It's the Substrates That Matter

My posts have dwindled to essentially nothing in the past few weeks due to starting work on another novel. This new novel is set to satire my first few years of college (in all its glory).
Currently, the project itself is titled "Substrates and Killer Tones" (the title hasn't been set in stone), but I thought I might as well share the short story that sets up the entire book. As I finish more of the book, I'll be posting more details, either on here or on my Tumblr account.

If you really enjoy what you read, let me know. I'm still looking for some opinions on the first few chapters and am always open to new readers.

"Substrates and Killer Tones"

“They say it isn’t possible. Why is it impossible? How can it be impossible?” I snicker at the thought. The wheels on my chair squeak against the stained floor as I push back from my desk. “I just have to think hard enough. Yes, hard enough.” The smile upon my face would delight even the most cynical of beings. Only realizations of the highest degree could bring on such happiness. Realizations that are born from the ideas of the brilliant—yes, the brilliant. They may say I’m crazy—that my ideas are crazy—but they don’t know! So blind…Yes, so blind…

Eyes wide. Pupils focused. Saliva dripping from my mouth in waiting for an occurrence. All of my focus sits on the blank, dirty wall before me in the dim, dim light of this damn dorm room. A cube. Yes, a cube! That’s what I want! I’ll create a cube! I’ll show them what’s ‘impossible!’ My brain strains anxiously and water seeps from the corners of my eyes. A square pops into my visual field. Super-imposed upon the wall. Intangible and translucent, its figure hardly blocks any sight of the wall, but it’s progress. Delicious progress!

Almost there! My concentration hardens. My eyes grow wider. Small tremors kick my head in anticipation. Slowly but surely, the square pops out. I can see it! Its four edges emerge from the grimy wall, bringing eight more behind it. A cube! Yes, it’s a cube that I want! It’s not long before my brilliance has birthed an object from nothingness. But…something’s wrong…

Why can I still look through it?! Anger seeps into current thoughts as my eyes keep wide, straining to keep the object from dissipating. With a shaking hand, there’s a commitment to testing the cubes tangibility. It must be real this time… How can it not be? How could it be impossible? Tremors shove my hand in such a way that even entropy could not accurately describe. But, still, I reach for it.

I’m almost there. Just a few more inches. Surely it’ll be real this time.

Shaking horribly, my hand reaches were it should be, but nothing activates my mechanoreceptors. I feel nothing.

“Goddamnit!” I yell. My eyes snap shut, drawing the tense energy back into my body. The force of it all throws me back, throws my chair sideways. In a clatter, both of us crash to the floor hard. Now still, my hand grasps my unclothed, aching arm while I wince in pain.

The cube is gone. Watery eyes won’t quit. Now I have a headache. “Just, fucking wonderful…” A sigh escapes my exasperated lips long before I lie my head down upon the floor, upon the small streaks of blood that had helped to calm me before the attempt. “Regular focus doesn’t work. Stimulants don’t increase the tangibility. Pain-induced focus doesn’t have enough bite. Even sacrificing life energy doesn’t come close.” Another sigh. Soft thuds from the floor or my head hit the air as I bang my head against brown tile. “Idiot…And they call you a genius! Ha!” I snicker in self-hate. What good are the doubters?

I gradually come to pull myself up and place the chair up-right. “Just because they say something is impossible, doesn’t make it ‘impossible.’” I wipe a hand over my arm to remove some of the blood, but my skin seems to be stained. “Nothing is ‘impossible.’” I smirk at even the slight notion that I’ll never succeed. “I’ll try again.”

As I sit down upon the chair, there’s a simultaneous knock at my door and window. I glance right at the door, then left at the window. “Here we go again.” I sigh and stand up.

Opening the door, I find a young woman standing before me. Slightly shorter than I with medium-length, dark green hair—a dye job—light-brown eyes and a “cute” face. Maybe I’d find her average physique and fashion sense more attractive if her “concerned” personality wasn’t so goddamn annoying.

“What is it, Sarah?” I ask, letting my annoyance slip easily. Her eyes capture mine with the affective glare of an innocent young girl.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I called you earlier, and you didn’t respond. Lately, you’ve been so caught up with your experiments…I’ve been…worried, especially when I heard what people’ve been saying.” The emotion in her voice feels thick, almost overwhelming. I could almost hug her. Any other person would have gotten the sarcastic: And…what have they been saying? But, for some reason, I can never truly bring myself to be so callous with Sarah. Just because they call me a “demon” doesn’t make me heartless. “What’s that?!” She reaches out a shaking hand to touch the blood on my arm. When her fingers come back died with crimson, the look of terror on her face says it all.

Freezing in place, I watch her reaction as she pushes the door open a little more. Such a gentle soul; what could she do? Her eyes waver a bit as her mind seems to hone in on the smears of blood my body had left upon the floor. I guess the bloody pocket knife on the desk doesn’t make the sight any better either…

“Are you okay?” she squeaks with all the worry written on her visage. Goddamn, that face…Why must she look like that?

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I answer easily with my best, beguiling smile. “I was just trying a new angle on one of my theories. It’s really not as bad as you think, I promise.” I laugh lightly, and her overall mood seems to shift for the better, making the moment slightly less awkward.

“Okay…” she mutters.

“Look, how about this?” I start to lead her away from the door, into the hallway. “Go back to your room. I’ll clean up, get dressed, and I’ll meet you for dinner. How’s that sound?” Her original innocence sparks into action as a sweet smile spawns upon her face.

“That sounds wonderful!”

“Give me an hour or so, and I’ll text you with the details?” She nods her head in agreement and starts to walk away. It doesn’t take her long to glance back at me.

“Just be careful, okay?” Once more, the sincerity in her voice could kill a man.

“Yeah yeah yeah…” I wave her comment off with another smile. She seems satisfied enough—that is, if her leaving is any indicator.

I sigh once more as I close the door behind me. Thinking passively at how many times I tend to sigh, I wonder if Sarah actually realizes what I’m trying to do. How could I possibly be careful at a time like this? Regardless…

“You’re late.” The words fly out of my mouth flat, emotionless.

“Who ever said a demon had to show up on time?”

“Samuel, when he first contacted me.”

“Pssh…Samuel’s too uptight.” I guess he would know. Before me stands Israel, Samuel’s right-hand man—well, one of them at least. When I first met the guy, his name brought back memories of Sunday school, but, obviously, he and Jacob aren’t exactly the same type of person.

Black suit. Red dress shirt. Crimson necktie. Black shades. Blond hair, white skin, and dark-red eyes—in the brief glimpses I’ve received in the past. All the demons seem to wear the same get-up (hair and skin color being the exception). Honestly, I find it all strange and unsettling.

“Are you going to actually tell me what you’re here for or stand in front of my window all night?” The open window behind him lets in a constant flow of cold air. It only makes me hate him more.

Israel smirks. “I hear you’ve been attempting energy creation again,” he remarks casually, hands in his black trouser pockets. “Didn’t Samuel tell you that that power is reserved for Gods?”

“He also said that tolls had to be paid for humans attempting it. I’ve been paying my tolls; he shouldn’t have any problems.” I guess the grimace on my face actively displays my discomfort, because his smile widens. Motherfucker….

“Yes, yes…I just wanted to warn you…” Now at my desk, he plays with my pocket knife. His hidden eyes seem to contemplate the blood on its edge. “It’s dangerous manipulating life energy like that. Also, one wrong move, and maybe what you create won’t be due to your toll. Ever think of that, smartass?”

I remain silent with clenched fists at my side. What else could a genius do?

Leaving my knife back to its resting position, he heads back for the window. Silence impedes the air as he puts a leg outside the window. My nerves can’t take it anymore. “Is that all?!” I blurt out. He snickers in the same, arrogant sort of way all demons seem to snicker. God, I hate them all.

“Just be careful, okay?” In an instant he’s gone, leaving only a scene Columbus at night; the window drops back down with a soft thud.

Beyond pissed off, I sit back down on my chair, my head rested in my hands. Who does he think he is? They don’t have anything on me. I smirk, knowing how awfully clever I am. But, when I look up, I realize a mistake.

Before my eyes, sitting on the floor in front of the wall, is a solid cube, almost translucent, but unmistakably there. “Shit…” I mutter, before shaking my head and heading to the bathroom to clean up for Sarah.

~Chris

"Headfirst Slide Into Cooperstown On A Bad Bet"

Life changes quickly. It's almost unfortunate sometimes that we have to change with it. 

From friends to lovers to awkward acquaintances, back to friends and then just two people wishing for the past to come back. Changes in relationships are possibly some of the worst things in my life, especially when emotion is involved. 

Right now feels like one of those times, although I can't pinpoint why...Anyway, this next piece attempts to capture it all by playing off of my uncertainty and blending it with some Fall Out Boy lyrics. 

"Lovers" by Slagophoto

“Pete Rose”

(It's a story about cheating. Get it?)

            I walk into the room. You’re splayed out on the couch, begging me to come closer. “C’mon,” you whisper, “have a taste.” You lick your lips and the universe leans in to catch my response.

            “Sounds delicious,” I state with a smirk. Give up on conscious thoughts. I’ve no need for my brain. All I want is to become closer to who you are—lie closer to you. And so I creep closer. I straddle you and cuddle you. Like a drug addict, my conscience must’ve gone out the window with the intoxicating feel of your lips against mine; the alluring smell of that perfume you shower in before each of our meetings.

            My mind’s stuck on the possibility of getting inside…inside that mind of yours. But I swear I wouldn’t…I shouldn’t…I couldn’t…I can’t seem to resist your charm. Your naked body against mine. Your warm breath against my neck and soft voice urging me on. All of it sends me into a fervor. “Harder…” You gasp. “I want it rough.” I attend only to your needs, for my thoughts are concerned with the longevity of this affair.

            I groan in pleasure but know I come second in this two man race for your love.

            After all, does your husband know what we do? Does he see our heated embrace in your eyes each night? Does he…Does he even know the words that could stop me cold?

            You promised he hurt you, that he means nothing,  and you need something new. Still, I have to promise myself that I’ll never fall into this trap. Oh, how I love you…I need you…I want you, but I could never end up like him. Although, probably, behind my back I already have…

            Now you sigh with that layer of sweat upon your skin. No doubt you’re now thinking about him… “That was great!” you exclaim with a smile before thrusting once more oh so teasingly. A smile is drawn upon my face with the ecstasy held tightly between our loins.

            A car door slams outside. “I thought you said he wouldn’t be home for another few hours,” I start with terror.

            “I…He wasn’t supposed to be. I don’t know what’s going on.” Fear enters your eyes as you hand me back my clothes. “Here put these on. I’ll distract him while you sneak out.” I know the routine, but it always stings to hear it come from you each time.

            “Tempest in a teacup” for lack of a better phrase. The chaos that follows reminds me of a race to escape death. “Jess! I’m home!” your husband yells in the next room over. The way you clean up…You’d think he’d suspect something…Why be with someone so dense, hun? Why…Why…Why…Have you ever thought that maybe you peaked early?

            He’s seduced as he comes through the door. I can almost hear the sound of his fingers sliding against your soft skin, his lips colliding with yours. It makes me sick. Does he even understand what’s happened? Can he guess the words that I long to hear?

            No, he can’t…How could he understand our love when he doesn’t even know I exist? And, so, I creep out the back, wondering if it’s all worth it.

            I swore I wouldn’t end up like him. Yet, in a sick, sad way, I already have. You cheat him for me but still cheat me for him. Just know that I’ll still be here. (I’m not going anywhere.) But next time be sure to keep a calendar—this way you’ll know the next he’ll come through. No matter how long it takes…Oh, darling, just know that I understand what you’re going through.

Fate drives me.

~Chris

A Bad Dream or a Pleasant Nightmare?

Konbanwa!

©2011-2012 *oO-Rein-Oo

So my friends it's friday and you know what that means, another piece of my complete project! Now, last time I told you there was three pieces. However, I didn't realize at the time just how LONG part 2 was. So, I'm spliting them up. These sections combined focus on the difference between a dream and a nightmare, so it was easy spliting the two. Well I have delayed long enough, here is part 2 of Project Searchman!
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Dream, a sequence of images, emotions, sensations, and ideas that appear involuntarily when one is asleep. But while we may have yet determined when they occur, we have yet to identify why they happen. What purpose could an imaginary world mixed with fictional and non-fictional characters, true and false characters possibly serve to our mind? I have a theory. Perhaps, they are there to serve as sanctuary. A safe-house from the nightmare known to us as the ‘real world’; a dream is a pleasant lie locked away in our heads. This dream is used to properly fill the gaps in our ‘real world’ life, to hold onto until our old wounds heal. After all, we are nothing more than human, how can we possibly expect each other to be perfect? So we escape to the captivating warmth of our dreams. There, our dream reassures us that we indeed have value, causes us to momentarily forget the nightmare we live in, or just manage to give us that little piece of happiness that eluded us in the real world. Best part, it doesn’t matter what you do in or to a dream, because when you wake up, it’s done and over like it never existed. Yes, the concept of a dream finally makes sense to me; and so does being the ‘dream guy’.

I wake to the scent of week old laundry and soiled milk, plaguing the entirety of my apartment building. I look around at the poor excuse for a room I call home. I rub my bare chest yawning, while using my free hand to search for my glasses. I feel around the bed, unsuccessfully for about five minutes.

“Check your nightstand dickweed.” William says in my head impatiently.

I reach in the direction of my nightstand, where sure enough I could feel the frame of my glasses. I put them on and jump off of my sheet-less mattress and onto the rough carpet floor.

“I would have found them of my own accord soon enough you know.” I say defiantly.

“Go put a shirt on us prick. No one wants to see your boney ass in sweats walking around.”

I head towards my closet door, ignoring the peeling wallpaper. I open the closet door and attempt to turn on the swinging light bulb, only for it to flicker and switch off.

“You should fix that. And the walls could use a new coat of paint as well. Just saying.”

Slowly I drag myself over to the stereo on my nightstand, and press the play button. The Real Folk Blues begins to play, and I pull a flashlight out of the nightstand.

“What kind of black person listens to Japanese rock?” William pesters me some more.

“Since when does your personality decide whether or not you’re black? Besides, it would be more accurate to call it jazz or blues then rock.”

I arrive back at the wide open closet door, flashlight shining, where I gaze upon three pairs of jeans, a light-blue chrome dress shirt, a royal blue and grey sweater-vest, dress shoes and two pairs of dress pants.

“What a collection.”William snorts. “I bet the guys are just begging to switch it up with you.”

“Go make yourself useful for once.” I say, grabbing the sweater-vest and dress shirt.

“How do you suppose I do that?” William asks politely.

“Disappear.” I say calmly as I throw the articles of clothing onto the bed.

I head over to a pile of dirty laundry. I pick up different undershirts, sniff for the ones that smell best, and then choosing the whitest one, before throwing it on. I head over to the kitchen. Dishes piled high in the sink while the scent of expired milk was merged with the floor tiles. I progress to the fridge on the far end of the kitchen, taking a hot pocket out of the freezer compartment. I open the package and throw the hot pocket into the microwave just to the right of the fridge.

“So healthy…” says a voice.

“Will you shut up!” I shout, before realizing that it there was someone else in the room.

I look to the entry way of the kitchen, where my floormate Aiden stands. I broke off my gaze and motion to apologize, but stop myself.

“Sumimasen Aiden-san.” I said bowing in apology.

“No need to apologize. Is that The Real Folk Blues I hear?” Aiden says, sitting at the table.

“Hai.” I replied.

“Ohhhh, you’re better then I thought. Nihongo wakarimasu ka.”

“Maa-maa.”

“Seems a lot better then ‘so-so’ sweetie.” Aiden said motioning me to sit down with her.

“I guess it’s a matter of perspective. What brings you here today?”

“Lili is back with her ex.” She says quietly.

“So???” I say indifferently.

“So I thought you’d care a little more than that. Didn’t she tell you just three days ago that she didn’t want a boyfriend?” Aiden asks me.

“Didn’t she tell me just three months ago that I was the sweetest, nicest guy alive? I have learned not to believe everything women I date tell me. It’s all in code.” I break eye contact.

“Nice guys come in last of course.” William chuckles to himself.

“I can go beat her up for you if you’d like.” Aiden says with a sly grin.

“No thanks,” I laugh under my breath, “I honestly have no beef with her.”

“Push-over.”William says harshly.

I flinch in response to William, and Aiden knows something is up. She looks at me with concern.

“Telephone?” she asks.

“I hate speaking for him…” I say.

“It’s okay I won’t hold him against you. Just switch up your voice so I can tell the difference.”

“He said pushover.”

“Well you could not let her shove you around like this.”

“I know I know, but that’s easier said then done.” I say.

“Not if you’re like me.” I said relaying William’s message.

“If he’s like you, he’ll be another womanizer, the last thing women want.”

“You guys have no clue what you want.” I say, speaking for William again.

“Of course we do. In the end, all women are romantics; we want romance.” Aiden says with her hands locked together.

“As long as it is with the right guy… like strong, handsome, etc…” I say, still speaking for William.

“High school girls don’t know what they want; they are too immature, they haven’t either seen or gone through enough hurt to realize what they want.”

“Please,” I say, “You act like girls grow out of it. They chase after the ‘bad boys’, only to get hurt and abused. Then slowly develop the notion that all men, or at least most, are the same. Then a good guy walks into their life. He does everything right; he tells her she’s beautiful everyday, there when she needs a hand, goes the extra mile. Yet, she tells him that he is the sweetest, nicest, most fabulous guy ever and any girl would be lucky to have him. But what she really means is any other girl can have you but her…”

“Who was that speaking?” Aiden asks inquisitively.

“All of us.” I say, confusing Aiden.

“Look Rey,” Aiden says gently, “I know that this seems hopeless, but just like there are bad guys out there, there are bad girls. Both are small sample sizes of each pool… You are any girl’s dream guy Rey.”

“Yet none of them want me, because that’s all I am to them, a dream.”

“Rey… Lyle… I know that’s you.” Aiden says with a frown.

“…Rey is still asleep.” I say, knowing big bro would be mad later.

“William can speak to you?” Aiden asks me.

“Sometimes, when I let him.”

“Why do you let him?”

“Why does it matter if I do?

I walk over to the microwave and take out the hot pocket that was waiting for me. I leaned against the counter, dropping my façade to a personally more comfortable to me.

“You know Lyle… the world isn’t black and white like you think it is.”

“Of course not, it’s a strange mixture of grey. Because of all the small black and white decisions made to create it… Where is she?”

“23 Crosswalks Blvd, Blue Building.” Aiden says to me.

“What?” I say in shock.

“What is it?” Aiden inquires.

“By ex you mean…”

“Mr. Jeremy himself.”

I burst down the stairway, dashing down the street, as Big Bro’s influence begins to awaken to the world, and I have a new mask on in a matter of moments.

The Whispers

Hey guys, this is an excerpt of a story that I have been working on, it's called 'The Whispers'.
Now the people that I have shown this story to ask me if Caleb is really me or someone I made up, and well it is me. Now my dad isn't a drunk or my mom isn't dead, but about 2 years ago if you would have asked me I would say that I hated my dad and my mom almost left us. And this story was a way for me to express my life at that time through my imagination. Thankfully my family life has been restored and I hope that each part of the story I post that you will enjoy this story of redemption. :)

Alex S.

It was late.

Eleven-thirty to be exact. And on a moonlit night I found myself wandering through the streets of Lancaster, Washington. I knew it wasn't safe, but truthfully I really didn't care. All I wanted to be was away from home. I hadn’t been able to understand it. My mother dying and my father being a drunk. How did I get here, wandering the streets of Washington.

Everyday at school was like having rocks thrown at me, people constantly beating me down with the insults. There was only one good thing I could think of that I liked about school was seeing Sara Cooper. You could say I had a crush on her since the third grade when she moved to my school from Indiana. I knew it would never happen, I mean she was the most beautiful girl in school. Well maybe not the most beautiful girl, but as my mother always said, beauty was in the eye of the beholder. My heart sank, if only she were here to talk to, and tell me everything would be okay. I missed her so much.

Sometimes I wished at night that I wouldn't wake up the next morning. I didn't really mean it, but I was hurting so bad seeing all of my friends have moms to love them, I had no idea what that felt like. She died while I was a boy. Something told me that it was one of the greatest things you could have. I looked down at my watch, I really needed to get home, school was tomorrow and had a bunch of algebra homework to get done.

I hoped that my father had skipped out on the drinking and went to bed, but I doubt it knowing him, it was rare if my father didn't drink. The only reason my father got up in the morning was to go to work. I felt sorry for my father sometimes because from what he would tell me before becoming more depressed was that my mother was the reason he woke up every morning. I never pushed the issue any further. What if my father lost it altogether? What if I had to live alone or in an orphanage? The thought made my heart heavy. I looked up at the skyscrapers, the lights, and rushing cars. Life never stops, it never gives you a break. All I ever wanted was time to stop for a while so I could work through all my emotions. There was no time for that. He had to be strong; I had to keep going and never give up. Time was running away from me, and I soon found myself jogging through the streets of Washington. Running past people gathering at the light posts, but I got too close to an alley and ran into a larger man with a menacing look in his eyes.

"Hey, slow down there kid." The big man said. I looked up at him breathless. "What’re you looking for?" I thought about what the man was asking, and then it hit me. He thought I wanted drugs. I stumbled for a moment while the big man just looked at me dumbly.

“Uh I. . .” I was stumbling with my words. “Uh, no thanks.” I managed to say clearly. I shifted my eyes down and headed on my way. The man looked back at me like I was crazy, but I didn’t care what he thought.

I twisted the doorknob and the door squeaked as it opened. I walked in, then stopped to listen to hear if my father was awake. Nothing. At least it was better than him stumbling through the kitchen drunk. I walked through the kitchen just to see if he had been drunk earlier. Looking around I spotted a cracked liquor bottle and what looks to be the shards of a shot glass. I just shook my head.

This is never going to end, what did I expect to happen. Just to wake up one morning and my father be happy as ever and sober. Yeah, sure I thought. When I thought about it, I've only seen him drunk one time. Chills flew down my spine, I never wanted to see that again. I never wanted to be a part of that. After I had seen that I made a promise that I would never get caught up in alcohol or drugs. I now see what it does to people, it destroys everything they hold dear to them. If only his father could see what he was doing to himself.

I sighed and reached down to pick up the shards of glass. I slipped, and the palm of my hand was cut wide open. "Agh!" I heard myself say aloud. I winced. Instinctively, I grabbed the cut with my other hand. Blood was pooling on my palm and dribbling on the floor. I ran over to the sink to wash the cut out. Suddenly I felt dizzy, I was losing too much blood. I panicked and turned, trying to get a towel, tripping over myself. I slammed hard against the floor, I could smell the distinct scent of blood. It was no use trying to get up, for my world slowly drifted away into black...

~Edited by Sharon, AAA