house, put his son to bed and all sit around her fire pit in the backyard. I apologize to him that I forgot about his birthday, that I honestly thought it was the 28th."

"Oh, don't even worry about it. I got all the birthday presents I need LAST night." Push the knife deeper asshole.

His mom asks him how many girls he's dating and he tells her he's only seeing the one. She then turns to me.

"So what about you, any repeats?"

"Repeats for what?"


"Oh...I don't date."

"Going out?"

"Nah, I gave up on it."

"Take it from someone who's been there and done that, things do get better." This is a very sore subject for me. Everyone thinks they've been through everything, especially certain things I have.

"I gaurantee you, you haven't been here or done this." She decides to not talk to me for awhile, so I stare into the fire before me. Several thoughts float through my head.

I think about this time when I was younger, pretty sure it was while I was in middle school. My mom, step dad, little sister and I all went out to Possum Kingdom for a vacation. We rented a boat and were cruising around the lake. I've always been the weird one in my families. I'm usually constantly in thought and when this happens I might as well not even be there. On this occasion, I was pretending to be a secret agent who just sabotaged a major villain's diabolical plot and his soldiers were chasing my boat in helicopters. My mom broke my train of thought...

"You're always in your own little world aren't you?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Why? Do you not like it in our world.?" My answer I gave her then remains the same as it does now, no. No I don't.

Back in the present, I'm consumed with the fleeting, albeit overwhelming, desire to stick my hand into the flames before me.

I look up into the sky to see a massive cloud in the shape of five digits. It's almost as if the hand of God is reaching down to either take me up to heaven, or strike me down.

My roomate asks me what's wrong, I tell him I'm just fine. Truth his, I don't feel like him playing therapist tonight. Long story.

And this is about all there is to write about. After that we hop into his truck and come back home. I sit down in from of my laptop, to be safe inside my own little world.

Harbinger Chapter 9: A Very Rude Awakening (Michael)

It always starts out exactly the same way, with total darkness. I can't see anything, but the dins of war are overwhelming. Metal scrapes against metal. Thousands of wings rustle together in flight. Battle cries and screams of anguish can be heard from all directions. Then, there are the wet sounds of liquid splashing across the ground, always followed by a heavy weight. I open my eyes and gasp.

For millennia, we've lived in peace. There was never so much as a harsh word spoken between any of us. That's all over, now. After tonight nothing will ever be the same again. The fighting stretches far beyond my eye's capabilities to follow. The sky fills with the sounds of heavy sobs.

Father is crying.

Something heavy strikes my right temple, sending me to the ground. I drop my sword and my assailant kicks it away before I get a chance to retrieve it. My head is filled with a blinding white light that makes it impossible to see who is standing above me.

"Do you want to live?" The voice asks. It's him.

My vision kicks back in. His blonde hair flows in the wind behind him. His light blue eyes gleam with hatred. His golden armor and perfect face are stained in red. The point of his sword is at my throat. He started all of this.

The Morning Star.

"I'm only going to ask you this once more, Michael." He says. "Do you want to live?"

"Yes." is all I can say.

"Then denounce Him."

I was more than thankful for the thunder that brought me out of my nightmare. We have them every night to serve as a reminder. I sit up in my bed that's soaked in sweat and wipe the sleep from my eyes. The glowing red numbers on the alarm clock read 9:17 pm. Just as well, I needed to get up anyways.

I stand up, stretching my arms and wings as I make my way to the window. The rain is coming down hard. It mixes with discarded motor oil before it reaches the storm drains. It's getting to the point that I can't even remember what this world was like before it became sick, back when it was still clean and untouched. Before men.

A harvest moon hangs in the sky, never a good sign. My cell phone rings and I answer it. Gabriel's on the other end.

"Uriel?" He sounded panicked. He never gets that way. Another bad sign.


"There's been another attack. Man, they're getting more brazen."

"Calm down. What happened?"

"They got a convenience store this time. 9 people were inside when it went up."

"What kind of demon was it?"

"No. That's just it. It wasn’t a demon. It was..." his voice cracked, " the Fallen, man. They're here."

"That's impossible. They're not allowed to come up."

"Yeah, well, apparently things have changed. We saw them and they blew us all to hell."

"Them? How many were there? And do we know which ones?"

"There were two of them, Naomhan and Alya.."

"This is insane. First the cop and now her? What's going on, Gabe?"

"I don't know. Something bad is coming. Can you meet us at the usual place?" He sounds like he's on the verge of tears.

"Yeah. I'll be there in thirty minutes."

I hung up the phone, got dressed, grabbed my weapons and was out the door in five.

Harbinger Chapter 8: Of Broken Rules and Shaken Faith

“You’re really quiet, Gabe. What are you thinking about?” Michael asks after almost an hour of driving in silence. Gabe sits in the driver seat with his right hand on the wheel, while he bites the thumb nail on his left hand. He only does this when he’s worried. Michael let the question hang in the air for a couple of minutes before he presses further. “Come on, man. Talk to me.”

“I had a conversation with Jerry earlier.”

“Yeah, what about?”

“He just asked the questions any other human in his situation would.” He replies after spitting a piece of nail out the open window.

“And what’d you tell him?”

“I answered them to the best of my ability. It’s funny…”

“What is?”

“Just fifty years ago I could have answered them all and be sure of what I told him. Now it’s all changed. I’m starting to feel like I don’t know anything at all.”

“It’s not like that, Gabe and you know it.”

“Oh, it isn’t?” He takes his eyes off the road to stare at his partner for a few beats. “We’ve been down here off and on since, what, the beginning of time? How can you look me in the eye right now and tell me it’s the same? The last forty-eight hours alone should have open your eyes.

“You just need to have faith.” Michael says in the softest tone he can muster through gritted teeth.

“And you need to be realistic.” He hides his anger with nervous laughter. “I guess there really is such a thing as blind faith. You need to look at the facts. This has gone far past what it all used to be. See, it used to be just a contest of influences between us and them, more or less. Now they’re turning it into a full blown war. Humans have gone from chess pieces to casualties of a fight they have no place in. Jerry’s life is over now just because he walked into the wrong house.”

“It's not as bleak as you're making it out to be.”

“That's because you're assuming that we're all still following the old rules when, really, it's just us. That's why we got caught with our pants down.

They've got Belith running around killing people. Why? Because they're not scared of us anymore. You didn't fight him, I did and he took me down like I was nothing.”

“So that's what this about, isn't it? You lost a fight and you don't know how to cope with it.”

“You're damn right! Belith is only they're second string. How do you think we're gonna do when they bring out the real heavy hitters?”

“It's impossible. They can't come up here.”

“And humans can't see us for what we are either, right?”

“I'm trying real hard to be positive here, Gabriel. So I'd really appreciate it if you'd...” Their hood catching on fire cuts Michael off in mid sentence.

“Beatrice!” Gabe screams as he slams on the breaks and jumps out of the car. He takes off his jacket and proceeds to swat at the flames. “It's gonna be alright, girl. Stay with me.” He puts the flames out in seconds, with only some minor damage. “Oh, man...just look at her.”

“Would you stop worrying about your fucking primer and look at this?” Michael screams in panic as he points to the gas station across the street.

“So, you believe me now don't you?” Gabe says as he joins Michael's side, where two figures stand on the gas station's roof.

The first was a woman, who is strikingly beautiful if you looked at her at the right angle. Otherwise, she's just striking. Her brilliant red hair is flowing in some places, singed patches in others, while scar tissue fills the gaps between the two. Her nose had been melted off, with burns covering the top of her face on the left side. The left eye milky white, the blindness being a result of the trauma she had experienced. Her right harm nothing but burned flesh which ended in a ball of fire engulfing the hand. Her left arm remained unharmed and carries an extravagant golden shield. She once had wings, but now there are nothing but a few bones jutting from her shoulder blades covered sparsely with blackened feathers. The flowing gown she wears covers up any horrors that may lay beneath.

He companion is a male about a foot and a half shorter than her, putting him just under five. His body horribly emaciated, making the baggy pants he wears hang off of him even more. Nothing covers his torso, revealing criss cross patterns of cuts that covers most of his bare flesh. His eyes have no lids and an endless stream of tears flows from them. The expression on his face is enough to break your heart. Sticking out of his back are two, long reeds. They both just stared at the angels in silence.

“It's the fallen...” Michael can only gasp.

“What do we do now?” Gabe asks, desperate for some kind of plan.

“I...I don't know.”

It's hard to tell how long this silence lasts, but it makes Gabe uncomfortable. “Hey, Alya!” he yells across the street, pretending to ignore the glare Michael is shooting at him. “There's something I've been wondering for a long time.”

Alya's body remains stoic.

“Did it hurt?”

Her eyes sharpen with malice.

“I'm serious, did it hurt? You know, when you fell from heaven?”

Her right arm raises, making her grimace in pain. The ball of fire engulfing her hand grows larger. Once it reaches the size of a basketball she hurls it in their direction, but it's going to come up short.

“She's a terrible shot.” Gabriel chuckles.

“She's not aiming for us, she's going for...” The ball of flame collides with the gas tanks 20 feet from them. The whole station goes up in one massive fire ball, the concussive blast sending Micheal slamming into the rear door on the driver side of their car and Gabe goes sailing through a store front window. Then nothing except for the sound of a few dozen car alarms.

When Michael finally managed to stand and look at the flaming store, there are no sign of their attackers.

“This sucks.” Gabriel says as he climbs out of the store, wiping glass off his shoulders.

“You were right, Gabe. Things have gotten bad and we never even saw it coming.”

“Yeah...I don't wanna play anymore.”

Harbinger Chapter 7

Previously on Harbinger: A bunch of shit happened.

Chapter 7: One for the Road

“Why do we do the things we do? Does anyone know what it is that drives us, the true motivations behind our actions? I know most people don't tend to give into their more...animalistic urges. The majority of them have a conscience that helps them stay in line which, unfortunately for you, is something I've always lacked. Are they just better at keeping their demons at bay? Oh...don't worry. These are all rhetorical questions, I'm not expecting you to answer through all that duct tape.” Cade tells the young woman he has bound and gagged in the bathtub of his basement. Then as an afterthought, “I guess you'd need your tongue too, huh?”

At one point she had been beautiful, but the months of torture she has been put through have reduced to nothing more than 120 pounds of meat. The irony of it taking some psycho cutting an extra 18 pounds of of her to finally reach her dream weight is lost completely. It's gotten to the point where she's starting to forget that she once had a life outside of these walls. Everyday a little more of her humanity is stripped away, leaving only pain and the desire for him to just finish the job.

Cade has been doing this for a long time and he's gotten it down to a science. He acquires two victims a year. He sometimes goes shopping in other states to keep the disappearances from appearing to be related. Thousands of people vanish without a trace, what's two more a year?

When he gets them back to his place he shaves them completely, giving him a clean canvas to do his work. He spends days with them; cutting, burning, removing parts, whatever pops into his head at the time. He will then patch them up using information he obtained from old medical journals, yielding sloppy results. They're given a few weeks to heal before the whole process starts over. This will usually last for a full six months, but he's growing tired of so much time with one victim.

Which brings us to the now. After he received that note this morning, everything changed. He stayed home all day, not sure what to do next. He paced back and forth for hours, growing increasingly impatient for his instructions. Then, he received another letter through the mail slot just before noon. Her read over it a dozen times, called his boss to tell him he quit, withdrew all the money in his bank account, rented a car and came home. Ever since then, he's been sitting with his guest in silence. When he does speak it's not directly to her, but not just to himself either.

“I have to say, I am a little disappointed. I was expecting another gift like the one the first came with. A letter through the mail slot is just kind of...anti-climatic. I'm almost hesitant to go through with this, but they're going to turn me if I don't. Way I see it, might as well have some fun in the meantime. Just thinking about it all makes every nerve in my body tingle at the possibilities.

My life here is over. Once I leave this house I can't come back. After this I'll be walking along a beach somewhere, on the run, or worse. That means I've got to put everything here to rest. I'm very sorry to tell you, that you're one of the things I've got to leave behind. I do want you to know how much I've enjoyed our time together. So much so, I've decided to do the right thing by you and not cause you anymore harm. You should be dead of natural causes in a few days.” He stands up and makes his way to the door. Just before he crossed the threshold, he stops to face his guest. “Goodbye sweetheart and if anyone calls, tell them I'll be in Columbus.”

Ok, I've kinda been putting this off...

A couple of weeks ago I attended a writer's conference in Grapevine. The only reason I wanted to attend is because I was allotted ten minutes with an agent to pitch my book. The one that was chosen for me had a PHD in literature and I knew that was a strike I had against me. The day before I wrote out the speech I was going to give and practiced it over and over. Finally the Saturday came and I made the hour drive out to the convention center.

I got there several hours early and there was nothing up there. A few booths where people were trying to sell their books and seminars that were already full. I just took the time to make some phone calls, practice my speech and just try to be as mentally prepared as possible.

When my time came they corralled me into the dining area where the pitch sessions were to be held. They told me to pick someone else to practice on in the meantime, but no one would speak to me because they needed to be alone. I know how this is going to sound...but I fucking hate writers. Almost as much as agents.

So my name is finally called and I head back to where the agents are seated. When I approached mine, he didn't stand up for the handshake. He just sat back and said "What d'ya got?"

I knew in that instant that nothing I could say or do would convince him to buy my book, he'd already written me off. This threw me off guard and I mangled the speech I had tried desperately to memorize. He just sat back and stared through me. It was embarrassing.

After a few minutes of that, he began to tear everything down. He said I was too young, inexperienced. Nobody knew who I was. There's nothing about me that's particularly special, or stands out. He also said that if I wanted to help people, I should just go speak at schools. Then the handler tapped him on the shoulder, signaling that our time was up and I was ushered out.

The first 20 minutes I was utterly devastated. Then I got lost on my way home and had time to process what had just transpired. This guy has never read anything I have ever written. He took one look at me, heard me talk for two minutes and decided I didn't have "it". Last time I checked, writers tend to let their works speak for themselves. Yes, at some point I will have speak in front of a big group of people and I can always prepare for that when it comes. I am green at the business aspect of my craft, but that, last time I checked, was their fucking job. And I'm not known...yet, but I will be. I'm used to rejection, in more ways than most have even considered. But every single one of those is leading me somewhere that I want to be. And when I finally reach that plateau, I'll look down and yell proudly, "Suck it PHD boy."


The arrival of a new face leaving feelings displaced. Was I trying to replace, or maybe just erase this distaste from events of the waste that i began in haste?

Was it all in vain? My heart is stained, head is strained and it's not exactly the pain that's driving me insane. When did your feelings start to wane, swapped with such disdain?

So now i'm on the defense, which only leaves you on the fence, unsure what to do next leading us to this current mess. If it's all just a test then we failed and I'm bereft, short on breath, just completely out of my depth.

Even though I'm left burned, it's another lesson learned, the next page turned, one more day that I have earned.