Being a villain is easy

Brain Power
Let’s assume we do, in fact, use only 10% of our brain. If you could unlock the remaining 90%, what would you do with it?

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We look at the heroes smashing bad guys on the big screen, the Norse god, the playboy philanthropists kitted out in metallic armour, the black spider or the giant S on the chest of a red and blue costume – heroes. They have a moral compass. They have a conscience. They make decisions with the intention of saving everyone so no one has to suffer.

However imagine the loved blonde god of thunder dropping into the middle of a mall, grabbing the largest television set in the store, an X-Box One with a handful of games and swooping out of there with some new toys for his recently  (and forcibly) acquired home. What moral compass would he work off except one pointing towards self? What conscience would he need when anyone in his way is merely an obstacle towards what he wants? Who would he need to save but himself? Being a villain would make life so much easier.

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The Final Countdown

Today you can write about anything, in whatever genre or form, but your post must mention a dark night, your fridge, and tears (of joy or sadness; your call). Feel free to switch one ingredient if you have to (or revisit one from previous trio prompts).

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So as I write this post, I am aware that the counter on my blog is counting down the hours (and eventual last minutes and seconds) before NaNo Kicks off and then the battle for my first COMPLETED novel begins; I must say I am both excited and anxious. Not anxious in a negative way but in a “I’m sure I can really do this but my plot isn’t complete and I need this and that and that too…” kind of thing.

I imagine sitting at my desk on the 30th of November, as the evening draws into a dark night, far darker than I’d expect it to be. The moonless sky stares at me, reminding me that the hours are moving, minutes are passing…seconds are ticking. Each unnecessary trip to the fridge to rummage for that snack I know does not exist wastes more time – and my rather unfounded excuse, that the walk between my computer and the fridge is the reason I do not exercise, fails to the excuse me should I fail once again. And then its the tears, of sadness, as I drown my sorrow in fruit Tea and gaming.

Imaginary

“I thought there would be some sort of nostalgia…waking up here in this room. But too much has changed.” The boy rose from the bed, pushing the blankets off to sit cross legged on the bed. The morning sunlight fell across his face to make his light brown skin seem translucent
“Well, it’s been years since…you know”
“I’ve been imaginary? Yeah I know.” I ran my hand over his black hair, relishing the feel of it as I had never been able to before – not like this anyway
“You’re not imaginary, you’re…”
“I’m not real either. That’s okay. This is better I guess. I don’t get to grow up and have a beard like you old man” The boy stretched his legs out on the bed, wriggling his toes into the crumpled bed-covers.
“I’m not old” I teased. He smiled with both his dark eyes and his lips
“Stresses of life got you so caught up in life, you can’t see those old man lines etching across your forehead.”
“I’m twenty five monkey!” I shouted in mock anger but he laughed as his sad eyes fell upon me.
“Thirteen more than I was given.” I sighed. He continued
“Don’t worry I’m not trying to make you feel guilty or anything but I just want to let you know I’m ok. I’m imaginary after all right?”
“Of course not! You’re not…” He slid back onto the bed, putting his hands behind the back of his head
“It’s strange how we hold on to the pieces of the past while we wait for our futures…that’s something I read once but is relevant to us now isn’t it? Except…I don’t have a future, you know? And you are continuing on as you should.” he smiled broadly at that but his face was down – disheartened.
“Hey listen now…”
“Nope sorry old man, not listening. I’m here to say good bye. You don’t need me anymore, not like you did back then…afterwards”
“You mean after you died.”
“I prefer passed on.” we both stared at each other, I fought the coming emotion welling up within me.
“You’re right, I couldn’t imagine life without my best friend – not then. How else could I have kept you in my memory except by recreating you as you are now. I mean when you started getting sick…” He rolled off the bed and walked across the room to the window, his face looking up towards the streaming light.
“You’re all grown up now. You don’t need me to fend off evil villains from another dimension or power up to levels over 9000 in order to save the galaxy. You got your whole life ahead of you but…don’t forget me okay old man. Remember me for who I was not what I’d become. Remember me during all the good times, all the fights both fake and real. Most of all, remember the dreams we had and fulfill yours as I would have wanted mine.”

I continued to stare at the empty space, hit by the sense of loss I’d once felt all those years ago when I’d lost a friend. It was still real, even now. I guess some imaginary friends never leave, especially when they were not so imaginary to begin with.

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In response to:

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/imaginary-friend/

Sweeping Motions

What’s messier right now — your bedroom or you computer’s desktop (or your favorite device’s home screen)? Tell us how and why it got to that state.

Messy? What is messy but an opinion based on perspective, personal preference or (learnt behaviour) from those most influential to us. What may be messy to you may be organized to me. Yes that clutter of paper in the corner strewn haphazardly between the bed and the washing basket is surprisingly organized. Old documents at the bottom, somewhat recent in the middle and very recent at the top. Oh and those books on the shelf, they are falling over that way purposefully. Oh those icons cluttering my desktop are sorted in alphabetical order. It’s all organised chaos!

Okay, okay you are right I’m just lazy or my OCD powers haven’t kicked in yet. Either way there is something about the chaos that makes me feel familiar with my personal items. My drawer is neat and tidy the first week after washing and folding and within the next week its a mess but I know where everything is. That one corner of my room is neat and tidy for a week and then I go rummaging looking for something and I never put everything back where it’s supposed to be again.

The worst, and something I just don’t have the time and energy to do, is clean the mess that is my filing system on my computer. Three hard drives, everything everywhere! Stories, short stories, notes on stories, notes on the notes of the stories. Three different picture folders, three different games folders and various software, documents and other uncategorized “junk” everywhere else. The only reason my desktop is so clean is because all those icons are hidden. Imagine that kind of mess.

So then I pit the very same question to you fellow reader:

What’s messier right now — your bedroom or your computer’s desktop (or your favorite device’s home screen)? Tell us how and why it got to that state.

Twenty Five-Seven

Good news — another hour has just been added to every 24-hour day (don’t ask us how. We have powers). How do you use those extra sixty minutes?

In all honesty, I doubt that an extra hour to my day would change anything drastic in my life. I would love to say that an extra hour is all I need in my days to mull over World Peace, eradicate poverty or even have world changing epiphanies but I doubt that I would be engaged in anything of the sort with just a single hour. If we talk about a sudden 48 hour change…well that’s a different story.

So with NaNoWriMo coming up, an extra hour could very well be used to get a day ahead and squeeze in 1000 words or so. Could I squeeze 1000 words into an hour? Yes. Yes I can.

I’m also thinking how King Procrastination will probably sway me towards spending that extra hour playing “one more game” of League of Legends or watching “one more episode” of Naruto Shippuden rather than being productive.

In short, an extra hour won’t make much of a difference in the greater scheme  of things and would really just be convenient for everything else I normally do in life.

How would you use your extra hour in the day?

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In response to:

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/twenty-five-seven/

Daily Post: In Transit

So the writing bug has hit, and it has hit hard. What started off as a Daily Post has undergone metamorphosis and become this fascinating idea that I would like to share with you guys. This is an excerpt from the Novelette ( a brief novel or long short story, gonna be a small thing nothing NANOWRIMO worthy) as well as the original idea from Daily Post. Enjoy!

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In Transit
Train stations, airport terminals, subway stops: soulless spaces full of distracted, stressed zombies, or magical sets for fleeting, interlocking human stories?

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She saw the boy walk back towards the chairs at the nearby gate, looking far more despondent this time compared to the first few times. At first, she was sure it was merely curiousity leading him to the flight boards but then she noticed signs anxiety in his clenching fists, assuming he’d missed his flight. Now she was certain she knew what the kid’s story was, especially when seeing how his eyes scanned the crowds as though looking for someone, and that someone was his parents. Of course it all made sense now and unfortunately for him, he was quite a number of gates away from his parents. She’d noticed him first when he’d jumped off the passenger vehicle, only to misstep his landing and go sprawling across the tiled floor. The quick jump to his feet and shoving of his earphones back into his ears, had everyone smirking in pity and amusement much to the boy’s dismay.

Once they’d settled down at their gate, lounging atop the black leather seats nearest to the power plugs, the boy rose and animatedly gestured at his parents, taking his backpack with him before hurtling off down the walkway. More out of amusement than anything malicious at that point, she followed the boy from a distance. She watched him skip onto the passenger conveyor belt, turning around once he was on to let himself get pulled while he attempted to walk backwards on the lift, much to his amusement. By the fourth one, boredom had taken over significantly so he swiftly spun back the right way and stepped off the end of it. His head swept up towards the hanging boards, blue with white text for the flight gates and green with white print for other services; he followed the green.

At that moment she knew he was heading for the lavatories so she hung back along with her cleaning trolley, placed the little yellow sign with the cartoon man slipping, on to the floor, and slid the mop casually across the floor. When the boy stepped out, his head was down, staring at a device in his hand as he nonchalantly made his way towards the opposite side of the airport. Curious, she picked up her board and followed, wondering as she dragged her trolley if he was lost or now travelling alone. It would explain why he’d taken his backpack and the single glance towards the hanging boards and another trip along the moving floors had her assume he was now alone. She felt a smile touch her lips at the prospect.

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In response to:

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/in-transit/

Daily Prompt: Accidents

“I stare at accidents in a… sick… attempt… to feel at all.”

I turned my head around from my seat at the small cafe to see who had spoken. She wore black. Black military style boots studded with silver piercings along the tip, tight dark jeans swaddled with belts, looping all the way up around to her waist and a tattered short sleeved t-shirt bearing the image of a skull; her hair fringed across her face to reveal only purple lips, an upturned nose with a single stud on the left nostril and a single gloomy, grey eye under black mascara. She stared at me.

“The doctor gave me some pills that are supposed to help…with the feelings and all but…” Her eyes never left me as she spoke, staring blankly and for a moment I thought she wasn’t even looking at me. Then she winked.

“I’ll call you back.” she said into the phone and ended the call. She stood up, still looking towards me and I swiveled back in my chair and hoped she would walk past. She didn’t.

“You got something you want to say to me?” She asked, standing beside my chair. I felt my lips twitch into a smile as I looked up at her; she was pretty.

“I drive an ambulance.” I said simply.

“Hmm.”

Patrons within the establishment were looking towards us with furrowed brow – the goth girl and the paramedic. She ignored them completely as she pulled a chair from the table beside us and brought it next to my chair.

“So what about your ambulance?”

“I could,” I cleared my throat “I could take you with me to accident scenes.”

“Do you always eavesdrop on peoples’ conversations?”

“I was curious when I heard…but rather than pry I would rather…indulge you, I guess.”

“Are you allowed to just pick some random stranger up and drive them around to accident scenes?” I shrugged. She stared blankly back at me.

“What do you gain from it?”

“I get to sit next to a pretty girl?”

“Is that a question?”

“Yes. Would you come with me so that I can sit next to a pretty girl?”

“Is there an accident now?”

“Uh no”

“So how can you be sure that there will be one?”

“I don’t…I’m on standby. We can…keep each other company until then.”

“What does that mean exactly?”

“Well we just chat…like we are doing now.” I was feeling tense now, on edge, as though I was guilty of a some crime I hadn’t committed and being questioned on motives I didn’t have. What had I put my self into?

“So we just sit in your ambulance, drive around until you get called?”

“Basically.”

“Why would I do that?” I sighed.

“Listen I just…”

“I know.” Her lip edged to the side into a half smile, “I like watching you squirm.” I smiled but the action felt forced…apprehensive

“Ok I accept. I think this will be fun. Let’s go.” We stood up and walked out the cafe. I was aware of their eyes watching us go by, a familiar sensation I’d once felt and she seemed oblivious to them.

“If you stick with me long enough…” she said, “you’ll get used to the stares.” I shrugged as I opened the door for her

“I’ve always been under those stares…Why do you think I became a paramedic?” She turned around to look at me, her face for the first time showing some deeper emotion.

“What do you mean?”

“I used to crash the funerals of people that I never knew. Being a paramedic made that easier.”

She smiled genuinely,

“I guess that would also make me turn my head.”

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In response to:

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/head-turners/

Back to Life – Read to Write

Quite recently I found myself on a new continent, experiencing a whole different culture, people, custom…language (surprisingly… and yes I mean English) and quite frankly a whole new world. Although this post isn’t specifically about America, it is about something that I learned while I was there about myself.

Reading; one of my first loves as a boy, a worthy exercise that revealed to me hundreds of exciting adventures, an intricate number of amazing characters, worlds and lives that I could immerse myself within, taking me out of the mundane of life and transporting me to the intrigue of books. I remember days spent in the playground under the shade of the stairs, reading one of the many books I’d been able to get from the library. I remember the smell of the library and its books, the feel and texture of the pages I thumbed through and the joy that reading gave to me from that young age until now. It was through those many pages I’d spent my time in, that I realized I wanted to do the same; I wanted to tell a story I would enjoy as much as I enjoyed the books I read. Hence the real reason behind this post. Reading led towards writing and now I see a full circle happening where my writing is leading me to read.

It became evident as I struggled to write my own stories that the reason I was struggling was due to the fact that I had not fed my creativity, articulation and narrative basics. I had completely neglected reading for games, music and necessity; but where exactly was I to find the tools to aid me in my writing? Well in the very object that brought my desire to write – reading. Therefore I made it my point to read as much as I could, especially on the long flight from Africa to America and especially during the 10 hour layover in Germany.

With all intentions shoved into my backpack in the form of a thick book and a cellphone loaded with eBooks, I set off. What I had not expected from all this reading however, was for the reading to help not only with my writing, but to ease my mind back to earth when the body was tired and the mind was racing. I’d sit down with either my phone or, soon afterwards, a book I’d bought at a Thrift Store for a $1.50, and just thrilled in the joy of reading again.

I learned much from reading about writing but more importantly, about myself. I discovered that reading just made me feel human again and it is a feeling I look to continue to enjoy for the rest of my life.

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In response to: http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/back-to-life/

This Side of Eternity – Daily Post

Tranquillity rests upon the shoulders of the weary, as fatigued induced slumber lulls the body and mind into transitory bliss. Time is cursory within the expanding dreamscapes painting afresh a new reality within the confines of consciousness.

Yet…

Slumber, though peaceful, remains perturbed by reaching, prying fingers, groping from the darkness that is reality. Sweet dreams. Nightmares. Each carry the toxic atrophy set to dispel any sense of elation as dreams dissipate into the dark, dreary coldness of reality.

And…

Its tumultuous, the chasm that lies buried below bone marrow and soft tissue. A constant throb reverberates through this dark orifice, in the hope that each beat sews and knits, weaves and stitches the tumultuous chasm shut – forever silencing the beast within. The chasm is a labyrinth, deceitful in its facade, beckoning the many into its walls, hoping to entrap them within its dark passages and endless doorways. Its cries echo within the profound darkness, calling out in despair only to ensnare and be ensnared.

So…

We drape ourselves in the hollow, inconsequential threads of suspended disbelief – we are our own masters we say. Postulation concludes that the circumambient forestry is a shell keeping others out but in truth it keeps us in.  We find joy in the transient, in the passing, in pleasing the now, aware that slumber is just as transient but living in it by it and for it.

But…

It is time we woke up. This life is the slumber, the dreamscape we embed ourselves to in the hopes that the dream is reality. We endure the nightmares of life and revel in the sweetness of it, thinking its all real but waking up, we will find ourselves still in darkness. The question one must ask is…

Are we still living for this side of eternity or are we anticipating our wake on the other?

The answer to this question will influence greatly how you perceive the world and with it, every major decision you make. Why not Live Life in Light of Eternity

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In response to:

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/baggage-check
We all have complicated histories. When was the last time your past experiences informed a major decision you’ve made?

The Delivery – Daily Prompt

It was the classic ploy of switch and bait. The boss himself told it to me as we sat in his car on the way to the target.

“In all honesty I prefer no witnesses, you can imagine the complications and implications that such a person can cause on this operation.” I nodded my head in agreement instead of speaking, fearing the boss’ anger, especially in tense situations as this. The boss ran a hand through the slick strands of hair on his scalp.

“We go in, one of the guys does his thing, you take him out, bring the goods to me and we are out. Understand?”

“Yes boss” I reply. My hands are already sweating in anticipation. The fact that the boss trusted me on this important endeavour was proof enough that I was making it in the big leagues but doubt also crept into the back of my mind.
“Then we replace those goods with the fakes I have here, deliver these to the Mr Bigg and life is sorted. He won’t even know the difference!” A jolly laugh from his gut eased my own tension and I was able to laugh along with him as the car coasted to our destination.

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We arrived at the place to find it relatively busy, as it usually was. We parked in the car park and watched the straggly groups of people hurriedly exiting or entering the premises. The silence in the car was palpable though I was sure my beating heart could be heard from within the building we were staring at. The boss shuffled every once in a while, breaking the silence with the sound of rustling cloth. My palms were sweating worse than before now, probably because I’d clenched my fists. I had to be ready, ready for the guy who would be getting the goods – it was my duty to take him out by any means necessary, and the time was near at hand.

“Are you nervous?” The boss asked. I gulped; the sound was loud to my own ears. I shook my head slowly, knowing that nervousness was not something the boss liked.

“Good…because our guy just walked out the building.” And sure enough there he was, a scrawny man in a blue tracksuit with the hoody up to hide his face. My hand hesitated on the door handle. Was I really going to do this?

“Go!” My boss shouted suddenly, the urgency kicking me into overdrive as I stepped quickly out of the vehicle. The sun seemed brighter outside, the air thick – I adjusted my tie and moved as quickly as I could. The man was walking towards his car, head down, while a brown paperbag sat snugly on his arm against his chest – my own chest was beating fast; lungs tight. The man searched his pockets for the car keys, turning his back to me as he searched to get ready to enter the vehicle. I took that moment to swiftly take him down with a blow to the back of his head; he crumpled under the blow like a sack of potatoes. I quickly took the bag from him, aware that I was breathing heavily, and moved as quickly as I could back to the boss without looking suspicious, wiping the sweat from my brow as I did.

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“Delivery for Mr Bigg.” my boss told the driver in the other car; the windows were dark and only a small gap was open revealing the top of the drivers head. With a nod, the driver winded his window further down to let me pass the bag over to him. We waited while he gave Mr Bigg the bag, tense with worry in case Mr Bigg was able to tell that we had given him lower quality goods. The wait seemed long, but it was surely just a few seconds.

“Its good, Mr Bigg says thanks.” With that the window of the vehicle winded up and the car sped off. With a sigh of relief I turned to my boss who was grinning widely.

“Success!” He exclaimed. “Now for the final part.” I felt my face droop in both sadness and fear; there was no final part in the plan he told me.

“Is that how it is boss?” The man sighed.

“A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do. I told you – no witnesses.”

“Yeah…I’ll see myself out.” I stepped out the car,

“Sorry bud – and if it makes you feel better,  I would rather have you doing this with me than anybody else; better you than a stranger.” I nodded, closing the door behind me and watching him speed off down the road, leaving me standing as I was. Once I was sure he was gone, a smile spread across my face,

“Oh yeah, and I would rather have you than anyone else too, bud.” With a laugh I pulled the brown paper bag from within my jacket, glad that being this big hid stuff from people. I reached into the bag and pulled the sticky, sugar-coated doughnut within.

“And to think we go through all this trouble for some good quality doughnuts – even further to ensure no witnesses can see us indulge in the sugary goodness; what has the world come to?”

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http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/witness-protection/