Author's Club

I killed Jacob today.

This is my confession. I put my life into your hands. Read this and judge what my crime is. But let me tell you that I had to. The pressure was unbearable. I did not do it willingly I assure you.

The day of my terrible deed started off with a gang meeting with myself presiding as president. Every member was giving a report of their week’s happenings. Nothing unusual came up at first. Joanne had another affair, James’ ex showed up, Hilary was stuck on island (at least it wasn’t another snow storm), and so on and so forth. It was routine and I was just going to say that this week I was building Jacob’s character. I knew there were elections coming up and I realized that it wasn’t riveting, but my position was not in contention. At least that was what I thought.

But then the bomb was dropped. Dan had been fired and was going through a serious crisis. The “oohs” and “ahhs” echoed around the table. “Poor Dan.” “What was his girlfriend going to do?” “Was he going to go on welfare?” All the focus was on Dan, and I knew that if I didn’t do something my place Dan’s plight would sway the vote and my position as the president of the Author’s Club was at stake.

I had been president for nearly five years now with little competition. That changed when Janet had joined us with Dan. Dan was likeable and relatable, but, at least for me, hateable. Dan worked in an office that crushed his creative instincts. He rose above his occupation, however, and he occasionally showed creativity when he was with his supportive girlfriend. He had sung to her on their anniversary. He had drawn a portrait of her to apologize for an argument. He had even taken up reading poetry a couple months ago at her suggestion. Now that he was free from his stifling career as a number processor every reader would want to know whether Dan would now finally pursue the arts. Maybe he would go back to school or maybe he would set up a studio in his apartment. The possibilities were endless. What was building character compared to being fired? I began to feel uncomfortable.

Janet, obviously, had planned this plot twist to be directly before the election. She was challenging me. My blood boiled. No one challenged the author of the best-selling novel “Around Wisconsin in 80 Days”. Rachel, the heroine, was a city girl from New York, had come to live with her aunt in Wisconsin. While there, Rachel had met a country hick named Jacob.

Rachel and Jacob were soul mates. As such they fell helplessly in love and were married at the end of the novel. Now in the sequel, they had moved to New York and were adjusting to city life. The focus was now on Jacob and his emotional struggle between wanting to be with Rachel and his love of his home town in Wisconsin.

The story had its interesting twists, but now I needed something quick to recapture the focus. My mind quickly scrambled for ideas. Rachel was already pregnant, an affair wasn’t big enough anymore. It needed to be big. Bigger then getting a pet. Bigger then in-laws coming to town. Everyone was looking at me waiting for my report. The pressure and the stress oppressed me. I need air to breathe creatively. But, like any experienced author I rose to the challenge. I opened my mouth and blurted out. “Jacob’s going to die.”

I wanted shock, and shock was what I got. “How? When? Where? How does Rachel react?” The questions were endless. I told them that details were not yet ready, but would be soon. They spent the rest of the meeting discussing poor Rachel over their skinny soy lattes, but my mind wandered.

It had been an act of desperation. It had been done in the moment with a large amount of pressure on me. Now that I had leisure to consider what I had done I was conflicted.

I wanted to be re-elected, that I knew. But was it really worth killing over? What would Rachel do? Of course, Rachel could never love again. Rachel and Jacob were soul mates. Rachel should probably consider suicide, but decide against it because of the child in her. So now I have sentenced a poor child to grow up fatherless and with a mother who would always be in mourning.

How would I kill Jacob anyways? My stomach churned as I considered my options. He must die painlessly I decided. Maybe a bus could hit him. I mentally groaned in frustration. I was just bringing more people into this. The poor bus driver would be scarred for life, and all the passengers would probably need shock counseling.
The meeting broke up and I returned to my apartment. I fed the cat, emptied my dishwasher, and made myself some espresso; anything to avoid the task before me.

Finally, I faced the inevitable. I opened my laptop and stared at what I had written yesterday. Jacob had just got out of sticky situation in a back alley. I pressed enter and took a deep breath.

I could still go back. I had not written the words yet. Maybe Jacob didn’t have to die. I could go back and tell the gang that I had changed my mind. He’s just in a coma and will be back soon.

That was too common. I needed the shock. I was going to be demoted to vice-president if I changed my mind. My paths were clear: kill Jacob or lose my position.

I closed my eyes took a deep breath and wrote the damning words.

“As Jacob ran breathlessly away from the alley his mind filled with the beautiful image of Rachel. She was his life, his breath, his all. Her shimmering skin, her flowing hair, her playful smile; these were the aspects he dwelled on. Unfortunately, these were the thoughts that became his last thoughts.

He foolishly raced across the street forgetting to look both ways. The bus driver screamed as she slammed the brakes. The passengers grabbed onto their seats as they were thrown forward. A stranger leapt forward to push Jacob out of the way.
It was all in vain. Jacob lay there in the street with no breath left in his still body. His death had been painless and his last thought pleasant. He would go on into the distance waiting for the love of his existence to follow. Rachel, however, would feel pain and her thoughts would not be pleasant as she would plod through her dreary existence knowing that the one man that completed her waited at the end of her journey called life. Time would become her enemy. Her love for Jacob her only comfort.”


These are the facts. This is all the evidence. You see what a terrible position I was in. I apologize to any who I had hurt. I never meant to do you harm. This re-election will be a bitter sweet victory. Rachel may look at me accusingly, but I hope that one day she will understand that it is in her best interest as well to continue to be a best seller. The only path that I saw to this end was one that included Jacob’s death.

The grey dot depression

Tabitha Ewert 17 November at 23:24
Part 1: The problem

Fear gripped her heart as her eyes grew wide with terror. This couldn't be happening, this was not possible, this was inconceivable! What was she to do? What could she do? She was left there helpless and alone. She felt the panic rise up in her as she pressed refresh repeatedly hoping against her better judgement that she was wrong.

But she wasn't wrong. That little green facebook chat dot had gone grey...for good.

Part 2: The spiral begins

Ahh I wait and I wait. Loneliness fills every part of my withering heart. I attempt to distract my mind with schools papers, youtube videos, newsfeed, and solitaire, but yet I long for something more. Is it really so much to ask? What is a color anyways? Are not all colors merely light? That little grey dot sitting there beside your name depicting all the darkness of my loneliness and throwing it in my face.

And I all I want is for the signal to turn green so I may go.

And yet it remains grey. The color of dreay aloneness that forces me to resort to writing on your wall or sending you a message. I may fill your inbox and clutter your wall, but all I really want--

Is a green dot.

Part 3: The spiral continues: denial

I don't care. I don't care at all. Those dots could be grey all day long, and see if it bothers me.

I don't even like you. Talking to you would be a trial. I'd have to actually type and concentrate on a semi-meaningful train of conversation. And you'd probably talk about yourself! How droll. I'll just sit here and talk to myself. At least my life is interesting.

Maybe I'll look over the past month's news feeds. I might even think about that research paper that is due tomorrow.

Haha, who am I fooling? I'll just watch youtube videos.

See? Who needs those little green dots anyways! I am moving on with my life.

Wait did that dot turn green? Oh, trick of the light. Sigh. I wish it was green...

Part 4: The spiral continues: desperation

Ok, ok. I admit it. I need the green dot. My life has no meaning without it. I can't sit here talking to myself. I've seen every youtube video and there is only so many times one can watch the Numa Numa song without going crazy.

Come back, please. My sanity depends on it. I'm sorry I said you were droll. I was wrong. Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease come back. I need that dot to turn green.

Part 5: The spiral hits rock bottom

Nothingness

Meaninglessness

Aloneness

The blank, empty infinite space of grey dots.

Why bother going on it? Is a life with no green dots even worth living? They say it is better to have chatted and gone off-line then to have never chatted at all, but I wish I'd never have chatted at all. I've fallen from so far to this depth of abyss.

I don't know if I even care if that dot turns green. Nothing will ever fix that grey-dot shaped scar in my heart.

Aloneness

Meaninglessness

Nothingness

Tabitha's take on Zombies

Harold Crane was a business man. It was what he had always been. He had started his company selling hammers when he was just eighteen. Through his hard work, his business had grown to a chain of three stores that sold not only hammers, but crowbars as well. He had spent many a long night giving himself to his business by coming up with a new marketing strategy, making the books balance, trying to make a deal with a supplier, or investigating his competitor’s new hammers.

His life was his business. He still visited his parents on Christmas and Thanksgiving and sent them a kind e-mail every now and then. But his first love, and his only love, was his business. It was the satisfaction he received from watching something grow because of his work, his effort, his time. He needed nothing else, he felt complete.

It was his work that brought him to Joktan, a small town in the North. There was only one hotel in the town, but the management put him up in their best suite. A best suite in Joktan cannot be compared with a best suite in New York. His room was sparse consisting of a bed, a dresser with a mirror, and a rather disturbing picture of the founder of Joktan, but Harold’s taste were not too refined and he figured he could be comfortable.

Harold stared at the portrait as he killed time that evening. The man who stared back at Harold had a grim look on his face, and in his hand he carried a hammer which please Harold very much. Behind the founder in the portrait was a house. Maybe it was a jail, Harold thought as he noticed the bars on the windows. That seemed odd to Harold, but he shrugged it off as he began reviewing financial reports from the latest quarter on his laptop.

Whenever we are with the ones we love we tend to lose track of time. I am sure this has happened to you as it has happened to me. Harold was no exception to the rule and it happened to him that night. It was well after midnight before he realized that many hours had passed. He crawled into the lumpy bed and tried sleep.

Sleep, however, was not to come that night to Harold. The mattress was uncomfortable and the financial reports were too tempting. Why should he bother tearing himself away when he could spend more time with his business? He turned on his laptop again and was immediately engrossed.

He jerked with a start. “Must have nodded off” he thought. He looked at his watch. It stared back at him informing him that it was 2:33AM. He wondered what had woken him, but was not left wondering long as a knock came at the door.

Harold was confused. Who knocked on people’s hotel room doors at 2:33 AM?

“Who’s there?” he called out after the next knock.

“Please, let me in. They’re coming for me. Let me in, please.” It was a female’s voice and its urgency was clear to Harold. Slightly annoyed at the intrusion, Harold reluctantly arose and opened the door. A figure dashed in the room slamming the door behind her. She didn’t speak nor was she still but immediately was trying to push the dresser to cover the door. The effort was futile, however, as she was barely as tall as the dresser. The only result from her effort was that the mirror fell off shattering into a million pieces.

Harold’s jaw dropped. His annoyment was now much more then slight. “What do you think you are doing?”

She stared at the broken pieces of the mirror. Her eyes then moved to examine Harold.

“I don’t know who you are,” she said “but I need your help.”

“What do you need?”

“Protection.”

“Protection from what.”

“The zombies.” Her matter of fact way of informing Harold of what had caused her drastic action flabbergasted Harold. He snorted.

“The zombies?” he enquired.

“Yes, and I heard you were the hammer guy. Hammers are the only thing that has ever stopped them. You hit them in the head with a hammer and they will die or unexist or something.” Harold shook his head in consternation. He wondered if she had escaped from a hospital or an asylum.

A loud thump interrupted his thoughts. It was followed by a vicious growl and an uncanny screech. She jumped across the room pushing herself in his arms. He put her arms around her as they both stared in horror at the door.

“Your hammers” she whispered, “Where are they?” He ripped open his suitcase and pulled out his sample of the KX 3000. Instinctively, he went back and put his arms around her. As nothing occurred in the following moment his actions struck himself as odd. What protection would his arms give this girl? He thought about withdrawing, but he couldn’t find the will. He did not know it at the time, for he had no time to analyze the situation properly, but for the first time in his life, Harold felt fear for another human being. He needed her to be safe. His existence depended on it. He would die, before he let anything touch her. Whether it was a zombie or just a normal human outside that door, he would attack it and kill it.

His thoughts again were interrupted as a knock came at the door. Neither Harold nor the girl dared to breath. The knock repeated. Harold was at a loss about what to do so he did the first thing that came into his head.

“Can I help you?” asked Harold.

The knocking turned into a steady beating. Harold forced the girl to get down behind the bed. He faced the door. He felt reminiscent of a medieval knight about to head to war. He felt ready for any peril that would come knowing that he would equip himself with dignity. No one could say that Harold Crane went down without a fight. His hammer as his trusty weapon and the will that had seen his business grow 200% in its second year could stop anything. Finally, the door broke open and Harold faced three Zombies.

There was a pause as the different beings surveyed each other. Two species born to hate each other now had to decide how best to destroy each other. The one hungered for the other’s flesh and the other instinctively feared the one. The zombies had vacant eyes, their mouths were pressed into a firm line only slightly revealing yellow decaying teeth, their hair was almost non-existent just a few greasy strands. They brought with them a stench of rottenness and decay. All this Harold observed in a moment. His first thought was “the one on the right reminds me of Brett from accounting.” The thought diverted him momentarily, but his thought went to the girl and he knew what he had to do.

No one who had known the Harold of the day before would ever think of him as he appeared in that moment. He let out a battle cry worthy of any ancient warrior. He wielded his hammer. He charged. He swung the hammer like a wild man swiftly knocking out the three zombies. He grabbed the girl’s hand and ran out into the hallway only to meet five more zombies. Nothing could have stopped the man. There was no hesitation, just a charge.

It was quite the sight seeing a middle aged man, still in his pajamas, with a crazed look in his eye wielding KX 3000 hammer as if it was a valued sword dragging along with him a girl.

The two fled down the halls towards the lobby. Harold had found new strength and new courage, but I am sure even the bravest soul on earth would have paused once he saw the sight that was the lobby. It was filled from one end to the other with zombies. I don’t know whether zombies can see of if they operate off of a keen sense of smell. Regardless of their faculties they knew there were live people in the room and every single one of them turned toward Harold and the girl with an unquenchable thirst.

Harold turned and fled making sure that he kept the girl still with him. He threw her in the first open room they came upon piling everything in front of the door. Once the barricade was as complete as the two could make it from the contents of the sparsely furnished room they huddled in the back of the room.
Neither had to say, for the both knew instinctively, that it was only a matter of time for that mob of zombies to break through the door. The girl turned to Harold,

“I know you are just a stranger, but there is no one on this earth that I would rather die with.”

He looked at her face. He felt lost. In that moment he wondered what he had done with his life. In a short span of time another human life had become indispensible to his happiness and even to his existence. He would give up his hammers, his business, and even his life so that her’s would continue. For a moment he wondered, if he felt like this now, how much more would he feel if he knew her for years? He wanted that. He wanted a lifetime with her. He would get to know her quirks. He would make his purpose be her happiness. She would learn to love hammers as he did. All the energy he had poured into hammers would be poured into her happiness.
It was too late now, but still he wondered what could have been.

There was a loud bang as the zombies bashed a hole in the door. Harold stood up and again wielded his hammer. If they were going to take him down it wasn’t going to be easy. His dignity as a warrior was at stake.

Harold’s final charge was a sight to behold. His hammer striking to kill, unconscious to any injury, he would have made any medieval knight proud. Her face filled his thoughts as he struck. One zombie went down and a second zombie went down. He was going to swing again when………

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

Harold bolted up in his bed. Quickly, he turned on the light. He felt himself drenched in his own sweat as he reached to turn off the alarm. A dream? Really? Just a dream? He chuckled nervously to himself. It had been a vivid, life-like dream. He felt relieved that his life was not in danger, but for a second he almost felt sorry for the girl that was only a figment of his imagination, but Harold knew that such a girl would only get in the way of his hammer business. It was his duty to make sure the entire world had access to hammers. Harold shrugged off the last traces of his dream and prepared for his day of business meetings.

Outsourcing...

Ricky jumped. As he landed sand flew up in slow motion. Half of it returned to the surface, but the other half flew away as if defying gravity wasn’t even worth showing off. Ricky watched the sand. Even after all this time the lack of gravity still intrigued him. His attention turn to his panoramic view. The endless white sand that reached the horizon, the stars that shown bright, and, most beautiful of all, the earth all green and blue with white clouds covering parts.

Ricky loved spending his few hours outdoors staring at the earth. He wondered what the weather was like on his native planet. Sun? Partly cloudy? Rain? Snow? All these were concepts he barely remembered. He hadn’t been back since he had first left ten years ago.

The American government had paid Ricky and others to move to the moon under the slogan “change your planet”. The idea was for the Americans to show off how advanced they were and that it was in fact possible to live a normal life on the moon. Homes and jobs were provided to the moon pioneers as well as a promise of large pension once they retired.

The pioneers lived fairly normal lives. Every morning, Ricky got up and went to work. In the evening he would hang out with the other moon pioneers. Often, the weekends would consist of parties of people heading outdoors to enjoy the sand, the view, and the lack of gravity.

Today, however, Ricky had decided to take a walk by himself. He was in a reflective mood, wondering what it would have been like to stay on earth. What if he had never left? Would his garage band have ever made it big? Would he just be sitting in a stuffy office crunching numbers? He shrugged his shoulders and started the long trek back the ‘plantation’ as the pioneers called it.

He arrived and entered the transition room. The door to the outside world shut tight as the room slowly pressurized allowing Ricky time to adjust back to the artificial gravity of the indoors. He removed his space suit and walked toward the office.

Time to begin his day of work.

He said hello to the receptionist, Janice. She handed him some memos and he headed towards his desk dumping half the memos in the trash on his way. Once he was seated, he stretched out his arms, cracked his knuckles, and put on his headset. Entering some codes and numbers into the computer he heard the familiar sound of ringing.

Brrrrrring, brrrrring.
“Hello?” a voice answered.
“Hello, is this Mrs. or Mr. Hawthorn?” Ricky asked.
“Yes it is.”
“Are you interested in updating your cable package for only $9.99 per month?”

*Click*

By the numbers...

0 - the number of iced caps I've had in the past month. Kind of sad isn't it.
1 - the number of non-business classes I'm taking
2 - the number of times I've held my niece (I really need to make that a higher number)
3 - the average number of cups of tea that I drink in a day
4 - the number of days till Sunday (yay!)
5 - the number of class I'm taking
6 - the number of meetings I will have had in a four day period
7 - the number of hours until I can call it a day and go to bed

That's right...

Yes that's right. I spelled talking with no 'G'. That's because I have attitude.