Media Monday - Warehouse 13

Warehouse 13 is one of the greatest SciFi show next to Doctor Who (which has come out with a new season that you can watch on BBC America or Hulu, mabye) and will be coming out with a new season on July 11th.

Now if you've never heard or seen Warehouse 13 then go see it. Like now.  If you don't, you won't understand anything I say.

Last season we watched, sadly Mika walk out on Warehouse 13 and Pete's girlfriend leave, making the audience wonder what will be next for the beloved crew of that place in the middle of nowhere. Now (according to the Promo) the gang is back (with possibly a new partner for Pete) with bigger mysteries and changes
Check out the Promo!

 Along with that there will be a H.G Wells show, starring the British villain of Season 2 herself, in all her steampunk glory.
Confused non-Warehouse 13 people? Of course, so go watch it so you won't be!

Friday the 13th

Well first off tomorrow is my birthday (Yah!!!!) But moving on to the whole myth of Friday the 13th.

One source claims that Friday in many cultures was an inauspicious day, take a look-

In Ancient Rome, Friday was execution day.

In some pre-Christian Religions Friday was a day of worship, so those who involved themselves in secular or self-interested activities on that day were not likely to receive the blessings of the gods on their undertakings. Which may go a long way to explain the superstition of not embarking on journeys or starting important projects on Fridays.

From the Christian bible:

- Friday is reputed to be the day Eve gave Adam the apple.

- It is said to be the day Adam & Eve were expelled from the Garden of Eden.

- Friday is also reputed to be the day they (Adam & Eve) died.

- The Great Flood is supposed to have started on a Friday.

- God was said to have struck the builders of the Towel of Babel and created the confusion of many tongues, on a Friday.

- The Temple of Solomon was destroyed on a Friday.

- Christ was crucified and died on a Friday.

In Britain, Friday was customarily Hanging Day.

It is said accidents are more common on Fridays, however, that may be more because Friday is the end of the work week and people are hurrying to get away from work, than any sinister reasons.

It is supposed that witches favour Friday for coven gatherings. This Pagan association was not lost on the early Christian Church, which went to considerable lengths to suppress them. If Friday was a holy day for "heathens" the Church fathers felt it must not be so for Christians, hence in the middle ages Friday became known as the "Witches' Sabbath."

The name "Friday" is derived from the Norse goddess known either as Frigg - wife of Odin (the goddess of marriage & fertility, the moon & witches) or Freya (goddess of love, beauty, sensuality, war, good fortune, magic & wisdom). To complicate matters the two goddesses are combined and used interchangeably by many, however, the etymology of Friday has been given both ways.

Pre-Christian Teutonic people actually considered Friday to be lucky, particularly for wedding, because of its association with the aforementioned goddesses. This however changed when the Christian church came into ascendancy. Frigg/Freya was re-cast in folklore as a witch and her day became associated with evil doings.

Various legends developed in that vein, one however, is of particular interest:

As the legend goes, the witches of the north used to observe their Sabbath by gathering in a cemetery in the dark of the moon. On one such occasion the Friday goddess, (Freya herself) came down from her sanctuary in the mountaintops and appeared before the group, who numbered only twelve at the time, and gave them one of her cats, after which the witches' coven, and, by "tradition," every properly-formed coven since, is comprised of thirteen members.

Other superstitions concerning Friday include:

- Clothing made on a Friday will never fit properly.

- Visiting your doctor on Friday will not have a good result.

- Never change your bed on a Friday, as it will result in nightmares and bad dreams.

- One should not move their residence or marry on a Friday, if they expect any good to come of it.

- Cut your nails of Friday and you cut them for sorrow.

- Ill news received on a Friday will etch wrinkles in the face of the recipient, more so than the same news received on any other day.

- Friday is an inauspicious day to start a trip as "misfortune will bound to follow."

- Ships that set sail on Friday will have bad luck. ~ This superstition is supported by the Urban legend of the H.M.S. Friday.

It is reported that, in an attempt to debunk the many sailors' superstitions centered around Fridays, the British government commissioned a special ship. They named it the H.M.S. Friday; the crew was selected on a Friday, the keel was set on a Friday, and she was launched on a Friday. They even went so far as to hire a man named Friday to captain her. It was on a Friday that she set sail on her maiden voyage, and as the story goes, was never heard of again.

(Read more: http://wiki.answers.com)

That is kind of depressing being that I was born on Friday, and in some superstition  those children are born unlucky (that explains one or two things) but other tales say that Friday children have second sight and healing powers (BOOYAAH!!!!) 

The number 13 has  been international feared for awhile. Some attribute it to the fact that ancient cavemen couldn't count beyond their ten fingers and two feet (what about their toes?) and there for anything beyond that was to mystifying to them. Judas Iscariot was the 13th member of the Last Supper, and we all know what happened to him! Another myth came from the Vikings (dem good ol' Vikings again, Remember Thor?), that at a dinner of the gods, Loki, the 13th member, tricked a god into killing another god.

One of the major sources of the myth of Friday the 13th came from event when the Knights Templars were slaughtered in their main temple by the army of France.

So there ya go.  Personally I don't think it is such a  big of an event but I am still a little careful on those days (except  the whole idea Friday is a bad day, I didn't even knew that existed) just in case. So stay safe and see you Monday. 

Picture Wednesday

 Here I am again people! I finished my picture that I wanted to show off AND I have a new way of signing my future art.

Ah, there she is. This is Jenna (my character from my story, you would know about her if you read the first chapter of my book that I posted up on here) in her most current transformation. It's certainly not the first version, but I believe it is the best so far.
Then there is my new way of signing pictures. Taking Norse runes and my blog name I created a very cool looking signature.

There ya go. Well I am needed elsewhere so I will talk to you later, Friday to be exact, special edition because it is FRIDAY THE 13TH!!!!!!!!! (stay away from anyplace with the words crystal, lake, Jason, or machete in it)

Media Monday; Thor and Hanna

Hello again, hope you are all doing well.

Well, just to give you all a heads up my birthday is this Saturday..... YES!!!! OH THANK YOU!!!!! 18 HALLELUJAH!!!!!!!  If you would like to do anything for me, please comment, become a follower, or bribe/threaten your friends into following me. Thank you, now back to business.

Thor has now just hit Theaters and being the comic book geek that I am I had to say something.
 Basically Loki,the trickster god, tricks (oh what a surprise) Thor, the thunder god, into disobeying Oden, the head god and their father, in which Odin banishes Thor to earth to learn a lesson so he can become the king he needs to be. While there he meets a scientist (played by Natalie Portman ) and they embark on an adventure to save the world from Loki's evil plot. From what I hear from people, it's pretty good (Though Loki looks pretty dorky with those horns on his helmet, oh well at least the stuck to the original costume) and Loki is incredibly hot (fan girl alert, fan girl alert).

Hanna is, from what I gather, a tale of a girl trained to be an assassin who tries to balance a normal life with the life she was made for. Has Cate Blanchett ( whom I will always love as Queen Elizabeth and Gladerial ) and the girl from that one movie..... oh you know what I mean, go look it up if you're that desperate for details.

That it is it for today folks. See ya Wednesday. 

Excerpt Sunday

Well, Chapter Two is still in the oven (if you guys ever read that post...) so I will post some of my other work on here. Much shorter so you won't be spending hours on my blog.  This one is old, so there may be some mistakes nor quite up to par with my other works. 

The White Tower was a mystery. Nobody knew where it was from or what treasure (or horrors) lay within. But those who lived by the White Tower knew better than go inside, for those who went inside were never seen again, though their screams filled the air   in the nights. So when this boy rode into town, they did not see anything special about him, and he liked to keep it that way.  Nobody looked at him, not wanting to have the least bit of connection with the newest condemned boy. But if they had they would have seen a boy around nineteen years of age with green eyes and white hair. They would have seen the look in his eyes, they would have known the tower and he had a connection.

                He passed through the gate and the townsfolk breathed and went to their small church to pray for his soul.

The boy was met inside with a pathway cut through a tall hedge. "A maze" he muttered. "Always interested in fairytales weren't you?"  He left his horse and went inside.  The paths twisted and turned with no end in sight. He even tried to cut through the walls only to have the bush grow back even thicker. Further and further he went, passing dead bodies of pass attempts and even living ones who had gone mad in the maze.  "Enough of this." he growled. "There is no way out except for the entrance isn't there? Nice try with the riddle. Now let's see if you can stop birds from coming to your tower." His body rippled and feathers appeared; he had turned into a hawk. He spread his wings and up he went, unperturbed.

Until he hit the river of filth.

It wasn’t a literal river of filth but a mock village.  The boy’s bird shape fell into the darkness and landed with sickening thud. He shape shifted back into his boy form and screamed in agony from his broken arm. He wiped blood away from his mouth and saw a group of shadowy figures swarm around him. He could feel what each was.  He breathed deeply and they closed in around him. He screamed as he felt pure hate, lust, jealousy and a host of other sins fall upon his heart. They each in their turn tempted him to break his resolve, to give up; they even promised his heart’s desire.  That was their mistake, for they could never give him his heart’s desire. The spirits felt their power slip away and they screamed their dismay. But they let him limp through further towards the tower.

                The tower doors were open as if in welcome and for a moment the traveler thought the trails were over. He walked in glad to have finally reached the end. A noise made turn around to find… himself, hideously contorted as if every misdeed he had done had surfaced,  which it seemed was the point. “Traitor…”  It hissed. “Thou art a coward and a traitor!”

“Get away!” the boy warned, fear was in his voice. “You’re just another test, an illusion!”

“Oh really?”   And with that the doppelganger pulled out its sword and swung it at him, leaving a line of scarlet on his chest.   He bit back the pain and pulled out his sword and parried as the next blow fell. “Admit who you are. You art the Demon child! Born to take this kingdom or leave it ashes. You feel it in your heart, the shadows tugging at you. You will fall into darkness eventually. You are better off dead. Even she thinks so.”

“No you lie!” The boy screamed and attacked with a berserker’s strength. A blow landed on its arm and the boy felt the blow on his arm.  He fell onto his knees, his head held up by his hair by his other self.

“I am you, your greatest weakness.”  It explained smugly. “Let me cut your throat and put an end to this.”  The boy shook his head; the shadow man scowled and punched him in the mouth. Blood formed in the Traveler’s mouth.  “I will never let you kill me.” He spat. “I may be the demon child but I will never do what my father wishes me to do.  Fate may lead me down a road of destruction but I choose my own fate. Now BEGONE!”  The power in his voice made the room quiver and dust fell like rain.  The doppelganger disappeared.

“I was right, you were a test.” The boy said holding his palm up to reveal a tattoo; the symbol of the Demon child. He limped over and up the stairs. His climb was undisturbed but he felt his strength slip away. He looked down at his shirt to see where the first blow had landed and saw the cut was deeper than what he thought. He was losing blood and his life with it. “If this keeps up, the people won’t have to worry about me destroying their kingdom.” He remarked and trudged upward, moving on pure adrenaline and perseverance.  He blacked out twice before he reached the top.  The top was a giant room   full of familiar objects, a mirror showed his progress through the tests, a table where paper lay poems and drawings sketched upon them. But no sign of his quarry. “Zion, where are you?” He called out, his voice choked in tears. “Zion!” He searched around the room screaming her name, crying out, ignore the pain of his injures till his body betrayed him and he collapsed in the middle of the room.  “I’m so sorry Zion…. For what I did, for hiding when you all could have used my help. I abandoned the resistance when I learned of your prophecy, about who I was. For leaving you Zion, princess, seer….”  He tried to say more but the voice caught in his throat and darkness filled his mind.

He woke to the sound of singing and something wet on his forehead. He made a confused noise and a familiar voice hushed him. 

“Zion?” he whispered.

“Yes it’s me,” she replied. “You were unconscious for two days with a fever.  I was wondering when my little Tower would draw you out of your hole of angst and sorrow.” The last part was said with a playful tone and the boy cracked a smile but then it was replaced with concern. “So you designed this Tower to find Me.” he asked, "and let a bunch of men die?”

“You didn’t recognize them? They were generals inside of the King’s secret circle, the ones who summoned your father, gave your mother, the Queen to him, kept you prisoner, and tortured you and all of the resistance who fell into their clutches. “

“So this had dual purposes?”

“Indeed and if you were paying attention you would have seen that some of the villagers are resistance soldiers hiding in the shadow of my ‘great and terrible’ tower.”

The boy smiled again. And Zion continued to speak. “I’m sorry for all the tests but had to make sure you hadn’t turned, that you hadn’t fulfilled that part of the prophecy.”

“What if I had? Wait, there’s another part of the prophecy?”

“If you had turned I would have killed you myself and yes there is. It simply states that if you do not turn and overthrow the King you will usher in a new age of peace and all that good things that come with.” She looked away for a moment and added. “If I remember correctly, children of mixed parentage like yours always signaled a time of darkness or of light, depending on the state of the land at the time.”

“Oh.”

“So did you just come up here to ask for forgiveness from me or are you back to fight again?”

“Of course I’m back for the resistance! Especially after what you just said!” he exclaimed then added. “You said once you knew my real name but you would only tell me when you thought I was ready. Am I?”

“Yes…It’s Moses.”

E.T go home. Now!

                Is there life out there in the vast array of planets and stars? No one really knows and perhaps no one will ever will. But ever since the beginning of civilization there has been signs (look! Mel Gibson movie reference! Laugh at my horrible pun! Laugh!)  we are not alone.

Since this is such a broad subject I am going to summarize and talk more about the significant milestones in what I would consider one of the greatest conspiracy theories.  Some of these things I mention I will go into more detail in later posts.

                When was the first alien sighting? Well some believe that they have been here since the beginning of time, watching and possibly influencing us. Australian Aborigine cave drawings depict figures with antenna.  The bible mention “angels” called Nephilim, also known as the Watchers, came down to Earth to breed with human women. Now some people see the Bible teeming with alien sightings that were manipulated to make a religion, along with most of Earth’s religion. But being a Christian, I’m going to say “Yeah… No.”  However they do make a good story topic!

                The next big sighting was when Alexander was in East Asia on a military campaign when he spotted  two “shields”  clashing in the sky, bothering his army.

                During the Great Depression, a radio show produced The War of the Worlds a classical novel. The acting seemed so real to them that listeners thought they were really being invaded! Though the producers finally killed the panic by announcing it was all a show. 

                The whole UFO sightings started during World War II, mostly in Germany occupied Europe. One theory states that Nazi scientists were attempting to create new aircraft, in the shapes of saucers and cigars. When the U.S came in and defeated the Nazis, most were moved to Area 51, a place considered to be a “secret” military facility for aliens and alien technology. Simply put, the UFOs are just new aircraft prototypes yet to be revealed to the public.

                But where the real alien craze got started was during and after the Space Race, creating a whole new chapter in American culture.  The media went crazy with the concept in the 50s, but that was mostly just for allegory to encourage people not succumb to the promise of Communism (The Red Scare). People began spotting UFOs everywhere.

               Then came Rosewell. 

                On July 1947, the citizens of Rosewell got a rude awaking as the military came pouring into their hometown. Locals spotting wreckage  and a nurse from a local funeral home claimed to have autopsied an alien body. But almost as sudden as it came, it went. The Military at first claimed it was a UFO but after they cleaned up they changed their story, saying it was nothing but a (get this) crashed weather balloon. Anyone who said anything different was harassed and the nurse was suddenly transferred to England. But despite the craze, the aliens never showed any signs of wanted contact.

Until Betty and Barney Hill.

                Coming home from a vacation in Canada (who vacations in Canada?) they spotted a strange light following them. They got out of the car to take a closer look but when Barney noticed the strange lights it made, he rushed his wife and himself into the car and drove off. They reached home and found out that   their trip took two hours longer than it should have. Later Betty had dreams about being on an alien aircraft.  They recorded their find and later went to a physiologist who, under hypnosis, discovered they had been transported on to a UFO and medically examined the two (The First Alien Probe!). 

                After that, storied came pouring in of sightings, abductions, and encounters from all over the world.

                So are there aliens? Or are we just looking at a secret government development of new aircraft and technology?  Or are the people who claim to have seen aliens just crazy? Personally I believe there can be, and possibly is, life out there. But until we get an alien to step forward and tell us so or get our hands on alien tech, it will always be a big mystery.

Picture Wednesday- StainedGlass Wolf

I'm still working on the picture I wanted to put on this post so I'll give you one of my older pieces. It will be the, hopefully the cover for my first book. It is completely made on the computer with a tattoo design and filters from my junky little photo editing software.

It's a wolf by the way, some people have a hard time seeing it, but its a wolf.

And happy 100 views on my blog!!!!!! Yeh!

Media Monday: Dylan Dog and Osama Bin Laden

Hello bloggers!

Just let me take off my party hat here and step away from dancing on Bin Laden's perverbal grave to give you an update:

OSAMA BIN LADEN IS DEAD

I  just history happen and a new conspiracy theory be born. Believe me people are going to believe he is on the same island with Hitler and Elvis Presley. It would be  a good topic to go into  but I'm very OCD  about my schedule, so you must wait for a deeper look for.

Moving on...
So I saw a trailer for a movie called Dylan Dog, which is about  a paranormal investigator  and the trouble that ensues from something trying to destroy the human race. Yeah, yawn, heard that before but you never know it may surprise me. But I think I'll wait for DVD on this one. Plus the name is stupid.

 I think this movie was based off of a video game. I only brought this up because  I had a whole episode with the movie. I mixed up Brannon Routhe with John Borrowman ( he played Jack Harknesse from Doctor Who and Torchwood) and the local Doctor Who fan base is still after my hide for that. They look really similar okay! Except John Borrowman is indeed a better actor.
Till next time....

Book Sunday- Chapter One

So now you all get to see the very thing I keep talking about! It’s the first chapter so it’s not quite filled with action and adventure but don’t worry, we’ll get there.

Yes, there is cussing in this, but its teenagers, what do you expect?  This is for the sake of realism and to show the main character’s attempt at being tough and rebellious. It also shows her incapability of coming up with a good comeback. Though she does eventually stop as she matures

Like I said in my first post, this book is based off of experiences I have had. Actually, this is less of “based off of” and more of an autobiography, with a good few embellishments (I'll let you decide where). One of my editors says that using my real name is very narcissistic but this is coming from the guy who thinks he’s perfect (go figure). Anyway, I like using my real name, makes me feel cool. Author’s decision of style, go with it.

Anyway here it is –

Chapter One: Night-Tag

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, then are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

- Hamlet, Shakespeare

               

                It started with a dream. 

                The first thing I hear in the morning can be one of two things: an annoying, screeching mechanical noise which would be my alarm clock or an annoying, screeching, nagging noise which would be my mother.  Today it was the alarm, blaring out its obnoxious sound   reminiscent of a dying cat waking me from the world of sleep. I groaned and attempted to untangle myself from the tantalizingly warm sheets. Reaching out for a handhold, I felt purchase on the white fishnet of my pin-up canopy. “Oh shi-” I began but was interrupted by the sound of popping and  the light tinkling noise of falling tacks that held it up. Before my poor lethargic body could do anything to stop the disaster that was coming, a plastic ring fell down silent like a piece of paper onto my head. I cursed extensively underneath my breath and I untangled myself again, this time from the fishnet drapery.

“It’s too early for this!” I groaned while dropping to my knees searching for the Christmas colored pushpins before they would find their way into my foot, which they would if I left repairing the canopy for another time. After gathering them up, I put a chair on my bed to reach the high ceilings of my room and put the canopy back into its rightful place. That ought to last for two weeks I thought grumpily, if whatever demon of bad luck that haunts me doesn’t decide to mess with my life again!  I jumped down from my bed with the attempting to mimic the grace of a feline, but tripped, landing flat onto my face. I groaned but got back up, returning my chair back to the level floor.

That was when I noticed my alarm clock had still been on the entire time.

I limped over to it and turned the device off, picking up my glasses from beside the machine. Silence dominated the morning as the sun made its way past the mountains. The mounds of rock and dirt surrounded the buildings like prison bars trapping the city inside a monotonous penitentiary. I went about my normal morning routine, pulling my clothes out of the neatly hung conga line of previously planned outfits.

I peeled off my pajamas, which consisted of an over-sized humanitarian T-shirt and a pair of boy-boxer shorts that were decorated with a myriad of round fishes.  I preferred my pajamas over most clothes being that they were comfortable. However the law of fashion dictated that I would look sloppy and masculine, even though I felt awkward and mannish in any other attire.  I yanked up a pair of form-fitting jeans that were bleached on the sides to look like tiger stripes and turned to the sliding glass door of my closet, only to meet the eyes of a doppelganger staring back at me.

I was of small stature, meaning everything about me was compacted to fit in a limited space.  I wasn’t wholly unattractive but my badly done attempt of punk styled hairdo and slightly overweight body set back any beauty I did possess. My glasses were among the highest things that I wished to be rid of, even though I possessed the innovated technology of contact lenses; I was still shackled to them in the event of allergies or lack of time to deal with the tiny plastic objects. It was less about the way that the glasses looked on me; they were such a roadblock in my attempt to be mobile being that they would fall off at any extreme movement. I could only hope what I could be if all my unsightly blemishes and failings could be removed, but that was a miracle for another day. Instead I finished dressing by pulling on another over-sized T-shirt along with a brown knit sweater. My morning routine was complete after I pulled on my black and pink converses.

                All I had to do was to wait for my procrastinating mother.

When my family used to live in the La Quinta Cove, a town -sized group of houses that were nestled right next to the hills, there was a bus that would take me to school, allowing me to be on time all the time. But for my mother, it seemed like the world stopped to wait for her to get  out of bed, get her coffee, get dressed, put on her make-up, gather up her things and get in the car.

Thank God my mom had decided to just jump into the car that morning. She saw me and nodded in understanding for once. “Ready to go, Jenna?” she inquired after eyeing my over-stuffed backpack.

“Yes.” I replied evenly.

 My mom walked over to the shoe rack and slipped on her loafers before she opened the door. It was a sunny but cold November morning, the last day before our five day Thanksgiving holiday. I hated the cold and already felt my nose begin to drip, making me sprint to the nearest tissue box. I grabbed a few more tissues to use at school before I slung on my backpack and I walked past my mother into the morning that gripped by Boreas’s tyrannical power. My mom had an old green Honda that was dirty with built up grime from weeks without cleaning because I hadn’t kept up with my chore of washing. I was not going near non-heated water in this weather.

When we were in the car Mom turned the radio on to 90.1, the Christian station, but when the only sound was garbled static she turned it to the accursed country station.  The warbled voice of a Southern female singer lamenting over her lost love nearly completed my horrible morning. I pushed myself deeper into my thoughts. Slowly the dirty windshield and grey dashboard faded into an endless battle field…

Dark clouds and crows circled in the sky like it was the cauldron of a witch, waiting impatiently for what was to come next. A line of flags and black shapes could be seen in the distance, walking at a controlled pace; the enemy soldiers knew they outnumbered us and saw no need to rush to crush us. I stood on the top of the wall that separated the coming army from the innocents behind me. I put one hand on my sword, confident of what I could do. The men under my command looked nervously at me as the threat came closer.

Finally the enormous force stopped and I could make out their depraved faces, desperate for destruction. A man, the leader, stepped out from the line of criminals and monsters.

“This is your one chance.” He shouted up at us. “You can surrender now or face complete annihilation.”

“You’re kidding me right?” I shouted back. “All the horrible things you and your men have done to us and you think we’ll give up?”

“I take that as a refusal then?”

“Without any doubt, Yes!”

The man just smiled and disappeared into the ocean of soldiers. I turned to my men and signaled for them to get ready. The archers bent their bows, arrow notched; the rest put their shield over their heads. A volley of arrows came down upon us, sliding off harmlessly.

“Return Fire!” I screamed. The battle was on.

Sadly, I truly believed that events of that nature never happened. Though the hope of being proven wrong never left me.

                The daydreaming had to end when my mother’s car pulled into the school’s parking lot next to the gym. I unbuckled my seatbelt and grabbed my backpack.  As I gripped the door handle, my mother intoned her farewells. “See you later. Have a nice day. I love you.”

                 “Love you too, Mom” How fake.

                Cautiously, I walked through the gates covered in peeling green paint and past eyes that I swore were judging me. Jeers, sneers and more fakery. Or was I just being paranoid?

                Finally, I reached my group. In the mornings, we hung out in the quads, an area by the office where stone benches had been built. Our group was a motley crew consisting of various cliques ranging from nerd and Goth. I went through my normal rounds of greeting with calls of “Hi Jenna” and “Hi so and so” before moving to more important tasks.

                “Do you have it?” I asked my friend Anthony, one of the few boys in my close circle of friends. He was about as short as me, of Mexican decent with slicked-back hair that reminded me faintly of the characters of Grease and a furry little caterpillar that was his mustache.  He smiled wickedly and pulled out a volume of Samurai Deeper Kyo; a Manga that Anthony had graciously let me borrow. He handed it over and I reached out only to grasp thin air. Anthony laughed. I scowled. “Come on Tony.” I pleaded as he held it above my head.

                “Fuck you,” I exclaimed when he failed to comply

                “You’d like to.”

                “Ewww.” 

Anthony brought his arm down and placed the book into my eager hands. I flipped through it gently, knowing Anthony would murder me in a heartbeat if I ruined any of this precious text. The black, white and grey images flashed before my eyes, a delicate hand here, a plot twist here, all promising an adventure that I longed for in my own life. “Hey! Hey!” Anthony exclaimed. “Read the entire thing first. But I will tell you this; Muramasa dies!”

                What? No!” I exclaimed eyeing him suspiciously. “You’re lying.”

                “I never lie about Anime.”

                “Tell me what happened!”

He shook his head, the mischievous gleam still lingering in his eye.

 “Damn you Anthony! Damn you to Hell!”

                “Already have been.”

I growled again and charged at the boy but he swiftly got behind me and pinned my arms. “I can’t let you kill me!” Anthony explained. “My arm has already gone numb from where you hit me last time!”

This was a ritual of the group: I beat up on Anthony, he runs, or makes fun of me and all is well. I found that this was a wonderful outlet for built up anger. Anthony, being the good friend that he was, was more than willing to help in that regard.

                Taryn, another one of my friends walked up. She was a tall girl made even taller by her stilettos that she loved to wear. She was a beautiful and possessed an aura of dignified sensuality. In juxtaposition, a junior in our group, named Danielle was much more crude and wanton, making all of us cautious of allowing her to get too close.

“Hey guys,” Taryn greeted.  Anthony and I returned our hellos, still locked in our attack positions. She seemingly ignored it and continued on. “Are you coming to my birthday party?” Taryn asked. “It’s at the ice rink tomorrow.” I had completely forgotten about it, thinking I probably would not be permitted to attend. It had been a while since I had gone ice skating anywhere and I could not survive an entire five day vacation with my family without some intervention from my friends. Anthony replied with a yes, but I shook my head. “I haven’t gotten permission yet,” I explained, but promised them that I would ask my parents to take me. Anthony and I resumed our play fighting blissfully unaware of what was to come.

The rest of the day was uneventful. I read my Manga within the first two class periods and indeed found that Muramasa had bit the bullet, or rather the sword. When lunch came, I ate my measly meal at our other meeting place behind the theatre and band room. It was a nice little niche that was roomy and private, used mostly for making out and playing cards. Regardless it suited our purposes as well. The bell rang and the last batch of classes came and went.

Mom picked me up by the gym and gave the usual “How was your day” greeting, which was answered by “alright”, meaning it was absolutely boring, and still very, very, cold.

My mind remembered my earlier promise. “Oh! Mom, Tyrn is having a birthday party at the ice rink tomorrow. Can I go?” I nearly pleaded. It was like pulling teeth to get my parents to let me go places or have people come over and it would be near impossible at such short notice.

“Alright.”

The next morning I was up and rushing through my morning ritual, pulling on clothes, with extra layers to protect me from the cold and possible tumbles on the ice. Stuffing my phone and money into my pockets, I stepped outside my room, waiting for my only means of transportation, and saw she had taken up residence on the couch. “I have a headache, Jenna.” My mom told me when I appeared in her sight. “I can’t take you.”

“Okay,” I replied sullenly. How selfish! How many times has she made me do things I didn’t want to do when I was not feeling well? She’s not even remotely sick enough to be pulling this crap!

“Stop giving me attitude,” my mom snapped. I gave a little start, how did she know what I was thinking? I thought, and glared at her with a confused and annoyed look, but she continued. “I can’t take you and you just need to get over it.  Sometimes in life you can’t always get what you want.”

A voice in the back of my head gave a snort of indignation. And sometimes you have to fight life for it, a voice retorted. I pushed the thought away as a wave of disappointment washed over me with tsunami force. I nodded at my mother and wandered down the hall to my room. It was dimly lit by the newly reborn sun giving my possessions a light blue glow. My bed in one corner, with my troublesome canopy floating gently over it, its white fabric draping like a spectral ghost. I dropped down onto my dark blue bed sheets decorated with golden suns, moons and stars and stared at my hunched form in the mirror. With a heavy sigh, I began to pick at the knots on my shoes.  The memories of a thousand  incidents came back to me reminding me of all the times that she had failed me, of  coffee dates forgotten for no good reason, have necessities never filled to  provide for an  commodity of another member of the household.

                 The thread gave away.

                How dare she.

                A loop came undone.

                 Just because she’s an adult doesn’t mean she’s can do anything she want.

                The tightness of the shoes lessened.

                Why does she always have to be disappointing?

                One shoe came off

                She always breaks her promises to me!

                Another shoe came off.

The wave of disappointment had swept past me and returned back to sea, a new wave, of rage, crashed into me in its place.  I ran out of my room and found my mother was sitting on the couch, staring at the glowing television. I spotted her car keys on the counter. With my eyes still watching her and I picked up the keys and shoved them into my back pocket. I walked stiffly back to my room and threw the keys inside my jewelry box.

 “There!” I muttered angrily. “Since you’re ‘sick’, you won’t be going anywhere.”

                 But even that didn’t satisfy me. My sense of reality was lost and all that I knew was the empty spot in my stomach. I exited my room acid poured from my mouth in the forms of harsh profanities. Hot tears poured down my face and my body became rigid with malice. My mumbles become more exaggerated. “Tyrants, despots. Always trying to control me. Abusing your power. You’re no better than Hitler or Stalin. I’m living in a communist house. I am living in Hell!”  My voice rose with gunfire speed. “Why are you always trying to keep me from my friends? They’re a better family than you’ll ever be! They never break their promises, they never lie to me!” My drifting impulse returned and my feet began to move. I left my spot, wandered through the laundry room and into the garage. I began my tirade anew, now yelling loudly while lying down on a bench that had been put out into storage I beat it with abandon, ignoring the pain as my fist made contact with the wood.

                I will admit, looking back at this moment of my life, I am not particularly proud of how I conducted myself. It is ironic though how Fate uses us in our most embarrassing and weakest moments to set us on a certain path. However this course that I was beginning to unwittingly walk would leave in my mind  a question; is this road leading me to my destiny or  to my doom?

                                The garage door slammed open and my mother stepped in, her face red like a cherry tomato. “Come here!” she screamed all my bravery and anger quickly dried up at the sight of her.  I got up and meekly obeyed her. She let me pass by her long enough for my feet to pass the threshold of the door, and then she lifted her hand and struck my right thigh. It didn’t hurt, considering how many layers I was wearing but I still looked at her with shock .With my red, tear-stained face, wide eyes and disheveled hair, I must have been a pathetic sight, but my mother was a woman of no mercy. “You brat!” she continued. “You are so selfish! Just because you don’t get what you want you throw a fit like a two-year-old! Fine you can go but no computer for a week!”   

Feeling foolish and guilty, I hid my face, wet with fresh tears. I walked to my room where my shoes lay and shoved one on, have difficulty with my shaking hands and blurred vision. I shoved the other one on with as much difficulty and grabbed my bag. My mother stood by the garage door, her face still tinted scarlet.  We left the house and the entire car ride was enveloped in silence.

                The ice rink was located right next to the high school and my mother had no trouble finding where it was. Mother’s car parked next to the entrance and   through the windows I could see Tyrn, Anthony and some others chatting. Tyrn looked up, and seeing the dirty green Honda, made her way for the door, with the others following suit. I opened the car door and stepped out.  We met on the concrete sidewalk, and seeing my tear-stained face, they hugged me extensively and while asking me if I was all right. I turned my head back to my mother, who was still scowling in the car. She backed out of the parking lot and disappeared into the traffic.  “I’m fine,” I assured my friends. “But you would not believe what I had to do to get here.”

After several bathroom trips to release more tears and paying the ice rink employees, I finally made my way onto the ice. Clinging to the sides like an old man, I made my way around the rink in a looping circle. “Come on, Jenna!” Anthony called out. “Let go of the wall.” 

I shot the boy a dirty look and replied. “No thanks; I’d rather not fall down!” Inside my head, I added my mother is probably hoping I’m having a horrible time right now; I will not give her that satisfaction.  Anthony skated by me, barely clipping my side. I gave a short yelp and shouted. “Anthony! Really!”

“Okay, sorry. But seriously, you cannot cling to the wall all day. Why don’t you hold on to me? I’ll take you around.”

I considered his offer.  In the background, a fast dance song played and I was reminded of my earlier thought.

I nodded and grabbed Anthony’s shoulder with my free hand.  We slowly moved out into the sea of other skaters. Suddenly, Anthony let go of me and I gave another cry of protest. “Anthony!” I screamed, and he just laughed. Typical Anthony. “Keep doing that and I will go back to the wall!” I threatened. 

“Okay! Okay!”

We skated for a few moments as I told him all about what happened earlier that day, my still warped view of  the incident provided a one sided opinion, setting me up as the poor victim. With He shook his head. “Your parents can be so bad,” he sympathized. “But it could be a lot-”

“A lot worse. I know, I know.” I finished for him, bitterness in my voice. “But just because there’s someone with worse problems than mine doesn’t make what my parents do any better.  It’s just a sign that there is more scum in the world.”

“Life sucks.”

“Got that right.”

                Anthony and I stayed silent for a few moments, taking another turn with grace.

                “Hey I’m going to let go for a few moments and let you cruise.”

                I turn and looked at him in horror. “Wait what?” I stuttered but, a loud scream escaped my lips. “Annoothy!”   I skidded along the ice trying to get full control of my legs. Nearly slipping twice, I slowed down to a halt, fully intact.

Anthony stood behind me. “See? You can do it!” he exclaimed.

 “Wait until we’re back on solid Earth, Anthony! You’re dead!” I called back, smiling.  My heart was still beating with adrenaline and rare excitement. Tyrn flew pass, making me loss my balance and actually fall down on the hard ice. “Oops, sorry!” she shouted back at with a laugh. I scowled for a minute but Anthony came over and helped me up. As soon as I was back on my feet, I laughed loudly, all traces of my previous sadness gone. I felt clean cool, and happy.  We went around a few more times and soon I was able to skate completely by myself, though I stayed very close to Anthony or another one of my friends who was in the rink.

                Finally, fatigue got the best of me. I carefully made my way to the gate, telling my current skating partner, that I needed a break. I hobbled out onto the carpet and made my way over to the benches. My head still was buzzing from the candy I had blown my leftover money on earlier and my stomach longed for real nourishment. I pulled out a dollar-fifty from my bag and turned to some friends who were resting as well. “Hey, who wants to come with me to the WeinerSnitchel?” I offered. I had a craving for chili-cheese fries and they made some of the best (and cheapest) there were.

My friends shook their heads. “If you leave they take the skates back and you have to pay for them again,” informed Myles, an African-American who hung out with our group though I didn’t know him too well. 

I wrinkled my nose in disgust. “Really?” I replied. “That’s unfair! Oh well I’ll just deal with it. I’m too tired to continue skating much longer anyway.” Myles shrugged and went back to his nap.  A girl named Lynden jumped in. “I’ll go with you.” She announced. “If you share your fries with me.”

I shrugged. “Okay. Sounds fair.” Lynden hopped from the cold metal benches and headed for the door. I tied a knot in my shoe laces and followed her, but not before hiding the skates inside my bag that I left behind, just in case Myles was right.

                We walked from the parking lot of the rink, to the near -abandoned street and over a large plot of undeveloped desert. “So what are you doing for Thanksgiving?” I asked nonchalantly.

Lynden shrugged her shoulders. “With the family, nothing special,” she replied flatly. Glancing up, her eyes had a sleepy look to them, her clean pale face making her freckles more conspicuous, her blonde hair was pulled up in a simple ponytail with one or two strands acting as bangs.  She kind of reminded me of a blonde Lara Croft, minus the Angelina Jolie pouty lips. I struggled to find a topic to help continue the conversation, finally deciding to vent the emotions that were in my consciousness. “I love the holidays, but I hate spending time with my family.” I stated, matter-of-factly, like my horrible situation had finally become nothing more to me than would a bee-sting be to a rock. “My parents always give me a bunch of shit over liking Anime or wanting to dress punk and stuff like that.”

 Lynden scoffed, “You think that’s bad, try having my life.”

I blinked in surprise, not expecting to have a competition on my hands. I tried to avoid them being that I never usually won. I tended to pick people who had truly horrific lives. I struggled to keep up with Lynden both in pace and in stories extending the topic even in WeinerSnitchel restaurant. The chili-cheese fries were more expensive than I expected forcing me to purchase a small plain order. Our conversation continued coming back to the ice-rink. I just finished talking about my horrible time in a private elementary school, believing to have taken the proverbial first-place trophy. Lynden Laughed bitterly and replied, “I had to drag my gun case all the way up to the Academy after the last Night Tag game without my parents knowing. That was hard.”

                “What’s Night Tag? What’s the Academy?” I asked.

Lynden froze, her face momentarily frightened. “You don’t want to know,” she answered with a tentative smile.

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah I do.” I argued.

She sighed. “It’s going to mess you up.”

 “Like I can get anymore messed up. Come on you’re leaving me in suspense here.” 

She sighed again. “Okay, well Night Tag is this game people play. It’s kind of like paintball or something like that. It’s played, duh, at night, The Academy is where you train; it’s kind of like a second home for people like me.” 

                “Cool. Where do I sign up?”

Lynden shook her head so fiercely; I thought her ponytail would come undone. “You don’t want to play.” She warned. “Losers die.”

                Okay…. This was going to be interesting. “Come again?” I asked.

                “You heard me. This is more than silly child’s play. Winners get to go home, losers die. It’s not something you want to play, you’re forced into it.”

                I was confused. “How can people do that without the police knowing?” I interrogated. “Wouldn’t families notice somebody was missing?”

                “Where do think a lot of those missing teens go?”

                I did not stop to think if the things Lynden said to me were true or even the danger of it. In my mind’s eye all I could see was me fulfilling the fantasy that for so long had plagued my sense of happiness.  My unconscious mind had convinced the rest of me that I was invincible to all threats; I was the hero of this tale and heroes did not die. It is still surprising to me how naïve I was.  

  “How do you go play? You know, if it’s at night?”

                Lynden shrugged. “You sneak out.”

                Once again I was limited by the rules of my parents. I was forced to stay close to home, within the gated community during the day and never in the streets at dark. Breaking this curfew was out of the question being that the alarm installed in our house would immediately alert my parents of my plans.

                “Well, I guess I can’t do that.” I said indifferently, attempting to hide my disappointment.  Lynden leaned back. “All the better,” Lynden replied. “It’s hell.”

                “Try being worthless,” I muttered. The girl looked at me but said nothing.  I ate the last French fry and headed for the door, Lynden following closely behind.

                My ice skates were lying undisturbed in my black bag but I received some dirty looks from the employees. I laced them back up and I headed for the ice again. I couldn’t get my mind off of Night Tag. New fantasies entered my head, of me running through dark alleys and black fields like some kind of suburban samurai. I was the hero. I was loved and celebrated. But reality came crashing down on me as a bitter voice in my head jeeringly reminded me of my cowardice towards my parents.

                But still…

                The morning past and the party came to a close, each of my friends left our dwindling group and soon moved on to the local taco shop. I wanted to join them, but was forced to stay by the ice rink where my mother had commanded me to stay in a previous phone call I sat on the curb, my thoughts of adventure replaced by the lecture I knew was coming. As my mother pulled into the parking lot, I could feel that spark of hope slowly die out and I returned to the doldrums of a life I thought never would be lived.