October 21, 2024

No title required for a lack of content

My heart is aching this morning and I don’t know why. I’ve described it on twitter as having “big feelings” as if I was a child throwing a tantrum. As ridiculous as it sounds I feel like one. I want to throw myself on the ground and scream and cry, flail my limbs for maximum exposure. The only reason I can conclude is that I’m just so confused from where these emotions flow. More than likely, it’s probably grief but there is something else mixed in there. A hint of aged barrel…

The only person I can think of to talk to, to work out these feelings, is my husband and that doesn’t seem likely. Unless I bought myself a Ouija board and was able to get in to contact with him specifically. In my experiences with one it’s always a spiritual “Russian Roulette.” You get who you get, y’know? And I’m not really in the mood to potentially scare up my mother. Even in death I’d prefer not to speak to her. Even if she’s regained her “thoughts.”

If I work backwards, I started to panic when I was overthinking about weekly Star Wars Unlimited league play. The “regulars” haven’t shown up the last few weekends since the time I wore my “Harris/Walz” hat to a game. Now I’m paranoid that I offended them or scared them off with my “liberal agenda.” (The one that runs through every Star Wars film, but whatever. Semantics.) This is a good example of why I’m only partially antagonistic. I genuinely don’t like making people feel uncomfortable, even if I think they deserve it because of their shitty opinions. Another fantastic example was when I was homophobia’ed at work and I apologized to him! To my own detriment, I’m unfortunately accommodating because I would want that in return. The lesson “treat others how you want to be treated” sunk in a little too deep for me. I cannot unlearn it even though I want to be the most petty person on the planet.

I told Josh and he said that I’m probably reading way too much into their “disappearance.” Which, to his credit, is something Charlie would have said. He also would have laughed at me. Because how dare I think the world revolves around me? And it is true, I do think that. Not in the sense that I am the center of attention. Oh no. It is based in the belief that wherever I may roam, I cause havoc and chaos in my wake. It’s silly but in the few instances where I was correct on my “hunch” has only fed this paranoia.

I took a little break and visited with my sorta-kinda-cousin one more time before she heads home to North Carolina. Since then I have felt better. I cannot even remember what it was I was bothered by. Which is weird because it was truly all consuming. My brain is such a hoot.

October 20, 2024

20 Year High School Reunion

Last night I had my 20 year high school reunion. Initially I had zero interest in going. Since the last time I saw anyone from high school I have accomplished nothing. At least, nothing of note worth attending my 20 year reunion. The only reason I did attend was because my sorta-kinda-cousin “bullied” me into it. If she asks, I’m there. Plus, they needed (at minimum) 40 people to attend and they were having a hard time selling the minimum tickets required for the venue. (Out of a class of 200 I should add.) So, I’m very aware that I am not alone when it comes to wanting to skip it.

There were quite a few things I realized while I was there. The primary one being “I’m really an unfriendly person.” I recognized so many faces, even though they had dramatically changed from the last time I had seen them, I just didn’t remember names. It also became very clear that even during high school I didn’t talk to anyone. I knew these people for 4 years and never once took the time to get to know them. Which is really kind of shitty. I had people come up to me and say lovely things to me, but I approached no one but my cousin. In high school, she was the social butterfly. She really had a foot in a bunch of different groups. As Josh and I sat in a corner by ourselves, watching everyone chat, I started to wish I had been like her.

Another thing I realized was how much I have forgotten from my time in high school. What really concerns me up is not knowing if it’s from the grief slowly chipping away at them, or if I was so self absorbed as a kid that I never took the time to see or hear other people’s experiences. Yet that takes me back to the first point that I was just really an unfriendly person. Which is weird because I’m not. I’m just insanely, cripplingly shy. Which most people find strange since I am a huge attention whore.

I had one of these gentleman come up to me and say I looked very familiar but he couldn’t remember why. I said “I did all of the school plays?” He shook his head and replied that that wasn’t it. The only reason I went there first is because I was a huge theatre nerd and participated in this one theatre class that would perform 1 act plays for the English classes at my school each school period, once a month, for 3 years. I was genuinely voted (twice I might add) most likely to be famous. Both times with two different women. One being another theatre friend of mine and the other with this one girl, to this day, I have no idea how she wound up with the win. She had a cute personality but… she never did anything “big” that would have warranted that. She didn’t “perform.” At least not outside of the one math class where she was my table mate. There she mocked our middle eastern teacher’s accent. Which, at the time, I found fucking hilarious. Now it’s super insensitive and ignorant. I feel so much guilt for how ruthless this girl was to this teacher, and I wonder if she continued to teach after or if this racist little girl scared her away.

Another thought I had was how immature I am. Instead of mingling and saying hello to these familiar faces, I hid behind my boyfriend and played pokemon go on my phone. Instead of asking these people how things have been and, I don’t know, getting to know them now. That is one character flaw from high school I still have. I’m not an “adult” by any other means than in my age. I am still cripplingly shy and think that my presence isn’t wanted. Or that I am some sort of burden who needs to shut up.

The final epiphany, one in which I am certain I am not alone in, was how little I’ve accomplished since then. Everyone else seemed corporate or successful in some way. All I’ve done is get married, take care of my dying mother and husband, and finish editing a book. That’s it. I haven’t left this shitty little town or done anything I said I would achieve. I had such big dreams of becoming an actor or a published writer. Instead all I was able to “achieve” wAs perform in some insignificant community theatre and write a blog on the internet. That maybe gets 10 views a month.

I am a firm believer that life isn’t measured in perceived “successes” but in life lived. It is in the relationships we make or in the lives we touch. A “good life” to me is one in which, upon my death, I can look back and go “I’d do it again.”

All-in-all I had fun. Ate entirely too many pretzel bites at the snack buffet, realize how little my life is, and how this is probably the last time I’ll see any of these folks again. (Apart from my sorta-kinda-cousin.)

_____________________

If you’re curious as to why I say “sorta-kinda” is because when we went to high school we had zero familial relationship. We just happened to enjoy theatre class. The sorta part comes in when I started dating my husband in my senior year. He saw her name in one of my school play programs and asked me if she was related to so-and-so. At the time I had no idea, but she is in fact related to my husband’s step-mom’s sister’s husband. It’s weird how small this community is and how there are threads that weirdly connect us to people in our community in this roundabout way. My in-laws being a very prominent thread. If you’ve ever heard of the podcast “Notorious Bakersfield” that’s my cousin.

October 13, 2024

Six Months

I failed. I had wanted to write this post on the actual day of, instead I got distracted with other things to where I eventually found myself drunk and just couldn’t bring myself to write. How the greats could drink and clack out some narrative is astounding to me. It takes an act of god for me to put “pen to paper” when I’m under the influence.

Yesterday, the 12th, marked six months since Charlie passed. Tony, the brother husband who I now repeatedly refer to as my brother, asked me why I wanted to commemorate the occasion when I had never been one to do that sort of stuff before. It’s true. I’m not one for half anniversaries or similar milestones. I told him that I wanted to, in this instance, because I had to remind myself. Most of the time, it doesn’t feel real.

All in one moment it does and doesn’t feel like that much time has passed. My brain is under the impression that it happened just last week or, worst of all, that Charlie is just on a trip somewhere. He’ll be back any moment. Why are you worried? Yet in these very moments, it feels like it’s been years. As if things have always been this way.

That feeling I truly despise. I hate how it could feel “easy” for him to not be here, to not be a huge part of my life like he had been.

The further I drift away the more it hurts. My crying episodes used to be small fits of tears, and now the waves come like the growing hurricanes. More than once this past week I’ve had to pull my car over because I was losing my mind. (I can and only cry alone in my car.) In whatever corner I can tuck myself away, I sob until the storm passes. and then continue on as though I hadn’t just broken down because of some song. I wish I could remember which ones struck the most sensitive nerve but, even if you held a gun to my head, I can’t. Maybe I don’t want to remember. I do have a sick tendency to lean into these songs, hard, forcing the extraction of these emotions.

One of the things I do, that borders on psychosis, is that I turn and talk to him. In my mind he’s still sitting in the passenger seat, judging me with his sarcastic observations. I can hear them loud and clear in my mind. Sometimes they even feel like he is genuinely speaking to me, and it’s not my mind creating them. And maybe he is… it’s in that possibility that brings me a strange peace. If our existence carries on after our mortal demise, Charlie would absolutely be the kind to stick around to make sure everyone was “okay” before he moved on to the next life. If such choice exists.

What I am certain of is that as we head into the coming months things are going to become increasingly difficult. Here is where I meet the biggest “firsts.” My first wedding anniversary without him, my first birthday (in 20 years) without him, the first time we don’t celebrate his birthday, the first Christmas, the first new year… all of the fucking holidays.

I’m sure you’ll all get a chance to read all about them. I would like to lean more into my writing, like I had, instead of just experiencing these thoughts quietly, alone. What stops me is sometimes I feel like people think I’m making up all of this, as a way to chase “clout” (as the kids say.)

September 13, 2024

2024 Flash Fiction Entry #2 – From the Depths

Welp… another tower fell on 9/11… my chances of moving onto the next round. (Was that distasteful?) Anyway, I genuinely was so proud of this story. I wrote it earlier than I ever have done so in previous entries and edited it from the passenger seat on the way to Santa Barbara the day it was due. Unfortunately I only placed 15th. I needed to get 8 or higher to have enough points to proceed. Oh well. I have never written an “action” style story before and, even though I am a novice in this particular arena, I really enjoyed writing this piece. From the commentary from the judges (posted after the story) they seemed to like it too. Their critiques were right on the money.

The challenge: Genre – Thriller; Location – A black-tie event; Object – A wet-suit

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“From the Depths”

Agent Joel Salvador blended seamlessly with the other waiters dressed in their loose-fitting wet suits, matching the nautical theme of the event. Carrying a tray with flutes of champagne, he snaked his way through the crowd of Washington elites toward the dais on which the presidential candidate Douglass Troupe was scheduled to speak.  

Smiling politely, he bowed and offered a senator a drink as he watched the last elevator of guests arrive out of the corner of his eye. Dressed in their best black and white attire, the twelve politicians entered the party as another server stepped inside and disengaged the lift. 

Just as they said, Joel thought, as he spun and offered another drink.   

The exclusive black-tie event was held within a wine bottle shaped hall of tempered glass, twelve miles off the coast of Virginia Beach. The elevator shaft, of the same make, rose up from the center of the room toward the surface of the Atlantic Ocean sixty feet above them. The sea water was thick and dark as ink just on the other side of the transparent walls. 

Regardless of the stock on their trays, the servers stood dispersed among the crowd as instructed by catering. None of the guests paid them any mind. Joel stuck to his position and waited. His heart pounded in his ears. He could feel the weight of the gun strapped against his left rib cage. 

Douglas emerged from one of the five rooms off the main hall and walked to the edge of the raised platform. Clearing his throat, he ran a hand through his thinning hair. The conversation and laughter echoed through the chamber drowning out his call to attention. 

Flicking his index finger against his glass, Douglas cut through the noise and brought them to silence.  

“Good evening,” he said with a raspy voice. “I want to welcome you to celebrate the already guaranteed win.” His bulging eyes surveyed the room. 

Half of the guests reluctantly applauded. 

“We have gathered you here to thank you. Your efforts swinging the election have been perfect. No one has ever been as complicit. We could not have accomplished our plans without you.” 

Unease swelled through the hall. The politicians looked nervously around the room at their peers. Some leaned and whispered to their neighbors. 

Douglas held out a hand and from the same room, from whence he came, in walked a feeble old man. His back arched forward, clutching a cane in one hand. The incumbent president joined his opponent at the edge of the stage. 

“You ready, John?” Douglas asked. 

Movements slower than a sloth, the president looked up with a wicked grin. 

Almost there. 

As John stood to his full height, he dropped his cane. The sharp snap made the crowd jump and drew all eyes to the two men whose features began to undulate. The candidates’ appearances morphed before the throng into lean, pale, human-like creatures dressed in Armani suits. Their amber colored eyes slanted down from the outside corner, reaching toward the tips of their wicked grins that revealed two sets of fangs in their mouths. Their tongues flicked from their bulbous lips like gasping tape worms. 

Shrieks filled the room and lifted into a crescendo as every waiter, but Joel, transformed to match the things on-stage. The politicians scrambled and rushed toward the elevator, but the creatures beat them to it and formed a line, pushing their prey back.  

“Don’t even try,” Douglas cooed with a new voice like silk, “the elevator is disengaged.” 

A chorus of panicked voices and cries rose up from the trapped politicians. The air in the chamber crackled with terror. 

“Shut up!” John cried out, “You got everything you wanted! This is just congratulations on a job well done. Unfortunately for you we shall reap the rewards. After we drain every one of you, we will be able to duplicate your appearances. We will rule this country.” 

The servers lunged at the nearest victim and, secured in their arms, plunged their fangs into a neck. Their tongues hungrily sucked up every drop of blood. The free guests scattered toward safety.  

This is it! 

Joel pulled his weapon from within his wet suit and fired a shot into each of the candidates’ hearts. With everyone distracted, he pressed the alert button inside the left leg of his suit. Joel backed toward the elevator. 

John and Douglas mirrored the other as they looked down at their smoking, bloodless chest wounds. Their lips parted into vicious sneers.  

“We’re shapeshifting vampires, idiot,” Douglas growled. “Bullets don’t kill us.” 

Joel pointed his gun and fired five shots, in a plus formation, into the glass wall. The bullets lodged halfway through. 

The people around Joel scattered, clearing a path to the lone exit. 

Joel got into the elevator. With his eyes fixed on the enemies around him, he yanked the set of maintenance keys hanging from around his neck and set the compartment to neutral.  

The creatures rushed toward him as the doors began to close. 

“You might want to look,” he said, pointing to the pierced glass, as the lift doors consumed him. 

From the black emerged the round nose of a grey submarine charging full steam into the center of his marks, shattering the glass.  

Joel crouched low and gripped the wood railing close to the panel, prepared for the abrupt change of pressure and the moment to strike. 

As the ocean water flooded the chamber, the escaping air pressure launched the elevator up the shaft and slamming into the facade of an oil rig at its end. 

The agent struck his hand out like a snake engaging the elevator brakes. The doors opened as the entire rig lurched to the side. 

Spraying up triangular wings, a speed boat rushed to the sinking platform. The craft pulled alongside long enough for Joel to leap onto the vehicle and then speed off into the night. 

“Another success?” the driver shouted over his shoulder. 

“Mission accomplished.” 

______________________________________________________________________________

”From the Depths” by Joshua Hensley –    

WHAT THE JUDGES LIKED ABOUT YOUR STORY –

{2038}  I enjoyed the concept of an underwater, wine bottle-shaped hall made of tempered glass. Joel’s move — marking the glass so that the submarine could shatter it — was clever. The ending lines brought the story to a satisfying close.  

{2320}  The reveal that we’re in an underwater complex was great. That immediately heightened interest and it deepened the danger that Joel was in (he can’t just walk out of the building. He’s trapped, so his plan has to work). “Spraying up triangular wings” was an amazing visual description for the speedboat’s arrival. It gave it the quality of an angel coming to rescue Joel. I was not expecting the twist that we were dealing with shapeshifting vampires, but it was a treat when we got there. The other waiters being vampires as well was a good choice. It makes Joel feel even more isolated (the harder you can make things for our hero, the better). I was nervous for him when the bullets didn’t pierce the glass, and the submarine moment was awesome. 

{2026}  What a timely and topical premise: vampiric creatures overthrow the corrupt American election during an underwater celebration party. With the talks of election fraud in the media, this story feeds into existing news and preys on existing fears. I especially enjoyed the shapeshifting nature of this piece, which is genre-blending and unexpected. My favorite part was the description of the setting–an empty bottle under the ocean. I can really picture it! The tension is high in this piece from the very beginning, and you do a good job relaying the layered dimensions of this for various groups present. Thanks for sharing your writing with us!  

WHAT THE JUDGES FEEL NEEDS WORK –

{2038}  I wanted some brief understanding of what was at stake here, politically — was the presidential candidate a member of the same political party as the current president? I’d suggest naming either Joel or John differently — having two four-letter names, both starting with “Jo,” made it hard to remember which was which. I wasn’t sure what Douglas meant by his announcement (“your efforts swinging the election”) — could you be more specific? Were these legislators who had gerrymandered their districts? Also, if they were helping Douglas and John to win, why would Douglas want to kill them? When Douglas and John initially turned into vampires, your description made me imagine them more as demons (I think it was the flickering tongues). Perhaps you could specify their nature, or cut the part about the tongues.  

{2320}  Small logistical question – if the shapeshifters already have the body of the “incumbent president” under their control, why did they need to rig the election? They already control the White House. Is this his last term? You might want to specify that. Keeping the vampiric nature of the targets a secret for some of the story was a great choice, but you might consider revealing Joel’s mission right away so you can play with our expectations. Usually, you don’t want to keep your main character’s goal shadowy because it can mess with pacing. If we don’t know what a character wants, we have no way to gauge the story’s progression. You might explicitly tell us that Joel is here to assassinate the candidate (so we know when the story ‘begins,’ if that makes sense), but mislead us about motivation. Rather than calling him “Agent Joel,” you could just call him Joel. That way, we’re in an unsteady place of not knowing if we should root for him or not. Why does he want to kill the future president? That question will keep us hooked and the uncertainty on our toes. You can still have your big twist, but you’re not hiding the character’s goal from us. If you reveal his plan to assassinate the man right away, then you can have Joel setting up, getting in position, weighing options. There was a lack of actions from him for a while in this story. He’s our POV character, but he faded into the background a little while the politicians were speaking. If we know his plan to kil them but not why, you can take us on more of the journey with him (again, without spoiling the reveal). You might want to diversity the names “John” and “Joel” more. They start with the same two letters and are the same length. This means that readers might mix them up a little at the beginning, mistaking who is doing what at a glance. 

{2026}  Although the premise is really topically relevant and charged for today’s readership, which is great to engage the reader, I wonder a bit about the set up. For instance, the speech opens with admitting rigging the election. However, this feels like a believability snag to me. This would be super hush hush if so, and wouldn’t ever be announced at a public event, even if all attending were involved. Caterers, for instance, might record or overhear and spread news to the media, risking protests and international intervention. Thoughts to consider for a future version of this should you choose to revise! For an optional challenge, consider keeping your word limit in place if you do revisit this.