Entry One-Hundred and Two

Here you go, avid readers. Another post for "The Bear Brook Massacre".

Mother told me that this is the story I should pursue. Funny, since it is the most morbid of all my current story lines. It's also the one that I know the most about...meaning it is the closest to my life...meaning I lived at Bear Brook with these people...NOT meaning that I have killed anyone.

Moving on.

You might need a reference since it's been a long time since you read my previous entry on The Bear Brook Massacre. The story starts off with me saying that I am in an interrogation room suspected of murder. But this is largely a flashback.

To be clearer, this STARTS back at the interrogation room and then goes backwards to remembering being in the hospital. From there, it goes back FURTHER to the day after the first night after the storm. Confusing? Maybe. But postmodern writing wouldn't be postmodern if it didn't involve a hard to follow timeline. So. Enjoy.

It is NOT polished, but I wanted to get it posted. I am TRYING to make some progress here.

With out anymore introduction, I give you:

Installment Two of the thrilling tale of death-The Bear Brook Massacre

They really mean business, these New Hampshire detectives. They don't have time for fooling around. That must be why it's only been an hour into the "interrogation" and they have asked me what I would like to eat for dinner (an Italian sub? Chinese?). One whole HOUR and they are offering me food. Their heartlessness is breathtaking.

I think they don't have an ounce of a clue what to do with this situation. Southern New Hampshire hasn't SEEN murder of this caliber. My police record is spotless. And honestly, I don't have the look of a mass murderer. But I guess homicidal maniacs look like everyone else (*snicker*-Wednesday Adams…). But I am getting ahead of myself. The first thing they did after finding me was take me to the hospital.

There, the people in soothing colors pumped me full of fluids and nutrients. They treated my injuries, which were surprisingly mild considering the situation. The blood on my hands wasn't even mine. I think I slept for 30 hours straight. When I woke up, the parents were there. So was this guy dressed in a nicely pressed suit. He was chatting it up with the doctor.

Mom was weepy. Dad was calm. The doc. was fussy and the suit was antsy. Anxious. Stony faced as a gargoyle, though. Only his constant fidgeting with his wedding band gave him away. The doctor asked him to leave.

Mom worried, dad consoled, the doctor spoke in crisp concise phrases. And I wondered: why was I here?

You can't blame me. YOU witness the death of 31 of your friends and companions and see how YOU react.

Dr: I'd like to ask you a few questions. Is that alright?

Me: *nods*

Mom and Dad: soundless, silent shadows listening in the corner.

Suit man: no doubt pressing his ear to the door.

Dr: How are you feeling?

Me: *pause* tired. A little sore.

Dr: Are you experiencing any serious pain?

Me: *thinks, then shakes head* No. Not really.

Dr: Do you know how you got here?

Me: *mouth twitching* The ambulance?

No one smiled. Not a good time for humor, I guess.

Dr: *clears throat* Do you know why you are here?

Me:*looks at bandages, thinks, pauses*

Why couldn't it have been multiple choice?

Me: *hesitation* I had some kind of accident?

Dr: *looks at parents*

Parents: *look at doctor*

Dr: Can you be more specific than that?

I began to feel uneasy. There was an obvious lapse in memory here. And I didn't want to admit it.

Me: I don’t understand.

Dr: *Pauses. Thinks* what is the last thing you remember?

Drat.

Me: The woods. Bear Brook State Park. I've been working there.

Dr: *nods* yes. Anything more specific?

Mom started to whisper urgently to Dad. I couldn't make it out but it sounded anxious.

Me: *pushing bad thoughts away. Far away* The storm. There was a big storm. It knocked the power out.

There was more than that. I knew it. My brain knew it. And before I could push them back further, dark and bloody memories started to seep in. I closed my eyes and pushed harder.

Dr: Nothing after that? You don't know how you got your injuries? You remember nothing of the past three weeks?

Me: *Clenching hands and eyelids shut* Three weeks?

Had it been that short a time?

Me: *heart racing* No. Nope. Nothing.

The tears started to come.

Me: Nothing happened. Nothing. They're all there waiting for me with their smiles and their jokes. I left them there and they're waiting. Nothing happened….Nothing….

And just like that I had no idea what I was saying but words were coming out through sobs. The room went all drippy and hazy. My face was inexplicably wet, my throat raw. Mom said words I couldn't hear and moved out of the shadows to embrace me.

We were like that for a while. Me babbling about how nothing happened. That they were all waiting…and Mom holding he in her arms. But I took several deep breaths and the room came into focus again.

Me: They're all dead…

***

The first was awful. Made worse simply because it WAS the first. Most of us had never felt the loss of a friend let alone SEEN death.

It was the first evening after the storm. The day itself has been chilly and gray. We'd all done our best to stay occupied. Our efforts were hindered by that fact that we couldn't leave. Usually, a power outage would have meant a fleet of gray 12 passenger vans could be seen driving out of the park and towards Manchester, or the movie theater in Hooksett. Not this time. We played cards, read books, cooked over the gas stove, and generally felt bored.

When night crept in, things got infinitely worse. Not being able to see anything in front of you can put a damper on things. Most of us went to bed early.

Not Steven, as we discovered the following morning.

The dawn brought new sunlight and the promise of a new day. Maybe the power would come back. Or at least someone could come to remove the fallen tree. A few of us volunteered to walk to the campground and survey the damage-see if there was anything we could do to speed up the process of cleaning things up. Lulu, Max, and I ate a quick, cold breakfast, hitched up our boot laces, and trekked up the road. We picked up the smaller fallen limbs and tossed them to the side of the road as we went. It felt good to breathe the air, to walk about. The three of us chatted about our plans after Bear Brook and were pretty cheery by the time we made it to the start of the campground.

There it was. The giant behemoth tree. It was just past the gate that kept the campers out of the SCA camp. Sharp branches jutted every which way. I know it sounds crazy, but I remember thinking that the tree looked like it died an agonizing death. We were so busy marveling at the size of the thing that none of immediately saw the form slumped against the horizontal trunk. But there he was: his blonde hair matted with dark crimson, a gray sweater we all recognized as AmeriCorps issued, and blue jogging shorts. The exposed part of his legs glistened with dew in the bright fall morning.

And protruding through his chest, surrounded by a ring of red, was a branch. As if the beech had stretched forth her hand to rip his heart out. Even then, Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom flashed involuntarily in my mind.

I was the first to speak.

Me: Steven?

It was a tentative call. Questioning. As if I wasn't sure if it was him or not.

Lulu: Oh my God…

We all rushed forward, propelled by invisible pinball flippers.

Me: Steven!!

It was a scream that time. Why wasn't he answering?

We crowded around his form. Max stretched forth his hand to take a pulse at his neck.

Me: Don't…

The other words caught in my throat. His eyes were open. Dead and staring. Glimmering with a final laugh. His mouth was slack. A stream of blood had dried at the corner of it.

I wish I could say that I fell to my knees and bellowed a cry of grief. Or that I sobbed and called Steven's name as if he could hear me. But death is not as dramatic as it looks in he movies. It's cold, merciless, rank, and filed with bile. And so my breakfast found it's way out of my stomach and back up the way it came. My legs crumpled and I was sick on the ground at the dead Steven's feet.

Max: *Beep* (yes, I censor my own writing).

He came over to where I sat, vomit on one of my legs. He touched my shoulder. I could feel his hand trembling. Lulu just stared at the body.

Max: We have to tell someone. Get some help…

Lulu: *Nods blankly*

Me: *silence*

Max: Sarah, can you get up?

Me: *Shakes head*

Max *Thinks* Lulu, you stay here with Sarah. I'll go and get some help.

Lulu: *Nods blankly*

Me: *Silence*

I could hear the gravel crunch as he bolted away. I listened until everything was silent again. A breeze blew through the trees. I looked up. They were on fire, the trees. Blazing in red, gold, orange…

My HEAD was on fire. The wind became a roaring in my ears. I could hear Lulu's breath catching in her throat. She came to sit next to me.

My back was to the body, but I could feel his weight. A dead hand clutched my shoulder, begging me to turn and look.

I was shaking.

A mantra marched through my head. It went something like this: Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead…

It was like a blinking light at some terrible small town intersection. And all the roads were blocked. There would be no more life with Steven. I was stuck at this flashing light. I tried to comprehend what all this meant, but my mind kept coming up as a static TV screen with that one flashing word.

DEAD.

Who knew how long we were there. After a time, Max returned. By now, both Lulu and I were weeping. No sobs, only silent tears we couldn't seem to stop. With Max were the 4 leaders. All looking ashen faced. Marlee and Sue wore identical stunned faces, complete with open mouths sagging with all the words they couldn't bring themselves to say. Jeremy had turned away from the scene and was covering his mouth with his hand. Mike could only stare.

I looked at all of them imploringly. Willing them to say something that would make it alright. They offered nothing. After a time, Marlee and Sue came to me and Lulu. I felt a hand on my shoulder and another grip my arm. Someone was hoisting me up. I heard something which could have been words but I didn't understand them. I found that I was able to stand and the hands touching me became embracing arms. There were more soft words and then I was being led carefully away from that place. My legs moved, my eyes cleared a little, and I could hear again.

Somehow, there were birds singing.

Sue, Marlee, Lulu, and I all took the road back to the lodge. It was amazing to me that the sun was still shining and that light it cast was a beautiful silver and gold color.

How was it that things were not crashing down around us?

Then Sue broke the silence and voiced what we were all thinking.

Sue: I can't believe that he's gone. How did this happen??

***

There. Another entry, another day. Please let me know what you think. Especially about the dialogue and how it worked in that format. Should I not do it that way? Is it clear? Confusing? What about the timeline. If I hadn't explained it, would you understand? And what about the different tenses of the story. Do THOSE make sense? I have a problem with tense and making it consistent with the occurrence of events in the story in reference to the present. And then using that same tense each time with each different part.

Any other suggestions? I am a novice and would love to know what you think.

Sincerely,

The often busy, and slightly twisted author.

Entry One-Hundred & One

I miss the roundness of the number 100. But 101 has such a nice symmetry that I find it an acceptable change.

It's the number 102 that you gotta worry about. Maybe I will stop posting entries after this.

...


...


Naaaaaaaah.

So I know it would make sense to write more on the Bear Brook Massacre and post that here. Honestly I am working on the next little bit. I am also searching for the pages that held an account of how I was going to kill everyone. Until then, I will simply have to tide you over with something that I wrote while at the laundromat.

I feel like my random little writing entries are sometimes like my doodles. When I doodle, I start off with a shape. A box, a circle, a figure 8, a cloud shape, etc. From there I just start going. I'll draw another shape and based on what my doodle starts to look like I move on and create something. With no idea of what it was going to be in the first place.

And so with some of my writing, I start off with s sentence and all of a sudden my brain wants to go somewhere different with it. I don't want to write a square or a cloud or a bubble letter A. I want to write an abstract version of meiosis or an angry owl. That kind of thing.

I was at the laundromat and I was just going to write about how bored I was. I started with "I am stationed at the Park Street Laundromat" and all of a sudden it sounded like someone in the army talking about where they were stationed. From there, I wondered why someone would be stationed at a laundromat. And from there it turned into the following two front and back pages of writing.

It's not polished so don't judge too harshly.


Written 3-5-11 at the Park Street Laundromat in Rockland, Maine

I am stationed at the Park Street Laundromat. Sounds innocent enough, right?

Wrong.

It's located a couple of blocks from downtown Rockland in what USED to be the state of Maine. Rockland being a coastal town, they have a tendency to swarm there. So short of being in the town itself on the wharf, I happen to be holed up in one of the most dangerous locations in Mid-coast Maine.

On the outside, this particular laundromat may not look like much. It's an old, large colonial house. Inside it looks like even less. Dormant hulls of washers a and dryers, long since rendered useless, clog the space. All the metal rolling laundry baskets have been stolen and the change machines, detergent dispensers, and vending machines broken open. Their contents emptied. It's actually a relatively clean place. Since the military took it for themselves we rid the building of all squatters, excrement, trash, moldy mattresses, and rotting bodies. Of course we never could get rid f the smell. You could see the remnants of the rainbow wallpaper peeling form the strength of it.

And tonight? Along with the remnant stink of wormy flesh, feces, vomit, urine, and garbage, there's the smell of monster carcass. We've noticed that they are drawn to the dead of their own. Our hoity toity scientist says they learned that where there is a dead corpse of their kind, it means WE killed it and are likely to be nearby. Plus, they're cannibals and would never let a good corpse go to waste. So we usually burn the bodies, save a few. For this. For baited traps.

And that's what this is. A crazy suicide mission. An attempt to draw out their numbers and possibly even stretch our boarders a little bit.

Here's what we know (it's very little, mind you). Their skin is a semi-permeable membrane. Saline dependent. We figure they lived deep in the oceans before they ventured onto land. They need salt water to survive and fresh water is deadly to them. That's why the coasts are so dangerous. They've evolved from aquatic creatures to semi-aquatic. Like huge amphibians. You know how they said that the first land organisms were once fish, all that Evolution bull? I guess that's what THIS is. Only it didn't happen over hundreds of thousands of years. It happened so quickly, in fact, that we could hardly make a move before every island was overrun and every coastal community dominated. At least that's what we keep telling ourselves. That we had no time. Not according to our hoity toity scientist that I mentioned earlier. He's one of the few who realized that the signs were there and tried to warn everyone. Now he's one of the only leading experts on the monsters. And we have him constantly breathing down our military necks. As if he would know strategy if it bit him in the arm pit.

They venture out of their water colonies mostly at night, when the sun isn't there to evaporate moisture. They built these strange sand and mud hives just off the beaches. Where the water isn't too deep but they are able to stay moist even at low tide. They never come out when it rains. Like I said, they are saline dependent. If they get too much fresh water in their system, they die.

What do they look like? Picture an abnormally large Komodo Dragon except all gross and mucousy. Like a huge grotesque salamander even. They have long slimy bodies. Usually about 7 feel long but the big ones reach about 10 feet. They have 4 legs with webbed and clawed feet. No real heads. No eyes, ears, or noses either. Just these huge gaping sucker mouths at the end of a very short neck. Inside those suckers are these hooked teeth. Picture a lamprey's mouth but huge. It's enough to make the toughest solider squeamish. Mr. Science Guy says they sense smell and taste through chemical reactions in their skin. Like how our noses and tongues work only along their whole bodies. And they have these what he calls "lateral lines". He says fish have them and can sense movement in the water through changes in the waves against their bodies. I guess these monsters feel changes in vibrations in the air.

How they managed to adapt out of water so quickly, we have no idea. But they are wicked fast.

They secrete this liquid out of their skin. It's highly toxic. Direct exposure to the skin will kill you. Slowly and painfully. Chemical fumes are fatal from 15 feet away. At 30 feet it causes severe and debilitating pain. At 60 feet you're safe, but not for very long. And like I said, they move quick so you can imagine it's pretty tough to get close enough to one to get a good killing shot.

Well, I'll tell you. Tough don't begin to scratch the tip of the iceberg.

Impossible would be a better word to describe how difficult it is to kill them. They have three cerebral areas, or "brains". They're tiny and connected to a simple nerve system the runs horizontally through their body. Like an insect. They hardly feel anything and regenerate extremely fast. A bullet will go through them and their "membrane" just repairs itself. So shooting them anywhere on their bodies only pisses them off. Making sure all three "brains" are destroyed is the only way to kill them for good. Hitting just one will knock them out long enough for them to stop secreting their deadly goo and for you to go up in a hazmat suite and torch them. That's easier said than done. Two brains are located at the intersection of each front leg and the body. Their "armpits" if you will. Impossible to hit at close range so you can forget about it at any kind of distance. The third is halfway between the tip of their tail and where the tail meets the bod. This one is only marginally easier to hit than the others.

*****

That's all I got down before it was time to get my laundry out of the dryer and head home. I hope you enjoyed it because I don't think I will really go anywhere with this. It's just a little doodle of words from my brain.

Entry One-Hundred

In this entry you will find excitement concerning my 100th entry and my first installment of THE BEAR BROOK MASSACRE.

Yes! Triple digits! Major Milestone! Hooray! Celebration!

Am I the only one who is excited about this? Yes?

Well, it's been a long journey and one full of ups and downs. Good entries and bad. I would like to thank my mother who I know has tried her hardest to be a constant reader and my older sister who has made an effort to muddle through the flurry of recent entries and make comments and suggestions. Your efforts are appreciated.

I hope to continue this journey for many a year in the future. So join me as I fulfill my goal of getting this entry written before the end of February.

By the way, Elise-My entries WERE in fact titled for the first...mmm...maybe 30? Maybe less. Then I got tired of coming up with titles. It's exhausting. So I decided I wanted to number them instead. Honestly I ALSO find it hard sometimes when I want to go back to an entry and can't remember which one was the one where I wrote about something or another. But I have entry search for that. For you the reader, you will simply have to endure and read every entry as if it were going to be about something VERY interesting and wonderful. I will try to be clear at the beginning from now on what the entry will entail if that makes you feel better (insert smiley face so you know that last statement wasn't meant to sound childish like "Well, I hope that makes you feel better! *blows raspberry*")

Moving on. "This is supposed to be a HAPPY occasion. Let's not bicker and argue about who killed who."

Let't get this entry posted. I'm not going to lie. This is something that I have had written for a while and just haven't posted. At least I don't think I have. Stupid numbered entries. This is a combination of the original idea and a re-vamped (no that doesn't mean re-vampired. Though that does pose an interesting idea for a plot twist...hmm...) attempt. I liked them both and so tried to combine them. We'll see how it worked out. You be the judge. I apologize in advance for the abrupt ending. There is more to this section of writing but I didn't want to post to be too long and also don't have enough time to go through and edit it all before the day is over.

Without any more delay, I give you:

THE BEAR BROOK MASSACRE: a tale of murder and mayhem like you have never experienced

All stories have a beginning. This one is no different. In fact, I'd say it's pretty typical. This beginning starts in the present, as an introduction to the past. A good old flashback style tale. And presently I am sitting at a taupe rectangle table under the florescent lighting of an interrogation room. That's right. I, Sarah Lambson, am a suspect for the most heinous of crimes-murder. Two days ago they found me, half starved, freezing, and nearly dead lying amongst the mounds of a couple dozen freshly dug graves. There was blood on my hands and clothes.

We lived in the woods, all 30 of us, for 10 months. That's enough to make any stable person crazy, I guess. There was a lot of tension that year, especially at the start. Clashing personalities, rumors, and sex prevailed. What else was one to do when the closest form of entertainment was a 30 minute drive away? I'd like to think that we did better than most would in our place. We signed up for it gladly, after all. After those first few months, however, we learned how to live with one another. The bands of tension finally began to slacken. We looked past each others flaws and ground our teeth against the most biting remarks. But we were honest and, on rare occasions, gracious. We were all Bear Brookians and we were there to stay.

Time passed swiftly some weeks and slowly others. It was the months that melted away. First May, June, and July snuck past punctured by various Independence Day celebrations. August came in all it's overly warm glory, then passed in wavy heat lines like a mirage. When September hit, we could all feel the inevitable end creeping on us. I began to think of my time in terms of weeks and got really scared of the future. But over the years I have become really good at ignoring endings until they are so close that I could punch them in the face.

So there was September, leaving suddenly like an uncomfortable dinner guest, making all the usual excuses ("I can’t stay, I think I left the oven on." "I don't want my wife to worry." You know, that kind of thing) when all September really meant was "I heard October was coming over and we used to date. It ended on bad terms and it would be really awkward if I were here."

October blew in with a kind of graceful beauty that we all learned to appreciate and love. And for me this included a never ending battle with my old friends Patience and Wait-And-See. But that is all neither here nor there really. You came here for the truth. The real story. Because something happened here. Something not very nice. And there are only two people who lived to tell the tale: Me, and the person behind it all.

So stay if you wish. Hear my story, dark as it is. For here is the most truth you will ever hear on the topic of the Bear Brook Massacre.

***

There had been a sudden October storm. The calm morning after told no tale of the havoc wreaked the night before. Not until one stopped looking at the mottled sky and focused on the branch strewn road before them could they see the damage. Trees had been felled by the brutal winds which raged through the late night hours. Limbs littered the path like so many severed appendages. If you were to travel a quarter of a mile down the road, you’d meet little else but debris 1 inch thick in diameter or less. If you went a bit further, you might find a branch or two of a larger caliber. But it wasn't until just before the exit gate you came upon the first impassable obstacle. A behemoth of a beech tree, her core weakened by rot (she had caught a nasty case of beech blight 5 years previous) had finally met her tragic end. Relentless gusts of southeasterly wind had pushed and pulled with apathetic intensity until our beech could take no more. She submitted herself to the way of all things and with a thunderous crash (which wakened all the creatures in the area surrounding) fell miserably across the road (which incidentally had not been there when she was first a sapling thank you very much). Thus with this end, and by a sharp twist of fate, the unexpected fall of the 2010 SCA NH Conservation Corps began.

The first morning started as most do: With the rising of the sun and a sense of promise.

October 11, 2010-7:00am

Slowly but surely, bodies began to stir within their nailed-to-the-wall-for-structural-support bunk-beds. Minds blearily thought not of the winds the night before, but of hot breakfast, showers, excremental relief, and the coming weekend. Each stream of consciousness continued thus as each sleepy-eyed individual trudged along the water-logged and stick-littered path back to the main lodge. All were blissfully unaware of the bit of disconcerting news that awaited them there.

Scrawled across the dry erase board in bold black letters was the following:

The power is out for several days! Please do not use running water. Use water and dishes sparingly. Use the outhouse instead of the bathrooms. Conserve water. A large tree across the road is blocking us from leaving for the moment. Park authorities have been notified. 229,000 people are W/O power and we are a low priority right now.

Thoughts of the weekend fled like a flock of frightened starlings.

The Power is out? What does that mean?

This means that we can’t charge our phones or anything!

Don’t use the water? How are we supposed to shower?

What are we going to do about cooking and dishes?

We’re blocked? For how long?

How are we going to get anything done?

Great, I already smell. How long before I can shower?

Aw, I can’t watch my movie now, can I?

How long?

How long?

How long??

The outhouse? Ew.

How LONG?!?

The questions flew about searching for purchase upon the illusive tree of knowledge. They manifest themselves in the form of scattered murmurs among the crowd that had gathered at the board. They of course found nowhere to perch and so were accompanied by several shrugs and a few creased frowns. After a number of minutes, realizing their questions would be met with no immediate answers, each individual murmur soon collectively morphed into one bear of an inquiry.

Where are the leaders?

Eyes roamed the immediate vicinity but saw nothing of Mike, Marlee, Sue, or Jeremy.

Seemingly drawn by the beam of concentrated thought, the front doors opened and one by one the leaders entered the room, stomping mud off their boots. Every eye focused on the older, more experienced individuals. Before an overpowering din of voices could ensue, Mike held up his hands.

Quiet Coyote Style.

Automatically, as if pulled by invisible marionette strings, hands shot up mimicking the gesture.

Mike Spoke.

“I know you must all have questions," Said he.

No Kidding was the communal bit of sarcasm reflected in each interns eyes.

“So if you will all gather at the couches and grab the others on your way, all will be answered.”

Invisible rubber bands of tension released among the group as they scattered, searching for their un-present fellows. They rounded them up like they were border collies and the others were sheep in the movie Babe. Or would that make them pigs?

Sorry, I digress.

Five minutes later the scene at the fireplace resembled a trial with 28 jury members and 4 witness awaiting questioning.

The room was as silent as a grave until Mike murdered that silence, taking a deep breath.

“We are without power. We do not know for how long. There is one large tree in particular preventing us from leaving Bear Brook and several more that would keep us from getting off Deerfield road. Our pumps are electric, so there is no running water. This means do NOT use the bathrooms. Use the outhouse.”

He took another breath before questions could start.

“We are pretty low on the totem pole of problems so we could be without power and stuck in the park for a while. A week at the most I would say. Our gas stove works and we have enough food that we won’t starve. It’s chilly enough that the food in the fridge will keep for a little while. The stuff in the freezer, however, needs to be eaten within the next couple days. Do not ask us when the power will be back, we have no idea.”

Here he stopped and surveyed everyone with grim consideration. He seemed to be steeling himself for a wave of questions that would inevitably crash over him.

None came.

There were several worried faces but most were looking set. Determined, if not a little phased. The majority of the interns were nodding in understanding.

“Are there any questions?” Marlee asked tentatively.

There was silence. Then one voice came through.

“How are we going to get work done?”

“Ah. Well anything on the Internet is going to have to wait, obviously. Conservation crews don't have too much to do still, though interpreters are out of luck if you have loose ends to tie up. We will not expect you to get your time sheets done, of course. I know it’s going to be tough but there is plenty of cleaning up we can start doing in prep for the end of the season. Each leader has a list of things that need to be done. See us after breakfast and we will give you as task.”

She looked around the room.

“Anything else?”

More silence. This time it lasted longer.

“Okay then. So, let’s disperse, get some work done, and try keep up morale.”

There was a moment of hesitation, as if the lack of power extended to the electrical synapses of the brain that channeled movement.

All at once, synapses fired and people got up, going their separate ways. The mood which permeated the lodge was subdued. Everyone knew it was going to be a long day.

And an even longer weekend.

Entry Ninety-Nine

Good ol' entry 99. You know, that restaurant is pretty good. Their French Onion Soup is not the worst I've had and the first time I went there I can only describe the meal I had as "MmmmmmmmMMMMMmmmmmmMMMMMMMMM!!!" The second meal I had there was a burger. And since it's hard to ruin a burger it wasn't bad. It also wasn't the BEST burger I have ever had. That wold go to either Flatbranch, Cheeseburger in Paradise, or...Steak N Shake.

Oh right. I was actually going to post something.

Let's get to that.

This is the last batch of 2004/2005 poetry/short paragraph writing. I don't have anymore with me.

That doesn't mean there won't be more old writing. I have still have some of that.

You know what I just thought? I wish I had all my old journals so that I could transcribe them onto a computer. A digital source. That way I know that if they burn up I have them somewhere. I only journal in Microsoft Word these days (though I do a lot of other personal venting/writing in notebooks).

Right. Back on track. I have another 4 entries today. Here we go.

To Die For God And Country

To die for God and country, a victim of a war that was not yours; to be killed as an innocent being who wished only to prove courage and the ability to protect; there can be no shame in such a fate. It is they who joy in bloodshed, who hunger for the roar of battle, and who seek for excuses to fight; these are they upon whom the guilt must lay. Those whose souls must be damned in the end of all things because they hear and bear the blackest shade of all. What sin is upon the head of the man who draws out a battle for not but the exhilaration of a conflict. What lies were told to the innocent which led them to believe their cause was right? For that is all there is. What is right and what is wrong? For each side the answer is different. In the end it is the victor who claims to be right. But are they not wrong for slaughter in the first place?

I suppose this is my naive outlook on war and battles. Not really sure where it came from. And I'm not really sure how I feel about it now. But there it is.

Of The Waiting Beast That Is A Research Paper - 2/25/04

A gripping fear causes a gasp to escape my lips. My heart leaps several times with the passing thought of what looms ahead. The feeling intensifies as a glimpse of the near future is granted. An overwhelming sense of urgency is added to the mix, blended with anxiety. Such a combination of emotions can be fatal to the mind, the soul, and the ability to function as a vital human being. On the verge of tears I feel my mind close to what must inevitably take place. The darkness envelops the hours, the minutes, the seconds. One by one, precious moments are devoured by the beast of passing time and I look toward the future. To this thing that must be. To the inevitable.

Judgment Day.

I can say with absolute honesty that I don't miss deadlines like that. Sure I still battle with deadlines today and there is a certain bit of research resembling a paper that I STILL haven't sent to the woman I worked with last year (eek!). But for the most part the pressure is less. Especially since there is no grade for the work that I do. Thank goodness for that.

And I want to go to Graduate School why?

A Losing Battle

Even if things were different...how would they be? Better? Worse? It varies for all.

For someone to be happy, another person has to sorrow. It is the way of the world. There must be opposition in all things. Perhaps it should be called an equilibrium. Those who see this for its truth are those who will be the best off. Seeing the world for what it is is the first step in successfully living in it.

Do I see the truth? Yes. Do I want to? Who does? When it all comes down, who truly wants to see the truth? Truth is pain. Yes. I know the truth. But I do not accept it. For me, the pain draws nearer and nearer until I suffocate with its weight pressing on my heart. In order for one to be happy, I must suffer. This I allow for my heart will stand. It has become strong. Scarred by time and time again losing the battle which it fought.

Those victories I must lose. For ones happiness another must feel pain. That is the law. That is the truth. The fate I must accept. For never will my loss be a victory. My heart is too full.

I will withstand.

Boy I am SO glad that I got over my unrequited love phase! This is a pretty pathetic bit of writing. First of all, the notion that for one to be happy, someone else must suffer is false. I am pretty sure that this was written shortly after Ben got together with Alyssa and Matt got together with Erin. I was the fated fifth wheel. It was a sad time for me. Second, I miss applied the "opposition in all things" concept. Yes it hurts when you are the one who is not chosen. But that doesn't mean you can't be happy. You don't have to suffer. Maybe feel a little sad for a bit, but then get over it. Thank goodness for growing up.

Speaking of trends, didn't I say earlier that I was really into the imagery and concept of the word "abyss". Here is more evidence of that. Also this next one is a two parter.

Abyss Part I - 9/30/04

My feet brush dust over the edge of the peak were I stand. It trickles down to the depths of my soul below. The darkness there is so thick you can taste it's fumes of agony. It is bitter and overwhelms my senses. There is no sound but the mumbles of those around me. People I cannot see. Sometimes a voice breaks through, reaching to pull me to reality. I do not come. My eyes glaze and the voice rejoins the others. A monotonous sonata to bring me home. My only wish: to step into the darkness. Let its bitterness surround me. Swallow me whole, oh soul of my pain relentless. For it draws me near. I perch balanced on the edge of control, upon the peak of my sanity. And the only thing that is keeping me from the abyss below are the fragile mumbles of those around me, straining to be heard...

Abyss Part II - 10/1/04

A voice breaks through.

Only a whisper at first. And a crack of light pierces through the darkness beneath me. Blinding at first, I'm caught off guard. The voice latches onto the light and comes out further as the darkness decreases. It brushes against me and I shudder. The voice, it speaks to me and finally I take a step back. The mumbles disappear. There is only that voice and the light the blinds below.

I figured that with all this dark writing I would end on a note of hope. It occurs to me that this last bit of writing sounds vaguely suicidal. Just a tiny bit. I never felt like killing myself. NEVER. I knew that thoughts like that were wrong. The edge and the abyss are supposed to represent the dark and depressed version of myself. During this time, I often felt like I was just moving through the motions of the day. And that there was very little keeping my from falling into complete self-serving sadness. My life wasn't really all that bad. But being that age...17...you feel all negative emotions more acutely. Anger, fear, sadness.

Since most of my writing at this time revolved around my unrequited love interest, I am pretty sure this one did too. Specifically in reference to the "voice". The one that calls me back. As much as I was grieved for the turn of events, this particular person was a friend first and always. He would call me on the phone, and though I sadly clung to those moments thinking I had hope, more than anything just being able to talk to him was enough to bring me back to sanity. There were doubts, always doubts, that we were even really friends. He spent so much time with HER. But then that call would come and we would talk an hour. Sit for a time in silence, and then pick up the conversation again.

As much as I hate to admit it (I wish the voice had been a church member, another friend, a family member) his was the voice that kept me sane...even though it was his actions that drove me to madness in the first place.

This has been a glimpse of me and my emotions when I was 16, 17, and 18. I admit that sometimes I look back at those years and laugh at myself. Then I realize that the things i felt were pretty typical of the age. And of the time. So I don't feel quite so ashamed.

Thank you for taking this slightly dark journey with me. I look forward to taking many more in the future. Hopefully less dark and more inspirational.

Entry Ninety-Eight

I have a lot today. There are 5 entries. And some of them are long.

And as I have cautioned before, some of them are dark.

I Take A Pencil In My Hand - 5/28/2004 @ 1:37 pm

As the realization sinks in...She has passed and I am left behind...I take a pencil in my hand...

I let the truth that clenches my heart seep through my fingers, released in a river that murmurs dolefully across the page. I have a bright shimmering wish that swells so sweet it causes my mind to faint. It is there so soft and welcoming. The joy that keeps my sanity always on the edge. But I feel it...so softly...slip away. Like a wisp of could. It is there so close it flows over my skin. But then slowly, it passes through the tips of my fingers and vainly they close. Squeezing tight in a clasp of anguish. A fast and merciless realization begins to spread from my hands to my heart...which stops beating. Then I cannot breathe. The pain comes to my eyes creating water that once from my fingertips drips down my face. No. From my heart. My heart bleeds while my face is dry. I hold a smile for all to see and keep the pain for myself only. Because the dream is gone. Never to return.

Gone...

As I re-write this I have been trying to figure out WHEN it was written. At the beginning I say "she has passed and I am left behind." I'm pretty sure this isn't a death. I keep thinking to the time that my best friend started dating the guy I had a crush on. But the dates don't really match...I don't think. Hold on....*calculating*. Yeah, that doesn't match. So what was going on at the end of my school year in 2004? Man, I have no idea. But it apparently crushed a dream.

A Total And Complete Peace

A total and complete peace. The lapping of water against the cool, steadfast rocks bordering a green shore. A light whispering breeze kisses soft flesh in an intimacy never felt before. The feel of the soft, soothing grass on bare skin. Lying on the ground completely in touch with the soul of the earth. The sun sets. Bobbing gently on the wavy horizon casting a golden path upon the waters surface. It paints the sky all around a bright and vibrant orange which blends in blurring lines with the slowly darkening sky. The smell of rain drifts across the open grass but it hesitates to come. Bliss is too perfect for a storm. The sounds of a symphony of night creatures brings a feeling of sleep. All prepares for rest as the day comes to a close. And no other day was happiness as near as it is now, lying in the arms of mother nature and watching her paint a portrait of how life truly should be.

Once again, I really wish I knew when I wrote this and where. It is entirely possible that this was written in Rhode Island, but I think not. So where in Missouri was I by water at sunset? I don't know. All I know is that this made me ache for spring and summer.

The Flame Within

A taste of loathing coats the inner tongue as a dark cloud of menace looms over the mind. The darkening skies hold promise of a coming storm. Charged in the air is a current of cold flame that burns in the eyes and clenches its fist with an icy grip. Breath comes slow at first, filling the lungs with bitter air and the ash of hate. Each inhalation chokes and burns in the throat and eyes close to slits as if to block the initial blow of anger. Cold flame turns to hot licks of electric rage that pulse with each quickening beat of the heart. Breath comes quicker in short, sharp bursts. The flame within flares with a new heat.

I'll admit that this is not my best work. I'm not even really sure what I was getting at here. I guess anger was the key emotion. I dunno. Take it as it is, I guess.

The following is exactly what it is. A rant about my unrequited love for an individual who will remain nameless. The words are sometimes powerful. Sometimes pitiful. I do not apologize for this. Everyone has felt these emotions at one point or another.

11-28-2004

When I look at you I will say, "Your charm and good character have no power over me."

For now I only lie to myself. I lie and am false. the only good that will come of these is a lesson learned the hard way.

I keep telling myself these lies. I believe that they bring my comfort. It hurts the most when the truth blares in my eyes. It burns a hole in my heart. Too many holes do I have already. I need no more.

I will look at you and tell myself that you have no feelings for me.

For me the struggle is too painful.

Please, just make it obvious to me!! Show your true colors to the one you care for. Only then will I be positive of the truth of what you say. All I see now is a sure unsurity. You seem to know, but then come back unstable in your thoughts.

I wish I could tell you these things. But so often cowardice overcomes courage and I back away. I only watch and wait and see and feel the pain I share with no one but myself. But can't you see it? You know how I feel so why do you put me through this? I know you are not that unobservant. But you don't care. Maybe you don't care that I feel this way. Maybe this is your intention. You know I feel so you drive me away.

But why put your trust in ME? Why come to me for anything? I hear your voice on the phone and wonder. Why are you here? Why am I hearing your voice? Why do you not go to someone else?

Go. Talk to her. The one with giggles on her face. Let her know all. Then I could rest. Possibly be free from my ailments.

But then a new jealousy would enter and for one reason or another I would feel cut off. I truly wish I had the emotional stability to tell you any of this. You say emotions aren't silly. They are. Emotions and thinking too much on emotions. So we just need to do away with emotions.

Why can't we all be Vulcans?

It took all I had in me not to delete this after I had transcribed it. This is un-edited and in all it's slightly saddening teenage glory. It's good to remember who we used to be and look at who we are now. We learn and grow. That's the important thing. Remembering times of such strong emotions is important to our current growth.

This last one was written on Easter Sunday, 2004. The original format in which this was written is not kept except for at the end.

The Cross - 04/11/2004 - Age 16

A touch of cold hard light.
Blazing upon those who cannot feel.
Screaming to tell the tale.
A truth that wants save the world.
They do not hear the words.
The voice foretells of spiritual death.
The world would cut
The bonds of love that keep us whole.
To feel the burn like nothingness.
To feel the guilt.
Never to live again.
For many, pain is to indulge.
To always glut on that which is
Evil.
And never know the beauty of
Love.
A Brother who died to save us all.
Who loved so deep
that pain wracked his soul.
His pain we do not know.
All we know is to...

Betray
Him who
Loved, lived, and
died for
us that
we might
Live.

Tomorrow there will be more. 5 more. And then I think that is all that I have with me from years ago. There might be a few more. I do have some beginnings of stories that I started and never got very far in. But I don't know if I want to share those. We will see.

Entry Ninety-Seven

I am determined to get to 100 entries by the end of the weekend. Or maybe just by the end of February.

I know I have been going through a posting flurry. I have been trying to feel more creative. And I JUST found a pile of more writings from my angst filled younger years. These don't have dates so I can only guess that they were written sometime between the fall of 2004 to the Early months of 2006.

Here we go.

The Grass and the Oak

The Grass. So soft, and green, and vulnerable. So gentle sometimes and yet so coarse. Not perfected.
The Oak. Tall, proud, and mighty. So wise sometimes and yet so chilled. All perfected.
The Grass lies at the feet of the Oak. Looking up it sees the enormity and yearns. so far below, the Grass seems so minute.
Each day the Grass implores understanding/ To be so small next to something so large.
"I've done so much for you," cries the Grass. "I've been soft at your feet. Yielded soil and water to you. I stand blow and receive all after you. Why do you not understand? I shout to you every day! Do you not listen?"
"My dear little grass," says the Oak. "Do you not know? I shout to you as well. Every day that you may hear. Do I not shelter you from all that would pain you? Do I not shade you from the sun? Do I not let the sweet dew from my leaves fall on your face?"
Grass and Oak. So far apart. So close in heart. To understand Love is the sweetest joy.

The truth about this one is that it doesn't seem good enough to be a professional writing but it's too thoughtful to be something of mine. The only reason I think it must be mine is because I never put underneath it who it is by. I guess sometimes I have some god ideas.

What Are Words?

What are words?
An emotionless way of describing feelings.
Anger. Fear. Love. Despair.
What are words?
A mindless scribble of symbols on paper.
W. X. Y. Z.
Who are we?
A crude people who use words and letters to tell our lives.
How do you say I'm Sorry...or...I Love You...or...
I'm going to miss you?
How can you say that and mean it?

I think it's interesting that when I wrote "say" in the last part I am pretty sure I meant "write". "Say" as in "write". I think that sometimes the lines between these two modes of communication are blurred. When you send s message to someone over the internet you didn't really "tell" them anything. You didn't "say" anything to them in the context of actually speaking. Anyway...I wonder if this was written at the end of my Senior year just before I graduated?

Cold Ice from blank light...Unseeing, unknowing, unfeeling.
Or wishing that knowledge was weak and careless.
Hoping for a future, a present brought on by a past filled with one word.
So unbecoming. A blemish to the soul. A scab upon the heart. A cloud over the mind. A bitter poison to the taste.
And to the sight it brings cold, hardened tears that bear no weight.
A wandering beast waiting. Looming above the clear skies in the darkness. To clamp it's jaws upon the peace that I may feel.

Oh past Sarah. You were so filled with darker emotions. I think I still feel them sometimes, but let go of them because harboring them for a long time creates a bile that is unpleasant. Okay, I have 4 more. And then a little list I made years ago of things that made me happy. I think I will end with that so that I can continue on with my day feeling a little uplifted. These next three have dates and names and everything!

Innocence - 11-24-2004

As sleep surrounds in a drowsy blanket, an innocent child lies in the safe soft glow. Protected by its promise of glad tidings and great joy to all people. A whisper of wishes soon to come true.
As I turn in sleep, the child within me is left behind along with the glowing lights of a tiny tree upon a desk. A memory of all the sweet and precious things that once were. Each fragile ornament a sugar coated thought of good things all around. But child-like innocence is lost so quickly in the hearts of growing youth. If only we could feel such joy and happiness always. but once, only once, can we truly say, "peace and love fill me and all is right with the world."

This was written, as you can see, a month before Christmas. Soon after my little tree was put up in my room. I remember this time. This feeling. I actually remember where I was and how I was really feeling when I wrote this.

Lost - 11-30-2004

I am a lost soul. Floating, falling into the abyss of life's madness. Not able to clasp my mind around something steady. Sanity seeps through the cracks left by the lack of logic. It falls through like water in my cupped hands. They let go and clasp in a prayer of pleading.

And I guess this was written shortly after the one before it. There was a time when I was really into the imagery and meaning behind the word "abyss". I used it a lot in those days. You will see more of it in a later post.

A Wish To Be Empty - 11-30-2004

I want to take my heart out with a paper spoon and spread it on a page of life. I want to eat my emotions with an unfeeling heart of fire. I want to exit my life with all the confidence of a newborn child. Why must my knowledge contain all that I never wanted to know? And now I am here with a soul made of fountains. Overwhelmed with the notion of life. Being filled with nothing but tears. I lie all alone with my naked heart lying vulnerable on the floor.
And I stare and see...nevermore. Reason seems to lose itself.

This one has actually always been one of my favorites. Not to brag about my own work, but I like the phrase "soul made of fountains".

We Are Somewhere

We are somewhere
Are something
Do things with
Stuff.
We want something
To know someone
Who wants to understand
Anything?
Where are we?
When are we?
What are we
Doing?
What do we want?
Do we know
To understand
Nothing?
Minds will lead
The way to know
Keeping strong
Ourselves.
And everything comes together in the end where all things matter not. Only that you know yourself and understand others.

I I THINK the idea behind this one was to combine man disjointed thoughts into lines that sort of make sense. And then at the end we finally have a couple of coherent sentences.

This last one is the list I made. I'm not exactly sure when. I guess in the fall/winter. Maybe 2004, maybe 2005.

My Cheeks warm, my hands cold
Breaths of shockingly cold winter air
The smell of Autumn
The perfect note and being able to sing it
Fuzzy stuffed animals
Making your best friend smile
No homework for a 3-day weekend
Finishing a month long project
A good cello solo in tune
Low bass notes
Hot showers on a cold morning

There we have it. A nice list. One to make me think happy thoughts. I wish I was feeling enough positive emotion to make a happy list now. Maybe next week.