World Gone, Chapter 8: The Slow Crawl

It's finally here, my friends. The exciting eight chapter in my novel, and the return of the man from the first chapter; Harold. Things aren't going well for Harold, as you will soon see. I hope he's okay, but even I don't know. Enjoy the chapter!

This is probably not the coyote from the story, but it might be. 

In the eerie stillness of the pre-dawn darkness, Harold found himself slowly emerging from the clutches of unconsciousness, his struggle evident as he gingerly opened his eyes. The symphony of pain reverberated through every inch of his body, casting a shadow over his disoriented mind. As he grappled with the disconcerting sensation, a fog of sickness clouded his thoughts, leaving him in a state of bewildered contemplation.

"Where am I?" he pondered inwardly, his mind attempting to cut through the fog of discomfort. With each passing moment, he summoned an immense effort to clear his thoughts and piece together the fragments of his memory. Slowly but surely, the recollection of events began to unfold before him.

It took a moment, but the details rushed back with vivid clarity. He recalled the familiar hum of his truck's engine as he navigated the winding roads on his journey homeward. Then, an inexplicable phenomenon engulfed the world around him, rendering everything man-made invisible, and thrusting him into an abrupt and disorienting free fall from the space where his truck had once been. The vivid memory of that descent at a speed exceeding sixty miles per hour lingered, the intensity of the impact etched into his consciousness like a haunting refrain.

In the desolate aftermath, Harold lay sprawled on the unforgiving ground, his body a canvas painted with the stark evidence of his ordeal—bloodstains forming a grotesque tableau of his struggle. The passage of time seemed an elusive concept in this eerie realm of darkness, leaving him grappling with the unanswered question of how long he had been lying there, trapped in the merciless grip of unconsciousness.

When his truck seemed to vanish from around him, the world was slowly moving towards darkness. However, that dull, waning sunlight had since given way to a profound darkness, shrouding everything in a cloak of mystery. Harold, never adept at deciphering the celestial tapestry that was spread out above him, found himself at a loss, unable to discern the hour from the starry expanse above or the veiled sky that offered no clues to the passing of time.

Amidst this uncertainty, one undeniable truth persisted—pain, a relentless companion that hinted at the severity of his injuries. The agony pulsated through his every fiber, a silent reminder of his vulnerability and the potential fragility of life itself. Thoughts of mortality lingered in the recesses of his consciousness; he felt the looming specter of impending demise, a chilling realization that amplified the cold that enveloped him. 

Harold's gaze shifted downward, compelled to confront the stark reality of his altered existence. The space where his prosthetic leg once seamlessly blended with the contours of his body now lay empty—a painful void that mirrored the profound loss he had endured nearly a decade ago in a fateful car accident. That prosthetic limb had been more than a mechanical replacement; it had been the conduit through which he navigated the world, offering him a semblance of mobility and independence.

The passage of time had dulled the sharp edges of the memories associated with the accident, allowing Harold to, at times, create a mental barricade against the persistent reminder of his disability. Yet, in this harrowing moment, the absence of his prosthetic leg tore down that mental fortress, exposing him to the raw truth of his vulnerability. The label of "cripple" felt tangible, the weight of it settling upon him like an oppressive cloak.

As he lay there, one-legged and vulnerable, the unforgiving terrain beneath him added another layer of torment. Chunks of rock protruded from the earth, their jagged edges mercilessly stabbing at him—a cruel reminder of the inhospitable environment he found himself in. The pain, both physical and emotional, surged through him, intertwining with the harsh reality of his predicament.

Dying on the cold, unforgiving ground, Harold grappled not only with the imminent threat to his life but also with the profound depths of despair. In the solitude of his suffering, he couldn't help but ponder the unthinkable: if this was not the end of his existence, what depths of adversity awaited him? The mere contemplation of further tribulations intensified the anguish, casting a shadow over the already dire circumstances in which he found himself.

As he lay there, the frigid embrace of the night tightened its grip on his weakened form. Harold, not yet succumbing to the fatal bite of the cold, found himself caught in a paradoxical dance with mortality. The cold, though not lethal, seemed to seep into his bones, a spectral chill that mirrored the uncertainty of his fate. In the silent void, the passage of time became an abstract concept, marked only by the rhythmic cadence of his labored breaths and the palpable stillness that surrounded him.

Summoning reserves of strength he didn't know he possessed, Harold endeavored to hoist himself into a sitting position, the struggle evident in the grimace etched across his face. As he teetered on the precipice of uncertainty, contemplating his next move, a distant noise interrupted the stillness, a disconcerting presence lurking in the shadows of the unknown.

"Hello!" he called out into the enveloping darkness, his voice a tentative beacon seeking connection in the void. The echo of his own words hung in the air, met only by the eerie silence that seemed to stretch endlessly. Undeterred, he repeated his plea for acknowledgment, the desperation in his voice betraying the gravity of his predicament. Yet, the enigmatic entity, be it friend or foe, remained steadfastly silent, withholding any reassurance or threat.

Undeterred by the lack of response, Harold's gaze swept the landscape around him, a futile attempt to discern the source of the elusive noise. To his relief, his searching eyes settled upon a substantial tree branch lying just beyond his grasp—a lifeline promising both support and a potential means of defense. The daunting prospect of hauling himself toward it loomed, but the ominous silence from the unseen presence spurred him into action.

"Is there somebody there?" he ventured once more, the desperation now tinged with a hint of panic and frustration. The absence of a reply fueled his determination to reach the tree branch without further delay. Whoever or whatever lurked in the shadows had proven unresponsive, casting a shadow of suspicion over their intentions.

The night held its secrets close as Harold, with a measured resolve, initiated the arduous journey toward the sizable branch. Each movement sent screams of pain through his battered body, but the potential threat in the dark fueled his determination. The unknown awaited, and as he closed the distance to the tree branch, the questions that haunted his mind intensified—was salvation within reach, or did the ominous silence portend a more sinister twist in this harrowing tale?

Summoning every ounce of his will, Harold inched himself forward, each movement a testament to the unyielding determination that fueled his quest for the tree branch. In the dimly lit surroundings, a fleeting movement caught his attention from the periphery of his vision. At first, he dared to hope it was a figment of his exhausted imagination, a trick played by the shadows. However, as his eyes acclimated to the darkness, the unsettling truth unfolded—a pair of eyes, gleaming like twin orbs in the night, locked onto him.

With a sudden jolt, Harold's pulse quickened as he realized the source of the eerie gaze was a coyote, its presence revealed in the moonlit shadows. A primal tension hung in the air, the creature seemingly poised in a silent vigil, waiting with an evil intent. Never breaking eye contact with the watchful coyote, Harold summoned the last reserves of his strength to complete the agonizing crawl to the coveted tree branch, hopefully something that may ultimately save his life.

As his trembling hand clasped the reassuring solidity of the branch, Harold's relief was palpable. Yet, the unsettling stillness of the coyote persisted—it neither retreated nor advanced. The two beings, one human and the other wild, engaged in a silent standoff, the air charged with an unspoken understanding that transcended the immediate circumstances.

In a surge of desperation, Harold unleashed a torrent of shouted commands, his voice reverberating through the desolate night. "Get out of here!" he bellowed, the makeshift weapon in his hand swinging with a painful effort. "Go on, get out of here, you son of a bitch!" The coyote, an elusive silhouette against the darkness, held its ground, an inscrutable sentinel in the unfolding drama. It was as if it knew that Harold would make a tasty meal.

Time stretched thin, each passing second an eternity as the tension between man and beast hung in the balance. Then, as if the invisible threads binding them had snapped, the coyote pivoted and vanished into the obscurity from whence it came. Harold, his breath caught in the grip of anticipation, exhaled a sigh of relief. The immediate danger had passed, but the shadows seemed to linger, casting doubt upon the true nature of the encounter.

Physically drained from the adrenaline-fueled confrontation, Harold surrendered to the unforgiving ground, his body aching from the exertion. In the aftermath of the tumultuous encounter, he lay in the silence, his quiet prayers echoing in the vast emptiness, a fragile hope that everything would be okay in the uncertain journey that lay ahead.

Harold, despite his lack of religious inclinations, had never found space for a higher power in his life. However, there were moments when the act of prayer seemed to offer solace that transcended his rational beliefs. It struck him as somewhat paradoxical – if he didn't harbor a belief in a higher being, why would such a being extend its belief in him? Yet, in the chilling aftermath of an accident that left him lying in a narrow ditch where a road once existed, bathed in blood and shivering from the cold, Harold found himself grappling with excruciating pain and instinctively reaching out to a force beyond his usual comprehension – praying to a God he hadn't consciously acknowledged before.

As Harold uttered his desperate plea, he felt a compelling need to connect with a force beyond his comprehension. "God, or whomever you are, I implore you," he began, the urgency palpable in his voice. "Guide me back to my family, help me endure this nightmarish ordeal. I'm uncertain if this torment is confined to this desolate place, but if it extends further, I beseech you to safeguard my wife and infant son."

Amidst the throbbing pain that clouded his thoughts, Harold sought clarity. "I can't fathom your purpose in all of this, but it feels like you might need some kind of mental help. Whatever malevolence is at play, it's beyond sick and demented, even for a judgmental, and angry God." His prayer, a blend of desperation and defiance, echoed through the desolate surroundings.

He concluded his prayer as he always did, with an unwavering declaration of disbelief. "I've never believed in you, and I never will. No amen, no reverence. Just a simple plea: extend your aid to those in need." The words lingered in the air, creating an invisible barrier between the mortal and the divine, as Harold, fueled by determination, began the arduous journey homeward.

In the distance, a haunting howl sliced through the cold night air, sending shivers down Harold's spine. Unbeknownst to him, the source of the eerie sound lurked closer than he dared imagine, a sinister presence watching from the shadows, biding its time. The unseen observer, a specter in the darkness, awaited the unfolding of events with an amazing amount of patience. It was hungry, but it would wait.

Samantha's Musings, pt. 2

 If any of you lovely’s are mommas or just like watching family vlogs, I recommend watching @thevanclanofficial @camandfam 

They have been my go to for many years and have often been one of the most open and supportive family channels I have ever found!

#familytime #books #love

Liberty's Exiles: Soulfire

Hey all, Rob here. Yesterday I made a compilation of some of my favorite songs from Liberty's Exiles fairly vast back catalog. When it came to picking a song from our 8th album, "The Price of Immortality", I decided to add "Soulfire". Not only is this song one of my favorites from us, as it's very melodic, with some wonderful vocal melodies, but I just love the lyrics. 

"The Price of Immortality" is the second in a progressive rock concept trilogy of albums. Soulfire is a very important character in this story, as she is the one that drives the main character of the story, "The Chemist", to improve the world, and end the curse of immortality. The lyrics tell of how the two had once been the perfect couple, and had planned on spending the rest of their forever together. Sadly, as with most stories, love is only fleeting, and must be limited by time. I'm sure you all know that tale. 

Anyhow, I thought I'd share the song with you. For each song on the album, not only did I throw together an image for the song, but I also wrote a bit of the story to go with the lyrics. I hope you enjoy this, and maybe you'll check the song out? I would if I were you!

Liberty's Exiles: Soulfire

"As the Chemist spends his life wrapped up in his work, trying to reverse the effects of the immortality "cure", he finds his mind drifting back to her face; back to Soulfire. She had been his reason for living for so long, that it seemed the more he thought about her the more that his heart would break. If only he had listened to her and devoted his life to her, instead of the "cure", none of this would have ever happened.

Once upon a time, a very long time ago, he had promised to marry her, and to leave his  role as one of the Saviors. But sometimes life doesn't work out the way we had hoped, and the Chemist would spend a very long time in a great amount of pain; both physical, and mental. He would fix his mistake... for her, for his one and only Soulfire."

----

With a smile that can touch your heart
And a heart that will kiss your soul
With a body that’s a work of art
And a love that will swallow you whole

She lights your day with the blink of an eye
And her face holds a world of mystery
No one can ever have her
Cause the Soulfire belongs to me

Remember when we were young
Staying up so late just talking
The conversation done
Her arm in mine just walking

And as the days grew longer
And our love grew ever stronger
I knew she had sealed my fate
I knew that she was my soul mate

And though I promised to marry her
Sometimes life doesn't work that way
And it’s a love I'll know forever
Even if I never see her face again

Happiness dies leaving only memories
The future in a shrouded pain
Only time can change these feelings
Somehow it stays the same

She's my hearts desire
My one and only Soulfire
Her love lifts me higher
My chosen one, Soulfire

She’ll have my love forever
My one and only Soulfire
A gift from heaven above
My destined one, Soulfire

Thrown into another path
One that takes me forever
And how the gods must laugh
Another price that I pay

World Gone, Chapter 7: Ray-In-the-Green

Hello all, and Happy New Year. I hope this new year finds you all in good moods, and health. I don't know where I'm at in all of that right now, but I do know that I was able to push myself into writing the rough draft of another chapter of "World Gone". To be honest, I wasn't sure that I was going to able to. Since I can't really get anyone to read the previous chapters, I gotta wonder why I'm bothering to write more. Plus, I think it annoys some who don't get enough free time for themselves, so why should I take any time for myself? But the story was stuck in there... for now. I guess I'm just being stubborn. Whatever the reason, I'm glad I was able to write some more, and introduce a character whom I think will be pretty important later on. I guess we'll see. Until then, I hope you enjoy this chapter (you who, for some reason, would bother to read this). 

These are not the trees from the story, not even close. Why would I even use this picture?!

Chapter 7 – Ray-In-the-Green

In the brisk embrace of the cold morning air, he slowly stirred from the depths of his slumbers, his body protesting against the relentless assault of yet another night drowned in alcohol. The lingering agony of a pounding hangover clung to him like a heavy cloak, a familiar discomfort that had become an unwelcome companion in the early hours of nearly every day. It was a scenario he had grown accustomed to – a consequence of too many evenings spent drowning his sorrows in the bitter solace of intoxication.

This ritual of numbing his pain with alcohol was a well-established pattern, a recurring theme that saw a significant portion of his hard-earned paycheck vanish into the bottom of a grimy, well-worn solo cup. A vessel that had become emblematic of his personal struggles, serving as a conduit for the liquid escapism he sought to alleviate the burdens of his demanding life. If only he could break free from the grip of his own vices, perhaps his fortunes might change. Yet, the grip of routine was unyielding, and his loyalty to that age-old solo cup unwavering.

Ten years had passed since he first adopted this peculiar drinking vessel, and in that time, it had become a symbol of defiance against the inevitability of change. Rita Cole’s boy, Ray, found solace in his processes, a semblance of order in a world that often seemed chaotic. His attachment to the solo cup was more than a mere habit; it was a lifeline, a constant amidst the tumultuous waves of his existence.

Ray's peculiar rituals were not born out of mere caprice but were rooted in a desire to escape the relentless grip of obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD) that plagued his every waking moment. For him, life itself was a series of meticulous processes, and the only respite he sought was in the numbing haze of alcohol. The solo cup became his refuge, a sanctuary where he could momentarily silence the cacophony of his mind.

Once again, he found himself awakening in the embrace of nature, concealed within a small yet densely packed wooded area. Here, hidden from prying eyes, he could freely indulge in the discreet rituals that offered him a semblance of control. The solitary act of relieving himself and replenishing his solo cup with another round of numbing elixir was a routine he clung to, a momentary escape from the intricate web of his own mind.

As the morning sunlight filtered through the dense canopy overhead, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor, Ray grappled with the duality of his existence. The great outdoors, with its serenity and seclusion, offered him a respite from the demands of society, yet his reliance on the familiar solo cup was a stark reminder of the chains that bound him. In this delicate dance between routine and escape, Ray continued to navigate the intricacies of his life, a solitary figure hidden in the heart of nature's embrace.

Groggily rising from the cold ground, he ambled just a few short feet away to relieve himself of the remnants of last night's consumed liquor. The acrid scent of cheap vodka, his beverage of choice toward the end of the pay-cycle, lingered in the chilly air. These final days leading to the next payday were always arid, a stark contrast to the deluge of drink he craved. The prospect of an endless flow of alcohol was but a fleeting wish, one never granted in the harsh reality of his existence.

As he stood there, in the vulnerable act of relieving himself, a realization washed over him—soon there would be nothing left to drink at all. The last drops of solace from his dwindling bottle marked the onset of a parched period, a sober interlude that he dreaded more with each passing pay-cycle. Yet, his immediate concern was not the impending dry spell, but a startling discovery that eclipsed his current predicament.

Upon glancing down, he noticed for the first time that his clothes were conspicuously absent. A wave of bewilderment and confusion washed over him. "That's strange," he mumbled to himself, attempting to reconcile the fact that he was now standing alone and exposed in the heart of a wooded area. The details of disrobing had eluded his foggy memory, leaving him grappling with the inexplicable mystery of his own nudity.

Rather than succumb to the unsettling reality of being alone and unclothed in the wilderness, his frantic mind immediately fixated on a more urgent matter—the fate of his cherished solo cup and the precious bottle that had accompanied him through the night. The vessel that had become an emblem of his daily routine and the bottle containing the last remnants of solace for the month were now the epicenter of his distress.

Hurriedly retracing his steps to the makeshift bed where he had slumbered the night away, he was met with a horrifying revelation. Not only were his clothes absent, but his cup and the precious bottle were nowhere to be found. Panic surged through him as he stood in the midst of the secluded woods, vulnerable and exposed, stripped not only of his garments but also of the comforting companionship of his solo cup and the dwindling source of solace that was his final bottle of the month. The harsh reality of his predicament unfurled before him, weaving a tapestry of vulnerability and loss in the cold light of the morning sun.

He frantically searched the ground all around him, hoping that maybe the cup (and the bottle of course) had somehow ended up under a pile of brush, or dead leaves. He had no idea how long he had looked for his reward, but after some time he gave up, his body cold and cramping from the exertion. In his mind he wanted to scream out into the biting cold of the early morning, but found that he couldn’t force any sound out of his mouth. He was living some kind of crazy nightmare. The kind of crazy nightmare where an angry, and unforgiving God would dare to take the last ounces of solace from not only his sight, but from its very existence. And tucked within all of that worry, he couldn’t even begin to start worrying about the solo cup. This was the biggest shock for his early morning haze. His damned cup.

Frantically scouring the ground surrounding him, his hands moved through the underbrush, desperately hoping that his cherished solo cup, and the elusive bottle nestled within its insulating confines, might have found refuge under a clandestine pile of brush or beneath a layer of dead leaves. The quest for his salvation consumed him, oblivious to the passage of time as he tore through nature's camouflage, driven by the desperation to recover the last vestiges of comfort.

The duration of his relentless search remained elusive; time seemed to warp and twist in the disorienting dance of anxiety and loss. Eventually, his efforts waned, and he succumbed to the inevitable reality. Cold and cramping from the exertion, he stood amidst the desolate woods, the biting morning air seeping into his bones. The temptation to scream and release the pent-up frustration clawing at his insides hung heavy in the air. However, to his dismay, his voice remained imprisoned within, as if the very essence of sound had deserted him in this surreal nightmare.

In the midst of this bleak scenario, a profound sense of helplessness engulfed him. It was as though an angry and unforgiving deity had orchestrated this cruel twist of fate, depriving him not only of the tangible solace within his grasp but also erasing it from the very fabric of existence. The weight of his predicament pressed upon him, rendering him speechless and immobile in the eerie silence of the woods.

Amidst the maelstrom of worry and despair, there lingered a realization that cut through the chaos—the solo cup, an unassuming yet indispensable part of his ritual, had vanished into the void. A stark revelation that pierced through the haze of his early morning shock. The damnable cup, a constant companion through a decade of ritualistic imbibing, had been snatched away, compounding the surreal nightmare that unfolded around him. In the face of this unexpected loss, the significance of the cup emerged as a poignant symbol of his unraveling world, a tangible link to a semblance of order now irrevocably shattered.

Ray's desperate desire to continue the search for his elusive salvation clashed with the harsh reality of his physical exhaustion. The relentless quest for the precious solo cup and the dwindling bottle had sapped his strength, leaving him incapacitated and sprawled out naked on the unforgiving ground. In the absence of his liquid crutch, he discovered the fragility of his own resilience, realizing that much of his stamina had been drawn from the depths of the bottle.

As he lay there, the encroaching awareness of his surroundings manifested in the form of the impending "sticky thoughts." The intrusive and tormenting ideas began to seep into his consciousness, amplifying the grim reality of his current predicament. He found himself perched on the dirty, litter-strewn ground in the heart of a densely packed forest, a seemingly arbitrary dumping ground for the refuse of indifferent passersby. The detritus of others had become his unwitting companions in this desolate landscape.

Oddly, amidst the haze of his disoriented mind, Ray registered a peculiar absence—there was no trash around him. The realization struck him as profoundly strange, given the typical clutter that characterized this small but densely populated forest. His surroundings, devoid of discarded remnants, defied the expectations built upon countless nights spent in the solitary embrace of nature's refuse.

Yet, this newfound clarity also brought forth a fragment of recollection. Ray's memory struggled to pierce through the fog, revealing an image of a discarded couch that had served as his makeshift bed the previous night. Its worn upholstery and protruding springs had offered a semblance of comfort, a reprieve from the cold, hard ground. Now, however, the couch had vanished, leaving Ray to ponder the mystery of its disappearance in his addled state. The once-familiar makeshift refuge, though far from ideal, had been an anchor in the chaotic tapestry of his transient existence. Its absence added another layer of bewilderment to the surreal nightmare that unfolded, leaving Ray to grapple not only with the loss of his cherished cup and bottle but also with the enigma of a missing couch in the heart of this forsaken forest.

The weight of the waking nightmare became an unbearable burden for Ray, an oppressive reality that threatened to suffocate him. Devoid of the customary drink that served as a shield against the impending deluge of "sticky thoughts," he braced himself for the storm that awaited him. The absence of his usual crutch left him vulnerable, and he anticipated the intensification of mental turmoil before any semblance of relief would materialize.

Lying exposed on the frigid forest floor, Ray felt the chill of the morning air seeping into his bones. Stripped of both his physical and metaphorical defenses, he closed his eyes in a feeble attempt to shut out the harsh reality that loomed over him. In this vulnerable state, he initiated a familiar ritual—the act of counting. Each rhythmic count served as a desperate anchor, a lifeline thrown into the tempest of his thoughts, offering a momentary respite from the impending chaos.

As the numbers ticked away in his mind, Ray clung to the solace of this simple yet effective coping mechanism. The act of counting became a sanctuary, a deliberate diversion from the impending flood of sticky thoughts. In those agonizingly protracted moments, Ray fought to regain control over the unruly tide of his mind, using the repetitive counting as a mechanism to stave off the encroaching chaos.

After what felt like an eternity, the persistent counting began to weave a semblance of order amidst the disarray within Ray's mind. The relentless thoughts began to subside, their intensity dulled by the rhythmic cadence of his internal counting. Slowly, like a weary traveler finding respite, Ray slipped back into the embrace of sleep—a realm where the subconscious offered an escape from the waking torment.

For Ray, the dream world became a refuge, a sanctuary from the harshness of his waking reality. The promise of anything being better than the hellish circumstances he had found upon waking propelled him willingly into the comforting embrace of dreams. In the transient realm of sleep, he sought solace from the tumultuous landscape of his thoughts, even if it meant trading one set of challenges for another. As Ray surrendered to the embrace of sleep, he found a momentary reprieve from the relentless onslaught of his waking nightmare.

A Quick Headache For You All

 

Samantha Book Talk, pt. 1

 Just thought I’d make a post about my two top favorite booktubers, I’ve been watching for a while!

Thought I’d allow you all to ring in the new years with these two beauties!

@larissacambusano
Larry is an absolutely beauty and her videos are my life! She’s gorgeous and everything!

@bymadisonfox
Madison is also gorgeous! Her recommendations 💋
She also made a book I can’t wait to read!

Ring in the new years with these beauties cause I know I will 💋🎉🦋

#bookstagram #booktube #love #beauty #newyears 

PS:

None of these are MY pictures!
I got them from PINTREST 

🩷🦋

Rob's Playing With An AI

 So I've been playing around with an AI program to make some weird, and random bullshit. Some of it is pretty cool, and others are just plain odd. I thought I'd share a few of them with you, so that you can see just what it is that my mind is.

"Make a realistic photo of a rollerskating skunk, angry about having to mow the lawn on a Tuesday afternoon in the winter."

I think that we can all agree that Skunky isn't enjoying this rather simply chore. I don't know if it's the fact that there is snow on the ground, or that he is trying to mow a deck, or that it's a Tuesday Afternoon and he simply has better things to do, but he seems pretty mad. I would give him some room here. Best not to poke the bear... er... skunk.

"Draw a cartoon dog, and a roller-skating skunk, playing in a band with Geddy Lee."

Here we see Skunky playing in a band with a few other roller-skating animals, and Geddy Lee of Rush! I think that he enjoys this more than his lawnmowing gig. Then again, who wouldn't?! I bet they're playing "Circumstances" right now. 

"Make a realistic picture of a fire hydrant with eyes and teeth, yelling at kids to get off his lawn."

I find this one to be pretty damned horrifying. First of all, those are a lot of teeth that I just don't want to fuck with. Second of all, he's very angry at those kids for being on his lawn, though they simply are not on the lawn. I guess this angry fire-hydrant is someone you don't want to mess with.

"Make a cartoon of a crying apple pie, that's sad because he has to sleep outside in the dark, next to a purple tree that has teeth."

My heart really goes out to this slice of apple pie, that has the dead body of a younger realitve on the ground next to him. Even the moon, and the purple tree are sad that the Apple Pie and his broken bed have to sleep outdoors. I don't know what he did, but it must have been pretty bad. Poor little feller.

"Make a cartoon bat, doing battle with a cordless phone that only has one eye. It should be dark outisde, with people watching on both sides of the street. There should be popcorn, and kindly old man with teeth on the back of his head."

While this isn't exactly what I asked for, I think that you'll agree that results really did work out in the end. I don't know how that old guy got stuck inside the phone, or why the bat is so angry about it, but I'd imagine that it happened rather quickly, and everyone saw it coming. Perhaps it was a poorly timed mom joke that started the trouble. I guess we'll never know.

"Make a cartoon version of a roller-skating skunk, and a sad bat riding down the street at night. They pass some scary monsters, and a clock with teeth and angry eyes, but they don't care. They have soda."

Again, I don't know if everything I wanted is in this picture. But I think it's enough to give me nightmares. I'm not sure what these monsters are, but they do appear friendly. That clock however, clearly wants to exact his revenge on them for some reason. The soda looks pretty good though. Even the clock would have to agree with that.

"Make a realistic photo of a roller-skating skunk, chasing a wee small mouse named Herbert. The mouse should have a Canadian flag, and a candy bar. There's nothing happy about this picture though. Even the street itself is angry. And an angry skull is rolling by, laughing all the while."

I think that this program is getting a bit sick of my shit, and wants me to have nightmares. It's not even the skunk or main mouse, but rather the weird floating worm thing, and the creepy ass mouse in the background that scare me the most. I don't know if I should keep doing this, or run away.

"Make a realistic photo of a living Christmas tree with scary teeth, and one eye, that's very angry with a roller-skating skunk for stealing its shoes. The shoes should be alive, and the night sky should be black and forbidding."

I created this prompt, and I'm still horrified, and have more questions than answers. First of all, what in the hell happened to Skunky's hand? Did the tree do this to him? And I know that Skunky stole one of the tree's shoes, but what happened to its other foot? And why did the AI decide to ignore me, and give the tree both eyes? Are they plotting against me? And what is it with me and a roller-skating skunk? I must have a lot of issues that I should probably work on.

"Make a scary cartoon photo of a roller-skating skunk that is part skunk, and part house. He should have a door in him, some windows, and scared people, screaming for help."

The skunk has gone too far this time, turning into a house of horrors for the poor family trapped inside of him. The chimney looks like a bottle of booze, which poses a whole 'nother set of questions. And why in the hell is the frightened guy chasing this abomination? I would be running in the other direction. And what's with the heads on the family? Some of them are really damned scary!

"Draw a realistic  picutre of Where's Waldo, looking horrified, and crying, and running from an evil skunk wearing roller-skates. The sky should be black, and there should be fires all around them. The skunk looks hungry."

I guess the Roller-Skating Skunk found Waldo, and Waldo is none too happy about it. He should have hidden better, because this nightmare scenario must surely spell the end for this hiding asshole. Maybe he should have been a bit nicer, and not pissed off Skunky, because Skunky is usually a pretty reasonable guy. Except for when he's throwing little elf firemen, holding guns. And there's the business guy, I'm not sure where he came from, but I'm sure he was looking for Waldo as well. Oh well, toodles, Waldo.

"Make a picture for these lyrics:

The Tobes of Hades lit by flickering torchlight

The netherworld is gathered in the glare

Prince By-Tor takes the cavern to the northlight

The sign of Eth is rising in the air

By-Tor – Knight of Darkness,

Centurion of evil – Devil’s Prince"

This is definitely not how I ever pictured these Rush lyrics. By-Tor is a lot scarier looking than I ever imagined him. I actually feel bad for Snow Dog. The odds were against him, and why he probably didn't return anywhere near this realm, to vanquish The Necromancer. I don't blame him for one damn second. This is some traumatizing shit.

"Make a scary cartoon of a duel between a roller-skating skunk, an angry leprechaun, and a scary bat with a lot of teeth. There should be an old guy in a phone, as well as a darkened street with people eating popcorn, watching this nightmare unfold."

I think that this is a good place to stop for now. There's a lot to unpack here. The old guy eating the popcorn may (or may not) be inside a TARDIS. He must be flinging that popcorn at the epic battle that's unfolding before him. The leprechaun isn't fucking around with the skunk, but I'd be more afraid of that bat thing above them. He looks like he means some serious business, and I for one don't care a lot for serious business. 

I will play with this AI creation thing a bit more, because these pictures amuse me. But I know I didn't create them. I don't know what (or who) did, but I do appreciate the laugh. I always appreciate a laugh.

-Rob

Samantha & Covid-19

Samantha's Pretty Marshmallow Snowman

So like I have Covid for the first time.
I don’t recommend it and it sucks.
My nose was bleeding so bad that I kept coughing it up too.
At least I finished 90% of my school finals!
I went up 38 points on my language arts final.
I just want to curl up in a ball and poof 💨
I haven’t even really been wanting to read!
I only read like 30 pages today, which is not a good page count for me 🙄
I don’t recommend Covid.
I’d rather have strep for the billionth time.
Thanks to my step brother for passing on his germs… you Bootyhole!
Anyways have a good night all you peeps… hope everyone stays free of sickness for the rest of this holiday season!

With love
Samantha 🩷🦋

Liberty's Exiles: A Perfect Love Story

Back in 2017, Liberty's Exiles released our follow-up to "The Price of Immortality". This album was not a concept album, but there was a multi-part suite that I think needs a bit more attention than it gets. Clocking in at just over half an hour, "A Perfect Love Story" tell the story of a relationship, from the very beginning, until it's final, gruesome end. 

The song starts with "Falling In Love", which I think may have some of the best vocals in our vast catalog of music. Simon sings the lyrics with such beauty, and conviction, that you can almost see these two future lovers falling in love right before your eyes. It's a very uplifting part of the song. There some great music here, with some beautiful strings, amazingly emotive guitar work, and a tasty bass line. This piece sets up the rest of this epic track very nicely.

"Every Waking Moment / Life Built On Lies" is a two-parter within a five-parter. Sometimes I like to keep Simon on his toes with my lyrical pattern. Musically, "Every Waking Moment" shows the better parts of a relationship, the happy days when everything is new, and beautiful. Our hero loves our heroine so much, that he wants to spend every waking moment with her. Ain't that just so damned sweet? The chorus shows our lovers so in love, that they decide to get married (don't do it, buddy!!!). It really pulls at the ol' heart-strings. Musically the song is a bit moodier, but gels perfectly with the vocals and lyrics. Some great strings, and acoustic guitar on this piece. I love the quieter, more emotional songs. I've always been a sucker for a good ballad. 

Building directly from the outro of "Every Waking Moment", we segue into "Life Built On Lies". Lyrically this is a song about how a relationship can go from good to bad so quickly. A tale as old as time itself, my dear friends. I have always loved the intro to this part of the track. I still get goosebumps listening it. Some nice, crunchy guitars build up, with strings pulling us into this life of lies. I remember writing the string part thinking that if people didn't love this, they were crazy. We created such a chaotic, and emotional bit of music here. I've always loved it. Lyrically, it shows how bad this relationship has gotten. The love is gone, replaced with only lies, and regret (boy, have I been there!). Things escalate quickly from there, and the next part is very grim indeed.

All good things must surely come to an end, and thus we are brought to this songs "Gruesome End". A murder planned in the mind must soon be played out, and one of our weary lovers are about to find out that this life built on lies must surely end. The music of this song hints at the inner-turmoil of our dear hero, as they carry out their own bit of chaos. I've always loved how hopeful this song sounds musically, especially when considering the dark lyrics. There is some great guitar work from Simon, and I think I turned in a pretty nice string part. Lyrically, although there's a murder, there is some regret (even if it is without emotion). Once again, the chorus is fantastic, with some wonderful harmonies from my good friend, and writing partner these past ten years.

Just when you thought that you were out, we pull you back in with "The Cycle Again", the final part of the suite. This is the most fun, and upbeat part of the song, even if the lyrics hint at something really quite sinister. The bass guitar really tries to steal the show here, I've always loved it. Once again we get strings, and some great guitar work from Simon. Lyrically, this tune calls back to the first part of the song, and has our heroine moving on to a new (and better?) relationship. And will she kill again? Well, my friends, I rather think she does. She can't be stopped.

It's crazy to me that we wrote this song something like seven years ago. The amount of music that Liberty's have created just astounds me. Throughout our ten years together, Simon and I have crafted some great music. There will be more posts about other songs, because I believe that we have such a wealth of material, that it all BEGS to be heard. Until then, thanks for reading. I'll leave the lyrics below for this track, as well as the page you can go to, to listen along.

Until next time, toodles
Rob 

----

Liberty's Exiles: IX

A - Falling In Love

It's a story that you've heard a hundred times
Boy sees girl across the room and she smiles
He makes believe that he can see all her signs
And she believes that she really likes his style

A simple conversation had away from the crowd
A spark is felt between them, burns so bright
They feel their spirits soar upon the highest cloud
And even those around can see their dazzling light

Falling in love is such an easy thing to do
Falling in love it always feels so right
Falling in love is such an easy thing to do
And they believe they're falling in love tonight

It's a story that you've heard a hundred times
A boy makes the promise that he'll call this girl
He believes that he has done everything just right
And she believes in a future so very bright

B - Every Waking Moment

Every waking moment I can feel you by my side
Your smile it brightens up the darkness of my life
Every waking moment I know that you are mine
And every thing about us just feels so very right

Every waking moment I can hear you in my soul
Your beauty seems to radiate from every pore
Every waking moment my heart feels so full
And I know that I will love you forever more

Will you take that step with me into our destiny
Will you make our hearts one, and our souls unite
Will you take a change and always be with me
Will you make me so happy, and marry me tonight

I'll spend every waking moment making you happy
I will make sure that your smile never fades
I'll spend every waking moment in our eternity
And make sure you love me until our finaly days

C - Life Built On Lies

Day after day, and year after year
I can feel our love slipping away
Year after year, and day after day
Afraid of the inner voice I hear

You said that you trusted me
You said that you loved me
You said that you needed me
You told me nothing but lies

Day after day, and year after year
I can feel eternity choking me
Year after year, and day after day
I dream about your darkest fear

I said that I needed you
I said that you'd always be mine
I promise you the stars in the sky
I never told you anything but lies

Day after day, and year after year
I can see myself giving into darkness
Year after year, and day after day
I want to make it perfectly clear

I want you out of my life
I want to end your life
I want you out of my life
I want to end your life

D - Gruesome End

When they found your body I cried
I tried to show the emotion I did not have inside
When they said that you suffered
I tried to not let on the joy I had hidden inside

And though you had to go away from here
I know that you were once my friend
And though I'll never shed a single tear
I know that I had caused your gruesome end

I stand before your grave today
And say the words I had to say
To take away the eyes that blame
And silence all the words they say

And though I'm glad that you are gone
I know that you were once my friend
And though I know what I did was wrong
I know that I had caused your gruesome end

Take a look in the mirror
I see my face smiling back at me
I feel elation now that you're gone
And I know that I'm ready to move on

E - The Cycle, Again

It's a story you've heard a hundred times
How a widow takes the loss and then moves on
And though this story has very different lines
The one once loved is now long dead and gone

And when they lock eyes from across the room
This loving bride that had killed her groom
Can see this lover in a potential friend
And start this crazy cycle all over again

It's a story you've heard a hundred times
The wife that killed gets away with her crime
She hides her very dark secret so well
While the man she promised to love burns in hell

And when she takes another for her mate
And starts again her cycle of hate
She knows she will return to then
And start this crazy cycle all over again

The Awesome Tale of Guinea Pig

In the heart of a quaint little town, there resided a guinea pig like no other—our protagonist, the epitome of cool, simply known as Guinea Pig. His coolness wasn't just a casual demeanor; it was a force to be reckoned with. Guinea Pig didn't entertain nonsense; he faced life head-on, challenging every obstacle in his path.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, signaling the beginning of Guinea Pig's nightly escapades, the town would buzz with anticipation. His cool shenanigans were the stuff of legends, from elaborate heists of the tastiest veggies in the neighborhood gardens to pulling off the most daring escapes from the clutches of overenthusiastic admirers.

His charisma was such that even the toughest of critters dared not cross him. Guinea Pig's cool factor reached legendary heights, inspiring tales told by the flickering firelight in cozy burrows and amidst the rustling leaves in the town square. There were moments when his coolness was so palpable that onlookers couldn't help but sit in wide-eyed wonder, as if witnessing the manifestation of some divine coolness.

Oh, the awesome adventures! From navigating intricate mazes designed by the craftiest hamsters to outwitting the cleverest cats, Guinea Pig's exploits were the talk of the town. If only we could recount every thrilling tale, we'd be regaling each other with stories for a year, each one more unbelievable than the last.

Guinea Pig wasn't just a rodent; he was a legend, a paragon of coolness that left an indelible mark on the hearts of everyone fortunate enough to witness his awesomeness. There's cool, and then there's Guinea Pig cool—something beyond words, beyond comparison. And so, my friends, the tale of Guinea Pig, the coolest of them all, continues to echo through the streets, a testament to the extraordinary adventures of a rodent who defied the ordinary and embraced the extraordinary.

On a whimsical afternoon that painted the town with hues of adventure, our beloved Guinea Pig, the sovereign of spontaneity, set out for a joyride through the lively streets, seeking amusement on his terms alone. Guinea Pig's time was his own, a non-negotiable commodity that he doled out at his discretion. His presence commanded attention, and no one dared question his audacious approach to life.

It was amidst this carefree expedition that Guinea Pig stumbled upon a mongoose, looking somewhat forlorn and devoid of the thrill that characterized Guinea Pig's every moment. Sensing an opportunity to inject some excitement into the mongoose's day, Guinea Pig, with an air of nonchalant authority, extended an invitation that was more of a command than a request.

"Get in, Mongoose," declared Guinea Pig, his tone leaving no room for debate. "We have miles to go, and not many hours to go them."

In the face of Guinea Pig's unspoken but palpable expectation, the mongoose, understanding the language of actions, tossed aside a half-empty soda with a casual flick of the wrist and hopped into the car. Words weren't necessary; Guinea Pig's whims were law.

"Hold onto something," cautioned Guinea Pig, aware of his limitations as a driver. His awesomeness extended to many realms, but the art of driving wasn't his forte. His little piggy feet struggled to reach the pedals, and he steered with a blend of confidence and uncertainty, creating an atmosphere of controlled chaos on the road.

As the quirky duo sped through the town, Guinea Pig at the wheel and Mongoose hanging on for dear life, laughter echoed through the streets. Guinea Pig's audacity knew no bounds, and the mongoose, once lonely and in need of fun, found himself immersed in an unexpected adventure orchestrated by the indomitable coolness of Guinea Pig.

In the initial moments of Guinea Pig's attempt to operate the vehicle, the challenges presented by the pedals seemed to be a formidable adversary. His tiny piggy feet strained to make contact, but with determined persistence, Guinea Pig eventually found the sweet spot and set the car into hesitant motion. Initially, he navigated the streets with caution, taking the time to acquaint himself with the peculiar dynamics of his newfound driving responsibilities.

As the minutes ticked by, something remarkable happened. Guinea Pig, with an innate knack for adapting to the circumstances, not only acclimated to the reach of the pedals but, in an unforeseen twist of automotive magic, began to push the car to ever-increasing speeds. What started as a slow, cautious crawl morphed into a blur of motion, a testament to Guinea Pig's unexpected driving prowess.

Soon, the car hurtled through the town at a velocity that defied the laws of known vehicle logic. Guinea Pig's fearless spirit and audacious driving style quickly became the stuff of legends among the townsfolk. The streets were alive with whispers of Guinea Pig's daring adventure, and the once-lonely mongoose hanging on for dear life found himself part of an exhilarating rollercoaster ride through the town's twists and turns.

But the tale took an even more astonishing turn. The very laws of physics seemed to bow to Guinea Pig's coolness, as the gas pedal, once out of reach, surreptitiously extended itself toward him. It was as if the car itself recognized the badassery emanating from Guinea Pig and sought to be a willing accomplice in his audacious exploits.

And so, my friends, the spectacle continued—an unstoppable force of coolness propelling a car through the town, with Guinea Pig at the helm, steering not just a vehicle but a narrative of unbridled adventure. The gas pedal, once a distant goal, now served as a symbol of Guinea Pig's legendary status, a homage to the undeniable coolness that even inanimate objects couldn't resist acknowledging. The town, once again, found itself spellbound by the ongoing saga of Guinea Pig and his uncharted, adrenaline-fueled journey.

With the car now hurtling through the streets at a breakneck pace, Guinea Pig, reveling in the adrenaline rush, decided it was time to take his coolness to the next level. As if on cue, he nonchalantly reached to his side and produced a pair of kick-ass sunglasses, a signature accessory that accompanied him on all his daring escapades. These weren't just any sunglasses; they were the key to Guinea Pig's unparalleled cool factor, a promise he made to them long ago when he acquired them from a little old lady in exchange for the humble currency of a half-eaten ham sandwich.

The sunglasses, perched effortlessly on his snout, transformed Guinea Pig from a mere rodent on a joyride to a four-wheeled maestro of coolness. The reflection of the speeding town danced in the lenses, a visual symphony to accompany the auditory thrill of the roaring engine. Guinea Pig, now the epitome of style and flair, felt the wind rush through his fur, enhancing the sensation of absolute freedom.

As if prompted by the presence of the sunglasses, Guinea Pig reached into his secret stash and retrieved a half-eaten ham sandwich, a nostalgic reminder of the fateful day he acquired his shades. Holding the sandwich with a certain reverence, he declared, "Perfection." It was a ritualistic acknowledgment of the simple joys in life—speed, style, and a half-eaten ham sandwich.

However, Guinea Pig wasn't about to share his culinary delight with Mongoose. The mongoose, ever grateful for the opportunity to be part of Guinea Pig's thrilling journey, wasn't expecting any gastronomic generosity. Mongoose understood that this ride wasn't just about sandwiches; it was about basking in the glory of Guinea Pig's coolness—the Piggy, the myth, the legend.

And so, the dynamic duo sped through the town, Guinea Pig behind the wheel, sporting kick-ass sunglasses, and holding a half-eaten ham sandwich—the embodiment of coolness on four wheels, leaving a trail of awe-inspired onlookers and a tale that would be recounted for generations to come.

With the wind in their fur and the town as their canvas, Guinea Pig and Mongoose embarked on a nocturnal odyssey, ready to leave an indelible mark on the sleepy streets. Guinea Pig, the mastermind behind the mischief, leaned toward Mongoose and outlined their audacious plan.

"Okay, Mongoose," Guinea Pig declared with an air of mischief, "Here is the plan. We're going to paint this little town Guinea, and we're going to have a squeakin' good time doing it." A dazzling smile, arguably the most winningest that had ever graced the rodent world, accompanied by a sly wink, sealed the pact. Mongoose, fully aware that this was the preamble to one hell of a night filled with epic shenanigans, readied himself for the escapades that lay ahead. But first, a mission of utmost importance—capturing the essence of their adventure in a selfie.

As Mongoose extended his arm, maneuvering the phone for the perfect shot, Guinea Pig smiled into the night. He was doing something extraordinary here. He was turning what was once a sad, and lonely Mongoose into the stuff that even legends couldn't quite contain. Guinea Pig was a hero. 

Throughout the town, the duo weaved through its narrow streets, leaving behind a trail of mischief, laughter, and painted guinea symbols. The night unfolded in a series of epic escapades that defied description. From rooftop acrobatics to impromptu dance-offs in the town square, Guinea Pig and Mongoose became the unsung heroes of a tale that transcended the ordinary.

Mongoose, forever changed by the surreal night of guinea-inspired mayhem, couldn't help but marvel at the transformation. The world itself seemed different, touched by the irreverent coolness that Guinea Pig exuded with every daring move. The car, Mongoose, the half-eaten ham sandwich, and the kick-ass sunglasses—all eternally indebted to the coolness of Guinea Pig—now held a special place in the annals of the town's history.

But alas, dear reader, the full chronicle of that unforgettable night would require volumes to recount. For now, we leave you with the promise that the tales of Guinea Pig, Mongoose, and their unforgettable exploits shall continue to echo through the ages, leaving an everlasting legacy of coolness, adventure, and the transformative power of one audacious guinea pig and his trusty mongoose companion.

Indeed, the tales of that fateful night are like a treasure chest waiting to be opened, revealing the gems of mischief, laughter, and the unexpected. But, my friend, today is not the day for delving into the intricacies of those adventures. Today is a day for something equally splendid—the celebration and adoration of Guinea Pig.

In the hearts and minds of the townsfolk, Guinea Pig had become more than just a cool character; he was a living legend, a source of inspiration, and a reminder that life is meant to be embraced with audacity and a dash of irreverence. As the sun cast its warm glow upon the town, the echoes of Guinea Pig's exploits lingered in the air, a testament to the indomitable spirit that had swept through the streets just hours before.

So, let us bask in the glory of Guinea Pig, the trendsetter of coolness, the orchestrator of legendary nights. Today is a day to appreciate the charisma, the audacity, and the unapologetic zest for life that Guinea Pig embodies. Perhaps, in the future, the tales of that extraordinary night will be unveiled in all their glory, but for now, let us revel in the sheer awesomeness that is Guinea Pig.

Raise a paw, a hoof, or whatever appendage you may have, and join in the collective adoration of Guinea Pig, for today is a day to celebrate the living legend and coolness extraordinaire that has left an indelible mark on the town and our hearts. Cheers to Guinea Pig, the Piggy, the myth, the legend!

-Rob

Liberty's Exiles

Hello everyone, Rob here. Today I want to talk about my band, Liberty's Exiles. More specifically, our newest album. I started out writing with Simon Talbot of the London based band, Halo, back in 2013 (Holy hell, has it been 10 years?!), and during that time we have released 23 albums worth of music. It's been a lot of fun creating so much great music with one of the greatest musical partners a guy could have, and I hope we have another 10 years of music in us.

Liberty's Exiles: USA (2023)

Last month, November 2023, we released our newest album, "USA". Like several albums before it, it's a concept album. The concept being a world where Donald Trump wins the election for President in 2020. I know, that's a scary thought for me as well, but I played that scenario out through the lyrics of this album. In doing so, Simon was able to capture a sort of scary vibe throughout much of this album, and I'm proud to say that it all turned out amazing. It might be one of our best releases yet! There are also some tracks about some of the horrible things that happened during Trump's four year run as president, and even some things that are really wrong with the US (Yes folks, guns ARE a HUGE problem here!)

I put together some videos, had an AI program help "create" the album artwork, and we released the album on our bandcamp page. Sadly, thanks to money (and a largely non-physical media world), there isn't a CD release of this album, but we hope you'll check it out anyway!

Here is the track listing, and the link to check the album out. Thanks for reading, my friends.

Liberty's Exiles: USA (2023)

01. USA 06:24

02. Pompous Circumstance 04:00

03. The Devil in Disguise 03:43

04. Lost Country 04:22

05. Doomed Planet 03:55

06. The Cult of The 45 04:24

07. Americans Love Their Guns 04:22

08. We're Starting a New Riot 04:47

09. When Will We Learn America 03:31

10. Exiles on Liberty Street 04:45

11. America is a Gun 04:08

12. Hope For Hope 04:08

Samantha's Musings, pt. 1

It's a-me, Samantha

It’s Samantha here!

Been a while I guess.

I’ve been struggling with school and such.

I thought I had a freaking 5 page essay to do… it was a five paragraph essay 🤦🏻‍♀️😂 the mistakes I make! 

I have the ACT tomorrow morning. I’m a bit worried but I’ll be fine.

I’ve been a bit behind on my reading but I’m hoping to get it up over Christmas break.

I am so excited for my baby brother and little sister to sleep in my room on Christmas Eve!

I’ve had my little sister with me before, but now I get me baby brother too!

We watch what I got for Christmas videos most of the time, but I think this year for Waddles we’ll watch a short frosty the snowman video!

I’m sooo freaking excited.

I’ve been a lot closer with my baby brother and I absolutely love it. Not when he cries that I have to leave though…. That one hurts. 

Hope and I need to do more things together, so I’m hoping we do more over break.

I hope everyone is doing okay.

I’ll tell you more about my FCCLA project and such soon 😉

World Gone, Chapter 6: Falling Forward

 When we last saw Delaney, her and her son John had found a place to sleep. Unfortunately is was a trouble sleep that she found herself in. Read about that dream in this 6th chapter of my novel in progress, "World Gone".

Are these the hands of Delany? Who could say for sure?

Chapter 6 – Falling Forward

The air rushed past her, and the deafening sound of wind filled her ears as she continued to fall. The sensation of weightlessness enveloped her, and a profound sense of isolation settled in. She wondered if there was a bottom to this endless descent, or if she would keep falling forever. How long had she been falling? She honestly had no idea. One moment she didn’t seem to exist, and the next she was falling. Only, and always falling.

In the deadly grip of the horrifying chaos, she tried to recall any details about her life, her identity, or how she found herself in this surreal predicament. But her memories eluded her, slipping through her mind like water through clenched fingers. It was a disconcerting emptiness, a void where her past should have been.

As she struggled to make sense of her surroundings, a glimmer of light appeared in the distance, a small, distant point in the overwhelming darkness. The light grew brighter, and a mixture of hope and fear welled up within her. Was it an escape, a destination, or something else entirely?

Her mind raced with unanswered questions, and the desperation to understand her situation intensified. The fall seemed to go on forever, yet the light drew nearer. In this mysterious descent, she faced the unknown with a vulnerability that echoed her nakedness. The absence of familiarity and the uncertainty of her fate added to the surreal and dreamlike quality of the experience.

With each passing moment, the tension mounted, and she clung to the hope that the approaching light held answers. The realization of her vulnerability and the lack of control over her own destiny fueled the tumultuous emotions within her. In the midst of the infinite fall, she grappled not only with the physical sensations but also with the profound existential crisis that unfolded in the void around her.

Instinctively she knew that she was completely naked. Had she been born here in this unending descent towards her death? She searched her memory but could only find one. It had been her fifth birthday (she could see the big number “5” candle, sitting atop a hideous pink cake looking monstrosity), and her mom had just given her a necklace. She reached her hand up to touch the familiar locket that held a tiny picture of her and her mom, and found that it was gone. Had it ever been there? Was this all just some kind of dream. She pinched her left nipple, hard, only to find that the pain was immense.

As she grappled with the surreal nature of her situation, she couldn't shake the nagging question: had she ever truly existed outside of this endless fall? Was her entire life, her memories, just a fabrication of this dreamlike scenario? She pinched her left nipple as hard as she could, the searing pain, felt strangely real, grounding her in the midst of the surreal. This was no dream. 

The growing light offered a paradoxical mix of hope and despair. Its radiance seemed to promise something beyond the darkness, but the distance between her and the light remained constant, defying the logic of her descent. The notion that the light might only grow, never to be reached, added a layer of frustration to her predicament.

She continued to fall, naked and vulnerable, grappling with the fragments of her memory, the pain in her flesh, and the elusive light that teased her with its unattainable presence. The dreamlike quality of the experience persisted, blurring the lines between reality and illusion. The descent, the light, the memories — all elements woven into the fabric of this mysterious dreamscape, leaving her to navigate the infinite abyss with a sense of both trepidation and a strange, almost detached acceptance.

Suddenly, in the blink of an eye, she found herself no longer falling down, but somehow falling sideways, as if moving quickly through an un-assuming tunnel. The sensation was so weird that she started questioning the reality of the situation again. Everything around her insisted that this was real, but there was a dream like quality that she just could not shake. 

As she tumbled through this surreal sideways descent, the surroundings morphed into a mesmerizing display of colors and shapes. The tunnel seemed to pulsate with an otherworldly energy, casting an ethereal glow on everything around her. Strange patterns danced across the walls, creating an intricate tapestry of light that defied the laws of physics.

Her curiosity began to override the initial unease, and she stretched out her hand to touch the walls of the tunnel. To her surprise, the surface felt neither solid nor liquid, but rather like a gentle breeze passing through her fingers. It was as if the tunnel itself was a living, breathing entity, responding to her presence.

As she continued to fall through this enigmatic passage, the air around her seemed to carry whispers of distant voices, unintelligible yet strangely comforting. She couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of the unknown, embracing the uncertainty of her surroundings. And yet at the same time, she felt a certain unease in the air, as if something was below and ahead of her, waiting. Always waiting.

Despite the dreamlike quality of this experience, a sense of calm settled within her. Perhaps it was the realization that fear had given way to acceptance, or maybe it was the acknowledgment that sometimes reality itself could be as flexible and unpredictable as a dream.

In the midst of the surreal journey, she pondered the nature of existence, wondering if this sideways fall was a metaphor for life's unexpected twists and turns. The boundary between dreams and reality blurred, and she found solace in the idea that, just like in a dream, she had the power to shape her own perceptions.

As the tunnel continued to weave its mysterious path, she couldn't help but surrender to the allure of the unknown, savoring the unique blend of uncertainty and wonder that accompanied her sideways descent. Whether a dream or a reality yet to be understood, she embraced the journey with a newfound sense of tranquility, eagerly awaiting the moment when she would wake up and carry the echoes of this extraordinary experience back into the tangible world.

Delany's heart raced as the echoes of John's cries reverberated through the eerie wind that surrounded her. The surreal dreamscape of the tunnel seemed to distort her perception of reality, blurring the lines between the dream and the waking world. She couldn't shake off the haunting resemblance of the cries to her baby boy.

Desperation crept into her voice as she called out to John, a mix of fear and determination driving her forward. The surreal surroundings heightened her panic, making her question the very nature of this nightmare. In the disorienting tunnel, she felt a visceral need to reach her child, to comfort him and protect him from whatever unseen threat loomed.

The questions flooded her mind like a relentless storm. Why was John in this nightmarish scenario? How could something so innocent and sweet be entangled in this strange and unsettling dream? The lack of answers fueled her anxiety, and the uncertainty of their situation hung heavily in the air.

"Mommy's coming, baby boy!" she repeated, the words a desperate mantra in the face of the unknown. Yet, John's cries persisted, a disconcerting backdrop to the surreal journey through the dream tunnel. The panic intensified, threatening to overwhelm her as the sense of helplessness deepened.

The fear of the unknown and the possibility that this could be their end gnawed at her, casting a dark shadow over her thoughts. The tunnel seemed to stretch endlessly, a metaphor for the uncertainty of their fate. Delany grappled with the terror that engulfed her, yearning for answers that remained elusive.

In the midst of the dream-induced chaos, she clung to the hope that this nightmare would soon come to an end. The surreal landscape continued to twist and turn, amplifying her sense of disorientation. The fear for John's well-being and the dread of an uncertain fate became palpable, creating a visceral experience that felt too real to be just a dream.

As she pressed forward through the dream tunnel, the unknown journey unfurling before her, Delany couldn't shake the feeling that the answers to her questions were just out of reach, shrouded in the unsettling atmosphere of the dreamscape. The cries of her baby boy lingered, a haunting reminder of the stakes in this surreal and nightmarish adventure.

She felt the sensation of being shaken violently, and tried to scream herself, but no sound would come out. It was as if she were suddenly unable to make a sound. Whatever was going on here, it was clear that someone, or something, wanted to punish her and her baby boy. She opened her mouth to scream again, and still no sound would come out.

The violent shaking intensified, jolting Delany in the disorienting dream tunnel. Panic surged through her as she attempted to scream, only to be met with a disconcerting silence. It was as if her voice had been stolen by the surreal landscape that surrounded her, leaving her feeling vulnerable and powerless.

The fear escalated as she grappled with the notion that someone, or something, intended to inflict punishment on her and her baby boy. The helplessness of being unable to make a sound amplified the terror, and she felt a profound sense of dread enveloping her.

In a desperate attempt to break free from this nightmarish silence, Delany opened her mouth once more, but the absence of sound persisted. The dream seemed to mock her attempts to communicate, leaving her feeling isolated and trapped in a world that defied both logic and reason.

Suddenly, a voice pierced through the oppressive quiet, calling her name with urgency. "Delany! Wake up. Please wake up!" The tone carried a genuine sense of concern, and panic reverberated in the words. Relief washed over her as she recognized that this voice did not harbor ill intentions. Instead, it held a plea for her to escape the clutches of the dream and return to reality.

Struggling against the silence that bound her, Delany focused on the voice up ahead, drawing strength from its reassuring quality. The pleas to wake up became a lifeline, a beacon guiding her through the tumultuous dreamscape. The shaking continued, and with each tremor, she felt a gradual detachment from the dream's oppressive hold.

As if responding to the desperate cries, the dream began to unravel, and Delany felt the tug of awakening. Slowly, the surreal surroundings faded, giving way to the dim light of reality. She gasped for air, her body drenched in sweat, and the remnants of the dream clung to her mind.

The transition from the dream to waking life left Delany shaken, but the realization that she was no longer trapped in the nightmare brought a profound sense of relief. The voice that had called out to her proved to be a lifeline, a reminder that even in the darkest moments, there could be someone reaching out to help.

The remnants of the dream lingered like a fleeting wisp in Delany's mind, a hazy memory that struggled to hold its ground. Yet, reality surged back with a cruel intensity, bringing the vivid recollection of the nightmare that played out in the waking world.

The dirt tunnel, dimly lit by the rising sun, and steeped in shadows, became a stark contrast to the surreal dreamscape she had just escaped. As the dream dissipated, the weight of the actual nightmare settled upon her like a suffocating blanket. The events of the previous night flooded back, an unwelcome tide that carried with it a torrent of fear, uncertainty, and despair.

The waking panic replaced the dream-induced terror, and Delany found herself grappling with the harsh truth that nothing was okay. The echoes of John's cries, both from the dream and the reality, reverberated in her mind, a haunting reminder of the perilous situation they were in.

She looked around the crowded dirt tunnel, seeking some semblance of reassurance, but found none. The air felt heavy with the weight of the unknown, and the dread of an uncertain future hung in the silence. The dream may have offered a brief escape, but the reality they faced seemed insurmountable.

In the stillness of the tunnel, Delany's thoughts raced, and the realization settled like a lead weight: nothing would ever be okay again. The stark truth of their predicament loomed over her, casting a long, foreboding shadow. As she grappled with the harsh reality, she knew that confronting the challenges ahead would demand every ounce of strength she possessed.

With a heavy heart, Delany braced herself for the daunting journey that lay ahead, uncertain of what the future held but determined to face it head-on. The dream may have faded, but the waking nightmare persisted, and she steeled herself for the trials that awaited her and John in this harsh and unforgiving reality.