Day 11: The Light Wielder

            Most people when they see the Northern Lights are quite awestruck, but I have a more intimate relationship with them, for I rode them across the night sky. I am, what may be called, a god of light. And yes, in a sense, I am a god, but most would put me under the naming of “demi-god.” My importance was so little and not worth mentioning to any extent, because I was once but a controller of the light in a small, bed-side lamp in the house of a poor, old couple.  But the couple with whom I lived are worth mentioning because they helped me to learn to control my powers and use in them in a way that would help people. 

           When I first began to realize just how great the extent of my powers were, I was thirteen and was walking the streets of my town late at night as I often did when sleep evaded me.  The old couple I lived with did not worry because my town was a safe place.  I was out practicing turning on and off the street lights.  I was out there and one by one I had turned off all the lights on one specific street.  I decided to try and turn them all on at one time.  I concentrated as hard as I could and all of the sudden, the lights all turned with a greater brightness by far than they were supposed to. The intensity of their brightness rose and rose, until they all exploded into a shower of sparks and glass. That night was known as the darkest moment in that town. But one thing was made sure through this, street lights weren’t large enough for me.

          Years passed. My powers grew. But I realized more and more through this time that something bigger had to be accomplished. I could control smaller things easy enough, but to show the extent of my abilities would require a larger source of light. 

          Now many times per year, lights of many colours and shapes were seen in the sky. I asked many times to multiple people where the source of these came from. These, what the local people called, Northern Lights.  I was fascinated by these lights and I am not proud to say they became my obsession.

          I tried to control these lights with all my power, but could not.  My obsession became too great much like a scientist or an inventor would with their projects.  I rarely slept or ate and it took a toll on my body.  

          But one night as I tried to control them yet again the Northern Lights spoke to me.

         “Why do you try to tame me, Light Wielder?” it asked. 

         “I have not seen anything so beautiful in my life and I must control you,” I answered.

          “Some things are not for you to control, no matter the greatest of your powers.  I am one of these things and I hope that you will not continue this attempt to control me.  For one day you will succeed and I shall no longer be free.”

            “But I must.”

            “I shall strike a deal with you Light Wielder.  If you promise me you will not control me I shall give you a ride on my back tomorrow night.  Ponder your decision and I shall speak with you again tomorrow.” 

            I thought about this all the next day. I had become so obsessed with the lights that I could not resist this offer. And yet, how could I live the rest of my life not needing to control them. Night crept in quicker than I wanted and the Northern Lights spoke to me once again. 

            “What is your answer Light Wielder?” it said. “Do you wish to ride upon my back this night and forever resist your attempt to control me as you do towards the weaker lights?”

            “I will ride upon you and do as you ask.” My mind was made up. It was this or possibly never being able to do so. The idea of really being able to control the Northern Lights was foreign to my mind and seemed impossible, no matter how much it told me I could one day. 

            “Very well, Light Wielder. Prepare yourself for this. It will be nothing like anything you have ever seen. You must let go. Let the light guide you as you do each time you focus your powers.”

            As I mounted its back and we slowly drifted into the night sky, I felt something that I had never felt before.  I felt peace and a strange sensation.  I think it must have been joy.  It was…incredible.

            I had never seen such beauty.  Colors not seen before danced around and below me.  I found myself smiling like a small child would on Christmas morning.  It felt like I had always been there and yet I had been there too short a time.  I felt at home up there.  And then it stopped.

            I felt so lonely and empty, more than I had before. And in that moment, I made a choice. I could not give up what I felt and saw. Nothing in life could compare to it. Life itself would not be worth my time or trouble if I was forced to just walk away. 

            I channeled every portion of energy and power I could and had before. I knew I could not overpower the Northern Lights without it. I searched inside myself for everything. I built it up. So at the last moment of release, it would be the most powerful thing I had ever formed. 

            It wasn’t enough. I released it all and I pushed and pushed to overpower some area of this being. Yet, when I reached out to it, I realized too late that I wasn’t ready. I felt the amount of energy that truly made up the Northern Lights. And knew I was hopeless to accomplish my goal. 

           “You traitorous fool!” It yelled. The voice coming all around me, encircling me both in sound and light. “You thought overpowering me was possible? I am Aurora Borealis! To go back on your promise to me? I cannot forgive such an action."

            It was in that moment that I truly saw my mistake. So caught up in what I was shown, I thought it possible of me, in my limited power, to do this. But I realized then I could not.

            Aurora Borealis spoke one last time, its voice still surround, keeping me motionless and speechless in fear. "I shall punish you now, so that you never will have the chance to do such a thing again to me or any other. I shall cast you into eternal darkness. In a space so void of light, that only that which you can create yourself will be possible. This will be the brightest: that small lamp you began with you shall also end with. You shall live the rest of your days in this realm."

            As I write this, even the light I was once able to produce now fades. I know I shall soon be in complete darkness. I now understand the great depths of my mistake. If I could, I would choose differently and much more wisely.

           But I can't.

Day 10: Pickles--A Poem by Olivier

My thoughts on pickles are these:

Pickles are tasty with all kinds of cheese.

Their green warty skin

Is delicately thin

And encases the delicious insides.

 

Bread and butter pickles are sweet,

But dill pickles do better with meat.

As for hamburger pickles, they’re vile,

But I suppose I can handle them while

Eating with potatoes deep fried. 

Day 9: Dream Big

"Don’t tell me the sky’s the limit when there are footprints on the moon."---Paul Brandt

 

           This is one of my favorite quotes from a song by Paul Brandt called "There's a World Out There".  I like the quote, not the song as much (it's super country).

           It is an encouragement to dream and to dream big.  

           You should do your best to follow your dreams.  It may take a long time for them to come true and they might not at all, but they are worth having.  Dreams give you something to work towards, something to look forward to.

          You may be disappointed if they don’t come true, but then again, you may find yourself happily living them.  

          It’s a risk to pursue your dreams and put them on the line, but it could be rewarding.  It is a risk I’m willing to take and I hope you are too.

Day 8: Of Pickles and Peanut Butter Toast

             Pickles are delicious. 

             Peanut butter toast is delicious.

             Together…I’m not so sure.

             I have had peanut butter toast with salami, which is pretty decent, but pickles are quite a bit different than salami.

             I can’t really say peanut butter pickle toast is disgusting because I haven’t tried, but I will anyways.

             Peanut butter pickle toast is disgusting.

             Maybe one day I will try peanut butter pickle toast and change my mind, but until that time comes, I am of the opinion that peanut butter pickle toast is not edible or eatable or something that you should put in your mouth.

Day 7: The Oddest Thieves: Part One

                Now Rodger was roughly prodded down a molding staircase that groaned and moaned and popped with every step.  He, with the man poking and prodding him, miraculously reached the bottom without falling through the rotting wood.  The brute of a man pushing Rodger, reached around him and turned a drooping doorknob attached to a sagging door.  The door screeched open and Rodger was thrown inside.  

               Rodger heard the door slam behind him as he landed on his hands and knees.  Bugs skittered across the floor inches from his nose.  He quickly pushed himself to his feet.

              He was now standing in a room lit by a single lightbulb suspended from the ceiling and clothed with grime.  The room was a miniscule square with a desk shoved into one corner and stacks and stacks of books everywhere else.  Rodger coughed as a puff of smoke drifted from the desk towards him.

            “Welcome to my humble stove,” said a rasping voice. 

            The smoke cleared and Rodger was greeted by a grimacing face.  It was round and sweaty with stubble covering his chin and neck.  Tiny eyes watered as they peered at him through round spectacles.  A fat hand wrapped itself around an equally fat cigar.  He wore a bright red dress shirt with a too short black tie covered with mustard stains.

            The man began wheezing and coughing. 

            “Tony,” he yelled (or at least attempted to through his coughing fit).

            “Yes, boss,” said another man popping up from behind an especially large stack of books

            “Why is I surposed to put this awful thing in mys mouth?”

            “It’s intimmerdating, sir."

            “But it feeles like I’m swallowing a fire breathin dragon.”  The man behind the desk threw the cigar at Tony.

            Tony yelped and leapt for it sending books in all directions.

            “Anywars,” said the man behind the desk, “welcomes to my humbler stove.”

            Tony snuffed out the cigar and stood up.

            “It’s not stove, boss.  It’s abode,” said Tony.

            The man behind the desk looked confused.  “I was under the oppression that abode was what yous cooked stuff inside.”

            “It’s impression, and stove is what you cook stuff in.  You’re just getting the two mixded up.”

            “Alright then, exaspertated sigh.”  The man behind the desk sighed.

            “Ya don’t have to say it when you’re gonna sigh, boss,” said Tony.

            “Whatevs, Tony.  Go reads your books while I exterminate this one.”  The man gestured in Roger’s direction.

            Roger had been listening to this conversation and was puzzled at it’s oddity.  At the word “extermination” he finally snapped from his fog.

           “Wait, exterminate!” yelled Roger.

           “Oy,” yelled back the man behind the desk, “keeps it down a wee bit.”

           “Keep it down?!  You’re trying to exterminate me and I don’t even know why!”

           Tony in the corner with a book in his lap piped up.  “I’m sorry, the boss is getting his words mixded up again.  He means interrogate.”

          “Oh,” said Roger relaxing a little.  Only a little.

          “Oh, yeahs.  Sorrys bout that,” said the man behind the desk.  “Nows to infuriating the prisoner.”

          “Interrogating,” said Tony.

          “Silence, Tony,” said the man behind the desk standing up.  The man walked around the desk and stood in front of Roger.

           Confusion showed on Roger’s face.

           “Whats is it?” asked the man.

           “It’s just,” Roger paused for a moment, “you’re wearing sweat pants.”        

           “Sees, Tony,” said man, “I told ya I was supposed to wear them stripey black ones.”

           Tony grunted.  He knew he wouldn’t hear the end of this for weeks.  When his boss was right about something he made sure to remind Tony of it every other minute for way too long.

           “Admit I’m right, Tony.  Admit it.”  The man was now dancing around the room.  “Aaadmit iiiit.”

            “Fine, you were right,” moaned Tony.

            “Whats did ya say?” asked the man cupping his hand around his ear.

            “I said you were right.”

            “LOUDER!”

            “YOU WERE RIGHT!”

            “He admitted it, he did.”

            The man went into a fit of laughter that made him fall to his knees while Tony grumbled in his corner.

            Rodger took this opportunity to look for a place to escape.  Looking at the door behind him he could see shadows moving from the crack beneath the doorway.  He didn’t want to run into the man that had dragged him in here so he looked for another way out.  It was then that he noticed a molding door behind the desk.

            After making sure Tony and his boss were still distracted, Rodger moved quickly but quietly to the door.  He quickly checked to make sure the two men weren’t paying attention he began turning the doorknob.  It squealed as he turned it and the laughter suddenly ceased.  

            Rodger turned the doorknob the rest of the way and swung the door open.  He heard a yell behind as he looked into the room and saw piles upon piles of gold and jewels of immense variety.  Then he felt three-hundred pounds of human tackle him and teeth sink into his calf.

            Rodger screamed and swung hitting the man in the face.  The man’s head snapped back tearing a chunk of flesh from Rodgers leg.  Blood gushed from Rodger’s calf.  He then heard a thump at the door he had been thrown through and the door was kicked from it’s hinges.

            Two men Rodger thought looked familiar, stepped through the doorway, each holding a two-by-four.  The man in the front was muscular and wearing an army green trench coat.  He had a light brown beard with traces of red and a grey fedora sat atop his head.  The man behind him was tall and quite skinny.  He was wearing a cowboy hat and a windbreaker jacket with sleeves noticeably too short for the man’s long arms.  

            Tony lunged at the muscular man who swung his two-by-four to meet with Tony’s jaw.  Tony collapsed instantly upon connection.  Tony’s boss stood up and began yelling at them.

            “Traitors!  You is going to be payin dearly.”

            The fat boss took one step forward and pushed of his desk, flying forward at the odd duo in the doorway.  Rodger, who had been a pitcher in baseball as a child, reached beside himself and picked up a golden bar.  With one smooth motion, he let it fly and the boss went limp in midair as the bar bounced off his head.  

            The muscular man rushed forward and picked Rodger up, easily placing him over his wide shoulders.  A taxi crashed through the wall and the muscular man tossed Rodger inside, following along with his tall friend.  

            Rodger could hear sirens and the taxi sped away.    

Day 6: The Captain's Demise

            “I have been expecting you, Captain.”

            A red glow silhouetted Darth Vader.  His lightsaber hummed as he held out his hand in a C shape in front of him. 

            The man in an almost mustard shirt pulled at his collar and dropped his weapon.  The weapon clattered and skittered across the floor while the man fell to his knees holding his throat.  He tried to speak, but could not.  The man crumpled to the ground unable to breath.  He writhed for a moment and then was still. 

           Darth Vader lowered his hand to his side and nudged the body of Captain Kirk with his toe.   He was dead.

Day 5: Dan and His Search for the Perfect Pair of Tweezers

Dan climbed the steps on his front porch and entered his house through his thoroughly cleaned front door.  He sat on the staircase and untied his shoes, pulled them off, and carefully shoved the shoelaces inside.  He climbed the ten steps to the upstairs and turned left into the kitchen.  He instantly went to the polished table and sat down.

Rows upon rows of tweezers lay on the table in perfect order from biggest to smallest.  He had prepared this yesterday when he knew he would be finishing the fence in his backyard, which meant he would surely get a sliver of some size.

Dan had been correct and that was why he now sat at the table in his kitchen.  He studied the rows of tweezers with a magnifying glass to find the correct size.  Every now and then, he would pick a pair up and measure them against his sliver.  Dan was always very careful to place the tweezers back where they belonged straight and even with the rest of them.  Finally, after browsing through the rows, Dan found the right pair.  He reached for it and smiled. 

Someone knocked on the door.

Dan jumped up knocking his knee on the table and sending his chair careening backwards.  He limped to the door red in the face and trying not to scream.  Dan reached the door and opened it, massaging his throbbing knee at the same time.

“Hello,” said the man at the door, “my name is Phil Hill and I’m a door to door salesman.  Would you be interested in buying a pare of tweezers?”  The man pulled a large pair from his pocket.  “This pair will be yours for just nine-ninety-nine.”

Dan snatched the tweezers from Phil Hill’s hand and gauged to see whether they would be the correct size or not.  They weren’t. 

Dan handed the pare of tweezers back to Phil Hill and closed the door.  Ten steps up and two to the left and he was back in the kitchen.  Dan shrieked. 

When he had bashed his knee on the table pairs of tweezers had flown in every direction in the kitchen.  The ones left on the table were crooked and not in their designated place.

It took an hour and a half for Dan to restore his setup to how it had been.  Now he had to find the correct pare of tweezers again.  This took another half an hour, but Dan finally spotted the correct pair and went to grab it.

First, the ground began shaking and then the house and then the table.   The tweezers rattled and bounced and the pair of tweezers Dan was about to grab, jumped from his reach and into the pile of to other tweezers shifting around.

The earthquake only lasted about ten seconds, but it was enough to ruin Dan’s set up again. 

It only took an hour for Dan to put everything in it’s designated place again, for the second time.  It only took him ten minutes to find the correct pair of tweezers. 

He smiled as he reached to pull the sliver out of his hand.  His smile disappeared as he  looked at the sliver.  He laid the tweezers on the table and poked the sliver.  It stuck to his finger. 

All this time it hadn’t been a sliver, but a thin piece of thread disguised as a sliver.

Dan smacked his forehead against the table.

Tweezers shifted and moved.

Dan groaned.

Day 4:

           Jose’s lungs burned as he ran.  He could still hear the yelling behind him.  He knew they were gaining on him.  He was faster, but the adrenaline was starting to escape his system and he knew they could last longer at running than him.  He needed to find somewhere to hide and fast.  

           Jose spied an slightly ajar window leading into a boarded-up building.  Without stopping to wonder if it was such a good idea, he leapt and grabbed onto the edge and squeezed through the crack.  He waited for a moment and listened to see if those chasing him had seen him enter or no.

           He could hear them right outside in the alley.

           “Where did that little jerk go!?” one of them yelled.

           Jose recognized his voice as the leader of the gang, Reggie Dalton

           “Reggie, look,” another member of the gang was saying, “that window is open.

           “That skinny little twerp could fit through there.  Open it up all the way and we’ll look inside.”  

            Jose didn’t wait any longer.  He raced further into the dark building.  He heard the slap of feet on the floor behind him.  Jose’s eyes were quickly getting used to the dark, and he noticed a bunch of old dryers and washing machines and realized that this building must have used to be an old laundromat.  One especially large washing machine had its door open, so Jose jumped inside and pulled the door shut.

            Jose heard the muffled noises of Reggie’s gang walking and talking, and then he heard a different voice.

            “What are you boys doing in here!?” the voice yelled.  It sounded like an older fellow with a smoking problem.

            “Nothing,” gulped Reggie.  “We were just looking for a friend of ours.

            “Well, he won’t be in here.  Now get out."

            Reggie seemed to get his self confidence back.  

            “We ain’t leaving til we find our little friend, old man,” he said.  “Got a problem with that?”

            “Yes, I do,” said the old man.

            Jose heard a click and Reggie’s gang gasp.

            “He’s got a gun,” yelped Reggie.  “Let’s get outta here.”

            The gangs footsteps faded along with their urging each other to run faster or get out of the way.

            Jose was now alone with an old man he didn’t know, who had a gun.

            Understandably, he decided to stay in the washing machine in the hopes that the man would go away and Jose would then be able to slip away unnoticed.  Unfortunately for Jose, that didn’t happen.

            After a couple minutes of listening to the old man grumble, the door to the washing machine opened.  Jose held his breath expecting the old man to unload his gun into the washing machine.  Instead, the man threw something small and furry inside and slammed the door shut.  The old man pressed some buttons on the washing machine and turned a knob.

           “One thousand, three hundred, and twenty-sixth times a charm,” he said.  “Here we go.”

           The old man pressed one more button. 

           At first nothing happened, and then the washing machine shuddered to life and began revolving.  Jose tried yelling, but it had picked up too much speed and taken the breath out of him.  It spun faster and faster and faster until…it stopped.  Just all of the sudden it stopped.

          Jose didn’t care if the old man saw him anymore, he needed to throw up and he wasn’t going to do that trapped in a small enclosed space.  He kicked the door open and emptied his stomach’s contents onto the grass.

          Wait, thought Jose, grass?  I’m inside a building.

          Jose stood up and looked around.  He was standing in the midst of a forest teeming with wildlife.

         “But,” said Jose.  

         He slowly spun in circles, trying to take it all in and noticed a mouse jump out of the washing machine he had just been in.

         Jose shook his head and then he passed out.

 

 

 

 

 

Day 3: Drywall

    

          Drywall.

          What could be more boring than drywall?

          Nothing comes to mind.

           

            I will now give you the dictionary definitions of “dry” and “wall” for absolutely no reason whatsoever.

 

            Dry: having no moisture; not wet or damp.

           

            That was one of the approximately twenty definitions of dry.

 

            Wall:  an upright structure of wood, stone, brick, etc., serving to enclose, divide, support, or protect.

           

            That was one of the many definitions of wall.

 

            My conclusion: drywall is incredibly boring just like it’s dictionary definitions.  Anyone working with drywall is to be pitied unless their personalities are as dry as the walls they are putting up.

Day 2: The Hyperbolized Advertures of Oli and Ali (Section A)

           Oli and Ali were two brothers that lived in a small town.  Ali was the elder and wiser of the two.  Oli was the younger more likeable one. 

           They grew up in a little house with four elder siblings and two parents.  Their family was considered large and their parents were often given strange looks and glances when they were on a family outing with their army of children.

           The two brothers grew up in the same room and the same bunkbed.  Oli was on the bottom which was unfortunate because Ali was fat and the bed was constantly groaning under his immense weight, leading Oli to believe he would surely be crushed in his sleep and die.  Much emotional trauma came from this.  

           As they grew older Ali became less fat, as did Oli which was impressive seeing how skinny he already was.  Oli grew taller almost to the extent that he was the tallest in the family (he still might, he’s not done growing yet.  Beware brother Allan, beware.)  Ali wasn’t as tall, but he was more muscular.  Oli wasn’t muscular at all and rather looked like a thin stick.  Not just a stick, a thin stick.  

           Oli did have the curly hair though.  That made up for it somewhat until all the womenfolk began touching it and rubbing it and petting it.  

           “Can I touch your hair?” they would ask

           Oli being the gentleman he was, screamed no and fled for his life with a crowd of stampeding women after him.  Ali’s muscle came in very handy here as he stepped in front of the parading women (much like stepping in front of a charging rhinoceros) and held out his hand.  They seeing his muscles stopped dead in their tracks.  After that incident Oli debated going bald, but decided to just cut the majority of it off.  He didn’t really want to look like a white Megamind.

 

Day 1: Shopping For Trouble

          Costco on a Saturday is always absurdly busy, and this Saturday was no exception.  I had already been there way, way, way, too long, but I was almost finished.  All that was left was to find the meat.   

          With my shopping cart already overflowing with food and other sale items I really didn’t need, I approached the meat section.  I stepped away from my cart for five seconds, and I mean five seconds, to pick up a hunk of raw pork loin.  Five seconds was all it took for that biker looking guy, with big muscles and a ponytail, to steal my overflowing cart that had taken way, way, way, too long to overfill.  

          Sometimes it is really hard to be a good Christian fellow…so instead of slapping the guy on the back of the head with the hunk of raw pork loin in my hand, I put on my most charming smile and casually walked up to him.

          “Excuse me, Sir,” I said.

          And what did he do?  He ignored me and kept on walking.

          Praying for patience and that this man wouldn’t murder or maim me, I walked up to him again.

          “Excuse me, Sir,” I said again.

          This time he stopped and stared at me.  At least I think he did.  I couldn’t really tell because he was wearing sunglasses.

          “I think you must have accidentally taken my cart instead of yours.”  I was now sweating profusely from places I didn’t think you could sweat from.

          “It wasn’t an accident,” the man said.  He said this in such a way that I thought he might want to kill me.

          Don’t show your fear, I said to myself.  He can probably sense fear.

          I took a deep breath hoping it wouldn’t be my last, and followed after the man who was now moving towards the tills.  I ran to catch up to him, and then kept pace with him as I explained how long I had been in the store already.

          The man stopped again and I’m quite sure my heart did too----for a moment.

          “And you are just wasting more time trying to convince me to return your cart to you,” the man said.

          “Right you are,” I squeaked.  “Have a nice day.”

          I hurried away to get a new cart.

          Some things are not worth dying for.  Convincing a scary biker dude to return your shopping cart is one of them.