tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13866447885334820092024-02-19T04:16:23.383-05:00The B Side: Unorthodox and Okay With It.Below is the innermost thoughts and creations of novelist and poet B D BECHTLE. Short stories, philosophy, previews, poems, rants-- you'll find it all here. Use the list of keywords on the sidebar to find what you're looking for. Follow the author here and on Twitter @BBechtlez. Be sure to share anything you like on social media, and don't forget to read the preview for the upcoming thriller THE BARD.
"It's fine to be weird... as long as you harness it in a way normal people can enjoy." Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11893709002020127219noreply@blogger.comBlogger91125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386644788533482009.post-50651981018170847472015-06-07T12:40:00.001-04:002015-06-07T12:40:51.299-04:00Girls Girls Girls<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://stylebyemilyhenderson.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/11/jaEXvDzl9lmx1k8H-kFNW79A4I6Vjmw8jkQSliayhJA.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://stylebyemilyhenderson.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/11/jaEXvDzl9lmx1k8H-kFNW79A4I6Vjmw8jkQSliayhJA.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Eating conversation hearts<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Candy speaks my language<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They forgot the grunts<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The snare of derision<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My crippling brand of indecision<o:p></o:p></div>
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Too much talk gives me gas<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had a habit of falling down<o:p></o:p></div>
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Trippin’ down the whole damn town<o:p></o:p></div>
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Rockin’ out BK with a big kid crown<o:p></o:p></div>
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Burger in hand, shake in my butt<o:p></o:p></div>
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But I’ll tell you what<o:p></o:p></div>
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I need to hear three square words<o:p></o:p></div>
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And it ain’t girls girls girls<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In any order<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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Girls girls girls, they never understand<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Girls girls girls, what it takes to be a man<o:p></o:p></div>
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The ones that do, ain’t interested in me<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And the ones that don’t<o:p></o:p></div>
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Ain’t lookin’ either<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Asks me what I think of war<o:p></o:p></div>
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I say it depends on which<o:p></o:p></div>
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Tells me they’re all bad<o:p></o:p></div>
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Her stare of dissidence <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My sniffling stand of indifference<o:p></o:p></div>
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Politics betray my low IQ<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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I make a trick of being off<o:p></o:p></div>
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Breakin’ ice for the whole damn loft<o:p></o:p></div>
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Fallin’ in face first but landing soft <o:p></o:p></div>
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Cubes in eyes, circles ‘round my bite<o:p></o:p></div>
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But they never tell ya right<o:p></o:p></div>
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Only say what you wanna hear<o:p></o:p></div>
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And it’s just girls girls girls<o:p></o:p></div>
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But there’s a man at the door<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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Girls girls girls, they never understand<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Girls girls girls, what it takes to be a man<o:p></o:p></div>
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The ones that do, ain’t interested in me<o:p></o:p></div>
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And the ones that don’t<o:p></o:p></div>
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Ain’t lookin’ either<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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Can’t catch my breath<o:p></o:p></div>
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Lining my mitt for a break<o:p></o:p></div>
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My leg snags it instead<o:p></o:p></div>
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The blank cast of plaster<o:p></o:p></div>
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Not even if I really asked her<o:p></o:p></div>
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Would she sign the thing<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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Daddy never taught me not to cry<o:p></o:p></div>
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But he never gave a damn to try<o:p></o:p></div>
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My mommy showed me how to fly<o:p></o:p></div>
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A marriage into the ground<o:p></o:p></div>
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But wait til’ I tell her what I found<o:p></o:p></div>
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And it ain’t girls girls girls<o:p></o:p></div>
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It’s only one <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
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Girls girls girls, I will never understand<o:p></o:p></div>
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Girls girls girls, I will always be this man<o:p></o:p></div>
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And yet she sees, something interesting in me<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She’s got eyes for this guy<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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Ain’t bad lookin’ either<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">- B D Bechtle</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11893709002020127219noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386644788533482009.post-74786550035324589372015-05-10T15:01:00.000-04:002015-05-10T15:01:37.038-04:00(VXS) LOG #1<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>LOG 1: Self
Introduction<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My name is K-VXS-73003, but that’s just my manufacturer’s
model. All my friends call me Seventy-three. Assholes call me “Vexis.” Not sure
what you’d call me, considering you’re just my decrypted auto-biographic
software. (Not that “you” even have any form of self-awareness. Speaking of
awareness, my internal age awareness counter hit sixteen yesterday. The
biological component of my fleshware, K-WAR-0005235FBAT340, told me I could now
officially register as a matured android and apply for a work position. A convenient
fact for her to mention, considering how low her credit count is lately. I suppose
an addiction to Emp will do that to you. I know old Five’s my manufacturer mandated
maintenance and guidance giver in addition to my biological component, but damn
if she isn’t optimal in that role. Eighty-eight (my closest friend, by the way-
full model no. K-CLR-88067855) says all triple 0’s are like that in the WAR
line… but still. Personally, I think she fried a few circuits during all that
time she spent shooting down C’s. I just hope I’m not that outdated when my
counter reaches Fivey’s number. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Eighty-eight’s a CLR… so it’s in her programming to be a
cyborgitarian, I suppose. Ugh, she’s lucky. I wish I was a Cleric model. Not
only are the guaranteed work at the church, but they’re not responsible for finding
a reproduction partner. I know I’m a rare class, as a Variable X System user I
have quote “<i>unlimited potential”</i>
being comprised of more organic parts than robotic… But how is that a blessing?
Sure, our model comprises of only .06% of the colony’s population as being born
as a complete human is becoming more and more impossible… but all it means is more
things to worry about. At the academy, I have to work exponentially harder than
those whose brains are mostly computerized. My friends can’t relate to my
problems, like at all... How do you vent to someone who only vents actual
steam? My other biological component was a VXS like me… I wonder if he had
these same problems. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hmm.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I kinda feel weird. I started this log with the intention of
cataloging my experiences so I could reflect on them and better learn how to
cope and progress. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
[INITIATING MOOD ASSESSMENT]<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
….<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
RESULT: ANGST<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jeez. I need to calm down. Life’s not that bad! Perhaps it
would be more productive it I allowed the program to record pertinent parts of
my daily cycle with me adding my own internal commentary as need be? Yeah… I
mean, that’s a bit unorthodox, but I like the prospect. I’m about to shut down
and recharge for the night, but I’ll try it as an experiment tomorrow.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p><br /></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
[END LOG]<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">- B D Bechtle</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11893709002020127219noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386644788533482009.post-79587763804370100272015-03-30T19:55:00.002-04:002015-03-30T21:33:23.767-04:00THE VERMILION YEARS 4: CHEVALIER <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnXEXyB0U-bgkr1xiXsx7gB-FPt-GuSaBKDRu1IVSg-RBC4zaUaZcPZ9j1VQ53fAVefd1Ozp_Hr1Rpl0PJWaykOqIY8rurqZbJ54Vebp2-J4-eYGpTMhuuT-ugAkqdGi-TGEMpX9W2VTi6/s1600/airship2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnXEXyB0U-bgkr1xiXsx7gB-FPt-GuSaBKDRu1IVSg-RBC4zaUaZcPZ9j1VQ53fAVefd1Ozp_Hr1Rpl0PJWaykOqIY8rurqZbJ54Vebp2-J4-eYGpTMhuuT-ugAkqdGi-TGEMpX9W2VTi6/s1600/airship2.jpg"></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #482400; font-family: 'Cloister Black'; font-size: 36pt; line-height: 115%;"><br></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: #482400; font-family: 'Cloister Black'; font-size: 36pt; line-height: 115%;">Quatre</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Banknote; font-size: 28.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Banknote; font-size: 28.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Chevalier </span><span style="color: #482400; font-family: "Cloister Black"; font-size: 90.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
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<span style="font-family: Banknote; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Banknote; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I</span><span style="font-family: "Cambria Math",serif;">
drew my claw up to the girl’s neck, the only kindness I’d left to offer the
ill-fated human. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math",serif;"><br></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math",serif;">“Reserve your
pity for someone else, Im,” Fleurette snapped, pushing my blades away and
raising her feeble sport pistols. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math",serif;"><br></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math",serif;">“The most
murderous of men still shutter at an Unman’s feast,” I warned. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math",serif;"><br></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math",serif;">“Be that as
it may, I opt to fight,” the girl replied. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math",serif;"><br></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math",serif;">“You fight insurmountable
odds.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math",serif;"><br></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math",serif;">“Stop
talking, Jean Luc<i>, please</i>,” Fleurette
sighed. “I am not interested in the odds of survival, nor do I care about the
quality of my last living seconds. The terms of my demise will always be mine,
alone.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math",serif;"><br></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math",serif;">I honored her
last request by saying nothing, not that I had the time to do so. The Unmans’
leering would soon cease, at the moment they deemed most optimal. Fleurette’s
conviction impressed me. She behaved oddly for one so near death. She embodied
honor and courage. A true hero… though perhaps born out of turn. I suppose
that’s what subconsciously led me to save her. The plight of those actively
rebelling against their expected interests softened me. Ultimately, humanity could not be saved, not
by me. Time ingrained this notion in me, and I followed it religiously. This
girl, as unremarkable as she was, inspired a small debate in me. A flower
cannot live forever, but you can water them. Beyond saving? Yes, no question.
But maybe… <i>not beyond savoring. <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math",serif;"><br></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math",serif;">“<i>Heeeeeeeeeerrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii…”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math",serif;"><br></span>
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math",serif;"></span><br>
</div><a href="http://bdbechtle.blogspot.com/2015/03/the-vermilion-years-4-chevalier.html#more">Read more »</a><div class="blogger-post-footer">- B D Bechtle</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11893709002020127219noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386644788533482009.post-74605733432996372132015-03-30T19:12:00.001-04:002015-03-30T19:13:58.260-04:00"Too Fond for Disposal"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/e/e5/Pile_of_junk_mail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/e/e5/Pile_of_junk_mail.jpg" height="183" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My sentimental old bills<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That recent proposal<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Too fond for disposal<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fluorescent stares <o:p></o:p></div>
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Bum wheel cart<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bypassing cards at Wal-Mart<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No anniversaries left <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A Mitzvah, maybe<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Claire’s new baby<o:p></o:p></div>
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Boxing Day<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Paper view<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Signed by yours truly <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Still not sure how true<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Multiple choice<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A Rolls Royce<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Blood drive<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Giving, I’m alive<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yet still missing my shows<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No space, no memory <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not for lack of DVR<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A dusty VCR<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our tapes<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The drapes<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Gone in a home invasion <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Occasions on occasion<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Life like an attic<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Through traffic<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Gone by motions <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
More bad potions<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For an incurable separation <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">- B D Bechtle</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11893709002020127219noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386644788533482009.post-87641553393016919022015-03-04T21:02:00.000-05:002015-03-04T21:02:19.265-05:00"Having You"<div class="MsoNormal">
When I look at you I see right through the present<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And you’ve got a gift for making me see a future<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
While I don’t fill you in, you can feel my past<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And you look past the pain<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Carry me into the rain<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Showering me with Novocain <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I hold onto your hand<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Gripping it tightly<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tightly enough that you believe <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That it’s the only thing keeping me hanging in<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because it is, even as the world is caving in<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It’s not snowing for once, but we’re still staying in<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In my cradle of uncertainty you rocked me awake<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Broke away the bars of the innocent prison<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Building me a whole orchestra, just to play me one song <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I pray to a God I know doesn’t exist<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In gentle hopes our love can persist<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I say I’m no good, but you insist… <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That I’m worth a damn, I’m starting to see it as true<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
…. Because I have the added value of having you.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">- B D Bechtle</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11893709002020127219noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386644788533482009.post-61182870392394330712015-01-26T19:39:00.000-05:002015-01-26T19:39:37.341-05:00FROM B TO R<div class="MsoNormal">
R,<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What can I say about you that I haven’t already said?
Mountains, evidently. I’ve been writing about you since the dawn of our whirlwind. Let me start this off by throwing you a simple "thanks." I appreciate the sensational timing of your arrival—not that there’s a poor time to have the very personification
of breathlessness descend upon you. You’ve brought me so much joy in such a brief span... with this crazy, volatile chemistry
neither of us can quite understand. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Last night, as I was thinking you— a daily thing— it
dawned on me that I’d have to be mad to think myself capable of encapsulating the extent of your beauty with words. The time to question my sanity now, as I’m about to take
a stab at said impossibility. I’d said to you, “You’re so amazing, I make a
list of my favorite qualities.” The characteristics that contribute to your
ravenousness are indeed innumerable; which is fine by me, as I’ve always shied
away from numbers. Physical beauty is merely the crest of the crushing tsunami
that’s flooding my mind with awe. Your golden, shining beacon of a heart permeates
your entire being with a warm magnetism that pulls me ever closer by each passing day. External evidence of the radiance brimming inside you is best glimpsed through your gorgeous smile, eyes and actions. While one could scarcely imagine the two prior qualities--your beauty and heart--being trumped, your
brilliant mind pushes them aside and stands tall— casting a formidable shadow
that cloaks me in solace.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If that sounds a little overwhelming to you, congratulations!
You now know what it feels like to be around you. As much of a champion of the
English language as I am, I find myself seeking alternate languages to fully express
the feelings you inspire. Vraiment... c'est incroyable. You make writing poetry as easy as blinking, and, at
times, just as involuntary. Not that I would ever <i>not</i> volunteer to offer you a
song of praise. Looking into your cedar gaze is frightening— the same fear one
feels when peering down into the magnificent depths of the Grand Canyon. Fear and
love go hand and hand. Nervousness. Butterflies. I feel these healthy doses of
apprehension all the time with you. As you slide your hand into mine, bite your lip… or
whisper into my ear. Ugh...<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’d continue on from
here, but I’m afraid it only exacerbates the pain of missing you. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Know this…<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Of all the words and all arrangements I could make with
them, none could ever equate to the warmth and tenderness of us sitting on a
couch together and sharing a simple kiss… then making out passionately and… uh, <i>taking things elsewhere.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Basically? I miss you. Kudos on being thoroughly amazing. Can’t wait
for all the inspiration I know you’ll be conjuring up in my heart soon.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;"> - </span><!--[endif]-->B <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">- B D Bechtle</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11893709002020127219noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386644788533482009.post-37831964551074379012014-11-15T14:45:00.000-05:002014-11-15T14:47:23.785-05:00Next FallI attribute failure to a dusty excuse<br />
Effectively dulled by excess use<br />
Then I change the conditions<br />
Conditioning my means for a fall<br />
<br />
I'll register next fall.<br />
<br />
I hope it will all register by then<br />
The things I'm supposed to know<br />
Everything I should have done before<br />
<br />
Prolonging my longing<br />
Romantic in a way<br />
The stages of sweet decay<br />
Like early fall<br />
Full of promise, dirt covered by leaves<br />
<br />
Give me a reason to fabricate<br />
This is the season I suffocate<br />
I rake in nothing again<br />
A gain as foreign to me as success<br />
<br />
I'll sleep through the winter<br />
<br />
Next fall...<br />
Yeah,<br />
I'll know how to pick myself up by then.<br />
<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">- B D Bechtle</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11893709002020127219noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386644788533482009.post-64197020793124406772014-09-05T17:19:00.001-04:002014-09-05T23:24:32.558-04:00Death Row Dad<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/2L6XJOjCaAE?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b>DEATH ROW DAD</b></blockquote>
<div>
(Short story inspired by "Shame" by <a class="zem_slink" href="http://musicbrainz.org/artist/0a176d0a-ef46-4e7f-b018-9f4d65614668.html" rel="musicbrainz" target="_blank" title="The Avett Brothers">The Avett Brothers</a>) </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
My father and I exchanged many a glance through that dingy Plexiglas wall. We tossed almost tears and wordless questions back and forth, playing catch the only way we could. Silence had always been a part of our relationship.You'd be lucky to get two grunts out of him. He let his actions do the talking, and that was part of the problem.<i> He didn't act much either.</i> That trait of his, among others, never made the jump between generations. I'll talk your ear off-- your nose and eyes, too, if you give me the chance. I was one chatty kid, lemme tell ya. As much of a clam as my old man was, he never minded my mouth one bit. In fact, Pop brought me along whenever he needed to get a point across to someone. Imagine five year old me, sitting in a union meeting, rattling off a list of my father's concerns. Ha. Now that I think about it, he might not have needed me at all. Just another ploy to keep me away from that abusive, alcoholic bitch...<br />
<div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My wife came to visit once. Never repeated the kindness. She told me my father had the saddest eyes. Cloudy, violent and turbulent... yet sputtering and dismal-- an exhausted hurricane. My wife said she could feel dad's guilt weigh down her diaphragm. That look in his eyes... <i>that sad, sad look</i>. I knew it, too. It predated his accusation and conviction, but try proving that to a jury. Give a forlorn stare like that and say nothing when grilled by an overzealous prosecutor sporting a massive hard-on for 'justice'... Would it even matter if he was actually innocent? The reason I knew my father could never have killed my mother was also the same reason they found him guilty for it. The poor guy couldn't be bothered to fight a damn thing. No matter the cuts... bruises... berating... my father took it all in-- absorbing more sadness into his deep eyes. </div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
Sixteen at the time of the initial trial, there wasn't much I could do. My father never made friends, and the only family he had left sported the suffix 'in-law.' It's hard to win a fight without a corner to come back to, especially when you lived your life without throwing a single punch. The jury found my father guilty without even taking more than a minute to deliberate. Call it inspired; call it scarred. Studying law became my life. I succeeded in becoming one of the best defense attorneys money could buy. My father refused representation for his first appeal, no matter how hard I pleaded. I turned in as many favors as I could, but I couldn't manage to get my hands on the reigns of his defense. My father was on the Texan death row, and I couldn't do a damn thing about it. So I came to the trials, visited when I could. We exchanged our sad stares. He returned to his cell. I returned to mine.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The day finally came when my father was willing to talk. Wanted a true one on one with me as his last request. That day was yesterday. Today's the first day of his death. That conversation... In my mind, Pop's words are as fresh as a steaming pile of horse manure.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
... </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"So this is it, huh Pop? Today's the day."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Sure is."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I shook my head and pulled at my hair with my shaking hands. The man remained so apathetic, unperturbed by the great injustice costing him his life.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"I found a detective willing to reopen your case you know. He's willing to pull some strings and get your date pushed back, even this late into it."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"..."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Of course he said nothing. He simply stared into me.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Let me appeal, Pop."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Joseph, I didn't call for ya just to have a row."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I shuttered with frustration, my face reddening by the minute.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Take a seat, son. Settle down if ya can."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I obeyed, as I always had.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Done a heap of thinkin' in here, I have. Hadn't much choice on account of the lack of viable options for a non-reader who ain't fond of workin' out or sports."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Yeah?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Yeah."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My dad said nothing more, peering off at a wall.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Um, is that it? It sounded like you were setting up to say something else."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Ah, yeah. Sorry, Joe. Got to thinkin' again. Somethin' else popped into my head."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"It's fine, Pop. What were you going to say?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"I'm ready to confess."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Say what?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"I'm confessin' to ya, boy."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"What are you talking about?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Your momma's death. I done it."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"No... no, you didn't. I know that for a fact. You were working. I was the one who found her. I called you up and you came home, way more bent up than you should have been. Not guilty bent up... losing your wife bent up. Lacking an alibi does not equate to guilt. That jackass prosecutor had a field day because you refused to--"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"<i>Joey.</i> Joey, stop."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"..."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"I know I didn't physically murder your mother. Course not. I'm talkin'... indirectly."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Uh, still no."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Hear me out, champ."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Fine..."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My father took a deep breath. It must have been so hard for him, talking this much. As furious as I was at my old man's stubbornness, I cherished this surprising chance to truly meet the man. I felt like the lonely voice trapped inside-- peaking out through occasional body language-- finally got to leave its prison. Shame the same couldn't be said of the actual prisoner. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"When I met your mother, she was a sweet child. Too fragile to drink, not broken enough to feel. She loved me, saw a sad man and wanted to make him smile."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Sure as hell didn't stay that way."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Yeah, and it's my fault."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Pop, don't be stupid."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My father shook his head.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"I never could smile for her. Never could say the word she so desperately needed to hear. She needed a man to yell at her. Tell her to put down the bottle and pick up the pieces of her life. That woman offered me her everythin', Joey boy. I gave her nothin' back for it."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"What are you talking about? You gave her <i>everything</i>. She never had to work a day in her life."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"I gave her an empty house and an empty heart. Not a reason to live. I worked and worked. Gave her money when she needed somethin' else entirely. I gave her a son, thinkin' that'd fix it. But you ended up lovin' me instead of her."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"She fucking beat me, Pop. The woman was a vile, irredeemable bitch. Of course I didn't love her."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"I'd appreciate it if you didn't speak about your mother that way, son."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Fine. But don't you dare blame yourself for that. She made me hate her all on her own."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"She did what she done as a cry for help. I know that now. She wanted me to supervise her. To come home and protect her the way I protected you. That's why she got mixed up in that crowd. Took up drinkin'. She created a problem for me to fix. To make me come back and take care of things."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"..."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"I didn't do a damn thing, son. A damn fuckin' thing."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"There's nothing you could do, Dad. She was a lost cause."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"When are you gunna learn, Joe? I don't want ya defendin' me."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It was at this point that my eyes welled up with tears. I saw the door handle turn. I knew the officer was coming in to tell me our time was up.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"You won't do it, though... You won't even defend yourself when you know you didn't do it."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"That's right."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"..."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The officer stood in the doorway. He looked at my dad and nodded. My father got up slowly. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"How you managed to turn out well is beyond me. I'll blame God. I'm thankful for it. Thankful for you."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"So is that why you called me here? To try to absolve your shitty wife?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Nah. Had a question."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Well, what was it...?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"I met that girl of yours.Your wife know's you love her, don't she? Yeah, she does..."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Uh, that's not really a question, Pop."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
My father smiled, possibly for the first time in his life.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"<i>Good to hear</i>."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">- B D Bechtle</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11893709002020127219noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386644788533482009.post-25589610051576069332014-06-19T14:33:00.003-04:002014-06-19T14:37:06.285-04:00The Vermilion Years: Chapter 3 (reboot)<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Banknote; font-size: 28.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Atelier</span><span style="color: #482400; font-family: "Cloister Black"; font-size: 90.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Banknote; font-size: 28.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnXEXyB0U-bgkr1xiXsx7gB-FPt-GuSaBKDRu1IVSg-RBC4zaUaZcPZ9j1VQ53fAVefd1Ozp_Hr1Rpl0PJWaykOqIY8rurqZbJ54Vebp2-J4-eYGpTMhuuT-ugAkqdGi-TGEMpX9W2VTi6/s1600/airship2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnXEXyB0U-bgkr1xiXsx7gB-FPt-GuSaBKDRu1IVSg-RBC4zaUaZcPZ9j1VQ53fAVefd1Ozp_Hr1Rpl0PJWaykOqIY8rurqZbJ54Vebp2-J4-eYGpTMhuuT-ugAkqdGi-TGEMpX9W2VTi6/s1600/airship2.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Banknote; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Banknote; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I</span><span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">
watched a familiar pack of sand wolves gnaw off the tough, slimy skin of an
Unman corpse. The grey humanoid’s stomach burst open, exposing the content of
its last meal. The hairless mutts had no interest in the meager Unman meat, as
the creatures’ musculature had evolved into a micro-fiber, thinner than their
rubbery epidermis. The sand wolves pulled bits of human meat and hair from the
monsters’ chest cavities. The wolves scarfed down every last morsel, consuming
even the bones. The coughed up one thing: <i>child-size
metal prosthetics. </i>Finally, I found a clear indication of whom this outpost
belonged.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">Returning
to the camp, I searched for the package that would confirm what I already knew. It did not take long. The fact that I had not
detected a pearlescent pink box in the corner in my previous investigation
surprised me. I tore off the luminescent fabric with my claws, uncovering the
rusty metal box inside. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">I tapped
the fancy Old English letter ‘A’ protruding from the side of the box. The box
churned mechanically before expelling a cloud of hot steam from its top. A
rotating circle of lights raised up, projecting a crude sepia-colored hologram
in the hot mist. An outrageously ornate
young girl appeared and curtseyed. Her lips began moving. Hearing nothing, I
kicked the box, starting up the lagging audio. I looked back at Fleurette’s
cot. She turned in her sleep, but did not wake.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Why hello
there, future friends,” cheered the hologram’s cherubic, high-pitched voice.
“We come representing the Atelier Alliance, indeed we deedy-do. We’re the
friendliest little friends you ever will find in this weepy wasteland, yes we
arry-are. We understand you’re nudey neutral in the wars, we do dang-doodle.
But you’ll listen to our sweet ol’ song, won’t you, you poopy poodles?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“<i>Give me a break…”</i> I groaned. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">Hearing the
messenger’s saccharine gibberish instantly nauseated me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“<i>Dear dear
little Lyonnais,<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><i> You loopy doopy lovely place,<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><i>AA comes in
pretty peace.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><i>You have us
to fear the least!<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><i>We just
know you’ll let us play,<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><i>Reply,
replay right away!</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><i>We’re just
a bunch of girly girls,<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><i>With cherry
cheeks and auburn curls.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><i>You hate
war and so do we!<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><i>Forgetty-get
this and sip our tea!<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><i>Think
you’re happy? No, no, no!<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><i>Thank
you’re safe? Ho, ho, ho!<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><i>Take it,
take it, right from me.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><i>You’ll go
bye-bye, yessiree!</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><i>Let us
takey take you from it all<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><i>Kiss your
boo-boos when you fall.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><i>Kissy-kissy,
we don’t want much.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><i>Give you a
hand for a tiny touch.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><i>We want
your town as a basey base.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><i>Turn it to
a real fun place!<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><i>We wanty
want your—</i>” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">The song
ended prematurely, snuffed out by a swipe of my claw.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“What’s the
matter with you!?” shouted a voice behind me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“You had no
right to smash that, Jean-Luc,” Fleurette scolded groggily, apparently more
awake than I’d realized. “That message was intended for Lyonnais.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“What you
overheard was a fancy save-the-date for an incoming slaughter,” I said, turning
around.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Coming
from that cute little child?” the girl scoffed. “<i>I think not</i>.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">I shook my
head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Cambria Math', serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria Math', serif;">“Another illusion of your naïveté.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Have you
considered that you might just be jaded?” Fleurette growled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Naturally,
the hue of reality shifts from shades of rose to jade the longer you spend time
with it.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">The maid’s disrespectful
words resonated with more truth than she knew. Optimism. Trust. Happiness. <i>Love. </i>The luster of such human concepts
had long gone dull for me. In the process of becoming virtually all-knowing you
eliminate hope and surprise, just as immortality forgoes consequence. It’s hard
to feel anything when you’ve reached such a godly level— the best argument for
the existence of one. There was a time when I envied the spectrum of emotions
that surrounded corporality. However, that feeling had long left me, like much
else. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“What good
is your eloquence if no one understands it?” Fleurette asked me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Better
than those who fail to grasp it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">The human
shook her head. She picked up a bird and poster packaged with the parcel. The
former item was a clockwork parrot, a mechanical fowl that recorded voice and
flew back to its owner. It was to be used by Lyonnais for sending its response
back to the Atelier Alliance, presumably for the purpose of the AA’s amusement. The poster was made of pheelograph film and
depicted a gorgeous young girl labeled as ‘Audette.’ A pheelograph is a special
type of photographs that featured highly detailed textures. When touched, the
image feels exactly like whatever the image depicts. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">Fleurette
ran her hands down the precious poster girl’s otherworldly beautiful, ruffled
gown. She pinched the tiny angel’s soft rosy cheeks. A<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"> “Aww, this little girl is absolutely adorable,”
Fleurette cooed, uncharacteristically feminine. “She reminds me of Lady Etienne
at that age. Is this their mascot? Like is she the leader’s daughter?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“That <i>is </i>the leader,” I said. “Audette Atelier,
evil in a tiny package.</span> <span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">Your
mistress has never been that age, nor will she ever. That’s an <i>Im</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Ah, so the
messenger was an Im, too,” Fleurette said. “And the other girls in the
poster….”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Not
quite.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">Fleurette scratched
her head. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“At its
surface, the Atelier Alliance appears to be comprised entirely of young girls,
but facts supply a more disturbing explanation. As far as I know, Audette is
the only Im in the organization. She indoctrinates young girls into her ranks
the moment they can walk. Once these child soldiers grow out of their preteens,
Audette amputates their limps and replaces them with shorter prosthetics. Modified
Earth-life orbs that produce helium in addition to oxygen are placed in their
larynxes to simulate a young girl’s voice. In addition to heavy makeup, cosmetic
surgery is administered monthly.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">Fleurette’s
face squirmed, deeply affected by what I told her.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“T-that’s
absurd…” she stuttered. “No one in their
right mind would do such a thing. I mean, mutilating people like that…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Audette
Atelier is one rarely accused of sanity,” I assured.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Well,
whatever,” Fleurette muttered, composing herself. “If this sick group does
exists, Lyonnais has a sizable militia in place. I’m sure they can handle a
bunch of ‘children.’ The Unman you
promised to exterminate, on the other hand, pose an immediate danger. If you
make good on your word, there’s nothing to worry about.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“You have
things reversed. A million Unman is but a sneeze compared to the threat of
Atelier.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">Fleurette
gulped, finally starting to feel the gravity steadily pulling down Lyonnais.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“… This is
something you can stop, right?” she asked me shakily. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">I shook my
head.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">The girl’s
brows furrowed and her scalded face boiled red.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“No wonder
your services are free,” Fleurette snapped. “Nothing is all you’re worth.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“I cannot
sway large-scale conflicts,” I said firmly. “Once an opponent realizes I am
unkillable, I’m simply ignored. I become nothing but a ghost on the
battlefield.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Sure you
can,” Fleurette insisted. “You could take out their leader. Hold a choke point
indefinitely. Cleave a path through their defenses. There’s plenty of ways to
put your dead weight to good use, Jean Luc.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Successful
execution tends to lack the ease of speech,” I said. “Come to terms with the
loss of Lyonnais. Immortality may preserve my life, but it does little to save
the lives of those around me.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“You mean
YOU do little to save the lives of those around you,” Fleurette loudly
interrupted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">I widened
the eyes on my mask in reflex. Stunned, I fell silent.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“I’ve HAD
IT with your fatalism,” Fleurette snapped. “You think being stuck so far in the
past gives you a better view of the future? I’m afraid it simply does not work
that way. By abandoning us… you fulfill your own lazy prophesy.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“<i>Lazy?</i> Lyonnais is miscarriage in time, a
city that died before it was born.</span> <span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">You
cannot abort that which is DOA. It will fall sooner or later, with little
difference between the two. Time has no regard for such a futile outcropping of
humanity as Lyonnais, and I share its lack of concern. There is not much worth
saving, no matter the scenario.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Stop
talking down to me, Jean Luc,” Fleurette growled. “Just because you outlive
something doesn’t mean it lacks worth. Lyonnais is completely worth saving. Are
the people there a bit rough? Sure. They’re not bastions of wisdom or anything,
but they’re ALIVE. Life will never stop being valuable. That’s what YOU don’t
understand.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">I looked
outside the cave. The sandstorm had worsened, burying the Unman remains. As
impassioned as the girl’s words were, they failed to move my iron heart a
millimeter. A millennia ago I may have respected Fleurette for that blazing
speech, as I admit it was well formed and reasoned for one of her years. Still,
she was wrong. The truth may be cold, but it’s always correct.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“<i>Grasp this</i>,” I said hoarsely, losing my even
tone to anger. “Unman. Atelier. The name changes but the fate is the same. With
luck, yes, I could make a difference. What you fail to understand, is the depth
of my apathy toward your cause. Keep talking and it will turn to ire. I could
murder your precious lady with my own claw, so please, <i>keep in line</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">Fleurette
staggered back.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“I’m
fulfilling my obligation to you,” I continued. “Be grateful I’m doing that
much. I have no reason to, what with that attitude of yours. I don’t care for
humanity, and I especially don’t care for <i>you</i>.”
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">The glossiness
coating the girl’s eyeballs told me my point had driven its way through. My
perspective was not simply pragmatic, but weighted in disdain. Humanity had
wronged me throughout my existence, and its most recent transgression. Staring
deep into my unfeeling, copper mask, Fleurette’s moist eyes beckoned what was
left of my compassion. To her dismay, the only trace of humanity she found was
her own reflection. Fleurette dashed out of the camp, leaving a trail of tears
behind her. I ran after her, for some reason… regretting my harshness.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“It is
still too dangerous for you to venture out alone,” I said, quickly catching up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">I grabbed
Fleurette’s arm, but she tugged it violently away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“What does
it matter to you!?” she yelled back, sobbing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">I lowered
my head. As it so happened, it did matter to me— though I could not determine
why.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“So where
are you going?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“I’m going back
to Lyonnais and do whatever it takes to protect it. I know how to kill an Unman
now, so go on your way. I can teach the militia all it needs to know. Don’t you
DARE help us.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"> My words had not flown over Fleurette’s head,
but, rather, directly though her heart. As much as I resented humanity, this
girl and the rest of Lyonnais were not the ones who wronged me. I grabbed the
girl’s hand and pulled her in the correct direction. At first she fought it,
but eventually she gave in. I never verbalized any sort of apology, but the
girl knew. As much as I hated to admit it to myself, it became clear that I’d
developed a slight attachment to the girl. Key word, <i>slight.</i> Her fervent tears
shook something up in me. Something I’d long believed to be unshakable. I still
had microbe humanity hanging on somewhere within me after all. When this minor epiphany dawned on me, I
smiled— though I didn’t change my mask to show it. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">I let go of
the girl’s hand once nightfall hit, to which Fleurette responded by immediately
darting off. It did take long for her to tire, taking refuge within a large
circular pit surrounded by enormous rock formations. While not nearly as safe
as the cartographers’ camp, the shelter of spires at least shielded her from
the harsh sand gusts. As Fleurette drifted into sleep, I perched myself upon on
the tallest spire to survey the area. Without much analysis, I determined our
destination had been, in fact, reached. I leapt off the spire and landed beside
the sleeping maid. The noisy collision ripped Fleurette from her slumber.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Will you
leave me alone already!?” Fleurette screamed, shoving me away. “For an
immortal, you have the maturity of a teenage girl, I swear. When I want to
follow you, you disregard me. When I try to rid myself of you… you stick to me
like a leech!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">I took a
defensive stance, pulling the fuming human behind me. I raised my over my head,
prepping a strike. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Jean-Luc!
Hello!? What are you doing now?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">A sickening
choir of curdling squeals and gurgles sounded off, reacting to Fleurette’s loud
outburst. Jet black eyes, darker than the darkness opened all around us.
Moonlight reflected off hundreds of silvery bodies. The ground shook beneath our feet as more
shimmering humanoids rose from the ground to join the other’s ranks. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“W-where
exactly… have you led me…” she sputtered, now drained of fury and filled with fear.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Where you
wanted to be,” I said calmly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“And where
is that?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“<i>The Unman Cradle</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">Legion
after legion, Unman rose out from the ground. The Unman Cradle refers to the
central hub in the creature’s subterranean network where their infants are
created and stored. All Unman not seeking food gather at this point. Unman dig
out a crater and surround it with a hedge of stones to mark this base of
operations of sorts and to ward off other Unman tribes from entering their
territory. If I were to ever make any sort of dent on the Unman population
threatening the humans of Lyonnais, taking out the Cradle would be the best
option. Initially, I’d planned to sweep it myself and leave Fleurette behind at
a safe distance. Clearly, this did not occur. The human picked a fatal location
to throw her tantrum. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“I, uh,
see…” the girl said weakly. “Hop to it t-then… On with the slaying.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Your name
is Fleurette, is it not?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">The girl
nodded. I feel a slight twinge of regret stir inside me. This what our little
adventure amounted to. I hadn’t felt a connection with a human in such an
unfathomably long time… and this was the reason. The stare down would soon cease. Given their
numbers, I’d be hard pressed to both repel and defend. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"> “Your name means ‘little flower’ in French, an
extinct tongue from which this region’s language is derived.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">Fleurette
looked up at me, equal parts confused, afraid and fascinated. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“A flower
is a beautiful type of plants that came in a breathtaking array of shapes and
fragrances. You can still see them in designs everywhere, but they have not
grown on Earth for a great deal of time. No matter how much time passes,
flowers always will represent of beauty and remain a lasting symbol of love—
even outliving the flowers themselves.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Why are
you telling me this?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“You
deserve to know how strong your name is,” I said solemnly. “Pure as well, much
like you— a commendable quality in this, the Vermilion Years. Like the flowers,
when your petals drift off in the wind, Fleurette, your beauty will carry on
after you. Despite the brevity of our
time together, I will remember you.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">My kindness
caused trembling to overtake the girl’s small, scrappy frame.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“I’m… going
to die, aren’t I?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">- B D Bechtle</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11893709002020127219noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386644788533482009.post-80969932978682756152014-05-28T15:35:00.000-04:002014-05-28T15:35:39.499-04:00Vermilion Years: Chapter 2 (Reboot)<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Banknote; font-size: 28.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Unman</span><span style="color: #482400; font-family: "Cloister Black"; font-size: 90.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnXEXyB0U-bgkr1xiXsx7gB-FPt-GuSaBKDRu1IVSg-RBC4zaUaZcPZ9j1VQ53fAVefd1Ozp_Hr1Rpl0PJWaykOqIY8rurqZbJ54Vebp2-J4-eYGpTMhuuT-ugAkqdGi-TGEMpX9W2VTi6/s1600/airship2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnXEXyB0U-bgkr1xiXsx7gB-FPt-GuSaBKDRu1IVSg-RBC4zaUaZcPZ9j1VQ53fAVefd1Ozp_Hr1Rpl0PJWaykOqIY8rurqZbJ54Vebp2-J4-eYGpTMhuuT-ugAkqdGi-TGEMpX9W2VTi6/s1600/airship2.jpg" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Banknote; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">I</span><span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">
peered down upon the limp girl, contemplating my next course of action. The
battered maid’s breathing ceased. I knew something in me wanted the knave to
continue living a bit longer, otherwise I wouldn’t have saved her. Despite
this, I remained hesitant, knowing saving her life would burden me with a
follower. Humans felt obligated to repay those who lengthen their lives, but no
human could ever be of any worth to me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">I
determined her life was endangered not from the beating, but prolonged exposure
to the toxic air. Among the things damaged in the altercation, the girl’s
respirator was one of them. I extended a blade from my wrist then made an
incision in the girl’s chest. I plucked a tiny Earth-Life Orb out from a leather
satchel sewn into the leggings of my armor and crammed it in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“AUGGAAAAAAAH!!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">The girl
awoke kicking and screaming like a freshly birthed child, covered in just as
much blood. Scald marks from the boiling water covered the entirety of her
skin. Experiencing the worst pain she’d ever known, the girl writhed and wailed
accordingly. I drove my palm into the
servant’s temple, knocking her unconscious. I stayed at her side as she slept,
administering basic first aid and cleaning her wounds. I carried no painkillers
with me, so I braced myself for another agonized awakening. To my surprise, the
young woman arose peacefully— nary a word or scream. In as much silence I took
my leave, leaving the revived to reflect on what to do with her new life. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">After a
good hour’s time of venturing through the harsh wilderness of hot sand and
steam, I decided to address the woman under the belief she was tailing me in
secret. I’d actually hung back intentionally to give her time to catch up to
me, giving my claw a much needed sharping.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“You follow
your death,” I said, stopping.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">The girl
said nothing. I turned around and found the one called Fleurette now donned a
frilly silver exosuit— complete with a matching breather and a pair of sporting
revolvers. <i>Pathetically unpractical.<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Wearing a
breather is no longer necessary. There’s an Earthlife Orb in your chest.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">The girl
felt the tiny bump between her breasts and threw off the sweaty mask. I
observed her expression, soaking in the scorn gushing from her brooding,
bloodshot eyes. I should’ve known from the persistence in which she pursued me
than the girl was not seeking to repay a debt. Hatred makes a much stronger
motive, as I well knew. I continued on my way, allowing her to keep pace. I
knew I’d figure what out my own motives were once we arrived to wherever we
ended up. Such was my existence at this point. Learning my destinations
post-arrival… and my inclinations after the fact.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">The girl
and I marched a day’s distance of the harsh marshy strip of land betwixt the
two boiling lakes that isolated Lyonnais so.
At this point, Fleurette’s stamina met its end. Coincidentally, her
fatigue coincided with the discovery of a cave converted into an outpost. Such
camps were common in the harsh wilds, as uninhabitable as they were. Without
even entering the camp, however I knew this one was different— far more
sophisticated to be left by nomads or corsairs. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">I entered
the outpost to investigate further. Fleurette made herself comfortable, I
assume she mistakenly believed I was stopping to rest. It didn’t take much
effort to see it’d been abruptly abandoned… and recently. From what I could
tell, the men were cartographers. <i>Royal
ones</i>. Its proximity boded ill for Lyonnais, wishing to remain neutral as it
did. It was naïve for them to believe they could hide away from the wars that
swept the planet. Even more misguided still to think the Unman were the
greatest threat to their existence. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Why do you
stop for me?” the girl asked, the first time she’d spoken since being thrown
mercilessly from her home. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">I did not
give her an answer, as I had none for myself.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“I’m not
daft you know,” she continued. “You stayed with us for three months. I know
sleep and food are not requirements for you.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“It is as
you say,” I murmured, rummaging through various crates</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Well, I don’t
need pity to keep pace with you,” Fleurette spat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">Nothing
could have been more false. Not only had I slowed my pace to a crawl, I spent
most of the trip safeguarding her, eliminating threats clandestinely. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“The suit
you wear is for poaching fisher-falcons via steamsteed,” I told her. “A fashion
statement providing minimal defense against the elements.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“And…?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“You’re not
as durable as you think.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“It doesn’t
matter,” Fleurette replied. “My dear Lady Etienne… This is her parting gift to
me. Said she could never enjoy on such a frivolous hobby like game hunting,
knowing I’m out there… in danger. She’s far too beautiful for this wretched
world, that Etienne. A gift delivered to an undeserving door. I’d give away my
whole life, so she could live a second more. Her side is the only place I’ll
ever belong.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Yet you
left it to become my shadow.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“What did I
just say? I’m sacrificing my life for her. Yves says the Immortal Jean-Luc is
Lyonnais’ only chance for survival… and, by extension, Lady Etienne’s. I will
follow you until I see the job you promised to complete finished.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Do as you
will.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">Most of the
crates contained rudimentary supplies; food and water. The camp’s abandonment
did appear to be planned. Buried in a surplus of canned crab I found a lone
bottle of wine. An Oktober Spätburgunder, to be precise. This was a bogglingly
rare find in world were agriculture existed as a grand luxury. The only crop
able to be farmed by the general populous was a resilient tea named ‘dirtleaf.’
The name was reference to the taste. While not much of an indulgence, farming and
serving dirtleaf was one of the few ways common men could eek out an existence
outside of factory work and war. Guns, blades, and prosthetic enhancements were
the primary products of the Earth’s industrial economy. Next to manufacturing
various steam-powered machines, that is. Mining submarines, arthro-pods,
airships… you name it. Mankind answered its dilemma with mechanical solutions
for both its war on the environment and itself. Virtually everything in
existence could trace its origin to an assembly line, churned out by a rickety
machine or an even ricketier man. Even food. Crabs were farmed on massive
floating machines, but the way cattle was raised was worse. Mooing, living
components of giant, mobile meatpacking machines, traveling from town to town.
Reminds me the sick Chevalier process, but I won’t get started on that… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">But yes,
the wine struck me as extremely, extremely odd. The typical vices in the Vermilion
years were quite different from an ancient one like alcohol. Men got high on
various grades of bottled exhaust fumes and other homemade hallucinogens.
Tobacco, marijuana, beer and the like had become extinct on Earth millennia ago.
Well, just about. The last of the substances were preserved by a pair of Im
brothers: Deter and Dober Oktober. Understandably, the two were not at all
generous with their supply. Most of their buyers came from outer space, in
fact. I saw no sense in letting such a prize go to waste. I uncorked the bottle
of wine and extended it to Fleurette, curious as to what her reaction might be.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“What’s
that?” she asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Wine,” I
said. “A nearly extinct luxury, used for intoxication.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">Fleurette
narrowed her eyes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Wipe those
fantasies from your mind, Im,” she muttered, opening up a can of crab. “You
deserve no credit for saving the same life you endangered. I owe you no favors.
<i>Sexual or otherwise</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">I’d seen
quite enough of the camp to realize what had happened at that point. I decided
to wait. I wanted to see if my suspicions were valid. More importantly, I
needed to know how these map-makers had wine in their possession. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“If it’s
any comfort, I’d sooner take your life than your virginity,” I replied,
standing at the mouth of the cave. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">That shut
her up. The next time I heard from her was right before she fell asleep. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Jean-Luc, I’m
going to sleep now, but you better not leave.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“What
difference does it make? I promise to complete the job. You may turn to Lyonnais.
Share the news.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Good to
see you finally committed,” she said. “But that changes nothing.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Why’s
that?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“I want to see
danger. Be hardened by it. That’s the only way I’ll ever be able to properly
protect milady.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“So be it.
You will die.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“You don’t know
that. You know don’t anything.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“...” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">I turned to
leave, having had quite enough of humanity at that moment.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Do you
even know where you’re headed, Jean-Luc?” Fleurette asked.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Not
particularly.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“All you do
is waste time!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Time is no
commodity to me,” I said, walking out of the cave. “The more of something you
have, the less value it has to you.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">The girl
mocked me and nestled into one of the unmade cots. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">Now that I’d
ventured outside, the hook was baited. While waiting for a tug on my line, a pack
of sand wolves ambushed me. One ripped off a piece of my armor and proceeded to
gnaw at my flesh. Its teeth shattered against my skin. The hairless canine to reeled
back, baying in pain, and the rest of the mongrels fled. My attacker attempted
to join his pack’s retreat, but a swipe of my claw swiftly ended its life. Whilst
cleaning the sand wolf’s blood from my four iron blades, heard three gunshots
from inside the cartographers’ camp. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"> “DIE ALREADY.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">I heard the
girl’s wild wails echoing as I rushed in. The sounds of her empty a full round
of bullets from her gun reverberated about the cave. As I approached I watched
the bullets sinking into the creatures’ clay-like flesh. The goopy silver blood
displaced by the wounds stitched and repaired the bullet holes immediately. The
humanoid monster taking the fire in stride stood perfectly still, staring at Fleurette
expressionlessly with its pitch black eyes. The creature could not be human,
despite the strong resemblance, as it lacked a mouth. It had long, natty
raven-colored tresses, and pallid sickly grey skin. The face was unblemished,
young and sedate. Its arms and legs looked atrophied and a weak, as if
containing no muscles at all. The most disturbing part of the mutant’s appearance
was its attire. A long cloak made entirely of human skin.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Oh hello, Jean-Luc,”
the girl shrieked over to me. “Mind telling me what the HELL this is.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Your life’s
been a sheltered one,” I said, walking over to her. “Never once seeing an Unman.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“WHATEVER.
Kill the little brat.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">I quietly eyed
the creature up. Though it looked like a child to Fleurette, I could tell the Unman’s
years tripled hers. The Unman were immune to both disease and aging itself. If
an Unman dies, it meant something intervened and murdered it. Pseudo-immortality.
In a way, I and my fellow Ims had more in common with the Unman than we did
with the humans. A regard the humans shared. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Murder
requires justifiable motivation. Kill only that which wishes to kill you. By
doing do, you avoid pointless conflict. As such, I personally lack any need to
kill anything. Then again, I still eat…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“It’s your
job, for one, you lazy idiot,” Fleurette snapped. “Don’t lecture me. It
deserves to die. Unman EAT humans. It’s not murder when you’re killing a <i>monster</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Debatable.
Food is hard to come by outside of civilization. The only thing preventing mankind
from consuming Unman is its time worn-moral aversion to cannibalism. The Unman
may look human, but that’s the only similarity. It knows no such aversion.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Of course
not, it’s brainless,” Fleurette snarled. “A disgusting, stupid zombie.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“You speak
misconceptions,” I said, shaking my head. “The Unman sees the world in blacks and
whites. This is as much a metaphor for how they think as much as it is an
actual fact. Hierarchy, culture, wealth… such things are of no concern to them.
Emotion, too; <i>non-existent</i>. They have brains, but they function
objectively. They’re simply programmed to survive, not unlike yourself.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“You think
these things are the same us real humans?” Fleurette scoffed. “Just trying to
survive!?” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“No, they
aren’t like humans,” I said. “They’re succeeding.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“What you’ve
described are the characteristics of a monster” said the girl. “It may surprise
you, heartless bastard that you are, but lacking emotions is bad. This thing is
sick and it’s stupid. So kill it already and save me the rest of bizarre philosophy
lesson.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">The Unman sized
me up silently and took several steps back, sensing danger from me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Not only,
are Unman not dumb,” I said, taking a step back. “They’re smarter than you.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Uh…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Allow me
to demonstrate.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">I distanced
myself from the girl and the Unman. No sooner did I put myself out of range to
attack, the creature leapt at Fleurette, clutching her throat tightly in its
hand. I took a step forward, displaying my lack of fear in the face of its
threat. Still fixing its gaze on me, the Unman’s face split right through its
middle, as if being unzipped. It exposed
twenty rows of a razor sharp teeth running from the inside of its opened, hollow
face to the edge of its wide esophagus. With a shrill high-pitched whine, the
Unman launched out its long white tongue and coiled it around the girl’s helpless
body. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"> “KILL IT, JEAN-LUC,” Fleurette bellowed. “KILL
THE HIDEOUS ABOMINATION BEFORE IT EATS ME.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Take note
of this behavior,” I said calmly. “Determining that it could easily penetrate my
armor without getting killed in the process, he’s turned to exploiting human
sentimentality to overcome me. An act of self-preservation, alone. This unman
is full, recently eating the squad of cartographers that made this camp. If the
unman actually wanted to eat you, it would’ve done so. It’s attempting to
eliminate a threat to its life. Me. It’s next move will be to relocate its
brain-heart into its tongue and putting inside you, making it impossible for me
to kill it without killing you. ”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“I’M NOT
KIDDING, SLAY THIS THING OR I WILL HAUNT YOU WHEN I DIE,” she howled,
desperately trying to wriggle free from the slimy tongue hog-tie that bound her.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Life or
death, you will haunt me regardless,” I sighed, tired of the girl’s frequent
interruptions. “I thought you wanted to be hardened by the horrors of the
world.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“HARDENED
BY NOT CONSUMED BY, YOU TWISTED IDIOT.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">Fleurette’s
tactless response put a legitimate smile on my face, so I adjusted my bronze
mask to convey this. It’d been ages since someone had shown me such flagrant
irreverence. Not for lack of hatred, humanity loathed us Immortals. All of us
knew it. Being unkillable, however, had a way of suppressing the sentiment. The
same could not be said of the Unman. Ironic, really. In a forgotten era, long
ago, just the opposite was true. The Ims and the ‘Uns were championed as the
harbingers of human evolution. Now they believe us to be the instruments of their
extinction. How wrong they are. Neither party has any interest in taking that
job away from them.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: 'Cambria Math', serif;">Using the
same blade I used to save Fleurette before, I pierced the Unman’s brain-heart
as it sped through its tongue. I acted just time to prevent the creature from
relocating its central organ into the maid. Four more Unman sprung from the
shadows, hoping my victory would dull my senses. Another sound tactic, had I
been the human they believed me to be. Ripping Fleurette’s gun from her hands,
I tracked the moving bulges in the emaciated monster’s chests, skillfully putting
bullet in each one. Once the shock left Fleurette and she regained her
composure, she promptly lost again, exploding wi</span><span style="font-family: 'Cambria Math', serif;">th rage.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“How dare
you call yourself a mercenary,” the girl yelled, shoving me to little effect. “You
couldn’t tell those horrible things were lurking around in here? No wonder you’re
all Lyonnais can afford. You’re pathetic.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“I’ve never
once called myself a mercenary, that would imply I get paid,” I said, pulling
the bodies out of the cave. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">By skewing put
Unmans’ corpses out on display, it would ward off others from entering. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">Fleurette
ran out after me.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“What do
you mean you don’t get paid!?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“My advertised
services are merely pretense assuage entrance in human settlements such as Lyonnais.
I’m surprised you never questioned it, aversive as your as your nature is.
Think about what seen me do. If need something, I don’t need money to get it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“So you’re
looking for something,” said Fleurette. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“You could
say that,” I replied, placing the Unman corpses in a neat line.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“And you
can say more,” the girl snapped. “Don’t get cryptic with me, Jean-Luc. I’m far
too tired to piece anything together right now. What is it that you trying to
find?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">I finished
off the last of the wine then set my mask’s mouth back to a frown.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Find out,”
I corrected. “I’m looking for information.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“And what
do you want to find out about!?” the girl growled. “Stop being vague!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“A few
things…” I replied. “But my main concern…” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“…is finding
a way to end immortality.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">- B D Bechtle</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11893709002020127219noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386644788533482009.post-14199001233678518422014-05-11T17:53:00.001-04:002014-05-11T17:53:22.178-04:00The Vermilion Years: Chapter 1 (Reboot)<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Banknote; font-size: 28.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">“IM”</span><span style="color: #482400; font-family: "Cloister Black"; font-size: 90.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnXEXyB0U-bgkr1xiXsx7gB-FPt-GuSaBKDRu1IVSg-RBC4zaUaZcPZ9j1VQ53fAVefd1Ozp_Hr1Rpl0PJWaykOqIY8rurqZbJ54Vebp2-J4-eYGpTMhuuT-ugAkqdGi-TGEMpX9W2VTi6/s1600/airship2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnXEXyB0U-bgkr1xiXsx7gB-FPt-GuSaBKDRu1IVSg-RBC4zaUaZcPZ9j1VQ53fAVefd1Ozp_Hr1Rpl0PJWaykOqIY8rurqZbJ54Vebp2-J4-eYGpTMhuuT-ugAkqdGi-TGEMpX9W2VTi6/s1600/airship2.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Banknote; font-size: 16.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">P</span><span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">atchwork
aluminum airships chugged steadily across the dust clouds. Helio, the smallest
of Earth’s three purifying moons, reflected off the tinfoil balloons keeping
the ships afloat. Bursts of steam sporadically shot up from the boiling tides
below. Just as nature itself had
practically vanished, my time for romance seemed all but over. As I peered into
the uncertain dusk, I longed for my earliest memories— recollections of a time
before the Vermillion Years.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Jean-Luc,
what is that you are observing?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Hues in
the air,” I answered. “The fumes of commuters add welcomed variety.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">The eternal
evening was the one aspect of this era that I preferred over the past. Melancholically
painted with splotches of cinnabar and burgundy, the sky stayed a constant vermillion—
tinting all the exposed world moody orange. For all its beauty, the citrusy
atmosphere was deathly toxic, forcing mankind indoors. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“That’s an
odd thing to do,” the girl said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">The girl’s
voice was muffled under her fancy oversized collar. The frilly poof that topped
her equally bloated chartreuse dress hid the respirator that enabled her to
breathe outdoors. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Perhaps. It’s
means to chip away the time I cannot kill.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Hmm. You
always say such strange things.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">Strange? For
one of her limited years, perhaps. To her, orange was orange and nothing more.
She did not have eons at her disposal to overanalyze the accepted mendacities of
existence. She ignored the intricacy of simplicity— as all humans do. Counting
the colors in the sky was but one of many mundane time-killing techniques that
governed my continued existence. My finger slowly drew the slider down on my
bronze mask, forming a frown. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Nothing is
strange, as strangeness is defined only by the limit of one’s experiences,” I
replied after a spell of contemplative silence. “Struggling to understand the
world, we cling to sameness to feel safe— not realizing that shelter is a sin.
When wrinkles set, your pale skin will regret its lack of scars. Appreciate the
uncanny now. Age robs you of wonder.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">I could
feel the girl’s eyes fixed dreamily upon me. Despite the girl’s beauty, the
loving gaze had no chance of reciprocation. Often times, I’d employ eloquence
and philosophy to scare the flies away, but this particular bug was not
repelled.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“While I’m
not sure of what you meant,” the young girl began hesitantly, shuffling in
place. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“The way you worded that was positively breathtaking.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Everything
you say astonishes me, Jean-Luc. Your words stick on my mind even weeks after
they’ve been spoken.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">Mankind regarded
my ilk as beacons of wisdom and power— <i>a tiresome
perception</i>. Speaking trifles in passing and having them be regarded as
profundities reminded me of my isolation. I reset my mouth to neutral. Removing
my ornate brown top hat, I ran a cold, cast iron claw over the charred, barren
scalp where hair once flowed. I could feel the girl shutter in my own bones.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“I don’t
care how you look… Your words are beautiful.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">I returned
my cap to my head. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Beautiful? If you paid any real attention to my words,
you’d commit suicide.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“W-why is
that?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“My words
mean that life has no purpose. Youth is marked with lies that make the world
look livable. Appreciate your stupidity while you have it. That’s the take
away.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">The girl’s
eyes welled up with brine and she dashed off.
I purposely upset her and felt not a shred of regret for doing so. It
wasn’t that I’d forgotten the feeling of sadness—the emotion I’d best acquaintance
with. Rather, just as the suffering of a fly does not concern a horse, the
girl’s corporeality made her feelings of no consequence to me. Though I’d be
lying if I denied harboring any ire for her mortality. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“</span></i><span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">You simply cannot help yourself, can you, Im?”<i> <o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">A brute yet
refined young woman with short, mousy brown hair approached me. I recognized
her as ‘Fleurette’, but beyond that I had no recall for what her relation was
to the other girl. I’d committed myself to forgetting such information. The storage
capacity of the human brain is infinite, as I can attest, but I my issue lied
with memory manageability. For the sake of not losing that which was relevant
to me, I drowned out basically everything new. With life droning on as it did,
I developed nostalgia for nostalgia, in a sense, caring for nothing at all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“You treat
this settlement with such cruel indifference, and yet Lyonnais graciously
continues to accommodate you. Not only does Lady Etienne look past your horrid
appearance, she worships your every word. A gentleman would show gratitude, not
fangs. If you cannot handle a girl blushing for you, tell her so. Or do her
tears soothe you so?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“A man who cannot
freeze requires no coat. If a man needs no sleep or sex, he takes no bed. When
a stomach needs no food, a man eats none… and if he cannot love, what need does
he have for companionship?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“You’re an
insufferable pighead, Jean-Luc,” Fleurette, her disapproving eyes attempting to
stir regret in my heart. “I curse the day you were first allowed to live here.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“I was not
allowed… I was <i>begged</i>,” I corrected.
“Lyonnais required the aid of man of my years.”
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Yes, and I
think they’d best seek another,” the crass maid retorted. “I doubt the others
behave like soulless animatronics. Lady Etienne deserves better, as does
Lyonnais.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“So you’d
think…” I murmured.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“This
settlement is filled with good natured people. They rest their hopes in you,
but you look down on them as if they were Unman. You don’t care for a single
one of them, do you?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“It is not
my job to care.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">Fleurette
hocked a large wad of spit from the deepest recesses of her hatred and
propelled it onto my metal mask. I wiped it off, then pressed the button next
to my temple that drew the tinted black glass away from my bloodshot eyeballs. I
locked eyes with her, projecting the pain behind my aggregate acrimony. The girl looked straight into the horrors undaunted,
much to my surprise. A glimpse into my suffering brought most men to their
knees. Such was the extent of her irreverence.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“I shall be
going then,” I said stiffly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">I headed to
the gate and pulled the lever on the intricate mechanical fence. Pistons
chugged and gears shifted. Steam whistled from the narrow exhaust pipe,
signaling the sturdy barricade had completed unlatching its various locking
mechanisms. Unfortunately for the maid, an arthro-pod scuttled up just as the
gate closed behind me. The eight spider-like feet that propelled the tiny
carriage retracted. In a burst of hot yellow vapor, the pill-shaped vehicle
locked into place at its docking bay. Lord Yves Arlow Pasiphae, master of the
estate, popped out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Ah,
Jean-Luc! Going for another stroll, I see.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">The surly
nobleman blocked my way. As a result of a severe steam burn, half of the
fellow’s face had been grafted with metal. Instead of a right eye, an Earthlife
Orb laid in its socket. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">The tiny
sphere of technology was not of the Earth, manufactured on the distant
Colony-K, a place even I’d never been. Merely touching skin allowed the
Earthlife Orb’s bio-tech to integrate with the connected organism, giving
red-blood cells the ability to create their own oxygen and turning the heart
into nanomachine-pumping factory. The orb itself served as a conduit to pull in
the air’s toxins. Once absorbed, the pollutants became materials to sustain the
orb. There’s much more to the process than that, but to put it simply, the orb
eliminated the need for a natural respiratory system— giving any human the ability
to exist on Earth. Of course, this was outdated tech, replaced years ago by
Spacelife Chips… but that’s neither here nor there.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">Regardless,
the Earthlife Orb was a symbol of Yves’s high aristocracy, as oxygen tanks were
seen as gauche and a sign of low social standing. That being said, such orbs
were a rare commode, as with all nice things on this orange excuse for a
planet. Small, air-filtering breathers were far more common among the rich.
Personally, I preferred the look of the poor’s tanks, but as one who required no
air at all… my opinion hardly mattered. In fact, I had quite enough of humanity
at this point, and I’d decided be far more comfortable outside Lyonnais’ walls.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“It would
seem this will be my last walk through these parts,” I said to the man. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“I see,”
Yves said shakily. “Will you be sending for anything?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“No,
nothing,” I answered. “Any belongings of mine left behind should be burned. Judging
by her opinion of me, I’m sure Miss Fleurette would gladly volunteer for the
task, should you ask her.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“<i>Fleurette…</i> ” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"> Once the gate was resealed with Yves on the
other side, I hung back for a listen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Good day,
my lordship,” bid the voice of Fleurette. “Apologies Lord Pasiphae, but I am
much too busy to converse with you. I came to check the insulation on backside
of the manor. Have you found another orb yet? Your daughter is complaining of
headaches again.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“You’re the
source of headaches,” Yves replied cantankerously.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“My lord? I
do not underst— AYYYAAAAAH!”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Do not
play yourself fooler than you already are, wench,” Yves burst as the sound of
his metal glove smacking across the girl’s face resounded throughout the large courtyard
decorated with intricate sheet metal sculptures. “I passed Jean-Luc on his way
out.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“You did
not hear the terrible things he bid the— AHHHHCK!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“I do not
care if he had his way with her and made the city watch. My allegiance is to
Lyonnais now. Governess Godiva entrusted his care to me. In breaking that trust, she will shatter my
spine and throw me to the lowlands… if not into the steaming seas.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“AACCHHHKK.
OWWW. STOP. PLEASE. I’M BEGGING YOU. AYYYHHHHH!!” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">Though a high
metal fence obscured my view, the violence was simple to infer. The sound of
beating and screams stopped.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“He’ll
crawl back… just watch,” Fleurette panted. “No one can survive the extremes of
the lowlands or withstand the boiling waters of the Searing Ocean for long.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Do you
know that little of the world?” Yves asked. “Of course he can. Why do you think
we needed him? His presence was our protection. The unmans…
At the rate our militia is dwindling, I should be surprised if this
settlement shall remain afloat by next solstice.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“We don’t
need an Im’s help, certainly not Jean-Luc’s. Who knows if he’s truly unable to
die? I bet it’s just another of this world’s myths, perpetuated by crooks like
him looking for a place to crash and a cow to milk. ” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“His
immortality is not to be questioned. Ims have existed for as long as time can
be remembered.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Then it is
the unman I question…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Have you yet
to lay eyes on the horrid things?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Never seen
one, but I doubt it’s much to be afraid of,” Fleurette answered.</span> “<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">The traders from El Soledad say
those brainless things are less of a threat than the air itself. I’ve never
seen an Unman breech these walls once, how dangerous can they be?”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“The
ignorant truly do have better quality of life,” Yves scoffed. “We fell from the
castleship, so the myths of Unman we’d are now the reality we face.</span> <span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">Unlike El Soledad, Lyonnais refuses
to pledge loyalty to a monarchy. We cannot depend on the security of chevaliers
to stave off those insatiable zombies.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">I could
make out the sound of something smashing into a sculpture, presumably Fleurette’s
body. Yves now spoke with a chillingly calm demeanor. From my short stay, I’d
seen this behavior many times before. Anger soothed the man, as if it was his
natural state. The greater his fury, the more fine-tuned his focus. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Aren’t
there… others?” the battered maid asked between sobs.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Ims are scarce;
fewer than a thousand chose to remain on Earth,” Yves said calmly as he
continued to pummel the girl. “In that number, even less spend their eternity
as a mercenary for hire— or even associate themselves with humanity. And in
that handful, only one is in Lyonnais’s price range. Take a guess as to whom
that may be, girl.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“I’m- I’m
sorry,” the maid bawled. “I’m pleading with you… Stop.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">I could no
longer hear the man’s voice, drowned out by the maid’s bloody wailing. I
decided I’d heard quite enough and began to walk away. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“I’m on the
edge of the island, don’t come any closer… My lord, please…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">What followed
was a screech so heart-wrenching that it pierced right through the pulmonary
barriers constructed over my eons of existence. The horrible cry waned steadily
before ending in a sizzling splash. I pushed my ear back against the shoddy iron
fence. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Please do
not look at me in such a way, milady…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Fleurette,
my sweet flower…” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Etienne,
why mourn so? She was in your service, and died for her failure.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“That woman
was more sister to me than my actual siblings. She died for your anger and
nothing more… She served you well, and earnestly, Yves. Yet you murdered her
all the same...”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Pardon me,
milady, but I must disagree. I saved her from a worse fate. Without Jean-Luc,
our doom at those monsters’ hands is evitable.” <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">“Then shall you kill me as well?”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">As I plunged
into the boiling water below, the humans’ uninteresting conversation cut off. A
singular thought remained in my mind as the scalding water seared my skin
beneath my armor and the opaque grey water stung my eyes under my masks… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif";">‘Why am I doing this?’<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">- B D Bechtle</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11893709002020127219noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386644788533482009.post-85550312066094909372014-04-26T18:44:00.000-04:002014-04-26T18:48:26.061-04:00UPDATE: Returning to Vermilion Years <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrfbJgMXrWS9Gg_lH0QjyxKsVibKlqJtiVW1YnVnG1FvWKBW3-0gfoHkS_16TtbE_7Brpev1axL-Iu-XW6oCSg4NcznvOsoMLvAX6fIE1k7uu6DP7moofcNRBGH3OUQncs7b2jwxM8gqA4/s1600/airship2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrfbJgMXrWS9Gg_lH0QjyxKsVibKlqJtiVW1YnVnG1FvWKBW3-0gfoHkS_16TtbE_7Brpev1axL-Iu-XW6oCSg4NcznvOsoMLvAX6fIE1k7uu6DP7moofcNRBGH3OUQncs7b2jwxM8gqA4/s1600/airship2.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
So I've recently started caring about my Vermilion Years project again. I initially penned it as a quick, ongoing blog series. It was just a steampunk story I was writing for fun at first, but reading it over now... I see so much more potential in it. It's taken me a while, but I think I see where I want this story to go. I'm going to repost the old chapters reworked here shortly. After those are all posted, I'll be adding new installments regularly every Wednesday! You know, I was discouraged by the lack of audience, but I am now somewhat inspired by it. I'm writing this story for myself, in hopes one or two people may stumble across it and enjoy it. When it's finished, I'll put it all up on Amazon as an e-book, see if it sells. I think that sounds like a decent plan, don't you? Honestly, I could care less either way. This book is such a unique story and offers interesting writing opportunities. I'm having a blast, and I'm beginning to understand that writing has merit for art's sake as well. As much as I love an audience--and will be looking to expand mine soon to make this a proper profession--art is its own reward. <br />
<br />
So yeah, who knows what will come of this. I earnestly hope at least one or two people will stumble across this somehow, through my efforts or just internet coincidence, and send me some feedback.<br />
<br />
Cheers,<br />
<br />
Bradley Bechtle<div class="blogger-post-footer">- B D Bechtle</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11893709002020127219noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386644788533482009.post-83040745503617359132014-04-07T21:01:00.001-04:002014-04-07T21:20:43.801-04:00"Talking Existence"<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container zemanta-img" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: right;"><tbody>
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<a href="http://commons.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Marco_Polo_portrait.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: clear:right;"><img alt="Portrait of Marco Polo." border="0" class="zemanta-img-inserted zemanta-img-configured" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/54/Marco_Polo_portrait.jpg" height="320" style="border: none; font-size: 0.8em;" width="236" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption zemanta-img-attribution" style="text-align: center; width: 311px;">Portrait of Marco Polo. (Photo credit: <a href="http://commons.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Marco_Polo_portrait.jpg" target="_blank">Wikipedia</a>)</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We exist through the conversations we share. A man is a memory, existing in his sphere of influence. In this sense, being forgotten or ignored... equates to death. This is the essence of a philosophical concept bouncing about in my head. I call it "<span style="color: blue;">Talking Existence</span>." The idea occurred to me recently, finding life much too intricate to be measured solely by means of a pulse. <span style="color: blue;">Talking Existence</span> is not reverse-solipsism, nor is it a delusion of vanity. To best understand this, you must take into consideration that I see life as art-in-progress, defined by the relationship between the artist and those who visit his gallery. The only thing personal about a masterpiece is its creation. Unless it is regarded by a decent portion of society, a painting might as well never been painted at all. Of course this is a metaphor. (Nothing wrong with recreational painting.) <span style="color: blue;">Talking Existence</span> is us sketching a portrait of ourselves each day with our words. Actions are but the manifestations of verbs, physical words. As such, what we do is also what we say. How we speak--both physically and verbally--unto others shapes our existence. That is "<span style="color: blue;">Talking Existence</span>." <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> I can seem simple, deceptively. "Be good. Be proactive. Be remembered." Humanity often turns to established morality and terms for success to define its life. It's because, as concrete-minded humans, we assume length is the end all be all. I'd argue against that. Longevity is a cheap way to be remembered. It's not about quantity or quality-- it's about quandary. When we feel it seems as we are most alive, does it not? The more failure you face, the the more life you have. Only in the ashes of a blaze can we touch a fire. Loss is but a baby born to be a win. (Unless aborted by its parent.) By this, it would seem the content of our lives determines our existence, not our conversations as I proposed. Not so. This is a part of <span style="color: blue;">Talking Existence.</span> What we feel and what we experience are merely ingredients to our existence. Our hardships and triumphs are reflected in our tone, humor and choices. Daily interactions are the basis for psychological understanding-- the blood of human interaction. You live by means of your tongue, but a tongue will only taste that which it finds sweet. Scars are inputted into the complex formulae through which we operate. Whether you wave meekly or embrace in a hug is determined by elements of our experience. This is why I say we exist through conversations. Man hasn't invented a time machine, and we all know how fuzzy memories can be, right? You can only follow a foot that leaves prints. If we leave no trail, we are lost.<br /><br /><br /><br />Beyond being a measure of life, <span style="color: blue;">Talking Existence</span> has a much deeper role in the whole of existentialism. It's interwoven into religion and relies heavily of the fallacy of "truth"-- the rusty hinge of morality. Lying is born of a desire to artificially enhance our existence. During my more cynical moments, I tend to regard truth as a great fallacy perpetuated by the naive. Thinking reality can ever be understood is arrogance/ignorance in its most sublime. Perception is 9/10ths of human understanding--a belief the very concept of <span style="color: blue;">Talking Existance</span> is built upon. The remaining tenth is the established overlap of the collective beliefs of society and the closest we wee homo sapiens will ever come to an actual "truth." Liars play in this large pool of perception, persuading others to come swim in their version of the murky water. (Note: Read liars as everyone.) Opinions are glorified emotional guesses, but they're the only tools we have to grasp the world around us. Likewise, feelings are fleeting, abstract and non-existent-- excuses to act against logic. The relationship between opinions and feelings is our bias, the nature of our need for personal validation. It compels us to argue and teach, battling others for the right to shape existence. A lie, if not believed by its creator, is merely an acceptance of the ugliness of the so-called truth as we remember it, and an attempt to alter history to our whim. Through lies we are closest to "God," a figure whom I personally deem as the ultimate lie and manipulative tool. If a lie is believed, just like a person, it exists. We are taught about the exploits of Marco Polo as children, but it's questionable if the man ever set foot in China. Just as the ambiguous epic poet Homer is remembered, so too does God exist. In this way, God exists more than we do. True reality can't by perceived by our feeble minds, so what is a lie? It's the basis for perception, cloaked by our innate earnestness. What is remembered lives on.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> Once our death is hence three generations removed, apart from being a chink in various strands of DNA, we die out of existence. Name one baker from 17th century Germany off the top of your head. These men are dead-- their ghosts haunting unread censuses and dust-covered family records. Our comparatively simple human experience is ultimately a blip in a doomed cycle of cosmic explosions that cannot ever exist to us as we will never obtain the means to grasp it. Grasping this, we must live within the criteria of a <span style="color: blue;">Talking Existence</span>. By believing ourselves to be important and considering life a lasting concept, we die prematurely. The self is a pursuit of egotists and simpletons. Live vicariously through your words and ebb out a satisfying existence for your name. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> This, however, only applies to those who deem society as a positive construct. This, quite possibly, is yet another human fallacy... but that discussion is best left for another time. </span><br />
<span style="color: #292f33; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #f5f8fa;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="color: #292f33; font-family: Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: #f5f8fa; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; white-space: pre-wrap;">- B</span></span><br />
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<a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/?px" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_h.png?x-id=1cd632df-601f-47cc-8973-06fe69927870" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">- B D Bechtle</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11893709002020127219noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386644788533482009.post-67795242376629921002014-04-05T12:52:00.001-04:002014-04-05T12:53:39.891-04:00"Musings of an April Morning"Only a handful of people have the right to say they've done something truly fantastic with their lives. The rest of us mull it, though the more honest ones own up to achieving minor greatness within their narrow spheres of existence. I'd say artists have the closest shot at understanding the meaning of life. Their perspectives split into a stark fork. Half believe life to be brimming with purpose, appreciating the simplest of things-- harnessing the collective beauty of their seemingly irrelevant surroundings. The other half, the faction to which I belong, find existence without meaning at all. Not nihilisticly so, but rather... viewing the world as a blank canvas... bookended by tools for painting-- both physical and inspirational.<br />
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That's all I have to say on this at the moment. I'll reflect on this duality in mindsets and perhaps post the result later on. <br />
<div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;">
<a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/?px" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_h.png?x-id=2f453c54-1a78-403b-a0c6-904321f379cc" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">- B D Bechtle</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11893709002020127219noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386644788533482009.post-29872640713637892632014-04-02T22:11:00.000-04:002014-04-02T22:11:08.225-04:00"The Pull of Fate"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitf_QZwmJSfe5G_pBWpoE9eRVu94Ca1fXOmvECKryM-q5-gjNKfRlv_ie-sJuLbxzW1r5EsV0pX8jid_-s5GAh8GBE3HQlD3Q8dm2NYoVC-nqVwaV4aKmmAnJ8myzUN903G5DQtA-15bQ/s1600/Ships+wallpapers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitf_QZwmJSfe5G_pBWpoE9eRVu94Ca1fXOmvECKryM-q5-gjNKfRlv_ie-sJuLbxzW1r5EsV0pX8jid_-s5GAh8GBE3HQlD3Q8dm2NYoVC-nqVwaV4aKmmAnJ8myzUN903G5DQtA-15bQ/s1600/Ships+wallpapers.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I feel the pull of fate, it's tugging in your direction. When I think of your eyes, suddenly green has meaning. Hair has a purpose, now. It's for stroking gently. Whispers, I dedicate them to your ears-- passing on near-silent profundities and ravishing truths that the world will never be ready to hear. This flutter in my stomach, it's never getting old, is it? Our bond is a glimpse at immortality-- undying, unrelenting. It's a hurricane of emotion that wraps me tightly in warm uncertainty. The only way I can convey my feelings is through a stream-- a beautiful babbling brook of poetry. I'm paddling passionately through these waters, seeking the source of this never-ending spring of glorious inspiration. My heart is a ship, and it's already passed through Theseus's conundrum. The tattered remains of what I once believed to be my definition of love has been systematically replaced, leaving only your fresh cedar timber. The current that I coast along now is the strongest pull of them all. It's the pull of fate, and you are my destination. <div class="blogger-post-footer">- B D Bechtle</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11893709002020127219noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386644788533482009.post-91356155960152269622014-02-22T21:31:00.001-05:002014-02-22T21:31:26.078-05:00Texts 1"The most beautiful thing about you is your ability to see this world in a better way than I ever could."<br />
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"In spite of your fears and social challenges, the purity of your perspective and the openness of your mind is something to be envied. It's almost unfair; I could never hope to be in your brain nor understand how to smile so simply, so fully and so brightly."<br />
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"... But I don't have to. I'm happy with my front row seats. I get to experience a level of love and romance most cannot find. No one has your uninhibited beautiful mind." <div class="blogger-post-footer">- B D Bechtle</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11893709002020127219noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386644788533482009.post-28611556767585751432014-02-05T14:17:00.001-05:002014-02-05T14:18:03.978-05:00"To Be Beside Your Name"<div>
Title fight, unrivaled</div>
<div>
To be, her beside</div>
<div>
Crowds form outside </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Beauty incarnate, never enough<br />
<div>
By words, untouchable</div>
<div>
Odes justified, so tough</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Fauna wilt, with comparison</div>
<div>
By night, stars fall</div>
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Auditioning for thrall</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Winter months, your beauty rest</div>
<div>
To hone, as if</div>
<div>
Home address, your chest</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
Oceans part, your feet</div>
<div>
A sun, your miracle</div>
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A loving burning oracle</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
Dictionary pines, your name</div>
<div>
In line, adjectives</div>
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To be beside her, fame</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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War wages, man and verb</div>
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Adjacency, the prize</div>
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The view, your eyes </div>
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</div>
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My surname, the contender</div>
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My sword, my love</div>
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My mission:</div>
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<br /></div>
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Beautiful surrender </div>
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</div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">- B D Bechtle</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11893709002020127219noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386644788533482009.post-44836092306617267182014-02-05T13:54:00.000-05:002014-02-05T13:54:22.105-05:00Breaking Skin Beauty is skin deep<br />
Skin is your life<br />
There's cuts in your sensitive skin<br />
I put them there<br />
I live with that<br />
<br />
I love you, this I know<br />
Irrespective, I show<br />
The feelings a man can have<br />
Knowing a woman's greater<br />
But I appreciate<br />
All the more<br />
<br />
Your heart is huge<br />
An even bigger target<br />
I always aim to please<br />
But I am not William Tell<br />
Apples in tact<br />
Sad fact<br />
<br />
I find myself at a fork<br />
This is amiss a bowl of soup<br />
Choices are good devices<br />
To show my love I pick you<br />
Unknown to her<br />
It was easy<br />
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<br />
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<br /><div class="blogger-post-footer">- B D Bechtle</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11893709002020127219noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386644788533482009.post-88499386398315925662014-01-28T23:13:00.001-05:002014-01-28T23:20:22.974-05:00Endings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://arkshakes.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/01/Hamelt-and-Skull.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://arkshakes.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/01/Hamelt-and-Skull.jpg" height="288" width="320" /></a></div>
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Death is a breathtaking concept; a statement as figurative as it is literal. It's the fear in it. The finality. Therein lies the brunt of its beauty. Death is the only force <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Human" rel="wikipedia" target="_blank" title="Human">mankind</a> shall never prevail against. No matter what life lengthening drug or procedure man invents, accidents happen. <i>As do <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Murder" rel="wikipedia" target="_blank" title="Murder">murders</a></i>.<br />
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Homicide, the grimmest yet most potent of muses, and the engine of countless plots. Passion or insanity, what else could make a man murder? To betray a rule so sacred? To take away the--<br />
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...I won't dip my toe in the dark waters, on second thought.<br />
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As a voice-giver for fictional murderers, I've found it's best to shy away from a mind contemplating the nature of immoral subjectively. Cold science can never lend an unbiased perspective to psychology, as to judge emotion you must cast your own bias--emotion-- to come from a place of empathy. Authors know this best. That's why our stories tend to end happily. The bond you form with a story's characters is but a microscopic fraction of a passionate writer's. While you spend a week or two with the story, we devote months, even years.<br />
<br />
I now find myself facing such a conundrum.<br />
<br />
How do you end that which has become so deeply ingrained into your existence and everyday process of thought? These characters, they're so much more than characters to me. <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Herbert_Morrison_%28announcer%29" rel="wikipedia" target="_blank" title="Herbert Morrison (announcer)">Oh the humanity!</a> <i>The horror of ending the horror.</i> Pushing a plot out of the nest, hoping everything you put into it will allow it to soar as high as your visions projected. Rewriting. Rewriting. Cuts. Edits. <i>Do-overs.</i> Why can't it ever be enough? Why is goodbye so hard? The endeavor feels like an endless escapade, but I know that's just the artist in me. My dreams are the painting, my love the paint, but ultimately this is for sale. A product. A part of my life is a product, one that needs to sell. <br />
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Ending a book is like ending a chapter to your own life. No one understands the importance of ending a chapter powerfully as an author does, I'd say. As such, we are critical of our own lives and the conduct that comprises its content. Once you set your mind to a creative perspective, you see life in stories, potential material and irrelevant errors to edit out. It's torturous yet magnificent, though ultimately unfathomable to the normal people around us. The more at one with the <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Writing" rel="wikipedia" target="_blank" title="Writing">written word</a> I become, the more alienated I find myself with society.<br />
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When this ends, I find myself parting with an amazing set of friends and enemies. Fortunately, I know this particular cast is one I shall revisit often, but that is rarely the case. Though melancholic that we must part, I relish my momentary triumph over the dreaded blank page. A finished book is a bittersweet victory in an endless campaign. One that comes after a bloody string of unsatisfying losses and defeats. Perhaps it is the deluded English blood pumping through my veins, but I find that marvelous. The life of the writer is a dark struggle, but as the ends of our chapters come... we manage smile. Writing is its own reward. Truly it is. The end of a book is a sad reward. It's like attending a graduation party for a friend you love deeply, but you know is going away for a long time.<br />
<br />
<br />
So you write again. Starting a new beginning. Renewing a need for an ending you never wanted yet pined for the entire time.<br />
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<br />
- B<br />
<div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;">
<a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/?px" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_h.png?x-id=381fc9ff-aa72-4251-bdd4-9b64cdfc0354" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">- B D Bechtle</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11893709002020127219noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386644788533482009.post-81430485720461083602014-01-21T16:33:00.003-05:002014-01-21T16:43:27.638-05:00IQ<div style="text-align: right;">
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<a href="http://commons.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Albert_Einstein_Head_cleaned.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: clear:right;"><img alt="English: Albert Einstein Français : portrait d..." border="0" class="zemanta-img-inserted" src="http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/2/28/Albert_Einstein_Head_cleaned.jpg/350px-Albert_Einstein_Head_cleaned.jpg" height="463" style="border: none; font-size: 0.8em;" width="350" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption zemanta-img-attribution" style="text-align: center; width: 350px;">English: Albert Einstein Français : portrait d'Albert Einstein (Photo credit: <a href="http://commons.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Albert_Einstein_Head_cleaned.jpg" target="_blank">Wikipedia</a>)</td></tr>
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By the time you see yourself as an adult, there's not much more the world can teach you. We make mistakes because we lose track of what we already know. If you're smart, you won't get Deja Vu. What I'm trying to say here... is that I am incredibly dumb. I take solace in the fact that stupidity is in my <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/DNA" rel="wikipedia" target="_blank" title="DNA">DNA</a>, and I take even more comfort knowing it's in everyone's DNA, too. Mistake-making is the hallmark of of humanity, the way perfection defines a robot. In spite of my self defamatory-thinking, those around me still seem to think me sharp-- an opinion I've striven for years to quell.<br />
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You see, I've pondered an awful lot about the nature of intellect; how we measure it, regard it, et cetera. It's my belief that we will never have a clear picture of someone's ultimate potential. Even tests fall short-- unable to measure the millions of facets that comprise the complexity of ascertaining true <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Genius" rel="wikipedia" target="_blank" title="Genius">genius</a>. Don't you love how fleeting getting your <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Intelligence_quotient" rel="wikipedia" target="_blank" title="Intelligence quotient">IQ score</a> is? Regardless if the quotient demoralizes or reassures us, we're disinclined to share it with anyone. For fear of what, though? <i>Seeming arrogant?</i><br />
<br />
My IQ is 162.<br />
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What do you feel when you hear that? Resentment? Disbelief? Are you impressed? Chances are the latter two are the more likely reactions. Mankind does not like feeling inferior, and as such it is difficult for us to stomach someone advertising their abilities. You can say it lacks humility, but why does that word even exist in the first place? It places the burden of guilt on the ill-performing party, the unfit. It's <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Objections_to_evolution" rel="wikipedia" target="_blank" title="Objections to evolution">anti-Darwinist</a> and seemingly illogical. If you were advertising a product, certainly you wouldn't leave out details of its best attributes, would you?<br />
<br />
The stipulations for someone buying your personality, <i>liking you</i>, are different. <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Majority_rule" rel="wikipedia" target="_blank" title="Majority rule">Majority rules</a>. The accepted norm is not defined by the greatest, the outliers, but rather the mean-- the status quo, as it were. We are drawn to those who are slightly above average, but bitter to those too far above the line. That's because, unable to grasp and determine potential with any real accuracy, we give ourselves either an overly positive or negative evaluation. Humility is the outward expression, genuine or otherwise, of <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Devaluation" rel="wikipedia" target="_blank" title="Devaluation">devaluation</a>. It's a negative that attracts positive attention, encouraging others to compliment us and bring us up to speed. Arrogance is the opposite end of the spectrum, inflating one's ego to the annoyance of others.<br />
<br />
<br />
This is where the misconception occurs.<br />
<br />
<br />
Everyone likes to think of themselves as just above average. A perceptional fallacy, as a basic understanding of statistics tells us the majority IS average. True genius is a rarity and I believe that is because it goes unreported. Not even considering the expectations thrust upon those of high IQ, it is much easier to be accepted if one chooses to conform. As tolerated and revered as the eccentric is in works of fiction, in reality such individuals are outcasts; <i>weird. </i><br />
<br />
Society celebrates an outstanding ability when it's acquired through hard work and practice, but there is something unnerving about the prodigy. They'd rather believe genius is the result of a trick, rather than trust it as the genuine article. The chance of being outsmarted is cause to raise any guard. Ever competitive, man feels the need to level the playing field by devaluing others and bolstering its own image.<br />
<br />
"He may be able to _______, but I bet he can't get a girlfriend."<br />
<br />
"Who cares if she can ______? She looks like a horse."<br />
<br />
<br />
The price of one's excellence is the magnification of his/her flaws, to hammer down the fact that the individual is still <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Human" rel="wikipedia" target="_blank" title="Human">human</a>, like the rest of us. We need that reassurance, but in getting it... we demoralize the genius and isolate them.<br />
<br />
Life goes on, apathetic to one's intellect. Respect is a sweet spot, and it's easier to exist as a lesser form of yourself. Or so I think. I can only speak of my personal experience. I know, having read this, you will think less of me. A rambling egotist. Genius is respected when it's the real deal. Just look at how history remembers Albert Einstein. I suppose that's why I think I'm so dumb, because he's quoted as having roughly the same IQ as me. Unlike him, I'm a man of grossly unproven talent-- a <a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Score_%28game%29" rel="wikipedia" target="_blank" title="Score (game)">high score</a> without matching achievements.<br />
<br />
They say any IQ above 140+ cannot be accurately measured, but I say no IQ can. Stephan Hawking, IQ 209, says only losers brag, which is why before this blog entry I never divulged my official number. All that matters is what you achieve, so that's what I am working on doing. You don't need an arbitrary number to tell others you are smart, only action. But telling others you are smart... that's what causes the resentment... isn't it?<br />
<br />
There's no need to prove anything to anyone, unless it's a scientific theory. That's my theory on IQ and the nature of why advertising genius is perceived negatively. <br />
<br />
<br />
- B<br />
<div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;">
<a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/?px" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_h.png?x-id=8a94c464-4718-443a-bebd-54e8375f0bcb" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">- B D Bechtle</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11893709002020127219noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386644788533482009.post-77162878172714960032013-12-19T22:53:00.000-05:002013-12-19T22:53:17.320-05:00"To You, Too Soon"<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://burntheplow.typepad.com/.a/6a0133f231fe0b970b0154332b9605970c-800wi" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="250" src="http://burntheplow.typepad.com/.a/6a0133f231fe0b970b0154332b9605970c-800wi" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
It's too easy to fail<br />
Too easy to falter<br />
Simple to sin<br />
Left at the alter<br />
<br />
Blood spills so fast<br />
So fast it flows<br />
Gone too soon<br />
God only knows<br />
<br />
Love fades with time<br />
With time we heal<br />
Easy to forget<br />
The things we feel<br />
<br />
It's too soon to judge<br />
Too soon to jeer<br />
So to say<br />
Goodbye my dear<br />
<br />
Tears come so easy<br />
So easy to bruise<br />
Ears too used<br />
To new bad news<br />
<br />
From me with love<br />
With love I seal<br />
Letters to you<br />
Before my last meal<div class="blogger-post-footer">- B D Bechtle</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11893709002020127219noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386644788533482009.post-45826110222372304802013-12-19T18:43:00.000-05:002013-12-19T22:55:32.036-05:00"The Artist's Lament"<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; margin-bottom: 6px;">
"Sometimes I wonder if my dreams are only just. Lately, I've started to look at those around me and feel like I've lost touch with reality somewhere along the way. My passion tells me otherwise, but when the world seems blind to your ambition...</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
Yes, it's one of those days.</div>
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<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"><br />You have to remember... those with the most confidence often have the most insecurities to hide. </span>I'm not my brother; I'm a dreamer. The sting of reality is a pain known to all humanity, but it is felt the worst by those who live in a dream. I've come to terms with the fact that I cannot live a normal life. I'm not cut out for the world outside of my art. My false bravado can only compensate so much for the isolation and uncertainty. I want to shout in my native tongue and have someone understand me, but that's a wish without a chance for being granted.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
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I have an affliction that just so happens to be productive. But my affinity for art, is it an advantage? My passion boils, but it burns me. I'm a kettle filled with the finest tea sitting in a room of devout coffee drinkers. I can only make art, nothing else. Being normal is an impossibility. I'm not bragging, this is a lamentation! My hands are only meant for creation. Asking me to work a normal job... that's suicide."</div>
<div class="zemanta-pixie" style="height: 15px; margin-top: 10px;">
<a class="zemanta-pixie-a" href="http://www.zemanta.com/?px" title="Enhanced by Zemanta"><img alt="Enhanced by Zemanta" class="zemanta-pixie-img" src="http://img.zemanta.com/zemified_h.png?x-id=63d2a158-c74f-43db-bca3-8f1ff8d36fd9" style="border: none; float: right;" /></a></div>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">- B D Bechtle</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11893709002020127219noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386644788533482009.post-48465120162727206502013-10-31T18:52:00.001-04:002013-10-31T18:52:34.516-04:00Translation PendingLove is meaning<br />
I find it entreating<br />
Like an employee meeting<br />
And the stale chips we're eating<br />
<br />
Verses go against the grain<br />
Tense pressure on my brain<br />
<br />
I hate poets, honestly<br />
Telling me how to do my job<br />
It's not that they are snobs<br />
It's just that they are better<br />
<br />
Sometimes it's four o' clock<br />
Then I look and see it's five<br />
But it was seven all along<br />
PM not AM<br />
<br />
Boring, until you realize<br />
It's about advil<br />
Popping addicts<br />
Pain is cool<br />
<br />
Substance doesn't always need<br />
A stain that goes away<br />
Just something to sustain it<br />
Art doesn't always make sense<br />
Otherwise it would bore me<br />
<br />
The game is the middle part<br />
Not the start or the end<br />
The bad dice rolls are the best<br />
Pressure cooking, man<br />
<br />
I'm sure you're lost<br />
We all are<br />
It's the human condition<br />
Though that sounds like an ailment<br />
<br />
There's a story in my eyes<br />
But you aren't a reader<br />
Doesn't stop you from looking<br />
You caveman, you<br />
<br />
<br />
Being random has its caveats<br />
People call you weird<br />
But they call<br />
So there's that<br />
<br />
There's a train running through my head<br />
But I keep losing track<br />
The conductor gives me coal<br />
But I'm low on steam<br />
<br />
Rivers keep bears fed with fish<br />
But they wind me up<br />
They've become time addled<br />
Riddled with cliche<br />
<br />
I want to tangle<br />
Find me an obtuse angle<br />
I need perspective<br />
Make it inside, introspective<br />
<br />
Any form of cohesion is coincidental.<br />
Maybe that's why progress seems so incremental.<div class="blogger-post-footer">- B D Bechtle</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11893709002020127219noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386644788533482009.post-68308114242865225922013-09-30T23:05:00.000-04:002013-09-30T23:37:21.068-04:00Breaking Down Breaking Bad's Greatness<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container zemanta-img" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: right;"><tbody>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://25.media.tumblr.com/7401424d4ea6af660345877224837644/tumblr_mqgjibzLNB1r6w4h8o8_500.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="158" src="http://25.media.tumblr.com/7401424d4ea6af660345877224837644/tumblr_mqgjibzLNB1r6w4h8o8_500.gif" width="320"></a></div>
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<br>
<span style="color: red;"><b><a class="zem_slink" href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spoiler_%28media%29" rel="wikipedia" target="_blank" title="Spoiler (media)">SPOILER WARNING</a>:</b></span><br>
<i>This post will contain a tremendous amount of spoilers if you've yet to see <a class="zem_slink" href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0903747/" rel="imdb" target="_blank" title="Breaking Bad">Breaking Bad</a> in its entirety. I suggest you do so now. Not for the sake of this post, but your own. (You'll thank me later.)</i><br>
<br>
<a href="http://bdbechtle.blogspot.com/2013/09/breaking-down-breaking-bads-greatness.html#more">Read more »</a><div class="blogger-post-footer">- B D Bechtle</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11893709002020127219noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386644788533482009.post-6289544825762881232013-09-21T21:20:00.001-04:002013-09-21T21:20:14.923-04:00"Apollo's Funeral"<p dir=ltr>Aphrodite blew a kiss<br>
Athena rose her sword<br>
Diana went to bow her head<br>
But fell on her knees instead</p>
<p dir=ltr>"What seperates us from the Mortals?"<br>
She cried.<br>
"If they live on as a god dies?"<br>
"How can this world persist?"<br>
"When upon the marrow we desist?"<br>
"The sun burns on, the wine proceeds to flow."<br>
"The men carry on, rituals continue..."<br>
"They'll never even know."</p>
<p dir=ltr>Athena threw a sheild on the flaming son.<br>
"The fates shall not spare us, as they had not the titans."<br>
"As we came from them, man has come from us."<br>
"Just as they outlive us, so too shall they be outlasted by their creations. Lost to Chronos' ghost... Just as we."</p>
<p dir=ltr>Aphrodite pressed her warm bosom upon Apollo's navel.</p>
<p dir=ltr>"Death for flesh you weep a not..."<br>
"Yet for divinity you morn a lot?"<br>
"We are not greater, meddling most."<br>
"Guests mistaken for the host."<br>
"I've tasted love, both man and god."<br>
"Our superiority? A mere visade."</p>
<p dir=ltr>Persephone lurked out of shadow.<br>
"Let us strike back."<br>
"Repay treachery with a god's smack"<br>
"If we die than so should they."<br>
"Without us, their worship goes to decay."</p>
<p dir=ltr>Hera then decended with a deafening boom.<br>
Her stern glare shook the room<br>
Acceptance never suited her strong<br>
Yet she knew her daughter wasn't wrong</p>
<p dir=ltr>"It would be all too easy to smite man."<br>
"Such is our brother Hades' plan."<br>
"You've grown so happy with your rapist."<br>
"A devil now, no longer an escapist."<br>
"Don't you look your mother in the eye."<br>
"You've doomed us all to die."<br></p>
<p dir=ltr>The women threw his chariot<br>
Let its horses squeel<br>
Their tears turned to stone<br>
Smashed into a spinning wheel<br><br><br></p>
<div class="blogger-post-footer">- B D Bechtle</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11893709002020127219noreply@blogger.com1