Will Ohirko

Documented Walk - Will Walks 1

2011-03-27T17:23:00.000-07:00

The weather channel told me it was only -6* Celsius sadly I didn't pay attention to the windchill which surely was considerably affecting the over temperature. Either way, just a normal under dressed everyday winter walk.

The ground is well worn, either heavily covered by thick icy bulges, only time I wasn't about to slip was when I stayed on the snow.

Snowman on top of a snow throne

A hole, a deep hole which contains bad stuff. It used to be marked by a children's play plastic chair

Large flock of birds I couldn't properly capture.


Cult trees, there's nothing left to save.


Local High School

Overall it's all things I've seen before, and about this time shit was freezing.
That was about the time I noticed some things on the ground near the local High School I once attended-

T-T-T-T-T-T-T

P-P-P-P-P-P-P

Needs more sepia/helvetika

I don't know what to say about this shit, but I think idea is pretty good.

[Song / Poem Thing] ??

2011-02-09T16:49:00.000-08:00

I remember I met this girl,
and although we hadn't seen
or heard from the other for all those years between,
she stood still and unfettered
as I tried to learn my place,
how I wanted to look into her eyes and meet her face to face
in my haste however, I made some bad mistakes

until there was nothing left...

I created quite the mess that really fucked my chances
of her greeting me with a smile during all of my childish advances.
I want to tell her I'm sorry and it really wasn't me
but in hind sight had I known this would've happened
I would have gone to sleep,

with nothing left for me...

I wouldn't have held that hand
and made all those neurotic advances
would've kept to myself and not left everything to chances (failed)

when there would be something left.

I would've sat steady and observed the things I said
I didn't mean for all of this to blow right through her head,
and while I feel bad that she won't reply to me
chances are instead she's crying herself to sleep,
until there's nothing left.

Until there's nothing left to hold.

Thinking more on this, I wrote it a long time ago but It's not refined at all, still requires more work.

[Thoughtful] Rhetoric Patterning

2011-02-09T14:27:00.000-08:00

Rhetoric Patterning

Rhetorical Patterning:

It's hard to pinpoint at what time I really did wake up last I slept, it's any ones guess what really happened during that night and what is proceeding into day light.

I want to focus on the day ahead, but as I tremble helplessly I can't help but think I must be dreaming still and it cramps and crumples my heart into a little shard. What's left of this world for me if all that I've done up until now resembles a blur not unlike a dream? Was it even a positive experience, and can you call it that in and of itself when it is the only experience you will ever know with which to base any futures analogies on?
It boggles the mind of this I am sure. As the gentle and slow curve turns into a steady incline and instead of hours and days you're transcending across months and years. With what I can surmount inside my own head, I'm not sure where I am is truly what I believe is real. In my head when I sleep at night, I encounter things that resembles a reality much more closely than the droning on of another real day.
When I'm asleep am I the most awake? It certainly seems this way, in fact the only thing that is absent from my nocturnal life is a recognizable cast of characters. There is no black haired, blue eyed angel whom I can call my own, she will not be there when next I rest my head. Is the mind so complex, that it has rooted out the other guy altogether? Do we really not need anyone but ourselves? It causes me to furrow my brow as I sit here staring across the desk inside my little hovel. I can only assume everyone else does not care, nor do they acknowledge. If we are all truly human why do I feel that no one can understand my plight? When I step out of these doors, and I peer down the street in both directions, what is it that I am protection myself from? Do I truly think and feel that at any moment my life will end, and if this does so happen to each and everyone of us only those who were driving the day will survive. It creates a world where half of society's problems no longer exist, and I look on that as I look on the morality of the initial idea. What if half of us died because half of us carelessly ceased to believe what we did really did not matter? To be Human is to be a part of the accessibility of the other cast members. If one of those men that so happened to die was a speciality doctor of physician who helped those born without hands, the world would have lost that accommodation. In the end is it enough to assume that the world would be better without this man, if he coveted his wife, the neighbours, his daughter? For all the good one man can do, the spot light of something bad may heavily out weigh it. To become one with another Human being is a highly dubious notion, the feelings of love are based stringently in a primal sense and speak to the volumes of the animal agenda with which we live to this day. To say it's confusing when I watch a man try to defend his entire life's work because of one misguided night with another Human, it feels deaf to me. I'm sure that man realized what he did, and he realizes that in the big scheme of things that this misdeed should not cause such scrutiny.
My pencil drops and as I lean down to pick it up I bang my head against the brim of my desk, causing me the only real feeling I've felt since I can begin to remember what life I've lead. Would I feel a little more in tune with my fellow creatures if I took the time to shatter my arm against some sort of heavy object, so dense that the blood would reflect upon it like an artists pallet? But what if that was all part of an alternate feeling, and the pain was not a real thing that was truly happening?
I just remembered I was picking up my pencil, that's why I was down here. The funny thing is I had no use for this utensil, it would help not alert my superiors that I was not doing what it is I should be doing. With what I am to do, does a pencil suffice as a tool of the trade?
I can't help but smile when I hear a gentle blip as if from a radar screen in one of those older monster movies or fishing devices. The blip as it turns out was a gash on my head, and the blood was steadily falling from the small wound at a blip per five seconds. Is it that self destructive that I would time the leaking fluids and not remedy the situation? Maybe I like the idea of someone seeing me this way, maybe it will give me a jump or a start? Likely no one will notice and those who will won't pay me heed to any degree, the idea of self pity brings about dangerous feelings inside of Humans. If I closed my eyes now for instance, and I refused to open them, would they let me die here? In this very chair, surrounded by three and a half walls? I have no one who would acknowledge my presence, and hard pressed to find someone to care enough to pull me away. Humans make connections, but the feelings are all superficial to the point of a pack leader or part of the herd. I'm thousands of feet off of the ground, but what I'm standing on feels just as stagnant and unrelenting.
If a bomb was called into this building, and I was given the alert, would I run down the stairs and out those doors? I guess what would happen if I was wrong, how would I face myself had I chosen to stay, it would likely cause a rift in the relationship.
All this would need is a bell and it would feel just like every other civil structure I've had to spend time in, I suppose that's my fault for not following a love. A woman on the street, a black dress, beautiful and stunning, the hair doesn't matter as it is perceived differently amongst all people. But she's standing there, a little absent minded as she twirls her hair in a flirtatious manner talking on a mobile phone. She stands on her toes momentarily, and that is when you begin to realize the chain of events unfurling - as chains are sometimes apt to do.
The man to your right is constantly transferring the coffee between both hands, and the crowded line is getting bigger for those waiting to cross. The streets are as busy as any other day, she looks so whimsical and you want to interrupt the call and show her how good you can be. But you don't, and that's what makes you different from the person she's talking to on her phone. And he could be miles away, maybe on another planet talking from some radar dome, and you wouldn't amount to the same kind of experience he can offer her.
You want that chance, you feel like it was luck she met him and not you. You hardly notice the fat impatient lady behind you rummaging through her purse and gently nudging the gentlemen between the lady in black and the fat woman. What she's looking for is not made clear at that moment, but you don't care, you just want to focus on that first line. If you can get passed this transgression you believe she'll love you for who you are. You feel like you deserve it, deserve someone who enjoys your quirks and mindless expressions that you can share with only the most socially awkward Humans you associate with.
The man getting nudged is beginning to get upset, he must not accept the rule of man where everyone has the right of way. Maybe he obeys the rule of Jim, because for this exercise his name is that. For whatever reason he abruptly turns not knowing it is a fat woman behind him, sending the fat woman into an equalled abrupt frenzy. Causing the man next to her to jump and send his coffee onto the back of the woman in the black dress. This is your opportunity to jump in and rescue her from these ruffians, but she steps off the curve and as you wait your life becomes much more vital to hers. However the man makes a sudden movement as if he will rescue the damsel in distress, but he notices your sudden lurch forward as well. What happens? You both wait, the woman in black is startled but luckily there are no traffic related hazards as the car incoming turned left at the intersection.
Not only is she mad at Jim, but at the man with the coffee, the fat woman, and you, too.
It's too late to rescue the idea of kindling a relationship now, she will have none of it and none of you. What would I have done? I would have waited, I would have waited until it was too late or absolutely necessary. What would I have done if a bus was coming, something that could not stop? I would have waited, and when it hit her, I would have said nothing. As she cried laying on the pavement lamenting over her new stature I would thought with such disdain at myself. Nothing I could do would fix what I had hesitated to do, but, I would have likely forgotten about it the next day.
When I get out of this building today, I want to not look both ways, I want to walk absent minded out of the building and towards my car. I want to run down the stairs and not take the elevator, my legs will hate me for it, but with that added stimulation I might feel something more. A Humans mind is a fantastic device, it creates complexity, design, and beauty. To think that any other creature on this planet recognizes these things is hard to imagine.
I hardly noticed it was five o'clock thanks to my co-worker though I am reminded that home time will soon be here. It's easy to see what the earliest days of school were preparing you for now, they wanted to break you into the routine that would follow you until the day you become too old or enfeebled to perform it anymore. At that point, you are lost, and you wonder what will happen if you just lay there. In your bed, on your porch in an easy chair, who would come running if you happen to hurt yourself.
It's upsetting that I think of freedom as the ultimate vice that I will ever face. It's a burden to have the ability to think and recognize patterns, without this ability I would not be sitting here five minutes after five PM still pondering life. I would be back in my car and on my way back home, to spend the rest of the day doing something not dissimilar to what I've done so far today, yesterday, and from what I've known to what I will come to understand.
It is this routine that is most disabling, it causes Humans and people to think outside of the box. But if this world had only people like me, people like us, who sit and wait. No one would be hit by a car, half of us wouldn't be dead. That adulterant man who fixes people would still be alive to right personal wrongs against a system of karma that may one day render him helpless and alone.
But what if he still waits and I just, not look, what if I'm the only one who deviates from the plan, could this all work out? Would I still be the harbinger of the end for half of civilization, or would I just be alone, as the one person who stopped waiting.
When I leave this office today, I'm going to run down the stairs, and I'm going to march out that door. I won't look both ways, and when that bus comes for the lady in black, I'll take her place. Maybe then she'll notice me.

[love/rhyming] Short Poem, possible song

2011-01-23T17:47:00.001-08:00

If you were rich
and I was poor
and I had money
and you had more
I'd still buy for you things you adore
because for you I can afford
things that shimmer and do not bore

things to show how much my feelings grown
things for you and you alone
because for you I can safely say
for nothing else I feel the way
should poverty come
should death come too
I'd be satisfied with only you

[Fiction[Whimsy/Fantasy] Paper, Clean That Room!

2011-01-18T15:17:00.000-08:00

A short story for a friend, and it turned out to be weird and sorted and why 6 pages? I do not know.

“PAPER, THIS ROOM IS A MESS, I thought I told you to clean it?” Her mom scolds her as she walks in and sees her fondling Kitty.

“You did?”

“No excuses, clean it, NOW!” She exclaims and slams the door.

Paper frowns largely at the slammed door and gets up in a huff trying to think of all the fun things she could possibly doing instead of cleaning her dirty ass room. People generally told Paper that she has an ass amount of stuff, and that she should consider an overhaul of her room's contents.

Paper groaned as she picked up a shoe and then noticed a ball of crumpled paper behind it. The wind picked up and the paper ball was blown off down a path of mounds of toys and clothes. She didn't look for a window that was open, she started to run as the paper ball began to float faster away on a wisp of air.

Paper began to sprint after the ball as fast as she could and the second she got a little bit closer, the paper ball suddenly unfolded in the air into a origami bird. The spectacle was amazing and it made Paper go whoaaa under her breath. Then as the origami bird flew away she shouted and cursed shaking her fist at the little chicken shit.

It's at this particular moment that Paper notices she's not in her same old room anymore, this place was a strange jungle with sand all over the ground. As she spins around in her place she can see some sort of monolith that closely resembles a pinata from her room.

“This place is really, really dirty....”

Paper and Kitty would continue walking along through the jungle like setting of her room, marveling at how terrible everything looked. For some reason there are shoes all over the ground, littering it like normal places would have rocks and other stone debris.

As Kitty and Paper continued to walk about, they suddenly heard the sound of someone pacing amongst the sandy surface possibly behind some of the jungle canopy. Paper brought a finger to her mouth letting Kitty know to be quiet, they then skulked up to a larger tree and peered around it to see another person looking somewhat out of sorts.

Without a second thought Paper reaches down and grabs Kitty, and every so slowly she cocks her arm taking careful aim at the person and not be seen.

“YAAAGGHHH!”

She screams and launches Kitty from her arm cannon, with Kitty landing square on the young man's head and instantly digging her claws into his scalp.

The young man freaks out naturally from the sudden attack and Paper comes flying out of nowhere tackling him hard in the ribs. He falls to the ground gasping for air having just had the wind knocked out of him, and a cat latched to his head.

Paper was ready to pursue the attack but the young man looked so frazzled that she instead got up and dusted herself off over him.

“Who are you?”

“I, I, I'm R, Remi....”

The young man appears to be on the verge of some sort of break down with Kitty still stuck on his head.

Paper pulls Kitty off making sure she retracted her claws before she did, and sets her ammunition/friend on the ground next to her. She then looked down with a cocked eyebrow at this particularly frail person, who seems to be quite wound up. In a moment of charity she decides to reach down and offer him a help up back onto his feet.

“I'm Paper.”

“Hhhhh hi.”

“What are you doing out here all alone?”

“I was just trying to hide.”

Paper found this information odd, as she can't say she's seen anything else or anyone else besides him since she'd gotten out to this part of her room.

“Who're you hiding from?” She asks as she walks over and sits down on a rock formation that looks like a chair to the side of her.

“I'm not sure, I just assumed people were looking for me.”

“Well that's pretty strange.”

“Well, I'm not like everyone else, so people always target me. I think.”

“What about you is different?” Paper asks quizzically as this young man seemed as normal to her as anyone else.

“I'm a cyclops?”

“You're a cyclops?”

“Yeah, it's just I was born very short, and with two eyes.”

“You don't look that ugly.”

“Ugly?”

“You don't look that short.”

The young Cyclops' eyes got all bright and receptive, the puppy dog eyes or wonder and genuine love. “I'm really not that short???” He was beginning to get clingy.

“Yeah, whatever.”

“OH THANK GOD.”

“Do you know your way around here at all?”

“Yeah, I've been everywhere and all over.”

“Good, lets go somewhere.” Paper responds and begins to walk off in just a random direction expecting Remi to follow her, however he just stands back watching her.

She gives him a stink eye and simply asks, “What?” with a clearly annoyed expression.

“I haven't been there before.”

Paper gave him a cold look and then walked over promptly grabbing him by the arm and dragging him along with her into the darkness of the jungle.

Paper, Kitty and Remi would be walking for a good while until they came to a clearing with just sand and shoes about the ground. Then of course there was a huge ass tower sticking out of the ground. It seemed to stretch upwards forever, made of stone, and a very slippery stone at that.

“That is one huge ass tower.”

“I wonder if there's anything in it.”

Paper gives it a quick once over from their spot just at the brink of the clearing, she didn't see any way up or in. So they walked a little closer up to the base of the huge ass tower, however all of a sudden a voice called out from the tower.

“HEY, GET AWAY FROM MY TOWER.”

“It's a nice tower.” Remi responds.

“SHUT UP.” The voice shouts back crippling his stance.

“What're you doan up there?” Paper says in a softer voice, to test a theory she has in her head.

“I'M HAVING A GREAT TIME, YOU'RE NOT INVITED.”

Suddenly a wooden door to a shed behind the tower is pulled open revealing a young woman cowering against the sunlight.

“Aha!” Paper stands triumphant in the doorway to the shed behind the tower, with the young woman looking all the bit pissed off against the glaring brightness which has invaded.

“Doesn't look very fun in there.” Remi remarks as he peers around the doorway.

The young woman roars and leaps at Remi who proceeds to scream like a little girl as she stands over him almost pitying his cowardice. However she gives him a good kick to the ribs, “What's a girl and an ugly cyclops doing walking around here?” The young woman asks Paper..

Paper was taken back for a moment, she couldn't understand how this person could see Remi as an actual cyclops.

“We're cleaning my room.”

“These are your shoes?”

“Yeah, I never knew I had so many.”

“There's a big cluster of shoes over on top of that one hill over there.”

“Why do you have so many shoes?” Remi asks from his spot cowering on the ground next to the two women.

Paper gives a light kick to the torso, “C'mon, we're going to climb that one hill over there.”

Remi flinches and stands up right next to the new person, looking over at her he notices he's just barely taller than her. The woman sees him looking at her and raises her hand as if she was going to back hand him, which sends Remi scurrying over to Paper.

“Why don't you come along?” Paper asks.

“I dunno, I'm a severely ugly troll, I was born short and without tusks.”

“You people have a lot of hang ups.” Paper remarks as her left eye twitches.

“I'll go with you, if I can have those.”

“These?” Paper asks but then notices the troll wanting to wear her glasses. “But I can't see without them....”

“I have an idea.”

The group continues along with their new friend Slaren, and her fancy new glasses. However since Slaren could barely walk straight with the glasses, and Paper couldn't walk straight without her glasses there came to be only one solution: a 3 man totem-pole.

Remi was on the bottom providing the walking ability and eyes, Slaren was in the middle as she had the next largest amount of mass, and Paper was at the top seeing things that people generally see when they get high on LSD.

“What's that?” Paper asks.

“It's a shoe.” Remi said.

“What's that?” Slaren asks.

“It's another shoe.” Remi said.

“What's that?”

“It's a hill.”

“Ooo, we're here!” Paper waves excitedly however she starts to lose some balance and then grabs onto Slaren's face.

The incredible discomfort causes Slaren to grab onto Remi's face compromising their only vision and means of transportation. As Remi begins to lose control of the whole situation he screams abandon ship!! to which Slaren and Paper both blind have no idea how to react.

In the coming seconds they came tumbling down except for Paper who had miraculously grabbed onto an over leaning tree branch that was near her head at a moment a clarity. Even more so incredible was that with her other hand she was able to get back her glasses before they would surely be broken by the collapse.

Slaren got to her feet first leaving Remi to lay on the ground clearly still out of it, a dizzy mess complaining of double vision and sore joints.

“Where's Paper?” Slaren asks beginning to realize she lost her magic vision. “Hey I can see, what gives!?”

The trio climbs up the hill all the while encroaching on one of the last large clusters of shoes. Remi was dwindling behind the group and becoming faint from probably his non-stop complaining and whining. Paper took the initiative and postured up behind him and began pushing him up like a rolling sort of object.

Until they got to the top where all of a sudden his body collapses to the ground at the top of the hill. Slaren and Paper are almost overwhelmed and awestruck by the sheer volume of shoes that seems to be scattered about the hill top.

Remi on the other hand begins to make some awkward noises and they notice that he has begun to sleep, the top of this hill had a very comfortable feeling, a familiar feeling, one they could all agree felt just right.

After they realized he was sleeping, the other two cleared away the shoes to make a small space of which to lay down as well.

Time would pass and the morning sun would slip into the early afternoon twilight. Paper's mom decided she'd given Paper enough time to get some progress done on her room, so she wanted to check in on her again.

She instead opened the door to see Paper sleeping on her bed, next to Kitty under a mass of blankets and stray items and shoes. However suddenly Slaren sat up in the bed, and Paper's mom was taken back in a state of fear and shock.

Before she could form the feeling she had in her mind into a clear and concise statement, Remi then sat up. This caused her mother to let out a very sincere scream, loud and vociferous.

Remi then screamed, Slaren screamed, Paper started to freak out.

Slaren jumped up and tried to run however she ran into a chair and banged her head on the desk, which caused Remi to try to do the same however his legs weren't full awake and he tipped off the bed and crashed into a closet.

Paper groaned and rolled back over, under the covers, she didn't have time for this.

THE END.

[Fiction[Comedy/Psychological] King Worry Prince Frantic / Paranoia Hill

2011-01-12T15:20:00.000-08:00

^ That is a work title.

This was written last year some time by myself, with insight provided by my friends one of which being my internet spouse.

It's predicated around two insanely unstable people and has further been built upon but this was the first instance, a short story.
ENJOY

-----------------------------------------------------

Once upon a time, there did live a peculiar group of people. They were each represented by a certain degree of personal quirk, and it should not shock anyone that they live in a castle on Paranoia Hill. A humble and remote place of worship, where a just and great king, King Worry presides over all the land ruling over what some may call a diverse kingdom.
At his right hand his young heir, Prince Frantic sits ever vigilant for one day he will take his seat at the helm and make known his name. The kingdom has few dignitaries in the court, one of these dignitaries is Lady Paps. She being a peculiar figure herself, one who suffers from severe amnesia and brain lapsing.

On this blissful afternoon, King Worry sits at his throne gently sipping from a goblet while enjoying the royal crosswords of the day in the local news letter. The peaceful silence is only momentarily broken as a bird flies shallow over the hall, or past a window. While causing King Worry to jostle suddenly it soon passes and all is well in his presence....~
“KING! KING!” Young Frantic exclaims as he bursts into the royal throne room causing quite the commotion, and in turn King Worry throws his royal beverage at the young ward. The goblet however is too heavy and lands shattering a few feet from the Prince,

“AHH!!”

King Worry sheaths the royal handgun back in his ankle holster before the Prince can make note of it, and shakes off those thoughts that withdrew it,

“what is it young Frantic?” King Worry asks in a royal tone with a royal beckoning, drawing the young man
further into the desired range.

“Lady Paps, your Highness.” Frantic begins to explain as he takes quick looks around the room, not wanting the masses to hear his words. He beckons the King's ear closer, to which Worry places a hand down near his ankle clasping the grip of the royal gun through his lower attire.

“Her birthday sir, she is turning of age.” Frantic whispers causing a sudden chill to rush through the King and making him ever so lightly grip the trigger.

BANG!

The gun fires through the ankle holster causing Worry to scream out in a shrill tone as if he is fainting from a fatal blow,

“THE KING HAS BEEN SHOT!” Prince Frantic screams as he draws the royal taser from his royal belt. Frantic turns it on the only other person in the room, the royal janitor.

“What treachery is this?!” He demands and lunges at the poor man, shocking him repeatedly until he was left to convulse on the floor soiling himself in the process.

“Once again you have saved the King's life, young Heir.” King Worry whispers delicately from behind the prince,

“had Phil carried out his dastardly deed, who knows what state this kingdom would be in.” King Worry proclaimed as he slowly walks back to his throne his arms clasped behind his back as he ponders what will happen next.

“A reward is in order, you may help yourself to the Royal pantry!”

“A hundred gratitude's my Liege, however there is still the matter of Lady Paps.” Prince Frantic reminds the king of why he originally had summoned himself.

“Why yes, I do believe I know of just the place where we may find her a gift of incredible worth!” the King exclaims raising his hand with a single index finger extended, “you do?” Frantic seems ever enthralled with the King's ability to think so rationally after having nearly been assassinated. “Ready the royal escort, we make haste to the Inner-City!”

While the kingdom that the royal court of Paranoia Hill is vast and enormous, the royal party always seem to find what they want lies within the Inner-City portion of the kingdom. The Inner-City closes resembles that of an urban suburbia alike Detroit, L.A., or downtown New Jersey with all the gang influence of Japan and other foreign criminal super powers.

The royal escort (a brightly colored yellow automobile) arrived deep within the Inner-City around four O'clock in the afternoon. The brightly colored graffiti mocked the chalky and mute tones that the sky scrapers and complexes seemed to exhibit. King Worry stepped out of the royal escort and adjusted his royal attire as he waited for Frantic to slowly peek outside and join him standing on a rough looking cement laden side walk.

“Now then, we must consult the royal party planner! One, Tanequia Jones of Party-Zone co.” King Worry explains to young Frantic who seems to be ever slowly adjusting to the bustling pace of the inner city life, his hand on the royal taser, ever ready.

They would walk for what seemed like a long time, however the sun would remain persistent as if late noon for an eternity was cursed upon this wretched place. King Worry suddenly stops however in mid step, causing Frantic to become alerted,

“why have we stopped!? Is something amiss!?” he questions in a perplexed manner.

“It would appear our intended “Party-Zone co.” has become something else, something called “Royal-Escort inc.”

“What treachery, whole and rotten,” Frantic readies his royal armament but is halted by his King.

“This is splendid news! Come now, we must search out miss Tanequia before we have overstayed our visit.”

They walk into the small store like atmosphere and are greeted with loud urban dance music and wall to wall black and gold colors, posters of women and men, and of cars and jewelery in glass cases. Standing behind one of the glass cases is a young woman who does not look like the royal party planner Tanequia. A woman much more plain, much more blonde and wearing what would be an otherwise boring dress suit combo.

“May I help you?” she asks in a very customer friendly way,

“why yes you may very well be able to! We are searching for the one they call Tanequia, a party planner of the King's court.”

“I'm not certain we have any girls with that name, we are a professional organization with three branches across the country. Our girls and men are well bred, well mannered, and above all professional. As you may know by now, money talks in this day and age, so if you want something it'll have a price attached. A man of your obvious wealth I'm sure has no need for this talk, but it is customary that I let you know our employees will go to great lengths to make your evening or event memorable.”

“This is indeed great news! I trust that your group also handles birthday parties?” King Worry asks as he browses the glass encasement with jewelery and assorted accessories.

“Birthday parties, graduations, promotions, bachelor parties. In fact, we have a special building we reserve for VIP's if you are interested in arranging something bigger for your needs?”

“It sounds marvelous indeed! If you could have it arranged for later tonight I and my court would be most pleased!”

“Very well, a limo will be sent to pick you up around ten o'clock tonight.”

“Ti's beautiful to have you assist us in making this night special for our dignitaries.” King Worry and Prince Frantic shake the young woman's hand,

“Who is the birthday party for?” she asks inquisitively.

“A court dignitary.” to which she begins to write down notes in a small flip open coiled notebook.

“Now we must make leave to prepare for this evenings festivities, come young Frantic!” King Worry grabs the young Prince's arm and leads him outside while the young blond woman begins to plan out the evening. When suddenly she hears a shriek like someone fainting, a gun shot, and a blood curdling scream, shortly after with police sirens in the distance. Thinking nothing of this she continues to arrange the scenario for the birthday party.

A few hours later back at Paranoia hill after an eventful exit from the Inner-City...~

King Worry and Prince frantic arrange for a royal birthday card to be made in Lady Paps honor, but no one can be certain of her real age.

“What foolhardy nonsense is it, for a King to fret such a nonsensical things?!” Worry demands as he and Frantic have been sitting in the throne room for a good forty minutes trying to decide what to put on the card.

“Why what if we ask her, your Highness?” Frantic deliberates while King Worry looks somewhat intrigued by his idea. “You mean, ask her ourselves?” he speaks with a coy smile,

“Yes, sire!”

The King leans back in his seat, smiling and laughing like a loon, almost maniacal in a way,

“how delightfully devilish, but such a plan must be handled with great care... Young Frantic, summon Lady Paps at once!” King Worry instructs with a simple hand gesture to which Prince Frantic acknowledges and immediately darts off through the main doors screaming

“HEY! HEY!” repeatedly.

Yes, a plan that must be handled with great, care, hmm....
A few moments later Lady Paps is rushed in looking distressed by Frantic with the royal taser in hand,

“What's the matter, were you followed!?” the King demands answers from his subordinates while Frantic bars the doors closed.

“I'm not sure, I heard footsteps!”

“We must be careful, an attempt on my life was made earlier this day!” the King bellowed to which Frantic immediately leaped upon Phil's still inanimate body grasping it by the collar of his one piece work attire,

“WHAT KNAVARY IS THIS!?”Frantic screams as he shakes Phil's lifeless body.
Lady Paps looks wholly shocked and a bit taken back by the news that Phil would try such a thing, and it was then that the King turned the attention to more pressing matters.

“M'lady, you have been summoned before this court to be posed with a hypothetical question, one which merits no real consequence or reality.” the King goes on instructing her, to which Lady Paps simply replies,

“Kay.”

“If you were to have a hypothetical dignitary, who had hypothetically been born of a woman a time ago that was coming upon an anniversary of sorts, what MIGHT you write on piece of paper that may OR may not have a cat on the front proclaiming its hatred of Mondays?” King Worry finishes while Lady Paps look unfettered and not bothered,

“umm, uhhh....” she pauses for an indefinite amount of time not fully understanding what he is asking of her.

“You ninny, I'm wanting to know how old you are!” Worry scolds her with a small twitch on the right side of his face.

“Umm, uhhh....”

“F*&%!” King Worry exclaims and grabs for the closest writing utensil available, a red ink, two dollar pen. With which he uses to inscribe the card expressing his profound hostility and outright anger towards the whole misadventure that today has been. He throws the pen into the royal fire place which causes ink to explode out of the pen with fire attached and small flares begin to sprout around the range of the area.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, M'LADY.” King Worry sarcastically scolds her as he presents her the card and walks off out the main the doors, leaving Lady Paps standing with a smile on her face and Prince Frantic with the royal fire extinguisher to put out the ruptured ink blazes.

Hours would pass by in the royal throne room, and eventually the janitor Phil came to. He slowly gained his wits about him, his soiled pants have now become merely a damp, smelly silhouette on his attire. The royal clock was striking ten, and Phil was left to gather himself and try to recall what had happened. As he stumbled around the royal halls he came across Lady Paps and as she saw him she smiled and handed him the card,

“Happy Birthday!” before Phil could muster a response she had already disappeared into the darker reaches of the castle.
Phil got cleaned up as best he could before he gathered his things to go home, still holding the card in some perplexed understanding he opened the royal front doors to which he was greeted by a large cavalcade of exotic looking women and men all in expensive looking clothing, or lack there of in some cases.

“Hey there,” one of the ladies said as she suddenly eyed the card in his hand, “Birthday boy~”
to which Phil did little else but smile, at that point and for most of the night.

=============================================

Well there you have it, the first concepts of Prince Frantic and King Worry of Paranoia Hill.

[Fiction[Comedy/Parody] TV Ball

2011-01-12T00:33:00.000-08:00

Now for something a little more fun, I was just talking with my friend and internet spouse? Slaren
http://slaren.deviantart.com (and some Tumblr account I can't remember.)

And for some reason I just thought about a bunch of inner-city youths playing a game that I saw in my head as a child kicking a TV while wearing a pair of work boots. And I guess it just expanded from there into some perverse parody of all sports and poverty inner-city areas.

I guess you can read some thoughts on the idea if you want, these excerpts are fairly "rough" in terms of finality.
Comedy is definitely something that comes to me a lot easier than drama and fantasy, but I'm trying to work on that particular area.

Check it out after the jump

Picture an inner-city like any other in midland America, run entirely by powerful corporate empires that barely exist in the city aside from factories and their estates up the way.

The season is spring, and although many parts of the continent may have some snow fall, this particular 'zone' does not suffer such plight. All of this information however is irregardless of the potential problems of this city, one such problem being the amount of children constantly in and out of high school with absolutely no goals in life besides sitting on a porch and guessing if the person walking by is a man or a woman or Mr. Shackle.

“People, this is an ever growing problem and I for one have been getting heat from the city council.” Mr. Peters slammed his fist against the long poor crafted table that they all gathered around during their City Organizer meetings. “We need to get this shit hole back together and it's gotta be fast.”

Mr. Peters was trying his best to seem genuine and not just playing up potential hidden cameras lodged in the walls waiting for the opportunity to fire him on the spot.

“Dammit people, is there nothing we can do!?” He pleads with his fellow SOL's.

“We've done everything we can, the problem is the kids, they're terrible fucking SOB's.” A fat man retorts.

“Lardo's got a point, Peters. We've tried everything we can, we've arranged functions and forced traditions, forced land marks. Those little bastards ruin everything we put out there!”

“Let's stop focusing on what's not working, what do we have, I know it's not a lot,”

“You got that right, 'cause all you're looking at in terms of “inventory” is broken appliances and smoke stained clothes from house fires without survivors.”

Mr. Peters slammed his hands down again in frustration roaring at his dilemma, “The fuck can we do with a pile of fucking odorous work boots and technology that was brand new when WWII was on the horizon!”

He let out one final scream and kicked at a small appliance that was left at his feet. The boxy TV traveled a short distance rolling and chugging against the friction and gravity holding it back from gaining any significant momentum.

Peter's bit his lip to the point he felt like blood would be drawn and then an absolute miracle happened in his mind, an epiphany.

“Wait....”

The others around the table looked at Peter's with an awe struck concern above any other sort of reaction.

“I've got it, I've fucking got it!” Peterson exclaims punching the air and clasping his fist like a super villain, “We're going to organize a sports league, a recreational league!”

“We've been over this before, we don't have the money, all sports require a monetary investment. They won't give us money for toilet paper for our building which will become a bingo hall in the next 20 minutes. Why do you think they'd give us money for something like that, something that might not even work.”

“Again, Lardo's right Peters, it's not gonna happen.”

“No, Rich, it WILL happen!” Peters replied with a maniacal laugh which causes the group some distress.

“We have everything we need right here!”

“Peters....”

“Gentlemen, I present to you, TV Ball.”

The group responded with a resounding “Uhhh....”

But Peters' mind was already fully set in motion, and even though they couldn't see it he was determined to make them see the light. He pulled out a scrap piece of paper and took a pen from his jacket pocket, with these two instruments he scribbled out the basis for what would be his dream to reform “the whole fucking community” as Peters' put it.

The men and women around the room one by one were opened up to the idea of Peters' sport.

In Peters' mind the children would be donned in heavy metal toe work boots, and the ball in TV Ball would a TV that is otherwise a heavy box with a screen impervious to shattering. The rules were just ringing inside his head and he rattled them off to his colleagues he furiously began to take notes.

The playing field would be the large vacant lot that has been unused since all those Native American graves were desecrated there and the land was cursed.

It's a P.R. Nightmare to place a Wal-Mart there but hell if they can't operate and children's recreational sports league in it's place instead.

The fat man speaks up as Peters takes a moment to catch his breath and bask in his genius, “These kids aren't gonna wanna kick a TV around for 3 hours instead of shooting each other, Peters, what could possible convince them of wanting to?”

“Lardo has a good point, these kid's have more entertaining things going on than this.” The Fat Man glares over at the younger, slimmer Richard who looks the spitting image of a shyster car dealer.

“The kids are fucking retards, all we have to do is convince them this shit has been around forever. That it is in their legacy! those idiots tattoo foreign word on themselves all the time. Just tell them the orients did it.”

The fat man was about to speak but then shifted his eyes over at Rich and stopped himself from speaking his point.

“Not all of the children are obsessed with the soft core porn, the grotesquely rendered people with awful hair.” The woman around the group remarks.

“That's a great point Jane, we'll have to lure the rest over with a sort of rivalry appeal.” Rich said smiling over at the young brunette woman completely ignoring the fat man's disgust.

“Oh, that's easy....” Peters sneers as he looks out the building's ground level large glass panel over looking the Asian massage parlor and an ugly little shack.

SKIPPING THE CONVINCING OF THE COACHES, NEED MORE THOUGHT

What's happening?

The Scottish coach and the Asian coach are playing one of their first games of TV Ball.

The children lined up on either side of each other, not even sure what to expect. One thing was certain though, their blood was boiling and their adrenalin was pumping hard against their gritted teeth and insane brotherhood.

The referee (an old man just happy to be involved) stands with his eyes square firmly on the TV in the center of the square field. The turn out was amazing, they even had the guys who called the local dog shows calling the first ever Inner-city TV Ball game.

The old mans hand was ready to swing down like a pendulum and promptly disconnect at the shoulder which would instantly cause the whistle to go off.

“Hey Steve,”

“What's that, Mark?”

“Nothing, I'm just geared up for, the FIRST ever game of TV Ball. A sport that is sure to entertain the 10 or so people who were able to find chairs!”

“You've got that right Mark, and of course every game of TV Ball is brought to you in part by Wang's Massage Parlor, May you have a happy ending, all time.”

“I guarantee a happy ending tonight Steve, there's no way anyone will go home unhappy.”

“I think you're right Mark, and I think the girls visiting from the Massage parlor will make sure of that” Steve remarks at the young Asian women standing in front of small blue mobile. hospital looking tents

The old ref who is clearly around 70 years of age and struggling with advanced joint complications screams the two teams to the ready. “ARE YOU READY!?”

In unison the children raise their arms in a roaring succession, and with that the first whistle signaling the beginning of a new age was sounded. The age, of TV Ball.

The children clambered against each other rocking each others side with bone crushing hits and shin bruising kicks. When out of no where young Billy Kingston gets a clear shot at the TV and gives it a leg crumpling kick causing his whole leg to tense up and burn intensely.

Billy folded to the ground writhing in pain as the other children attempted to play past him and break free of the group.

“You pray, you pray hardar! No prain no grame!” The Asian coach scolds his player from his place on the side lines.

“At first I thought we'd have had our first injury timeout, but it looks like Kingston is gonna play through it.”

“That's one tough kid, Steve.”

“He definitely gets it from his Father, Mr. Kingston took the brunt of two tazers and over THIRTEEN tactical beanbag shots to the torso during a domestic disturbance call last night!”

“Not only that Steve, but Mr. Kingston was actually just released from jail after serving 24 hours on the initial arrest and he's here TONIGHT watching his son play the game he would have played when he was a kid.”

After the announcement was heard over the radio transmitter mic, a fat and hairy man in a white wife beater stood up cheering, with the rest of the crowd chanting some drunken nonsense. Next to the fat hairy man was his wife, a fat hairy lady sporting a black eye and battered complexion.

“I think it's safe to say most of the people here played a game not-unlike TV Ball, but the money just wasn't there at the time.”

“Absolutely right Steve, these kid's are getting the opportunity of a life time!”

CRACK

Most of the children partaking in the game were suffering from severe shin splits and all sorts of shock trauma to the legs from winding up so hard and kicking the TV while there feet and legs shifted inside their boots.

After nearly 30 minutes of straight game play without a whistle the TV had barely made it much of a ways away from the center of the field where the game has started. However it was little more than a blood sport at this point, the children had become exhausted from beating each other thoroughly and expelling extra effort kicking a TV across an uneven terrain.

As they lay on the field gassed, barely able to stand up straight even though weighted solidly by the boots which dug into the ground some.

The referee was growing impatient so he blew his whistle which got a resounding roar from the crowd and then the coaches started to scream inaudible foul and vulgar things.

“Well that'll take us to half-time, Mark! The girls from the massage parlor will be serving freebies during the break!”

“What an intense game so far, these kids are leaving nothing on the field.”

“Their coaches must be pleased with their performance.”

“Oh I don't know, these two are notorious for being non-player coaches Steve.”

“The constant array of verbal and physical abuse is a tell tale sign of an intense will to win, Mark.”

“You wee little girls, you call that kicking a TV!? You don't even care do you? MY FATHER DIED FOR THIS SPORT, I SPIT ON YOU.”

“The noise coming from the Scottish camp is saying they need to sure up the defense and everything else will fall into place. They are certain they can clinch out a tight victory, Steve.”

“You say you want pray game!? HUH!? HUH!?” The Asian coach screams and then whips out a back scratcher and starts whipping his heavily fatigued and dehydrated players.

“I couldn't make out too much of the Asian camp's thoughts on the first half, but the back scratcher is a good sign of things to come, Mark.”

“Well it looks like the kids are ready to take the field for the second half, I'm getting chills Steve.”

“Absolutely Mark, this has been a very successful inaugural game of truly one of the greatest sports in my lifetime.”

“I couldn't say it better myself, but, we still have a second half to play!”

Down on the field likely only 4 of the original 20 children from both sides were even ready to take the field, half of the crowd has dispersed after receiving their freebie from the massage girls. One of the larger boys jogged up doggedly to the TV while no others were standing and gave it the hardest kick any child had given it all night.

The crack sounded hard, and echoed against the early evening. Even louder was the blood curdling scream that the young man exhibited after the kick landed. The TV rolled an astounding 5 ft in no certain direction.

The referee blew the whistle which was mostly to scold the young man for something he thought he heard him say.

“And that's game!”

“That second half just flew by, Mark, but it's a definitely a telling sign of what we can expect the next time we see these teams again take the field.”

“I agree, and I just want to take this time to thank both teams, and on behalf of the broadcast group we wanna thank Wang's Massage Parlor, where we hope you happy ending all time.”

“Well said. On behalf of Mark, Myself, and all the beautiful Vietnamese women, goodnight and see you tomorrow!”

SCENES RANDOM
TV BALL

A bright and early morning day, the people of the community all grab their things before they meet their children out in the ditch. The teams were warming up, doing the pregame stretches and work outs prior to the start time.

Meanwhile some pregame antics were being carried out on the side lines where the referee was discussing a certain rule change with the two respective coaches.

“This is a beautiful day Steve, the rain has washed away a great deal of fresh dog and cat shit.”

“Still a healthy amount of rat droppings!”

“Right you are Steve, and this is an important day in TV Ball history.”

“That's right, Mark. Today TV Ball is instituting a new rule into the game, that they owners hope won't wreck any of the grass root efforts put forth by the product.”

“Agreed Steve, the rule in question is the ability for a coach to challenge any play and if the challenge is successful that coaches team will be awarded a free kick.”

“Finally TV Ball is being accepted into the main stream!”

“It's hard to deny it's power, uniting people of all demographics, uniting them around a love of the game.”

“It's a beautiful thing, Mark.”

“So you... throw.... huh?” The referee was currently explaining the new rules to the coaches and respective captains.

“On.... On the grounfffftbtbtbtttt....”

“What?” The Asian captain asks.

“Huh!?”

“You throw, just, at me!”

“Throw at you?!” The Scottish coach was becoming incredibly agitated at this elderly man.

“Huh!”

“There seems to be some confusion down on the field between the two teams representatives, Steve?”

“Apparently there is some disparity about how the rule is to be enforced, however I have no fear that it'll be sorted out before kickoff.”

“We should take the time now to explain how a challenge is issued, maybe you should let them know, Steve?”

“Sure Mark, the coach of either team can issue a challenge by picking up any variety of debris on the ground in front of him and throw it at the referee.”

“So is that to say that a coach can't throw something, say, in his pockets at the ref and expect a response?”

“That's right Mark, only things found on the ground will be accepted as potential flags for a challenge.”

“I think the deliberations are coming to a close on the sidelines, as some of the players parent's are beginning to throw debris in an effort to get this game underway.”

“The kids are just as eager as their parents, Mark. I think it's a good time to also let the public know that all TV Ball games are brought to you by Wang's Massage Parlor, the place down town, next to the Woman’s Shelter.”

------------------------------------------

Those are just ideas slightly fleshed out,

hope you enjoyed my ramblings.

[Fiction[War/Psychological] Working Title: Evident to Some

2011-01-09T22:44:00.000-08:00

A young woman adorned in a lab coat, generally suited for that of doctors and specialty civilians, slowly passes through an open door of a higher ranking military official than herself. She carries with her a folder designated to one of her more recent patients.

This particular doctor specializes on what goes on 'between the ears' and she's here to bring concerns to her immediate superior, concerning one: Trevent Sawyer.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Handel.” The older gentlemen greets the good doctor from the confinements of his desk, itself adorned with miscellaneous souvenirs of war.

Ms. Handel lightly drops the folder down onto the man's desk, taking a moment to clear her throat she begins to speak “I'm here about one of your men.”

The General feigns interest in her claim as he cocks an eyebrow more humoring than anything. Before the awkward silence can be broken again by Ms. Handel the older man retorts “Is something amiss, Teresa?”

“General, it's concerning a soldier who was sent to see me recently, his name was,” she pauses as she struggles to remember his name, however everything else about this particular case was weighing much heavier than this particular soldier's moniker.

“Private T. Sawyer?” He remarks looking to the file which prominently displays the soldier's name and rank.

“Yes, regarding the evaluation I was to perform on Mr. Sawyer.”

“I wish we had more like him, he really seems to be born for this purpose.”

“Mr. Sawyer may do well to take a leave of absence so we can better diagnose his difficulties.” She said swallowing afterward, Ms. Handel is not the most confident woman even in a position of considerable importance.

“Mr. Sawyer is having difficulties? He has been nothing but exceptional since he enlisted for basic training, this very moment he is performing for our species in a war that has never once turned in our favor.” The General raised his hand as he paused to clear his throat, his hand then lowers back resting on the desk “excuse me.”

“Y, yes.” Teresa responded timidly trying to regain the purpose of why she came to him in the first place.

“However, Mr. Sawyer has raised a number of flags in tests I had him do for me. These flags generally express anything from instability mentally or some sort of mental distress.”

The General further humoring the younger doctor swiftly scooped up the file and holding it in his large palm began to flip through just barely skimming the surface of the apparently troubling documentation regarding Trevent Sawyer.

“As I said before, Pvt. Sawyer has done nothing but exceed expectations. Why is it that you feel, that he needs to be removed from duty so adamantly, Teresa?” the General was clearly a much more intimidating figure than herself, and held himself with a higher regard than she likely held herself.

“I just think, it would be neglectful to let Mr. Sawyer potentially,” she paused biting her lip to think of the proper word, “self-destruct.” she finished her eyes showing a sincerity not easily expressed.

“I have served in the field, I've been on the front lines when my name was called. I've read several reports written about the conduct in which Mr. Sawyer carries himself and quality of work he produces. He is the nightmare for our enemies that we covet the most.” The General promptly flips the folder closed and drops it back to his desk, having hardly acknowledged the pleas of Ms. Handel.

“Through a series of questions we saw stark responses from Mr. Sawyer that expressed a clear disregard for life.”

“Teresa, the man is fighting a war, for his family and for his friends. He and many others fight and kill day and night, soldiers cannot have an over-sensitivity towards life. This is war.” He looked down at her as the light from the large windows flickered as a low flying bird passed by.

“It's not that he devalues the life of his enemies, but from carefully observed and re-observed brain mapping, and neural procedures, as well as strategic questionings,” She was rambling at this point and even a caring individual would have stopped her dead, let alone a powerful speaker such as the General.

“What did he say?”

“Well through conclusive means of unearthing the truths in his words we discover,”

“Teresa,” he interrupts once more, “what did Mr. Sawyer say?”

“It's not what he says but what it means?” She responds a little taken back.

“In our culture, a man's word is as good as any 'probative' testing.”

“Sir, Mr. Sawyer is losing a fight internally that's more powerful than any weapon those things can throw at him. Further flooding his senses with blood and slaughter will not produce any kind acceptable results as a human or soldier.”

The general lets out a low audible chuckle under his breath, but clearly heard by Dr. Handel, “sir, Mr. Sawyer sees himself as a sentinel of death. He could potentially make very dire decisions that will reflect on his life, lasting long after he's dead.” She finally blurts out, likely quoting a line from her own evaluation of the young man in question.

“I don't know what you're going off about, Teresa. You're singling out a young man with a very real future ahead of him, slandering him for something that has NO probability of happening. If he was shot and wounded tomorrow you would likely feel as depressed as you ever have in your life.” The General paints a grim picture of the futility of war and enunciates masterfully.

However Teresa gathers up the file and papers, then decides to say one last thing as she finds herself at odds end to be understood.

“Mr. Sawyer exhibits signs of a sociopathic nature, the same people who murder indiscriminately. His job is to fire a rifle, I don't think it's right to subject him to these images on a daily basis!” She raised her voice and stood firm in the doorway trying to be assertive after dispensing the most powerful part of her findings.

The General however appears to have found comfort in other things, drawing a pen and a paper from his to-do list followed by a halfhearted grunt “Good bye, Teresa.”

Dr. Handel slowly walks back towards her office within the compound, her head down, her arms clutching the folder. She stays strict to her pace until finally dropping into her chair letting out an exasperated sigh, with the folder falling onto the desk next to her Computer Terminal.

On the terminal is her final write up, that she is obligated to finish on behalf of the military and their program that ensures the health and upkeep of soldiers in the field. It feels rather redundant however that she continue to raise these issues with her superiors, as no one of interest sees the report until the subsequent trials and or summits resulting in calls for reform.

It's true Teresa hadn't seen the horrors and realities of war, when you're on the field and the only thing left to grip to is a rifle capable of ending whole families.

The truth is Trevent Sawyer is just the next one, in a long line of celebrated serial killers working for the military. For all the bad they may eventually commit against the human race, they will have likely killed thousands of enemy troops, destroyed hundreds of enemy vehicles all along a brutal campaign that inevitably ends in tragedy.

It is well documented when these soldiers are put into a situation where the environment is much more urban, and populated by human civilians a dense number of casualties can be accumulated.

As a frantic woman rattles off a report, millions of miles away on a planet too far to be seen by humane eyes a fresh batch of human soldiers embark on a mission into a desert occupation. Where potential human civilians are being kept as collateral for possible terrorist acts to further evoke action from the UN forces.

One human soldier charged with liberating this particular encampment is that same Pvt. Trevent Sawyer, of whom the good doctor was so concerned.

With over 78+ confirmed kills to his name Pvt. Sawyer is held in high regards among his squad, and his superiors often task him with the more intense situations where a calm head is required.

They embark up the pathway towards the desert encampment that is currently occupied by enemy forces, just as millions of miles away that same doctor is finishing her report.

Trevent Sawyer has exhibited many signs that he finds it easy to dehumanize himself and those around him. He has shown that it is not only a disregard for the enemies that he sees daily, but the people around him and those he's supposed to protect.

There is a high probability that if Pvt. Sawyer is not relieved and these issues addressed, that potential consequences will be inevitable.

The Captain of the group signals to Sawyer to hop up around the back of one of the major compounds, as he complies the rest of the team assembles around the entrances. Tactical grenades are thrown in that are used to distract and stun the potential targets inside.

The command is given for 'safeties off and weapons high' the group operates in unison charging inside and beginning the liberation easily systematically conquering the obstacles within.

We have seen many times, well documented cases where other professionals have addressed other soldiers with the same potentially dangerous signs as Pvt. Sawyer. Documentation from case studies performed on Sgt. Jackson Presley and Pvt. Miller O'nally, where soldiers exhibited sociopathic tendencies and were not properly handled. Heavily commented already the case of Jackson Presley and the murder suicide committed which killed over 9 UN soldiers of varying ranks and purpose.

Regarding Sgt. Jackson his case file clearly outlined the potential of acting out in that manner, where as I fear the potential for Pvt. Trevent Sawyer may have the probability for a much more demoralizing end.

The group stakes out another building as the dust clouds begin to swarm around them compromising some of the vision even regarding the advancements in their suits and equipment. The red and yellow blurs they've been taught to cope with, so as they come to this final identical setup with a powerful sun illuminating every possible shadow Pvt. Sawyer takes his place in heaven.

They act in unison and dispense of the last of their tactical equipment having this last building to liberate. The group below charges in with guns high and proper form, the Captain notices the silence and the absence of enemy activity.

The Captain organizes the group and radios to Sawyer over the comm system with which they are connected through suit mechanics, “Sawyer, what's your status?” he calls a second time.

He alerts his team that Sawyer may have been compromised and the group splits up 2 to a side and they embark up the poorly crafted staircases. A thin railing that would barely support the weight of a fully equipped soldier if he leaned on it.

The two groups met at the top ceiling bunker within the compound, for the most part the rest of it was pretty well open and used mostly for housing supplies for the community that existed in this encampment. A proper meager living but still, they had every right to live within the UN's territories.

The Captain attempted radio once more as the 4 stood outside the door to the roof bunker, generally referred to as heaven in a squeeze. “Sawyer, we are outside heaven and coming in, stay low.”

The Captain postures in front of the door and sends a heavy weighted kick into it slamming it in two and falling to the ground with the bottom half clinging to the hinges. Inside heaven it was a darkened area but it was clear you could see Sawyer walking out from the shadows with nary a scratch on him.

“Sawyer?” One of the group asks as he walks through the doorway and past them.

The Captain picks something up from inside his suit, and tells the other two to go with Sawyer to the extraction point where they'll have a shuttle waiting. The other soldiers comply and retreat from the compound behind Pvt. Sawyer.

War brings out the absolute worst in us, and it takes a clear and stable mind to be able to handle what difficulties are brought to us. As a doctor of mental health I may never fully understand the merits of a particular mind in armed combat when it means the safety and never compromising heart of the Human worlds all strung together.

But when a potentially unstable mind acts out, it may be a situation no one possibly saw coming. And as much as it may hurt the integrity of the program of which we all abide, it may very well destroy what was once a good hearted human being.

The Captain takes a step inside the box room to confirm what he was told, and he grits his teeth as he looks on in disbelief at a small lifeless body on the dusty floor matted in blood. He kicks the bottom half of the door hanging off the hinges and as he leaves the room he mutters under his breath, “Christ Sawyer....” he holds back letting anymore slip out, and furiously exits the compound to awaiting team.

The look on Sawyer's face is one the Captain has been trained to deal with, it's not something that comes easy in fact it comes with much more weight than any other.

Private Trevent Sawyer was born a killer, and it will one day be tasked upon one of them to end his life's work prematurely as has happened hundreds of times before..

Before we lose another one, please consider these findings. It may not mean much to the world, but it would mean the world to this young man and his loved ones.

Signed:

Dr. Teresa Handel

I've made a blog

2011-01-09T22:11:00.000-08:00

I write, nothing fancy, I'll update after this with a post.