From a friend..
From a friend..
I am having such a hard time here. Such a busy week. I missed my Wednesday and Friday deadline and Today I just have no motivation 😦
I’m working on the rewrite and I have a good scheme but its just slow to come.
Here is the plan. The guards are putting the prisoners into the gated prison five at a time. The infected are hanging unusually close to the gate causing extra stress. I think I’m just lost in stress and trying to do too much.
Here is my vision at the moment: The prisoners stand at a long steel fence. Outside the fence is the militia and inside the fence is a tall, grassy wonderland of cannibals. They currently sit within the grass waiting for victims to approach.
“Why are they sitting?” It’s a good question… Maybe they are tired of standing?
“All the predators in the world sit, right?”
Right, I think it’s reasonable to assume that infected, zombie-like monsters sit.
Anyways, the prisoners cannot see the infected till its too late so the first group to go runs as the others, outside the fence, watch. They leave separate beaten down trails as one trail stops suddenly then another. The prisoners disappear into the grass. This leaves the rest of the prisoners, even some guards stuck. Their feet glued to the ground. The Sergeant of the Guard shouts, kindly smacking the silent adhesive from the guards feet and they push forward the next group.
“How can they sentence a child to death?” Erik asks. The others around Erik stay silent, a fact that Erik still struggled to deal with. A guard walked past the group. Erik spoke up and asked about the girl.
“She is part of a burglary family,” the guard says.
“She is only a child.”
The guard stopped. His face blushed and his lips were held tight. “The young girl has no other family. She will not survive outside the walls. Would you take her from her family?” The guard then walked away. Erik watched the Summers family and the others wait for the gate to open. Another guard grabbed five others and waited.
Erik stood waiting with four others. They stood near the gate when it opened to let in the Summers family and the others. Three guards surrounded the group of prisoners as they entered the gate. One guard, front and the others on each side. They swung left and right nervously as they stepped forward. The gate closed and the guards secured it. Moments later, the front guard fired the first shot. An infected woman, her blackened face growling fell backward. The shot was followed by a second then a barrage of shots as the infected stood.
The guards separated from the group of prisoners, but not before Steve Summers grabbed the front guards rifle. The guard fought back throwing a meaty fist into the chest of the older man but released the rifle when an infected man became too close. The other two guards sprinted to the gate only to be stopped by four infected. One of the guards fired to the left. The bullets escaped through the infected head and toward the others outside the gate. Erik fell to the ground followed by the other prisoners still strapped together.
The other guards returned fire and downed the remaining infected along with the two guards. They opened the gate and grabbed the wounded guards and helped them into the gate. More infected appeared within the grass. The Sergeant of the Guard ordered the automated guns toward the infected. After the first shot the group within the walls ran as fast as they could away from the carnage.
“Alright, alright!” Said the Sergeant. “If we want to get out of here alive we need to release the other prisoners.”
The guard closest began to release a large black man to Erik’s left. The man towered over Erik and many of the others. Once the leather straps were off he moved to Erik’s right and began to release the others. Erik expected the large black man to move, or to try to escape but he did not. He stood, just as he had been.
“Stop! Stop! You idiot. Release them in the walls not out here.” The guard stopped. The other guards pointed their rifles at the prisoners.
“Move them all out!” The guards shoved Erik and the others. The automatic guns fired above until nothing moved within the field inside the walls.
“Turn off the guns and open the gate. Screw guiding them.”
The gate opened slowly. The first five stepped into the walls followed by Erik and the others.
I wanted to address Same-ness and the relation to the identity crisis we are currently having in the US.
The problem is human nature’s desire for Same-ness. we naturally want everything and everyone to be the same. I understand this because it works for me too. I don’t want anyone with a different opinion or a different way of life. It causes conflict. All the wars in history came down to a difference of opinion. So the desire for Same-ness is perfectly logical. Now:
The United States of America grew from our desire to be different. We rejected that Same-ness. We wanted the freedom to be different. We are still different. I am a huge fan of British shows. I listen to the perception of Americans and it is consistently ‘different’. The ‘Americans’ do this and that.. this is who we are. We are different. We do what we want.
Human nature is currently pulling us back to this notion that it’s better to be the same.
– We must have the same religious values.
– We must all be the same race, or at least act alike.
– We must talk the same and think the same
The United States is not the same. We are a melt of nations. Hundreds of different thoughts. This is what makes us great. This is the country that we built. Our founders built this country, not off of religion, gender or race. It was built to promote Freedom. We are all free to be different.
Stand up and be different. It’s ok. It’s who we are
Thanks for listening
AH! I have writer’s block. 😦
I’m trying too hard. I have a lot of noise. My girls are bugging me. Anything to explain away the fact that I have no way to explain what happens when you’re stuck in a field of grass with zombies. I have rewritten it in my head and I think it sucks. I made some changes to the post before it and it’s thrown everything into chaos.
This is an attempt to free-write my way into the sunset on the other side of the moon.
Stuck in the grass with hungry sub-humans eating your neighbors. What a terrifying thought but where are the words? Basically, my story is now stuck… No forward progress. I’m really going to have to go back a few to regain this. .. … ….
I’m so stressed out. I need to write some things off my chest. I’m quickly realizing how much I am like my father. Trying to teach my daughters to be respectful but getting a face full of disrespect because I’m old fashion. At least that my guess. Being a little respectful, is that old fashion. Holding off on the swearing. Refusing to use derogatory terms. It’s like I am on the outside screaming “Come on.” or even on the inside trapped in a world that wants to spread hatred and disrespect everywhere.
I was going to go on but I hate doing this crap…. the belly aching.. On to a story…
The Trials of the Century ———-
Jim stepped forward hands shackled to a loop in the waist of his pants.
“Mister Crow, do you understand the charges.”
Jim Crow stood staunch and defiant.
“I don’t have to speak to you. I have the right to be silent.”
“You also have the right to say whatever you want,” reminded the judge as he prepared for the stiff rebuttal.
“Yes, I do,” stated Jim as he growled.
“Mr. Crow, you have spent years festering within the community. Your reign of terror spreading like a cancer. Your actions separating the bipedal human community into haves and have-not. I sentence you to Shut the Hell up!!”
The judge then stood, grabbed the desk that sat in front of him and tossed it into the air. It floated slowly over the head of the court appointed attorney and eventually landed within the empty seats of the juror. The crash of the wood shook everyone within the court room but when the eyes returned to the judges desk it had reappeared.
“Bailiff take this man away.” A large man, dressed in black walked quickly toward Jim Crow. His frame spread large against the smaller man and the lawyer. The Bailiff grabbed Jim Crow and dragged him from the room.
“Next up!” The judge stood. Towering over the room. He then shrank as a man dressed in a sharp suit and tie stood in the center of the room. Christian was shackled similarly to Jim Crow and stood shoulders straight and confident.
“Do you understand the charges?”
Christian looked upon the judge and said confidently. “I only have one judge. You hold no power over me.”
The judge paused. His lip grumbled slightly. He then slapped a meaty hand upon the desk and said. “I hold no power over you? You are not in need of any judgement within this courtroom. You have held my position for years. Judge, juror and executioner. You stand over the others in the world holding your arrogant point of view. Judging others before your jaded views. Your book tells you to judge none. Treat others as you would like to be treated but you continue to hover over others. A beacon of what is right to do.”
Christian stood silent. Lips sealed tightly.
“Bailiff, remove this person. I have nothing else to say to this man.” The large man dressed in black stood and approached Christian. He grabbed the man by the shoulder and lead him from the room. “Next!” Shouted the judge.
Next to the enter the court was a tall man. His head hidden and his arms shackled near the front of a large white robe.
“What is the defendants name?” Ordered the judge. The words erupting from his powerful throat. The Bailiff stood and spoke. His voice measured. “The defendant has declared no name, judge.”
“Interesting,” the judge says as he studies the defendant. He inspects the robe and the darkness under the hood. “Have you declared no face and no existence?”
The defendant shifts slightly then speaks clearly. “I will be respected. Even by you.”
The judge turns his head slightly. “You feel slighted by me? You feel I’ve no respect for you? I’ve never met you. I don’t know who you are? How can you declare I have a lack of respect?”
The man stands quiet.
“Do you understand the charges?” Asks the judge.
“I do not.”
“Ah!” The judge sat back. “Finally, an honest answer. Bailiff bring the other into the court room. Within moments all three men stood in front of the judge. Jim Crow, Christian and ‘the man that would not be named’.
“You will all be charged with arrogance, hate mongering, murder, rape and allowing the bipedal human race an opportunity to spread the insanity of your thoughts. With this charge a sentence is returned. You will be instructed to watch from above as your followers destroy what is left of the human race. You will be forced to observe the failures and successes of each.”
The small lawyer steps forward. “Judge, this is unjust. Can the defendants do anything to avoid this sentence?”
The judge stands and the lawyer winces. The judge walks from the desk and down to the floor of the courtroom. “My friend,” he says to the lawyer. “The world is full of wonderful people, religions and thoughts. These defendants will not allow the freedom to view all that is wonderful in this world. They are terrified that lack of judgement will make them irrelevant. To treat everyone justly will force the hand of an imperfect human race to do what is unexpected and figure out how to do things right. These defendants do not have the confidence to allow the voice within us all to do what’s right. This, my friend, is why they cannot avoid this sentence.”
The judge then turned and stepped back up to the desk. “Bailiff take them away to watch their own handy work. Let me know if it all works out.”
Was trying to write the whole story ‘200 year old man’ but its so hard for me to type everything in one session. I’m going to start posting the pieces of the story till its completed. It’s interesting as I explore my writing skills. I seem to have become very comfortable with blogging but blogging is in itself uncomfortable because it is public. Any time someone could take my work and this is ashame… BUT…
This is the crux of the issue with my blogging. I enjoy it a great deal. I like the idea of people reading my work. I like the idea, the freedom to write what I want and finding that others may agree or disagree.
Lastly, I like to write. The power of a god to build anything, anywhere at any time. It’s such a tough job but it’s my favorite job. That’s my time goodnight.. next up 200 year old man- 1st part
My blog tends to be all over the place lately. Other then my CityofZombies posts and the other wonderful posts I add from others. My addition of Monster stories has been missing. I have plenty of material to add and I promise to make some changes this year. I have loved monster stories since I first watched Dracula when I was a boy. A little secret I will share. I was terrified of vampire till I was 16 years old. I would wrap something around my neck every night so I would not be bitten. Luckily, I never strangled myself.
Often nights, I would envision monsters in the closet. I would imagine shapes and build the monsters in my closet. I spent many nights terrified that I would be attacked by human monsters. Noises interrupting my sleep at night. The house creeping and squeaking. I have always have the most vivid imagination. Imagine 3D images 24/7 prancing around within feet of your face every day. I think of it a lot of times like a medium of monster-dom. Instead of listening and seeing the dead I see fictional monsters.
I watched the last Night of the Museum tonight and I couldn’t help loving the sights and sounds of the creatures in the British museum. It was like watching a whole new world develop right before my eyes. This excitement is what keeps me moving. The idea of writing something no one else has ever seen just thrills me.
My novel City of Zombies should be completed by June. I am back to posting once a week but I am so close to the end of the novel. I look forward to thwarting the zombie invasion below the streets and doing something with Gabriel. Not really sure what I want to do to him. My monsters will be all over that world by the time I’m done.
My other monsters will be populating this blog. I have so many unfinished works in my journals and even within this blog. I will be rewriting some key moments and recounting the journal entries. I have a great take on Ten Little Indians by Agatha Christie. One of my favorite books. I wrote it years ago, never finished.
Last up: I will be suiting up for a brand new web address this year. My Monsters and Me will be becoming a .com or whatever strikes me as interesting. I plan to start this next week. To y’all out there have a great year.
Thanks matthew r. stitt
I’m reading the Power of Awareness by Neville Goddard and its got me really thinking about the power of assumption. Part of the chapter that I just finished made the point that assumption is a monster for humans that want to be happy.
Assumptions rule my life. I assume that the couple down the street could care less about me. I assume that people at work are counting on me to fail. I assume that my wife is playing mind games. All of these assumptions are unproven and wrong.
Correcting this problem with assumption will be monumental. Assumption is always standing upon both ears. Guessing what may be going on. I live so much of my life on estimation. Estimating what may happen so that I don’t get hurt? Is that the reason we rely on assumption. It’s similar to the current situation with the police.
The police are out to do a job but part of that job is assumption. This is such a dangerous part of the job. They are out to guess who is a criminal and who is about to commit a crime. Well we are not going to admit that we are criminal, right?
I see a lot of assumptions in the argument that police profile only black people but I think that’s wrong. The police profile everyone. It is a sharp assumption of who could be dangerous. I think its wrong to run around with assumptions, either as an officer or a victim of profiling.
Anyways, I got off track… my goal and the reason for writing this is that I want to try to stop assuming that life hate me.
Life really cares less whether I succeed or fail. Life is just a word that spells out birth thru death.. nothing more or less.
The individual is responsible for his or her own happiness. It’s not God’s responsibility.
Large new post coming.. Rewriting an old favorite of mine so that it fits an apocalyptic theme