More Real Than Reality Pt 2

Sept. 14^th (From the Recorded Reports of Kristine Stenger)

“I am here at the mall where Darius Shackles, a simple security guard at a local retail store, has attempted to murder a 75 year old woman, who I've been unable to get an identity on at this time. I am now going to interview several witnesses to find out what I can about this attack.” Kristine's voice is soft and disarming, but the way she says those words makes it obvious that she is a reporter and her only interest is in the story, not the event.

There is a plethora of background noises consisting of sirens, screams, and the general murmur that can be heard whenever people crowd into a small area. Her footsteps can hardly be heard over the rabble as she makes her way across the lobby. There is also the generic mall music playing in the background giving this melancholy recording a cheerful soundtrack.

“Were you a witness of today's horrible attack?” Kristine asks with an inviting and disarming voice.

“Yeah, I saw that crazy son of a bitch. You some kind of reporter or something?” inquires a man with a coarse southern accent.

“Yes, I’m reporting on this attack and trying to find out what could have caused that man to attack that poor elderly woman.” Kristine replies in an easy explicative tone.

“I can't tell you why someone would do such a thing. I just know he got one of them crazy looks on his face when he done it. Looked like he was more scared than angry at that old bag he tried to kill.” the man's voice is more serious while describing the attack.

“Sounds like you believe he was defending himself. Do you not think he was attacking the woman? That he was in fact defending himself or at least believed he was?” Kristine's voice has an excited edge to it that slowly replaces her formerly subjective undertone.

“Don't know just saw he was scared senseless. He screamed like a poor defenseless animal as they tore him off her. He flailed and screamed, though it did look like he was trying to get away, to flee, not to fight. I got to go home lady are you done yet?” his voice is no longer open and lighthearted. Its obvious he is ready to be done with this interview.

“Oh yes, thank you so ever much, mister?” Kristine says in a somewhat disappointed voice.

“Buck Daniels doll, and what might yours be? I'd like to know who interrogated me,” he says with a slight return of his earlier joviality.

“I'm Kristine Stenger. Thanks again for your time; I won't hold you up any longer.” Kristine nearly cuts herself off as her footsteps lead her to the sound of a two-way radio. “Excuse me officer... Andrews, I'm Kristine Stenger with the Explorative News and I'd like to ask you a few questions concerning today’s attack,” the inviting tone returning to her voice with a hint of disarming femininity.

“What sort of questioning is there? The guy went nuts and attacked the poor old woman, which led to some mall patrons tearing him off her, just before he could bash her brains across the floor. They then called 911 and we came here to detain him, case closed. There is no story here, go home.” The tone of his voice reveals he has no taste for reporters, no matter how alluring they attempt to be.

“Can you answer just a few questions?” there is a short silence and she then proceeds with her questioning. “Can you tell me, will the victim be pressing charges? And where has the attacker been sent?” Her tone is a little more forceful than usual; she is obviously trying a different tactic in getting answers from this man, than from the other.

“We have not received any information about if she will or will not, but it is assumed she will. Concerning the attacker he has been sent to the courthouse to be detained and processed.” He is obviously annoyed by the underlying anger in his bass voice. He immediately walks away after answering the questions footsteps that sounded more akin to a flight than an angry trudge.

“I'm now going to try and find out what's going on with the attacker Darius Shackles at the courthouse.”

There is no further entry on this cassette tape. It appears that the cassettes that come between the 14^th and 19^th have been lost or destroyed. I will now enter the contents of the next cassette in the timeline.

Sept 18^th

“I have done more research into Darius Shackles and found that nearly a month ago his girlfriend filed a missing persons report and then recalled it approximately fifteen hours later. The police said that upon checking Darius out that it was obvious he had had some sort of injections, but was in perfect health. Blood tests revealed no harmful or even noticeable alien chemicals, only that he had been using illegal narcotics. His girlfriend denies these claims and they figured it easier to ignore at the time. Also, Darius had no memory of his abduction and denies it still. The woman he attacked never pressed charges and the police were forced to stop all investigations, by the government. The government team has placed Darius into a special psychiatric hospital. It seems the deeper I search the more questions I get without answer. I'm hoping to find some and am blackmailing one of the attendants of Darius to leave him with a pencil and paper, in attempt to get him to write down the truth in his delirium,” she stops for a moment. “My inside man just got off and is heading towards his car. I'm going to question him about today’s encounter.”

The wind blows against the microphone and causes ear piercing static that barely allows one to hear her heels crack down against the asphalt as she quickly makes her way to the informant’s car.

“What are you doing here? You can't come to my work like this, or our arrangements might have to be cut short,” came the weak voice of a man, presumably Kristine's informant. The weakness in his voice has a hint of apprehension to it.

“I just want to make sure you delivered the paper and pencil. Also, I'd like to know how he was acting today.” she speaks with confidence expecting answers. Somehow she owns this man and her voice shows it.

“I did just as you asked. And he is behaving even worse and is in increasingly bad health it is as if he is starving to death. He has become so detached from reality that he attempted to rape the other nurse today.” he has a hint of disgust in his voice. Most likely resentment since he is being forced to entertain this questioning.

“He tried to rape her, the one that you gave a job so that she would have sex with you? What did he do, what did he say? You must be very detailed I need to know everything.” she seems excited and not in the least bit appalled by Darius' actions.

“Yes, her,” his voice betrays him and it is obvious that this is the subject f her blackmail and why she has utter possession of him. “He was perfectly calm; the meds had just kicked in. We were attempting to question him, but he was being unresponsive. Then suddenly he sprung up wrapping his arms around her waist tightly pulling her into his lips and roughly handling her body,” he stops for a moment probably composing himself. His voice cracks often as though he may cry or burst out in anger at any minute. “She wanted to resist, but beyond pushing him away she was unable to for some reason, probably the shock. I went for another tranquilizer, while he just kept saying, “Stop resisting this is a dream,” he said it over and over; I almost started to believe him. He seemed entirely convinced himself. Eventually I was able to remove him after injecting a second tranquilizer. The poor devil just slumped to the floor and we left him, after I put the pencil and paper in the corner of course. All the while, the nurse remained completely composed that frightened me. Is my account thorough enough?” he sounds more upset than annoyed now. He is scarcely able to keep his voice in check and the anger that is bubbling forth with each word makes one fear he may lash out at any moment.

“Yes, that should be sufficient. Thanks again and don't worry once you've finished your side of the bargain, everything will be forgotten concerning your lack of professionalism.” Kristine sounds excited and yet manipulative as she says those reassuring words, the recorder is shut off.

More Real than Reality

**Here is a story I wrote for my creative writing class in 2008. It will be told in 6 posts since it is around 5000 words long. Enjoy!**

September 19^th (The Journal of Darius Shackles)

The rot surrounds me, groans and screams breeding a chorus of death. Four walls are the only thing that separates my life, from the death all around. I am a small pocket of life that is slowly withering away into nothingness. I am starving and my end draws near. I realize that all men must have a desire to write about their lives when this time comes. Five days ago is when my life became complicated.

I woke up with her looking into my eyes it was morning, a dawn like any other. Her golden locks were spread across the pillow and they tickled my nose. Those locks carried her scent to me a mix of berries and honey. Her smile reminded me of home when my mother would give me a birthday present or when she would tell me she loved me. It was familiar I liked it for that reason. I knew I didn't love her, but it was easier to be with her than not to.

“I love you Darius. Did you sleep well?” Her voice was sweet and childlike. I found it comforting, but not attractive.

“I love you, too. I slept well, how about you?” I faked a smile and left her name out. For some reason that made it feel like less of a lie.

“I slept well, and it became even better when I saw you this morning.” She was cute admittedly it wasn't bad to be treated that way by her. To be the center of her world, but it didn't make me happy. Nothing really made me happy. I was in a rut life was mundane and she was mundane.

Getting dressed for our shopping trip, my attention was caught when an ambulance sped by the house. I could hear screaming down the street, the news said that some sort of virus was spreading. Other than being highly contagious there was little reliable information. Even blogs and other on-line sources were vague at best. I knew that this disease was limited to third world countries, which left nothing for American suburbia to worry about. Thus, rationality disregarded any fear I had had.

We went to the mall shopping for her mother's birthday present. We did this every year, but unlike every year the smell of death filled the mall. The scent, peaked my attention. While, I was looking for the source of the putrid smell my eyes where led to something stumbling across the lobby with this trail of blood that was both attached to it and following it like a parade of death. The eyes were white and empty, the teeth blood stained, and flesh that was green and wrinkled reminding one of a crunched piece of leather. The creature stumbled towards me. I knew what it was I'd seen the movies and the only way to kill it was to bash its head in. I got on top of what had once been an old hag and prepared to crush her skull; she groaned and snapped at me. Before I could finish my downward swing I was surrounded by them, they were clawing at me and they started to carry me away. I couldn't understand why they weren't devouring me. My head was pounding and it caused me to black out, for how long I don't know. I awoke and found myself in this refuge, my self inflicted prison. Somehow I must have gotten away and then locked myself inside this place for shelter and protection. It like what was happening didn't make any sense; but there seems to be no other way that I would come to find myself inside this place alive. I couldn’t get out I was trapped.

Five days have passed and still I am inside this place unable to get out and certain that death in here is better than out there. A sharp scream pierces the groan filled air. One by one death is coming to our holes and is digging us out like the frightened vermin we are. The groaning hasn't stopped for the entire time; I've been hidden in this place. It’s a gurgling moan that fills the air from every direction; it follows the screams, it haunts me in my dreams. Though the groaning is a constant my mind is unable to block it out. In consciousness there is no reprieve from the mournful cries. Just like the dead have no reprieve from their hunger.

I found that I am able to dream a few times a day. Like clockwork I dream of them surrounding me and trying to devour me. I recoil and scream for mercy from God for I know there is no mercy from them. I open my eyes and instead of the dead I am surrounded by doctors. In this dream trance they tell me I'm insane and that they are trying to make me better. It’s funny that of all the things to dream about I'd dream that everyone, but me was alright. I suppose it must be a part of a subconscious guilt for leaving my girlfriend in the mall, for allowing her to be eaten by them.

Yesterday, I had decided to take control of this dream and take advantage of the respite that it gives my mind. It was probably around mid-day and the brutes broke into my cell groaning and snapping at me like always. Then a needle was slid into my skin and the next thing I know I'm eating and there are a normal man and woman in the cell.

The woman was a petite little tart with this perfume that smelled like berries and honey. There was nothing overly special about her. She was average height, little to no curvature; thanks to her petite figure. She reminded me of normality; a novel idea that I thought no longer existed. That thought made me want her more than breath.

“Do we look like monsters to you Mr. Shackles?” She said in this annoying childlike voice. She must think me an invalid. I didn't know my subconscious was so overly critical.

“No, you don't. I think I want to fuck you. Does that sound like something you'd like?” I looked for a reaction on her face. She seemed surprised, but not entirely against my decision. This reassured me of my dream state.

“Mr. Shackles that was inappropriate. We can't help you if you aren't willing to cooperate with us,” was the shocked reply of the beady eyed man who was with the woman. He, I did not concern myself with.

“You didn't answer my question. I'm going to have to take that as a yes.” I said attempting suave confidence, which seemed successful in getting women naked, at least according to television. I suppose it wasn’t that convincing though, since she wasn't all over me as expected.

I decided to take initiative and grabbed her waist. With all my strength I pulled her in and started forcing kisses onto her neck. She tasted familiar I wanted her even more. But she was resisting, though it seemed more like a not now fight than a no stop. To reassure myself I kept saying, “Stop resisting this is only a dream,” in attempt to get my subconscious to stop her resisting, but she resisted all the more. They inserted another needle into me.

I awake to find it the morning of my fifth day in this cell, and since I've had food. I'm hoping that the government will show up and fix everything. Like my body, hope has grown weak over these long excruciating days. I fear that I will not make it to the end of this disaster. I hope to have strength to write more tomorrow. The hunger has me so weak that if this is my last entry I can only hope that it is because I was rescued.

Here is the piece I made for the art show at X-Hale

You must watch!

Living with a dragon.

Once upon a time a woman lived in a castle. This woman was neither extremely beautiful nor was she hideous and grotesque. She was just average. She had black hair but it wasn't so dark that it shone. She was slightly over weight, but as far a medieval society is concerned I suppose she was thin. She was not curvacious and nothing about her screamed supple. Yet, that did not matter because she lived in a castle and it was guarded by a dragon. She knew no knights would come. No one wanted to save a non-princess that was only average in appearance.
So, she spent her days cleaning up after the dragon and tending her small garden. Sometimes when she was feeling adventurous she would escape and see how long it took the dragon to capture her. She knew that it was useless he always captured her, but it was fun none the less since he never hurt her in any way.
It was hard work though, living with a dragon that is. He always left his food lying around. Never cleaned or tidied. His hordes of riches were always dusty. So, she had her work cut out for her.
Well one day while cleaning his riches the dragon was snoring quite loudly. She went to roll him over in order to stop the snoring but mid-turn she slipped and fell. The dragon fell back into place right on top of her head crushing it.
And that is why you must always ensure you wear slip resistance tennis shoes. 'Cause you never know.

The Holy One

I had a third dream that takes my breath away even now.
On a bridge I walked.
It seemed like it was endless as I could not see either end.
Looking down to the depths below a glowing redness was obscured by a terrible mist.
On this path that I knew not the beginning nor the end I saw that I was not alone.
There were other souls walking ahead without notice of one another.
Their eyes were glossed over as if under a spell.
I then looked up above me to see the clearest sky.
It shone with the brilliance of dawn but it was perpetual and touched each corner of the sky.
The bridges construction was unknown to me.
It appeared to be made of a metal that consisted of a luminescent gray.
There were no supports in sight.
It had no rails, and was about as wide as a river.
There were curves in it.
It wound through the sky like a snake.
Seeing its side I saw that it was no more than a hand's width thick.
It had to be supported at the ends, I concluded.
I continued to walk hoping to reach the end and seek out answers concerning this marvel.
I then heard the first scream as my thoughts turned outward.
All around me the sleep walkers awoke.
And as they awoke they were suddenly jerked off the bridge down to the depths below.
A smoke began to fill the air as more and more souls were torn into its depths.
I finally took notice after what seemed hours that I was totally alone.
The bridge was empty.
And so I walked.
I know not how long I walked.
It seemed an eternity.
Finally I glimpsed it.
The end of the bridge.
I was overpowered by fatigue and had to sit.
As I sat a man appeared at my side.
His face was kindly but inhuman.
Not that it was grotesque but in fact it was too pristine.
Then his voice reached my ears no more than a whisper yet melodic like the sweetest sound.
"Why have you arrived alone?" he asked me, his eyes were now quite sad.
"I gave you all the tools you needed to bring the whole world here. You are unworthy of your station."
I then fell to my face kissing his feet, but he was no longer there.
In fact I was the one moved.
Standing up I felt the pain of a thousand needles.
The air itself was like razors that cut me with every breath.
There was seemly no temperature yet I found that too be the most uncomfortable aspect of it.
Soon I felt despaired and realized I was in the red place.
I was below the bridge.
I had failed the journey.
A hunger began to grow in my stomach and I decided to search out food.
I noticed a forest not far away and began to walk towards it.
The whisper then reached me even here, "What of your hunger? Your thirst? Why do you who ignored the needs of others deserve to feast and drink?"
The forest was then replaced with an endless red desert.
I then noticed a rising sun and a heat began to come over me greater than I had ever known before.
My eyes caught sight of some crags that would offer shade.
Walking towards them his voice returned yet again, "Comforts and pleasures were offered to you a plenty. Yet, you never offered them to others you never spread the words."
The crags were gone and I was left alone.
The desert spread in every direction and the heat stifled the processes of my mind.
Finally in a stupefied exhaustion I yelled to the winds, "What are the words I should spread?"
When I awoke my bed was drenched in sweat and stained red with a sand like material.
In my hand I held a scroll.
I cracked it open to see on it were written words of great power and guidance.

The Great War

I had another dream. But I know not from whence it came.
I was in the Great War fighting along side my brothers.
I was not a child but a man. Full grown and battle weary.
Our base was set up in a little village that had greeted us with open arms.
They sang our praises and called us their saviors from the enemy.
As I walked through soot stained streets where blood and ash mixed in the muddy waters.
I saw the dead stacked up in burning mounds that stank and stung the eyes.
At the end of the avenue I came to our palace.
We had taken the enemy's lair as our base of operations.
But as I got closer I began to notice a sound.
Not just a sound but many noises accosted my ears.
I soon realized they were screams and wails as if from a great agony.
They were the voices of women.
Opening the doors into the great hall the floors were writhing with bodies.
Soldiers beat and raped women all around.
The women's howls nearly deafening me.
At knife and gun point the men held them.
Thrusting with reckless abandon.
I was now just a boy again.
Standing powerless as the men ripped into their victims.
I tried to pry one of them apart pleading for him to stop.
Their flesh however was united.
Fused as if they were of one body.
I soon realized all of them were connected.
They were a single mass of melted flesh that thrashed all around me.
Then suddenly it stopped moving.
The screams stopped and the women stood.
Their stomachs beginning to bulge out.
Their breasts became plump and bloated with milk.
In a unanimous motion the males gutted the swollen wombs.
Reaching crooked claws inside they drew out the young and dashed them to the floor.
My breath caught and I fell to my knees.
The floor was now crimson as the bodies of the women fell into pools of their own blood.
I cried and closed my eyes.
What did this mean?
"Where has honor gone?" came a tiny thin voice to my sore ears.
My eyes opened to find a small child holding one of the women's hands.
It was pale like new snow in his trembling fingers.
I went for the boy to hold him and he turned to dust in my arms.
I awoke again this time covered in ash.
My blankets had burnt away without leaving a mark on myself.

The Last Knight

 ***Words from the Author***
I do not know why I wrote the following passage. It is not based on a dream, but it came from a strange sort of spontaneous inspiration. I hope you enjoy. Before you is the Last Knight.
***End Words from the Author***


I dreamed I rode an old winding road that would take me from one place to another.
It was at a crooked and sickly elm hanging over the path where my eyes were caught.
Under the elm slept a man. Or at least it had been assumed that it was a man asleep.
Under layers of rusted armor set with empty sockets that once held jewels.
Out of the closed visor sprang tufts from an old gnarled white beard.
His chest no longer drew breath that is to say he did not move as I passed.
The only movement was the waving of his rotted tabbard in the wind.
I think it once held markings that told of his once noble station.
I stopped in front of his feet, and dropped down from my saddle.
Holding my reins in a hand, my other prodded his side with my rifle.
He did not move, but there was a whistle as the gasses of death escaped and filled the air.
Flies flew to the winds and maggots crept out of hiding.
I wretched to tell the truth. Never had I seen one who was dead and left to rot.
His shield was strapped across his back and it helped to hold him erect.
His sword lay at his side fallen from his grasp.
I wondered if he had tried to hold off death with his now lost blade.
Looking through his visor I saw black sockets swimming with grubs and worse.
As I began to stand and pull away from the carcass it sprang to life.
His sword hand grabbed at me.
My collar was caught and I was drawn to his plated helm his visor pressed against my cheek.
I felt hot wet blood drip from the wound the point inflicted on my soft skin.
His other hand pulled free the visor and revealed his cracked and rotten flesh.
Gnarled brittle lips curled and broke in defiance as he began to speak.
"Where has nobility gone?" he asked in a horse whisper through brown and crooked teeth.
I awoke at this time to find myself in a panicked sweat.
My lungs grasping for air.
I felt my face and found it was wet.
Crimson stuck to my fingers, but there was no wound to be found.