Woke up at the usual time of 4am, even though it was a Saturday. I had my air-fare covered by Jarvae's frequent-flyer miles. And you know how easy those are to use... Since all of the standard seats were taken, I had to be put up in business class. What a trip that was. I can't remember the last time I had a hot meal on a flight. I didn't think they existed any more. Yet there I sat, hot eggs with ham, English muffin and fruit staring me in the face for breakfast on the flight to Seattle (is that Smuckers jam too?). I'm glad I didn't stop for a McBreakfast now.
I could get used to this 'flying business class' stuff... Except for one minor detail: I was irritated at the toddler behind me. It amazed me; we were in business class with all this leg room, and the little bastard STILL had the reach to kick the back of my seat. He better get Gold in olympic running with a stride that far-reaching! Even with that minor annoyance, I couldn't help thinking that this was to be a really good weekend.
I sat next to a guy headed to Alaska for the rest of the month. Talking to this guy made me miss Montana some. He mentioned fishing up at Fire Hole, around the corner from Jackson Hole which is just down the road from where I was raised.* In a flash, I remembered trips to Canyon Ferry Dam to fish with my grandparents that would come up from Campbell, CA for a month or two in the fall on their way to Branson, Missouri for the season. Grandpa would mention how well he did this trip, only spending about $100/day to operate the motor home (with gas prices just over a dollar a gallon!). Catching the carp seemed to be my specialty, while he would catch and clean rainbow trout nearly as fast as he could cast the line in. I think I remember his method for cleaning 'em, too, in a way that negated needing to scale them. He ended up with a trout fillet that was ready for the grill only thirty seconds after biting the hook that caught it. Now THAT'S a fresh dinner.
So, landing a short time later, I met Jarvae at her gate and we went on to get the car. She insisted we keep thoughts of a red Impala in mind because she didn't want yet another rental car that was white. So, due entirely to all that mental chanting (and only perhaps because I put a word in with the rental car guy Brad) we left in a black Charger. When Brad told us this, I was thinking, "Fuckin-a, dude!" Let me just say now though, after several hours and 300+ miles driving it, that the driver seat ergonomics and rear visibility suck every ass out there, all with donkey dicks pounded in 'em. The head rest needs to be a rest people, NOT something that pushed my head forward as a six-foot tall line-backer's head would be pushed down in a five-foot tall phone booth. Even IF it "had a Hemi" in it, I would still have been well short of satisfied with that car.
As to the visit itself... Some mentioned possible "ulterior motives" (wink-nudge) for Jarvae so generously flying me over to see her for the weekend. At the hotel, the concierge checking us in says, "Well I see one person on the reservation, but two people here... Should I assume you don't need the twin double beds?" She says no. I think to myself, "Damn."
After checking in, it was a quick trip back down to Seattle for some wandering around. By then, it was maybe 7pm and much time was spent driving in circles in an unfamiliar city. It was almost a scouting trip to learn what we wanted to hit Monday morning: Space Needle of course, the music experience project / sci-fi museum that closed just as we stopped by there. That one souvenier shop just down from the Needle. Under NO circumstance were we going to stop at that McDonalds that we had passed some seven times! Many photos were taken. There was also the "is that a hard right, or a soft right I need to make?" question I had after being told to make the next left turn at the light as we headed back to the hotel. . . We stopped to have pizza (eh, good but not great), and called it a night around 10-ish.
The Embassy Suites kick serious ass. One thing we had mentioned as we checked in was our intent to head up to Canadia the next morning. Our helpful counter-dude (do they have an actual title?) tells us something ominous. Something called a Hands Across the Border Celebration was to shut down the border for five hours or so on Sunday, 11a-5p. Better be one helluva block party. I didn't even know what their "purpose" was, but with that heads-up we found an alternate route to cross.
Something I hear far too seldom: "Larry, you were right, I was wrong." Thank you dear. Doesn't matter what it was referring to. I'm recording it for posterity.
Sunday morning (after Jarvae had pulled an all-nighter on Friday) came maybe a little too soon. We both got a really good night sleep, I'm sorry to say, and were finished with breakfast & out the door somewhere around 10am.
*note on country nomenclature / distance estimation: "Arond the corner" usually involves going around a mountain between here and there, being careful for moose, bears or fallen trees as you go. "Down the road" is a minimum twenty miles along a road that is generally visible for the entire distance (i.e. Straight as an arrow and maybe even paved), if it's not snowing.
Part II and photos tomorrow
Drowning Pool, Nothingness
Showing posts with label Friends. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Friends. Show all posts
13 June 2007
21 May 2007
Wino In Training
Whadda great weekend. Jarvae was my guest for the whole of it.
Actually time spent with her started back on Tuesday when she and her coworker went with me to see Spiderman 3. Long movie, but better than I'd anticipated from all the stuff I'd ready about it. Maybe what I had read was penned by the Spiderman Purist society or something. Ah well. I liked it, that's all that matters.
Forward to Friday; I picked her up as she dropped off her rental car, and we went to Chipotle after stopping at a couple places. The Fire Bowl Cafe turned out to be a Chinese food place. I thought it was interesting that the word "wok" isn't to be found anywhere until you're looking closely at the menu. You can find the menu in their web site if you have the patience to look around. It seemed to me that they want to be 'hip' to the point of trying to distance themselves from a "Chinese Restaurant" kind of place that has paper lamps hanging from the ceiling and dragons on every wall. They say: "Vegetarian, low carb, allergy sensitive? Come in and build a bowl to meet your special diet needs. Just ask one of our cashiers if you need help." Are you kidding me?? They expect their cashiers to be dieticians? Good grief. Yuppie-ville has spawned yet closer to my neighborhood.
We agreed that the weekend was going to be one of sleeping in, and to that end we watched part of Dr. Strangelove until she fell asleep. I nudged her enough to get her to go to bed. She woke up the next morning at 7:30. I should probably iterate here that Jarvae is not one you would call a "morning person"; I am usually her main alarm clock when she needs to get somewhere (like work). At least, when she doesn't answer and hang up the phone in her sleep. If she answers in her sleep and starts talking, it's a laugh riot though!
So she wakes at 7:30 completely on her own, though I think me walking out to get the paper might have been the culprit, really. We went to Pearl Street Mall and wandered around for a few hours. We stumbled across a winery and it was, as they say, all over. She likes wine. She likes tasting wine. She likes this to such a degree that she has told me of her intent to have the many bottles of wine that she's accrued taken to an actual Self-Storage Wine Cellar (I can't imagine what this would look like) somewhere for something like $40/month. This makes no sense to me, I think mostly because I'm sane.
She is now bound & determined to convert me to wine as well. After three wineries over two days, it seems I like white wines over red unless there's chocolate within reach to go with the... What are they again? Oh yeah, "tannins". So now I've got four whites in the fridge and a red in a dark dresser drawer, and a lot of reading to do. I know, I know. Just don't even start, okay?
Saturday evening after dinner with the g/f (recently ex... that'll take a post on its own), we try watching Young Frankenstein. I understand why she's not seen this movie. She keeps falling asleep!! It's either that, or she's just been entirely too sheltered in her young life. Anyway, the following morning I come out of my room at 8-ish & see her already awake. Says she was up again at 7:30. I think Mario woke her up this time though. We'll see how she does going forward to see if she's becoming a morning person or not (if you know her at all, I'm sure you can guess the answer to that, right?).
During the driving around over the weekend:
Pouting from Jarvae: "Hey! Why did you lock the windows so I can't roll it down?" --extra pouty, even HURT look--
I checked the window lock & it was not on, then watched as she tried to roll the window down.
I replied, "Darlin', you've gotta push down on the switch instead of up. Works better that way."
Doubting me, she looks at the switch, pushes the other way and looks slightly irritated as the window goes down. "Oh..."
Of course I mention that only as a pre-emptive strike as she'll likely post a photo or two of me in a less-than-composed, goofing-off nature.
Metallica, One
Actually time spent with her started back on Tuesday when she and her coworker went with me to see Spiderman 3. Long movie, but better than I'd anticipated from all the stuff I'd ready about it. Maybe what I had read was penned by the Spiderman Purist society or something. Ah well. I liked it, that's all that matters.
Forward to Friday; I picked her up as she dropped off her rental car, and we went to Chipotle after stopping at a couple places. The Fire Bowl Cafe turned out to be a Chinese food place. I thought it was interesting that the word "wok" isn't to be found anywhere until you're looking closely at the menu. You can find the menu in their web site if you have the patience to look around. It seemed to me that they want to be 'hip' to the point of trying to distance themselves from a "Chinese Restaurant" kind of place that has paper lamps hanging from the ceiling and dragons on every wall. They say: "Vegetarian, low carb, allergy sensitive? Come in and build a bowl to meet your special diet needs. Just ask one of our cashiers if you need help." Are you kidding me?? They expect their cashiers to be dieticians? Good grief. Yuppie-ville has spawned yet closer to my neighborhood.
We agreed that the weekend was going to be one of sleeping in, and to that end we watched part of Dr. Strangelove until she fell asleep. I nudged her enough to get her to go to bed. She woke up the next morning at 7:30. I should probably iterate here that Jarvae is not one you would call a "morning person"; I am usually her main alarm clock when she needs to get somewhere (like work). At least, when she doesn't answer and hang up the phone in her sleep. If she answers in her sleep and starts talking, it's a laugh riot though!
So she wakes at 7:30 completely on her own, though I think me walking out to get the paper might have been the culprit, really. We went to Pearl Street Mall and wandered around for a few hours. We stumbled across a winery and it was, as they say, all over. She likes wine. She likes tasting wine. She likes this to such a degree that she has told me of her intent to have the many bottles of wine that she's accrued taken to an actual Self-Storage Wine Cellar (I can't imagine what this would look like) somewhere for something like $40/month. This makes no sense to me, I think mostly because I'm sane.
She is now bound & determined to convert me to wine as well. After three wineries over two days, it seems I like white wines over red unless there's chocolate within reach to go with the... What are they again? Oh yeah, "tannins". So now I've got four whites in the fridge and a red in a dark dresser drawer, and a lot of reading to do. I know, I know. Just don't even start, okay?
Saturday evening after dinner with the g/f (recently ex... that'll take a post on its own), we try watching Young Frankenstein. I understand why she's not seen this movie. She keeps falling asleep!! It's either that, or she's just been entirely too sheltered in her young life. Anyway, the following morning I come out of my room at 8-ish & see her already awake. Says she was up again at 7:30. I think Mario woke her up this time though. We'll see how she does going forward to see if she's becoming a morning person or not (if you know her at all, I'm sure you can guess the answer to that, right?).
During the driving around over the weekend:
Pouting from Jarvae: "Hey! Why did you lock the windows so I can't roll it down?" --extra pouty, even HURT look--
I checked the window lock & it was not on, then watched as she tried to roll the window down.
I replied, "Darlin', you've gotta push down on the switch instead of up. Works better that way."
Doubting me, she looks at the switch, pushes the other way and looks slightly irritated as the window goes down. "Oh..."
Of course I mention that only as a pre-emptive strike as she'll likely post a photo or two of me in a less-than-composed, goofing-off nature.
Metallica, One
12 May 2007
Friday off... PARTYPARTYPARTY
I took Friday off. No reason, just decided to take a three-day weekend. Saw a movie from the same guy that gave us Shaun of the Dead. Turns out that the movie also used pretty much the same cast as SotD, too. I enjoyed Hot Fuzz quite a bit.
Last night went to a going-away party of sorts; A coworker here is being sent to the desert for a while, so a bunch of us got together to shoot some stick and down some booze. Then there was the obligatory knee-to-chin incident as well (hey, get a couple Marines and an Army Ranger together with alcohol in the general vicinity and things happen. Good times)... Happily it wasn't my chin. I only got clocked as I stood too close watching someone take a swing at the Golden Tee game there. I ended at +16 for that course (I can't putt in that game to save my life). The other guy was swinging to slice a hard left and brought his hand right to my eye.
Gnarls Barkley, The Boogie Monster
Last night went to a going-away party of sorts; A coworker here is being sent to the desert for a while, so a bunch of us got together to shoot some stick and down some booze. Then there was the obligatory knee-to-chin incident as well (hey, get a couple Marines and an Army Ranger together with alcohol in the general vicinity and things happen. Good times)... Happily it wasn't my chin. I only got clocked as I stood too close watching someone take a swing at the Golden Tee game there. I ended at +16 for that course (I can't putt in that game to save my life). The other guy was swinging to slice a hard left and brought his hand right to my eye.
This morning was a good morning. After six hours of sleep, I got up with the sun to get outside & wash the car before the temp crept up too high. Started at 61 degrees, wiped off the last of the wax at 71 degrees, a mere two hours later. The Nissan is mostly pretty again ( #!@%*^!! Cottonwood tree keeps dumping its sap & other crap on it). Why did I do this? ... Forecast from the local station this morning:
... No really. I'd like to know why. A few hours later I went to the store and found a nice layer of cottonwood pollen covering it, bumper to bumper. Grrr. Anyone want to do some midnight chainsawing?
Gnarls Barkley, The Boogie Monster
30 April 2007
A Spring Weekend
This was, I believe, is the first weekend this year to be above 80 degrees here.
Saturday morning stared at 7am for me. at about 7:30 I was the winner of maybe a dozen calls on my cell phone. They were from the girlfriend's son. At two years old, he's having a wonderful time getting into his mom's things. He knows right where the redial button is, apparently. I'd say "Hello?" and he'd go tell the dog that she was being bad. I think. He'd call her name and follow with, "No!" My guess is the dog was licking his face, but I'll probably never know for sure.
The g/f and I went to a comedy club Saturday night. I exaggerate when I say it was "night"; The show started about 5:30pm and went for a couple hours. Jack Willhite was headlining, with... Let's just call him "Fred". Jack wasn't too bad. Fred was a little better, but that's only because I didn't get a few of Jack's bits (when you start talking Country and/or Western music, I know nothing). Of course Fred isn't on the club's roster list for some reason, so I can't even point you in that direction to see the guy. Yeah, I suck for not remembering the guy's name.
Here's a nice dialog with the gal that I was trying to order a beer from. Either her hearing is about non-existant, or my voice is one of those that is just not heard.
Me: I'll have the Cherry Wheat.
Her: Some cherries, okay.
Me: No, CHERRY WHEAT.
Her: Oh, Cherry daiquiri.
Me, leaning closer to her this time and pointing to the BEER section on the menu:
No no... I want the Samuel Adams Cherry Wheat Ale.
I wonder if I need to not go there ever again if the guys there commonly order just a bowl of cherries and/or cherry daiquiris...
And then there was bowling after the late night of laughs ending at 7:25pm. You know how bowling shoes are supposed to slide as you bowl? No? Well they are. I would have done better sliding if I'd just left on my no-skid-mark-the-shit-out-of-any-floor-surface shoes. Everyone for two lanes either way could hear my shoes squeak to a halt a good two feet before the foul line.
Of course, a properly thrown ball is also supposed to curve in to the 1 & 3 pins (1 & 2 for southpaws), but oh well. I ended two games with 225 (total, not each).
Sunday was a day of car-washing and oil-changing. Since there was no rain, snow, or blizzards in the forecast, I saw that the birds decided to relieve themselves on the car's bumper between the wash and this morning.
The oil change went okay, except for that small amount of oil from the oil filter that spilled onto the exhaust pipe as I removed it. So I'll be that car that smells like burnt oil at every stop-light for God knows how long. I apologize.
I had a combination DVD/VCR deck that has been pissing me off to no end recently. Any DVD I put in would skip every minute or so, and the lens cleaner didn't do anything to help. So, thinking forward, I went out and bought an up-converting DVD player. Not a true HD or Blu-Ray thing, as I won't be jumping on that band-wagon any time soon (if ever).
Up-sides: No more damned skipping. On sale for a decent (even affordable) amount.
Down-sides: No tuner. No way to tell if the up-convert feature is worth a damn until I get an HD monitor, which isn't likely to happen any time soon.
The lack of a tuner is a pisser only because I don't have a long enough piece of coax cable to go from the antenna to the TV. That's easily resolved with a trip to Radio Shack for a coupler. The store that I picked up the player at had no coupler & wanted $20 for a 6-foot length of coax. That seems expensive to me. Actually my initial reaction was, "You've gotta be shitting me!"
That is all. No, you may not have that five minutes back. They're mine. ALL MINE!! AH-HAHAHAHAhahahahaha...
Midnight Star, Operator
Saturday morning stared at 7am for me. at about 7:30 I was the winner of maybe a dozen calls on my cell phone. They were from the girlfriend's son. At two years old, he's having a wonderful time getting into his mom's things. He knows right where the redial button is, apparently. I'd say "Hello?" and he'd go tell the dog that she was being bad. I think. He'd call her name and follow with, "No!" My guess is the dog was licking his face, but I'll probably never know for sure.
The g/f and I went to a comedy club Saturday night. I exaggerate when I say it was "night"; The show started about 5:30pm and went for a couple hours. Jack Willhite was headlining, with... Let's just call him "Fred". Jack wasn't too bad. Fred was a little better, but that's only because I didn't get a few of Jack's bits (when you start talking Country and/or Western music, I know nothing). Of course Fred isn't on the club's roster list for some reason, so I can't even point you in that direction to see the guy. Yeah, I suck for not remembering the guy's name.
Here's a nice dialog with the gal that I was trying to order a beer from. Either her hearing is about non-existant, or my voice is one of those that is just not heard.
Me: I'll have the Cherry Wheat.
Her: Some cherries, okay.
Me: No, CHERRY WHEAT.
Her: Oh, Cherry daiquiri.
Me, leaning closer to her this time and pointing to the BEER section on the menu:
No no... I want the Samuel Adams Cherry Wheat Ale.
I wonder if I need to not go there ever again if the guys there commonly order just a bowl of cherries and/or cherry daiquiris...
And then there was bowling after the late night of laughs ending at 7:25pm. You know how bowling shoes are supposed to slide as you bowl? No? Well they are. I would have done better sliding if I'd just left on my no-skid-mark-the-shit-out-of-any-floor-surface shoes. Everyone for two lanes either way could hear my shoes squeak to a halt a good two feet before the foul line.
Of course, a properly thrown ball is also supposed to curve in to the 1 & 3 pins (1 & 2 for southpaws), but oh well. I ended two games with 225 (total, not each).
Sunday was a day of car-washing and oil-changing. Since there was no rain, snow, or blizzards in the forecast, I saw that the birds decided to relieve themselves on the car's bumper between the wash and this morning.
The oil change went okay, except for that small amount of oil from the oil filter that spilled onto the exhaust pipe as I removed it. So I'll be that car that smells like burnt oil at every stop-light for God knows how long. I apologize.
I had a combination DVD/VCR deck that has been pissing me off to no end recently. Any DVD I put in would skip every minute or so, and the lens cleaner didn't do anything to help. So, thinking forward, I went out and bought an up-converting DVD player. Not a true HD or Blu-Ray thing, as I won't be jumping on that band-wagon any time soon (if ever).
Up-sides: No more damned skipping. On sale for a decent (even affordable) amount.
Down-sides: No tuner. No way to tell if the up-convert feature is worth a damn until I get an HD monitor, which isn't likely to happen any time soon.
The lack of a tuner is a pisser only because I don't have a long enough piece of coax cable to go from the antenna to the TV. That's easily resolved with a trip to Radio Shack for a coupler. The store that I picked up the player at had no coupler & wanted $20 for a 6-foot length of coax. That seems expensive to me. Actually my initial reaction was, "You've gotta be shitting me!"
That is all. No, you may not have that five minutes back. They're mine. ALL MINE!! AH-HAHAHAHAhahahahaha...
Midnight Star, Operator
19 July 2006
Water the grass
I've been house sitting for over two weeks now on the premise that I was to keep the back yard watered. New sod had been put in a little over a month ago, and apparently it requires much watering as it all takes root. I have no problem with this, but every day save one that I've gone down there it's rained hard. Last night, half-inch-diameter hail came down. HAIL. Ah well.
Two problems there; First a light bulb burned out. Once I find where they keep the light bulbs, I'll replace that. Or the hallway can stay dark, I'm not too worried about it.
The second problem; I was in the other room when I heard a crash and then a bunch of loud buzzing at the rear sliding glass door. My first thought is the microwave oven on the counter there was posessed. When I took a look though, I saw that this wall-mounted pedistal-almost-sconce next to the rear door had come loose & fallen, hitting the power button to the vacuum cleaner right below it. So now I'm thinking up a nice explanation that sounds more plausible than, "Dude, the thing just fell man..."
So I had this party, see. About a hundred or so people showed up, and one of these people had this pet monkey... ya with me? Well, the music's thumpin and this damned monkey is dancing on the pedistal, right? And I guess the monkey was pretty in to the music, because just as Kajagoogoo hit that first "Too shy shy" line, the little guy comes down on the pedistal and takes it right off the wall. Total bummer. I mean, if I'd known that a bunch of hot gals would come running up to see if anything was broken, I would have been dancing on the damn pedistal! So anyway the monkey's owner says you owe them like a thousand dollars for medical expenses or some bullshit... Oh, the grass is looking fantastic out there by the way, bye now.
Yeah, that'll do.
Jet, Cold Hard Bitch
Two problems there; First a light bulb burned out. Once I find where they keep the light bulbs, I'll replace that. Or the hallway can stay dark, I'm not too worried about it.
The second problem; I was in the other room when I heard a crash and then a bunch of loud buzzing at the rear sliding glass door. My first thought is the microwave oven on the counter there was posessed. When I took a look though, I saw that this wall-mounted pedistal-almost-sconce next to the rear door had come loose & fallen, hitting the power button to the vacuum cleaner right below it. So now I'm thinking up a nice explanation that sounds more plausible than, "Dude, the thing just fell man..."
So I had this party, see. About a hundred or so people showed up, and one of these people had this pet monkey... ya with me? Well, the music's thumpin and this damned monkey is dancing on the pedistal, right? And I guess the monkey was pretty in to the music, because just as Kajagoogoo hit that first "Too shy shy" line, the little guy comes down on the pedistal and takes it right off the wall. Total bummer. I mean, if I'd known that a bunch of hot gals would come running up to see if anything was broken, I would have been dancing on the damn pedistal! So anyway the monkey's owner says you owe them like a thousand dollars for medical expenses or some bullshit... Oh, the grass is looking fantastic out there by the way, bye now.
Yeah, that'll do.
Jet, Cold Hard Bitch
13 July 2006
strange house
It was a war.
The bunker was battered, chips of concrete in the walls falling away from repeated hammering from the outside (and in, actually). The back wall has caved in at one point, exposing the loose soil behind it. Dirt, powder, and spent casings litter the 15' x 20' floor. Flashes of artillery explosions and lightning come through a six foot wide, two- or three-inch tall opening that I crouch under, casting erie flashes and silhouettes against the back wall. Through that opening that looks down on a wide valley, other sounds of war come through all too clearly.
"Oh God! Make it stop! Can anyone hear me? HELP ME!"
To my left, the S-entry going out the front (flawed design I'm sure, but this isn't an "accurate depiction of warfare architecture" dream). The back wall of that shows the flashes as well.
"No! Get away! NOOOOOO!" The lightning flashes, throwing the flickering shadow of him on the back wall, held in the air by the throat. What holds him up is a definitely non-human arm. The voice goes silent, replaced by thunderously grinding bones of what used to be his neck.
The others in the bunker with me eye the entrance apprehensively. Some have an oddly accepting, relieved look on their faces; Whatever it was will no doubt come into what has become our little hiding place. Relief that the end is finally here.
Nothing enters. A moment, an hour, an eternity goes by. Nobody has blinked. I pull my eyes from the entrance and focus on the back wall's breach. I move to that opening as quick as I can over the course of a day. Nobody notices. The soil is brittle, easily flaking away as I scrape at it with my helmet at first (some World War One looking thing) and then my hands. The artillery continues in the night outside. The faint screams. The inhuman growls and howls. I continue digging.
Head-first, I seem to make quick progress, but nobody follows. The dirt I loosen in front of me, I push back with my feet. Eventually, the opening behind is closed up with the dirt I move, so there's no light. Dig. Dig Dug. Digging farther in darkness. I have no concept of how much time has passed, but I decide to start up. Diagonally I continue, maybe 30 degrees, maybe 45, but definitely up. The dirt begins to get moist. Or maybe my fingers are bleeding. I neither know nor care. Dig. Scrape. "Get away from there," is my only thought. So much so that I don't realize that the moisture has grown. Each scoop is mud now, and it drips down on my face. I realize now. I realize it's far too wet. No option now, as clog after falling clog starts the inevitable cave-in. I push up with my fists as the mud pours down intent on encasing me.
Only the air moves up. My legs are already pinned as I move my left arm out of the path of more earth. My right arm reaches up in vain, as now my waist is pinned. My scream isn't wholly voluntary once the earth compresses my torso and breaks my left arm. The fingers on my right hand extend the last inch, breaking through to a cold wind.
POP
That's the sound I hear as the earth and water slam in on my skull. Now I can only wait. Wait the eternity as I struggle to move unsuccessfully. In the darkness, spots of light come. My mouth tries to open involuntarily to gasp air where only earth exists. The lights grow brighter. Flashing. Pulsating. I feel. Every muscle at once groans its last contraction with all it has. My body almost moves at that point, and the lights explode.
The earth I'm encased in draws apart in my view, showing a cross-section of the dirt holding me in my grave, and the boulder I was digging under that ultimately foiled me. My body's fingers feel the air, but that is not mine any longer. The image melts away.
How to describe death? Nobody's been back from it, so there is no description. I know what I perceived. Probably it would be more accurate to describe what I didn't perceive. Life.
Okay, I'll elabrate as that says nothing, really. To describe requires a benchmark. A frame of reference. Take a certain hue of the color "Blue". Take the scent of "Campfire". Take the feeling of "Love". Represent each with an atom. The "Success" from your past. The "Noise" of your favorite fraction of a second of music. The "Feel" of a nine volt battery on your tongue. Continue this compilation of atoms and you will build an atmosphere of "Life".
Death is a complete vacuum of that. It's not dark. "Dark" is an atom, and in Death is absent. Even the word "nothing" is far more than the sum of Death. No "Cold". Not even a sense of "Self" is here. Not physical; I don't look with eyes. I don't know how it is that I perceive this vast emptiness. I don't even know how (or with what) I perceive "I". And fear starts to creep in. Yeah, this late in the game I finally get fear. And it builds; The uncertainty (what's next), the paranoia (how long will I be here), the NEED to just move (where/how/what is this), or even feel a sense of movement (oh God). Straining to move here just as I strained under the boulder. Then a tear opens.
I feel again the earth holding me as my arm pulls my torso from the dust and I look up at a brightly brown sky. It's so dry now, so barren. The boulder is gone. The landscape is a vast flat desert now, dry and cracked soil at my fingertips (what is wrong with my fingers?) and stretches on as far as I can see. Finally my feet break free from my former grave. Standing up, I start walking (I'm limping badly... why can't my left foot work right?).
Left, right, left... The next fall my right foot makes, everything changes. What was cracked soil is now drenched grass. The rain falls in buckets as I step onto the sidewalk from someone's front yard. Finding myself on a nice little Leave It To Beaver neighborhood street that curves to the left, I walk (what IS it with my left foot?) along the street. Illumination from a set of headlights reaches from just around the corner, and I hear an engine droning on as the tires splash through the rainy surface of the road. The illumination comes around the corner, but there are no headlights. There is no car, no tires, nothing. Just the sounds that a car would make as driving along in the rain, and the light that would come from a set of headlights. But no car.
To the right is a hospital. I move closer towards the emergency entrance doors that open for an orderly pushing a wheelchair through. Nobody is in the chair, but the orderly talks to it making assurances that they're going to take care of the problem. I follow, but as the orderly goes in through the automatic motion-sensing doors, they close behind him. As they close, I see my reflection... no, I see A reflection, but this is not me. This is a corpse. The scalp has peeled away from the skull, the clothes disintegrate in places revealing bone and gore. The left arm is twisted in an odd way, and both hands show fingers with the tips ground away to the first knuckle. There is no left foot, just a tibia grinding into the concrete walkway, and I realize this IS me. I begin to scream, but my jaw falls away. Before it shatters on the ground, I wake.
Sitting bolt upright in bed to a crack of lightning and its snapping thunder half a second later, nothing is familiar. At the foot of the bed, where the bathroom should be, is a wall. To the right, where I leave the bedroom door ajar, is a window. FUCK. ... memories fade from corpses to favors. Like the favor I'm doing for a friend, house-sitting while he's away for a week. Clock check: 2:00am. The alarm is set for 4:00am (I work the early shift).
FUCK. So I get up to write all this down. On paper, no less, since the friend has no computer here.
The bunker was battered, chips of concrete in the walls falling away from repeated hammering from the outside (and in, actually). The back wall has caved in at one point, exposing the loose soil behind it. Dirt, powder, and spent casings litter the 15' x 20' floor. Flashes of artillery explosions and lightning come through a six foot wide, two- or three-inch tall opening that I crouch under, casting erie flashes and silhouettes against the back wall. Through that opening that looks down on a wide valley, other sounds of war come through all too clearly.
"Oh God! Make it stop! Can anyone hear me? HELP ME!"
To my left, the S-entry going out the front (flawed design I'm sure, but this isn't an "accurate depiction of warfare architecture" dream). The back wall of that shows the flashes as well.
"No! Get away! NOOOOOO!" The lightning flashes, throwing the flickering shadow of him on the back wall, held in the air by the throat. What holds him up is a definitely non-human arm. The voice goes silent, replaced by thunderously grinding bones of what used to be his neck.
The others in the bunker with me eye the entrance apprehensively. Some have an oddly accepting, relieved look on their faces; Whatever it was will no doubt come into what has become our little hiding place. Relief that the end is finally here.
Nothing enters. A moment, an hour, an eternity goes by. Nobody has blinked. I pull my eyes from the entrance and focus on the back wall's breach. I move to that opening as quick as I can over the course of a day. Nobody notices. The soil is brittle, easily flaking away as I scrape at it with my helmet at first (some World War One looking thing) and then my hands. The artillery continues in the night outside. The faint screams. The inhuman growls and howls. I continue digging.
Head-first, I seem to make quick progress, but nobody follows. The dirt I loosen in front of me, I push back with my feet. Eventually, the opening behind is closed up with the dirt I move, so there's no light. Dig. Dig Dug. Digging farther in darkness. I have no concept of how much time has passed, but I decide to start up. Diagonally I continue, maybe 30 degrees, maybe 45, but definitely up. The dirt begins to get moist. Or maybe my fingers are bleeding. I neither know nor care. Dig. Scrape. "Get away from there," is my only thought. So much so that I don't realize that the moisture has grown. Each scoop is mud now, and it drips down on my face. I realize now. I realize it's far too wet. No option now, as clog after falling clog starts the inevitable cave-in. I push up with my fists as the mud pours down intent on encasing me.
Only the air moves up. My legs are already pinned as I move my left arm out of the path of more earth. My right arm reaches up in vain, as now my waist is pinned. My scream isn't wholly voluntary once the earth compresses my torso and breaks my left arm. The fingers on my right hand extend the last inch, breaking through to a cold wind.
POP
That's the sound I hear as the earth and water slam in on my skull. Now I can only wait. Wait the eternity as I struggle to move unsuccessfully. In the darkness, spots of light come. My mouth tries to open involuntarily to gasp air where only earth exists. The lights grow brighter. Flashing. Pulsating. I feel. Every muscle at once groans its last contraction with all it has. My body almost moves at that point, and the lights explode.
The earth I'm encased in draws apart in my view, showing a cross-section of the dirt holding me in my grave, and the boulder I was digging under that ultimately foiled me. My body's fingers feel the air, but that is not mine any longer. The image melts away.
How to describe death? Nobody's been back from it, so there is no description. I know what I perceived. Probably it would be more accurate to describe what I didn't perceive. Life.
Okay, I'll elabrate as that says nothing, really. To describe requires a benchmark. A frame of reference. Take a certain hue of the color "Blue". Take the scent of "Campfire". Take the feeling of "Love". Represent each with an atom. The "Success" from your past. The "Noise" of your favorite fraction of a second of music. The "Feel" of a nine volt battery on your tongue. Continue this compilation of atoms and you will build an atmosphere of "Life".
Death is a complete vacuum of that. It's not dark. "Dark" is an atom, and in Death is absent. Even the word "nothing" is far more than the sum of Death. No "Cold". Not even a sense of "Self" is here. Not physical; I don't look with eyes. I don't know how it is that I perceive this vast emptiness. I don't even know how (or with what) I perceive "I". And fear starts to creep in. Yeah, this late in the game I finally get fear. And it builds; The uncertainty (what's next), the paranoia (how long will I be here), the NEED to just move (where/how/what is this), or even feel a sense of movement (oh God). Straining to move here just as I strained under the boulder. Then a tear opens.
I feel again the earth holding me as my arm pulls my torso from the dust and I look up at a brightly brown sky. It's so dry now, so barren. The boulder is gone. The landscape is a vast flat desert now, dry and cracked soil at my fingertips (what is wrong with my fingers?) and stretches on as far as I can see. Finally my feet break free from my former grave. Standing up, I start walking (I'm limping badly... why can't my left foot work right?).
Left, right, left... The next fall my right foot makes, everything changes. What was cracked soil is now drenched grass. The rain falls in buckets as I step onto the sidewalk from someone's front yard. Finding myself on a nice little Leave It To Beaver neighborhood street that curves to the left, I walk (what IS it with my left foot?) along the street. Illumination from a set of headlights reaches from just around the corner, and I hear an engine droning on as the tires splash through the rainy surface of the road. The illumination comes around the corner, but there are no headlights. There is no car, no tires, nothing. Just the sounds that a car would make as driving along in the rain, and the light that would come from a set of headlights. But no car.
To the right is a hospital. I move closer towards the emergency entrance doors that open for an orderly pushing a wheelchair through. Nobody is in the chair, but the orderly talks to it making assurances that they're going to take care of the problem. I follow, but as the orderly goes in through the automatic motion-sensing doors, they close behind him. As they close, I see my reflection... no, I see A reflection, but this is not me. This is a corpse. The scalp has peeled away from the skull, the clothes disintegrate in places revealing bone and gore. The left arm is twisted in an odd way, and both hands show fingers with the tips ground away to the first knuckle. There is no left foot, just a tibia grinding into the concrete walkway, and I realize this IS me. I begin to scream, but my jaw falls away. Before it shatters on the ground, I wake.
Sitting bolt upright in bed to a crack of lightning and its snapping thunder half a second later, nothing is familiar. At the foot of the bed, where the bathroom should be, is a wall. To the right, where I leave the bedroom door ajar, is a window. FUCK. ... memories fade from corpses to favors. Like the favor I'm doing for a friend, house-sitting while he's away for a week. Clock check: 2:00am. The alarm is set for 4:00am (I work the early shift).
FUCK. So I get up to write all this down. On paper, no less, since the friend has no computer here.
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