I shall soil this blank page,
dirty it with my thoughts.
I think a lot of stupid shit,
more so than I ought.
I think the world should hear my words,
although I don’t know why.
I believe my head is an antenna,
grabbing ideas from the sky.
I’m most likely quite delusional,
bordering on absurd.
But I tricked yet another one,
into reading one of my turds.
“What are you doing here?” Stodler asked.
“My private dick saw everything and I thought I could help” she answered, feeling victorious. “Is the old man really dead?”
“I don’t know, but I think so” he answered.
“And the dumb bitch? Looks like you haven’t taken care of her yet.”
The last sentence hit Stodler like a ton of bricks. He realized just then that Isabel was a problem that had to be dealt with.
“Isa, honey” Stodler kneeled down and took her hand. “We’re gonna get through this, right? You can be quiet about this?”
Isabel snapped out of her catatonic like state, turned her head to Stodler and said “Fuck you, you’re gonna rot in jail” She tried to pull her hand away to stand up but Stodler tightened his grip.
“No, my love, it can’t be like that. I’m sorry”
Isabel let out a shrill scream that was cut short. Blood sprayed the wall behind her. She slumped over. Stodler turned to see a smoking, silenced .40 caliber in the dectective’s hand.
“This is gonna cost you, miss” the detective said to Amanda.
“I’m good for it, besides, the bill is only going to get bigger. I’m going to need you to clean this up” Amanda replied.
“Consider it done” the detective said.
Stodler was relieved. He had seen his future come to an end only to have it resurrected by the hand of the detective. Stodler and Amanda ending up dating. Amanda eventually threw Stodler away when she became bored with him. Stodler was none the happier, he was with her more out of self-preservation anyhow. In the years after the incident, Stodler graduated top of his class and enjoyed a successful career in politics. In two decades he ran for a Senate seat. He won.
Amanda had gone to high school with Stodler. She lost her virginity to him. She has never gotten over him. Her sole obsessive purpose in life was to get him back. She enrolled in Brown just to be close to him. Stodler had no idea she was going to attend Brown. For Stodler, Amanda was just a high school fling; he had politely rejected Amanda’s attempts to take their relationship to the next level. Amanda was unrelenting.
When she found out about Isabel, she took the news so poorly that she had to go home for a week to recover. Amanda, though not to the extent of Isabel, was of means as well. She was used to always getting what she wanted. She was set on getting Stodler.
She hired two private investigators. One was to trail Isabel and the other was to delve into her life, past and present. The former was used for masochistic indulgence. She basked in the jealousy of seeing her beloved in intimate situations with another woman. The latter provided her with much needed intel that could destroy the relationship between her obsession and her newly found rival. Each was worth every penny.
She put together a packet of lewd photos and reports of Isabel and Stodlers’ nightly activities and sent them off to Isabel’s father. Even though she clearly had enough dirt to bury the couple, she continued to dig. She let go the detective who was researching Isabel’s background but kept on with the detective who was trailing the couple and taking photos.
Her thirst for the painful pictures was insatiable. She knew she could call off her dog. She knew it was not only unnecessary at this point, but might actually be doing her harm. But like a true addict she woke up saying to herself, “Yesterday was the last day, today I stop”, only to find herself dialing the detective as if working on divine auto pilot.
As the couple grew closer and happier, Amanda grew angrier and more unwound. She was no longer attending classes. She spent her days poring over the detective’s bounty from the night before. Although she was self-aware enough to feel herself becoming unhinged, she felt powerless to stop it.
Frank Stodler, mostly known as just Stodler, met Isabel during his first week of attending Brown University. Isabel’s family tree has roots that burrow into Brown’s soil before the Civil War. Stodler, on the other hand, was the first in his family to go to college. Isabel came from a long line of money and privilege. Stodler came from a long line of poverty and struggle.
Stodler was able to go to Brown due to a generous benefactor from his home town. Every year, the benefactor choose one extraordinary and needy student and paid for four years of college. This year his generosity would be tested. Brown is much more expensive than the usual state schools or community colleges he was used to paying for.
Stodler fell in love with Isabel the moment he saw her. He left their first meeting floating in thin air, getting a boost higher every time he mouthed her name “I S A B E L ”. The name echoed in his head. The best or worst part, depending on the point of view, was that this was his first time in love.
As months passed by, their relationship progressed. Isabel fell just as hard for Stodler as he had for her. They were practically inseparable. They only parted when Isabel spent time with her friends and family. She told Stodler a healthy relationship needed some separation to flourish. The separation that Isabel required grew so radical that Stodler became suspicious.
Stodler’s suspicions were somewhat confirmed. Though he thought Isabel was ashamed of his social status, she really wasn’t, but word of their romantic bond could never be heard by her father. Her father wouldn’t accept her dating anything less than a future senator; and even that was aiming low in his estimation.
One afternoon Isabel’s treachery was discovered. She explained herself to Stodler. He took it well. In fact, knowing that they would have to be a little sneaky excited Stodler. He took pride in knowing he was “sticking it to the man” while “giving it to his daughter”. Little did he know, he was playing with fire.
To be continued….
In 1951, deep in the wilds of the Adirondacks, in upstate New York, researchers made an almost miraculous discovery. Almost 50 years after the industrial revolution took place in the United States, an uncontacted tribe of indigenous people was observed for the first time. It would be last time a new indigenous people would be contacted in the country.
Immediately after discovery, a fierce debate arose. Over the course of two years, two sides fought it out in the press and in the courts if the tribe was to be contacted or not. In 1953, the former won and researchers descended upon the tribe.
The tribe was very receptive to the researchers. There was no hostility, in fact, the opposite was the case. The tribe was hospitable to the outsiders. At first, the natives mistook the researchers for a displaced tribe. Not only did the tribe take them in as a rescue mission, daughters were offered to the researchers in marriage to strengthen the newly formed bond.
The tribe, at the time of first contact was as primitive and self-reliant as could be. They were primarily hunters and gatherers, though they practiced a good bit of agriculture. It was observed that they had no contact with other tribes so there was no trade practiced.
The tribe quickly adopted many features of modern life that the researchers unintentionally introduced. The first was modern clothes. The tribespeople appeared to have had an insatiable appetite for garments with colors and patterns.
The next feature adopted worried researchers. The tribe migrated from hunting and gathering and moved towards more of a typical “American” diet. The change was very quick as was the adoption of the use of electricity. The researchers tried not to change the Womapog way of life, but failed. The Womapog were practically modernized in a matter of three years. They eventually gave up hunting and gathering all together. They grew very few crops. Some of the food crops that they were cultivating when the researchers made contact made way for tobacco and marijuana, both accidentally introduced by the new guests.
This shift caused a great conflict for the researchers. In very little time after discovery, the tribe was completely dependent on them. Funds started to run out quickly. Supporting the tribe was not in the budget. Furthermore, as the tribe modernized, interest in them waned. The more they looked like the rest of the country, the less compelling they became.
A few members of the Womapog tribe broke off. They were never seen or heard from again. After the fiasco the researchers caused, they were reluctant to follow deserters. It has been rumored a few survive today, deep in the forest. Sightings of them have become almost as mythicized as those of Bigfoot.
In little less than one decade, the grant was almost gone with no perspective of being renewed. Few researchers were left. In 1962 a team of five remaining researchers were on site and they were not so much researching as playing the role of social workers to keep the tribe alive.
Late in March, 1962, a two hundred years storm was forecasted to come suddenly and violently. Researchers were advised to evacuate immediately. They were to be helivaced out and there was only room for them. In later interviews, it was said, with heavy hearts they made promises of returning and said their goodbyes. Little did they know at the time, it would be forever.
The storm lasted over a week. Heavy snow, Arctic temperatures and hurricane force winds caused massive destruction. All roads that led even near the site of the tribe were decimated. The last five researchers, who barely escaped, raised funds privately to make a rescue attempt. A month and a half later, they acquired the necessary funds. It would take another two and a half weeks to get to the tribe. It was too late.
The researchers, now a rescue team, descended upon a horror movie scene. Not one Womapog tribesperson survived. There was evidence of cannibalism. Womapog oral tradition stated that cannibalism was never practiced and in fact was a major sin in their belief system. Mothers were frozen in place trying to warm their children, who shared the same fate.
This was the last time an indigenous tribe was contacted on the North American continent. The case has been studied all over the world and has spawned new protocols for contacting indigenous peoples. In the 1990’s, a monument was approved in the New York State Senate to erect a monument at the site of the tragedy for the Womapog people. Until today, the project has not been started. Works are in the way to make a movie about their story.
Alan had just moved into an eight story apartment in a new development on the outskirts of town. He was attracted to its proximity to the major highway on ramp that led him to his job, thirty miles away. It also had a lower price given its distance from downtown. What really closed the deal for Alan was the view.
From the laundry room window, he could see the skyline of downtown in the distance, off to the left. Situated right in front was a legally protected swath of woods. It measured around half of a mile in length and maybe a hundred yards in depth. A little stream ran through the middle so it was teeming with life. On the other side of the woods was a wall that delineated his middle class bubble from the outside world.
Immediately on the other side of the barrier was a trailer park, surrounded by a fence that time and a lack of funds had eroded. Beyond that was farmland as vast as the sea. Due to the highest trees in the wooded area, these features did not compose Alan’s view. These trees were seated on a slight incline that ran through the middle of the woods. This gave the impression they were a lot deeper than they were, as if they went on forever. Alan’s universe, from inside his apartment was the far off city and these immediate woods.
Alan smoked cigarettes in the laundry room. In the morning, the woods were green, lush and full of life. At night, they were black, eerie, yet still full of life. The distance from his 8th floor window gave him the bravery to stare at length into the woods for he knew that he wouldn’t even have the courage to stand at the edge by himself at night.
One night, while smoking, something in the blackness of the woods caught his eye. An isolated light would dance, momentarily, before going out only to reappear a few yards over in any direction. At first, Alan thought nothing of it but it had gone on long enough for Alan to chain smoke two cigarettes.
Alan called the guards at the gate. He fathomed there might be some kids playing with matches in the woods. The guards assured him they’d look into it and wished him a good night. His was pleased with his citizenry and decided to go to bed.
A half hour into slumber, the urge to urinate aroused him from bed. He decided he’d sneak another cigarette before going back to sleep. He saw a flashlight at the edge of the woods. It must be the guards, he thought. He saw the strange lights dance closer and closer to where the guards were. He almost called out to him but he remembered he was paying a premium to live far away from people who shout from windows.
The next morning, as Alan drove towards the gate, a group of police cars caught his attention. As he rolled by, he slowed to a stop and asked what was happening. He was told that one after another the guards went to investigate possible arson in the woods and all three failed to return. A chill rushed through Alan’s body. He didn’t even think to mention it was he who called it in.
At work, Alan could only think of the dancing lights. Wherever there was black, he saw them. Before turning on his computer, he saw them in the screen of his monitor. When going to the bathroom, he saw them in the moment of darkness before the automatic lights turned on. He went to smoke in the dark warehouse and he saw them at the other end. Those were moments of sheer terror before he found the light switch and made then go away.
Alan was jumpy all day. He decided he was not being productive so he shut down his computer and headed for home. He told his boss he was not feeling well and that he’d tie up some loose ends from his laptop. Given Alan was an excellent employee, his boss wished him well and told him he’d see him tomorrow.
When Alan pulled up to the gate, he pressed the remote opener but nothing happened. A guard came out from the booth and manually opened the gate. He was informed there had been no power since the morning. Having been on edge all day, this information made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.
Alan parked his car in his designated spot and walked towards his building. The street lights in the parking lot were off so it was exceptionally dark. There wasn’t an iota wind, yet the woods sounded as if they were being blown around by a storm. As he approached his building and the woods became visible, he was shocked that not a single leaf stirred.
Alan was forced to take the stairs. As the fire door slammed behind him, he found himself in complete blackness. He waved his arms around to activate the motion sensors of the emergency lights and nothing happened. Fear paralyzed Alan. He turned to open the fire door with the intention of running from the building. He pushed on the bar and nothing happened. He was trapped.
He ran to the first floor in the dark. He pushed on the door. Nothing. It, too, didn’t open. He looked down from where he came. Tears filled his eyes when he saw the dancing lights. He wiped the tears away and ran to the second floor. The door wouldn’t budge. Although he didn’t feel anything, it sounded as if there were a strong wind blowing in the staircase. He looked back, the lights were already halfway between him and the first floor. He cried out in horror. He ran up the stairs in the dark, tripping over his heavy, clumsy feet. The lights continued pursuing him.
He reckoned he was around his floor and with all the faith he could muster he pushed on the door. It opened. He was, in fact, on his floor. The last dwindling day light crept in through a window at the end of the hall. All of the doors to all of the apartments were wide open, including his own. The windows of all the apartments were open as well and curtains were being sucked out and blown around by a wind that could not be felt.
Alan ran into his apartment and slammed the door. He turned the deadbolt and ran to the laundry room. Wind was pounding on his door. Alan squatted down in the darkness and hugged his knees, sobbing uncontrollably. With a crash his door flew open. The dead bolt was ripped right out of the jam.
The lights were dancing in his doorway and in those of his neighbors. He couldn’t move. A thousand memories flooded him at once, yet instead of being overloaded by the passing images he was able to distinguish each one individually and give each one a little attention, all at the speed of light. He came to the disappointing conclusion that this was it. It was all for naught, his life, so he thought he’d take the matter into his own hands.
His whole life he did the right thing; studied, worked hard and deprived himself of many pleasures and it was going to end like this. The lights danced towards him and with a primal scream, he threw himself through the window.
He braced for impact but after a few moments, re realized he was not falling. He opened his eyes. He was suspended in the air. He looked towards the woods and they were alive with the dancing lights. There were hundreds, perhaps thousands of them, coming and going with unnatural spontaneity.
He felt himself being pulled towards the woods. He wept in defeat. As he was gently landed in the middle of the woods all went black. The dancing lights disappeared at once. The sound of wind immediately stopped. All the lights of the complex came back on. The three night guards from the night before emerged from the woods, naked and screaming. Alan was never seen again.
Leticia listened to distorted versions of her radio hits on a loop that seemed to have gone on for an eternity. She felt herself breaking. With tears running down the inside and outside of her cheeks she whispered “I’ll be true to me”
The voice goaded her “Say it again, baby”
“I’ll be true to me”
“Louder!”
“I’ll be true to ME!”
She filled her lungs with what she felt was the love of the universe and blasted out “I’LL BE TRUE TO ME!”
Suddenly, everything went white and familiar voices surrounded her. She could make out Dawson’s raspy voice “What’s she saying… Hold up! She’s coming to!”
Leticia was still mouthing “I´ll be true to me…” when she realized, despite a splitting headache, reality was returning to the way she remembered it for most her life. There were medics all around her. “What happened?” she asked.
“There was a gas leak, hun. You passed out. We found you writhing on the floor muttering some phrase over and over, we couldn’t make it out, though” Dawson informed her.
“I’ll be true to me?” Leticia asked.
“Yeah, that sounds about right” Dawson said, “I guess it doesn’t matter that the auto tuner is fixed, let’s call it a day. You need some rest. We were really worried about you”
“Let’s call it a career. I don’t ever want to use an auto tuner again. I want to go back to making real music” Leticia said.
“Yeah, yeah hun. Let´s get you home so you can take a load off and get some rest” Dawson replied.
Almost one year to the day, Leticia received a champagne gift basket from the record company. She ripped the card off and her eyes welled up as she read:
“Congrats, girl for rocking the charts! We can’t stop bopping our heads to “I’ll Be True to Me”. It’s your catchiest tune, yet! With our trending data, we are confident it will stay at number 1 for another month. You’re so dope! LOL”
Leticia openly wept. She knew she was not being true to herself.
Leticia started to form a hypothesis of what was happening. Thinking in this state was like trying to look through a dense fog. Her principle fear was that this was an attack of some kind and she needed to get out of the studio.
“Don’t fight it, honey” a silky feminine voice suggested.
“Don’t fight what? Who are you?” Leticia asked. Leticia was borderline obsessed with Aretha Franklin and she could have sworn that this voice was that of the late superstar.
“The feeling, sugar. Ride it like a wave. And don’t you mind who I am. Pay more attention to who you are. I’m gonna hold your hand through this ride. Now lay down and close your eyes”
Leticia didn’t have it in her to protest. Furthermore, she was convinced the owner of the voice was in fact her idol. The moment she closed her eyes a geometric neon light show commenced underneath her eyelids. It was so intense at times; she wanted to close her eyes, only to realize that they were already closed.
“If it gets too intense, just open your eyes, hun”
“It’s beautiful” Leticia said as she saw a river made of constantly changing fractals which moved with the pulse of her own beating heart.
“Now talk to me baby. Why you here? What are you doing? This ain’t what you dreamed about when you was little. You wanted to sing your songs. And why you hiding that beautiful voice behind some computer, anyway?”
Leticia started to speak and was amused by the fact she wasn’t even moving her mouth. “I know, but I can’t stop. I can’t disappoint. There are too many people counting on me at this point”
“But you disappointin’ you! You can’t even count on you, now”
Leticia started to cry, but the tears felt as though they were running down the inside of her cheeks. Visions of a younger version of herself filling notebooks with lyrics and Memorex tapes with her voice were projected onto the psychedelic background. Then her young face started melting, becoming grotesque as her latest, bestselling hit, shrieked out and assaulted all of her senses. She felt her skull would collapse under the pressure of the hellish sonic waves.
“I understand, please make it stop!” she cried.
“I can’t make it stop, dear, you put those vibrations out into the universe”
Leticia tried once more to scream but it was drowned out by another perverted version of one of her hit singles.
(To be continued…)
“Call the tech guy, the auto-tuner is broken. It just zonked out” Dawson, the studio engineer, barked out. “And in the meantime, how about everyone have a smoke or get some fresh air. Whichever floats your boat”
The room cleared out, except for Leticia, the multi-platinum talent who was recording.
“You gonna stay here, honey?” Dawson asked. She shyly nodded. “Suit yourself!” he added before putting a brown filtered cigarette into his mouth and heading out.
Leticia sat there in the eerie silence of the sound proofed studio. Every once in a while, she let out an “Uhhh!” just to hear it deadened on the insolated walls. All of a sudden and uncontrollable drowsiness washed over her. She looked at her cell phone. It was 10:30pm, not so late for her, but the yawning became more and more intense. She decided she´d close her eyes until the crew returned.
After what felt like hours, she opened her eyes only to find the studio still empty. She figured she must have dozed off deeply, but momentarily. She felt a slight haze in her head and her eyes were having difficulty adjusting. Some colors were more brilliant than others and some even had trails coming from them when she squinted her eyes. “I must still be very sleepy” she thought.
She sat there for what felt like much more time than was necessary for the crew to have a smoke. She decided to go see what was taking them so long. When she stood up, her legs gave out as if they were jell-o under her. To make things more complicated, the floor felt like a trampoline.
Her first thought was that she must have been drugged. She started for the door but realized she had little control of her members. She dragged herself over what felt like an elastic surface until she found her way to the door. She turned the knob. It just spun and spun and nothing happened. She tried to scream but nothing came out of her mouth. Instead her own shrill cry reverberated in her own head.
(To be continued…)
“We really need some rain” Bruce, a mighty, decades old oak tree said to his friend and neighbor, Piney, an equally impressive evergreen. They were situated in such a way that they overlooked the hill in front of them but couldn’t see one another.
“Yeah, besides the thirst, I’m worried the fires may start to kick up” Piney answered.
“It’s only a matter of time my friend” Bruce said.
Later that night Bruce was proven correct. First, the faint smell of smoke turned into a thick cloud and then the heat could slowly be felt. Before long, visible light from the flames was flickering dangerously close to them.
“This could be it, Bruce, after decades by your side overlooking this infinite beauty. Now we may be going back to where we came” Piney said.
“It was all worth it, my friend” was his stoic response.
The heat encroached little by little, drying out already arid bark. Just as Bruce and Piney gave up hope of seeing tomorrow, both felt what they thought was a miracle. Drops of water started to clean the blown ash from their leaves.
The drops turned into a cascade. The sounds of sizzling from suffocating fire was all around them.
“This is turning out to be quite the ripper” Bruce shouted over the howling gale winds and sheets of falling water.
“Yeah! And in little time will arrive the first tomorrow I am truly looking forward to in a while” Piney gleefully responded.
The both stood in silence, swaying in the wind, letting it take them in the direction of its desires. Deep in the Earth, their roots were quenched.
Bruce started nodding off when an extremely bright flash brought momentary day to the mountain. Bruce thought it was a dream until the air ripping boom reverberated throughout the valley.
“That one hit a little close, didn’t it Piney?” Bruce asked, now completely awake from his slumber.
There was no answer.
“Piney?”
There was still no answer.
The next morning an early hawk perched itself on one of Bruce’s high boughs. Bruce asked “Please, hawk, lend me your eyes, what has become of my friend Piney?”
The hawk turned and saw an evergreen tree split down the middle from a lightning strike. The task of bearing such news was too much for the hawk. He simply said “Sorry Bruce” and flew away. That was enough for Bruce to understand.
By Ryan 