my diaryuh

[mydiaryuh-blog]

Unknowing

“It’s what you don’t see that is the root of fear.”

He stood up, clutching a heavy glass bottomed bar glass. He placed it firmly on the wooden bar, and removed his coat from the rack. I turned to him, and caught his glance - he continued.

“Think of the scariest stories told by your favorite authors, friends and family. I’m not talking campfire stories, or something under your bed. I’m talking about the stories that have a darkness to them. An abscess that is so thick that the truth of the story can’t even come out. The fear of any story is what the storyteller isn’t telling you. If it’s something they witnessed or contrived, they saw and experienced more than they can tell. And when it’s a dark story, that lack of information is the true test of fear.”

The old man whipped his coat over his shoulders, shoving both arms in, and shrugging his shoulders.

“What do you mean? What if they tell the whole story with no omissions?” I asked desperately, I got the sense that the old man was cracking, but I didn’t know yet where to find the cracks.

The old man groaned and leaned forward, placing his hand against the bar.

“If I tell you I see a ghost, right now, would you believe me?”

I nodded quickly, playing along.

“So you knew about the ghost the whole time? You knew he stood above you, and hasn’t looked away from you the entire time?

A shiver shot down my back.

“Are you afraid now that you know, or are you afraid that for all this time, you had no idea? The idea of anything is always there, the fear of anything is always there, regardless if you are aware of it or not.”

He straightened back up, and pushed his way out the bar doors, disappearing into the traffic of carriages.

[mydiaryuh-blog]

The Forgotten 8

New York City has its collection of subway lines, most commonly travelled by commuters and tourists alike. And before the subway was managed and maintained by MTA (Metropolitan Transit Authority) there were several different companies that managed their own transit lines. BMT became the managing district of the Q, N and 8 lines. It’s main purpose was to connect Queens to Manhattan via Grand Central Station and Astoria. Running under the East River, the 8 line served a vital role of establishing a connection from Queens and providing access to Midtown with time saving residential transit to and from Manhattan.

The 8 line began service in February of 1917. Publically, the 8 line had a short lived stint of service, being replaced by other lines that made it’s current route irrelevant. In reality the line was launched with a litany of problems that the BMT at the time did not want to go public. When the service began, it was slated to use the Steinway Tunnel, a common access point into Manhattan under the East River. However, weeks before the launch, a test train was found abandoned while just coming out of the Steinway Tunnel. The 8 line test train had nearly completed its first leg of the test, stopping at each stop and reaching Grand Central, to only turn around and do it once more. Authorities couldn’t figure out the whereabouts of the driver, Henry Watlock, who had been an experienced driver. BMT drove the train back to Grand Central, and completed the test without anything more to report. Henry Watlock was reported missing, and no further investigation was made in his whereabouts. BMT at the time was under pressure to provide transportation to the city, and having the public be distracted by a missing subway driver on it’s brand new line was not the press it wanted to have. The night before the opening, drivers took to their trains, the first public 8 line driver was an Irishman named Connor O'Connell, who, by midway through his first shift on February 1st, said he was afraid to go back in through the Steinway Tunnel. When his shift lead asked him what he was afraid of, he said he continued to see figures in the tunnel. Driving the 1900’s Lo-V subway cars is similar to today’s subway car design. The driver sits privately in the front of the subway car, and is the only one with access to what is seen in front of the train. The current Lo-V subway cars in use on the 8 line were outfitted with more advanced safety equipment for the drivers, such as a double lock door and a completely sealed driver access door (other cars had windows in the doors between cars). O’Connell insisted to his boss that he drive it down the Steinway tunnel for himself, but O’Connell refused to be in the cabin. O’Connell’s boss obliged and guided the new 8 train down into the Steinway Tunnel midway through it’s opening day of operation.

The train arrived back in Grand Central, and O’Connell eagerly waited to hear what his boss had seen. His report was that when the train dipped down into the tunnel that in the distance he could see a man standing on the tracks. His immediate response was to slow the train down, grabbing the break and slowing down the speeding Lo-V train, suddenly the man disappeared, and “jumped” back into view several feet in front of the train. O’Connell reported a very similar incident, adding that the man he saw stood headless in the tunnel. And later  reported that the man’s head is rocking back and forth from shoulder to shoulder furiously.

Both O’Connell and his boss kept the incident to themselves, and decided that if they told anyone that it would come out that they were both crazy and would draw attention to their jobs or mental state. The country at the time was beginning to enter the First World War, and not too long after, the Great Depression. These men of course did not know of these facts, but had the awareness to continue along their jobs. Both men worked extended hours, rotating shifts on the 8 line. Passengers had no idea of the horror that both drivers experienced as they would enter the Steinway Tunnel. The men were worried that if another driver knew about it, that they may alert someone that there is a man on the tracks, and cause a shutdown of the line looking for a man that both O’Connell and his boss knew wasn’t real, or at least assumed so.

At the start of 1918, the two men had seen some variations of the man on the tracks. With more passengers taking the 8 train daily, the two men had to find ways to hide their horror each time they entered the tunnel. After an incident in which O’Connell saw the man down the way in the tunnel as he routinely does, O’Connell turned away and turned his back to the man. Refusing to look until the train reached, “the bright point.” A point in the line where the next subway station could be visible. O’Connell sensing the distance travelled turned back to face the tracks to only see the man standing directly in front of the operator window. His head rocking shoulder to shoulder. O’Connell pushed the train to go faster, and rushed through the rest of the tunnel. His increased speed and distracted look made the train miss the upcoming station. The man disappeared once the train reached light.

O’Connell stopped working for the BMT several months later, where he joined the army and was deployed to France where he went missing in action in the early part of 1919. His boss assumed the sole role of operating the 8 line. Passengers began reporting train issues to BMT about missing stops, and excessive speed when entering the Steinway Tunnel. In one reported incident, passengers could hear screaming from a man while in the tunnel as well as hard knocks against the door. O’Connells shift lead, who has remained unnamed due faults in the BMT incident reports and employee logs by what appears to be calculated error. It is assumed that the shift lead began removing his and O’Connells name from employee logs just after seeing the man on the tracks. O’Connells testimony of what was happening was written down and left in his apartment before leaving for France.

The shift lead operated the 8 line up until 1925. He, by all accounts, stopped interacting with the outside world, and instead would only work, many times working 17 to 20 hour days. The only break in the day was from when the line was shut down for the night. He would sleep on the train, then wake to operate it the next day. In May of 1925 the 8 line was operating on schedule, passengers waiting for the train to come to Vernon Blvd stop cited that they saw the train coming down the long straight stretch, it’s dull yellow headlights approaching - when the train lights disappeared. The typical amount of moments it took for the train to come down the tracks had passed, as more passengers continued to curiously look down the tunnel. Eyewitnesses report that the train lights become visible once again when it appeared that two figures had moved out of the way from standing in front of them. The train slowly approached the station, the driver compartment was completely empty and dark. The doors opened on their own, and the empty train waited for its daily service to begin. Once passengers realized that the train was conductorless, they alerted the authorities.

Police arrived and attempted to get into the empty driver compartment, only to find it locked from the inside. The windows didn’t open and were never broken. Upon searching the driver quarters, they saw just how the shift lead went mad. There were hundreds of pieces of paper of drawn figures on the tracks, several of which featured two figures, one with small bullet holes and a cloud of gas around him while he stood in military gear. The other figure either stood headless, or with his head down or over one shoulder. Notes had the same written note, “Darkness always finds you.”

These papers are stored in the NYPD case labs, and have never been released to the public. The 8 train continued to operate up until 1949. Several train operators mentioned an extreme eeriness upon entering the tunnel. One even reporting to see several figures, the headless man, who is assumed to be Henry Watlock, a bullet holed man, Connor O’Connell, and the mysterious shift lead, standing blankly against the headlights.

[mydiaryuh-blog]

Website Roast

Prompt: Roast websites in one sentence

Twitter: Useless information limited to 140 characters.

Facebook: Ego boosting in as few clicks as possible.

Instagram: Visually pretend to be an artist.

ESPN: Politically breaking sports.

Google: Ask the questions you are afraid to ask your doctor.

YouTube: Millennials learning about copyright laws.

Bing: Innovating yesterday’s news.

Gawker: Your bro roommate who read the news.

Reddit: The Internet as feared.

LinkedIn: The penny of the Internet

Buzzfeed: 10 Reasons You Can’t Make Dinner Yet

CNN: When relevant news fails to entertain, there is always a Wolf Blitzer segment on MH370.

Huffington Post: Bathroom reading material for democrats since 2008.

Wikipedia: High school plagiarism community hub.

Amazon: Three day shipping guaranteed at one day shipping prices.

Netflix: Can’t decide if a documentary on cooking is actually good or if it’s just because Netflix made it.

[mydiaryuh-blog]

What to be

What will define our generation? What will become of America? What will happen tomorrow? What will our future hold? What will be our legacy? What will we become? What will stop us? What will we be? What will I be? What will? Truth.

[mydiaryuh-blog]

Advice

The best thing you can do to truly live, is to leave the beaten path, wander into the woods, and build your own world. You will find, in time, that the world you built in the unknown of the forest, is greater than any world you could build in plain sight.

[mydiaryuh-blog]

Pretentious city [RLW series]

Prompt: Describe New York City in the most pretentious way possible

The skyscrapers of New York City are not the steel-ribbed concrete structures that fill the skyline. No, the skyscrapers of New York City are the people themselves. Self righteously stepping out onto the sidewalks as they navigate the “pseudo-rules” of traffic laws. The people on New York City are the ones that see the world as their big apple, and the city is merely a playground - an affirmation of this believe. A city where dreams can weather the worst of the east coast, while still carrying an attitude of self righteousness. Don’t dare tear down a dream of a New York City resident. They have a dream that has a better chance of being a reality than yours.

The attitudes, the swagger, the ego, whatever you want to call it, oozes out of the streets, and pools up in stagnant puddles only to be splashed about by hurried taxi drivers. Like a wolf, the city stares you down, intimidates you upon your arrival. Showing you the teeth, the growl, the bark, and in some cases the bite. If you choose to cower, to bend, the city will cage you. But if you stand your ground, look it back in the eye, and don’t even wince, you have tamed something that you otherwise couldn’t have found. New York City, for as fierce as it is, can be understood, tamed and lived with. The 100 year old filth, gum stains, hot dog water, among other unpleasantries are just part of the bargain. And if you had to have a city, personified as a dog, in your corner, I would take New York City 10/10. There maybe Portland Weird, Boston Strong, LA Famous, but nothing stands to New York City Tough

[mydiaryuh-blog]

Breakers [RLW Series]

Prompt: Write to a photo: http://imgur.com/wyXTzLD

[Part 1]

Scuba diving takes the lives of 200 people worldwide each year. Considered to be a high risk sport, it is one of the safest activities one can do. Attractive to thrill seekers, explorers, the curious and the thoughtful, diving brings something to the table for all walks of people. Salvage diving brings money into the equation, with a hint of history. Knowing that a ship carrying thousands of pounds of gold is sitting free at the bottom of the ocean is enticing. However, the stories that brought these ships to these deep sea fates are hardly understood.

In 1886, the CSA Harding was racing back towards friendlier waters, and to the south coast of the United States. Back in 1864, the Confederate government, sensing the collapse of Richmond, VA, loaded up its surplus of gold, silver, and money, and placed it on three civilian ships. The CSA Harding, was given the lump sum of gold, while the Walford and CSA Columbia were split with the remaining surplus. Each of the three ships were expected to leave from Charleston, SC, and deliver their cargo to three preset destinations. The destinations were specific to each ship, and without the visual confirmation of these exact ships in these exact ports, they wouldn’t be allowed entrance. The CSA Harding and CSA Columbia were both converted civilian ships that were owned and ran by the Confederate States Navy. They still operated under the names, Harding and Columbia but used the protection of the Confederate government to move goods in and out of Charleston, SC. Both ships were equipped with 14 cannons each, and a well experienced crew of sailors who were tight knit and resourceful. The Walford served as a dummy ship. It too was civilian, but was retrofitted with standard Confederate Navy equipment. The government intended that the Walford should be captured. On it, the captors would find a large sum of Confederate dollars and silver as well as union prisoners of war. The Walford was sent to run up north, and port in Nova Scotia. Setting a course away from the northern coastline, the government figured that seeing a Confederate warship moving north would be an instant target. And if the ship sank, the Union would be sinking its own prisoners and useless Confederate dollars. If it were captured, they would view this as a victory and a final blow to the shattered Confederate navy. Meanwhile, the actual value came in the CSA Harding and CSA Columbia. Both ships could slide by Union blockades with civilian paperwork. And if any questions were asked about the weapons, both crews would cite the war and it’s fear of Confederate pirates as its cause. Rarely, if ever, were ships hulls inspected. And even that had a cover. Using false paperwork, both ships had orders from Union senators to move large sums of gold that belonged to the United States government out from the Confederate hands. The ships true destinations were not New York City harbor, but El Placer, Mexico for the CSA Columbia and the CSA Harding was destined to Cayenne, French Guiana, whom the Confederate government had a strong relationship with.

Once the ships left port, the Confederate government's plan failed. The Walford was found just off the coast of Virginia, racing out into deeper oceans. The Union fleet that found the Walford noticed the CSA branding, and immediately opened fire. They didn’t bother to inspect the remains of the ship for bodies or cargo. Opting to fire, destroy, and run. The CSA Columbia met a similar fate. She was stopped just off the coast of Cuba by a Union blockade. The crew gave up it’s paperwork, and noticed that a second Union ship was approaching. The blockading crew informed the CSA Columbia that they had a new blockade policy, and that they would be boarding their ship and looking for anything suspicious. Panicking, the captain of the Columbia went back to his ship, and informed his crew that they will open fire on any ship that tries to board. With the second Union ship off its starboard side, and tie-off ropes being thrown, the Columbia opened fire against both ships. Sandwiched in between and inflicting close range damage before both Union warships returned fire, blowing the bow clean off of the CSA Columbia and sinking the ship within minutes. Its cargo load was noticed, as Union sailors noted the gold shine of the clear water as the ship settled to the bottom. And by 1910, the remains of the cargo has been recovered.

The CSA Harding had a different fate. It made it to it’s location, arriving in Cayenne in January of 1865. The Harding journey was fraught with close calls, and cautious travel. Her captain, Douglas Steele, was well experienced in the Gulf of Mexico, and many times the Harding would spend weeks at a time within small caribbean port towns. Once in Cayenne, the crew was informed that Richmond had not fallen yet. However, the French government has had no contact with any government official and could not confirm or harbor the Harding for any length of time due to the United States’ overwhelming political pressure and the French government losing faith in the Confederate cause. The crew and Captain Steele were given a week of safe harbor, but were advised that it would be best to return to Charleston, and use their cargo as a bargaining chip for safe release from the US government. Captain Steele, agreed to their course of action, however, different reports cite that he dropped all CSA branding, and renamed the ship. And instead of returning to the United States, took the ship and crew to Cuba, where they split the gold and sunk the Harding and blended into civilian life. Another theory, based of crew journals, which inexplicably stopped recording in 1865 after they arrived, mentions that Captain Steele ordered them to drop all weapons and blend into the population of Cayenne, from which Captain Steele would hire a new crew and return back to the United States as a civilian salvage vessel. In which he would personally sell off the cargo and use his riches to return to normalcy in the United States. Of all the theories, one fact does remain, the Harding did leave Cayenne with Captain Steele on board. The ship was reported off the Yucatan coast by a fisherman in 1877. Informing the local press that he noticed a long bearded crew. And again the ship was seen off of the Texas coastline in 1881. The last mention of the Harding was in 1886, where it stopped in a Key West port. Witnesses say the crew was panicked that they were being followed, and that there were spirits on their ship that won’t let them leave. Captain Steele hadn’t been seen by the crew for months, the crew said they could hear his insane screams in the middle of the night as he plotted a course. The civilians noticed that the supplies picked up in port wasn’t enough food for the crew that remained, and that many of the crew’s beard were stained pink with blood or wine. When the Harding left port, it was the last reported citing and mention of it until 1966 where a small schooner saw a four masted ship anchored off in the southern portion of the Atlantic, floating between South America and Western Africa. Alongside the ship, was another smaller schooner that was tied off to the larger ship. The smaller ship being a salvage ship circa 1890’s. The American fishing boat reported the location, and went back to port, where a larger search team was sent out. When the team arrived at the schooners location, the larger ship had disappeared, and the smaller salvage vessel showed clear damage. The ropes that tied off the two vessels were still attached. The smaller ship was listing to one side by the weight of something. Upon a quick inspection of the scene, the rescue crew found that the larger ship had sunk completely intact, and within a month of first contact. The smaller salvage boat was quickly searched, many of the scuba gear was medieval looking in comparison to the modern 60’s equipment. The dive scene was marked off, and speculation started to swirl as research began, what exactly happened, and what ship are they dealing with?

The first day of inspection went rather routinely. Upon investigating the schooner, they found little to no identification on the boat (aside from scribbled depth notes, and calculations). The name of the small ship was the Morgan. Upon further research, the Morgan left Norfolk, VA in 1895, leaving on reports of an unmanned vessel in the Atlantic. The crew was roughly between six to fifteen. Much of the details of exactly who were on board is completely unknown. Once the Morgan left port, the ship or crew were never seen again.

Looking through the dive calculations aboard the Morgan, the crew had estimated something was one hundred yards above the sea floor. However, the mystery is, why was the crew diving in the middle of the Atlantic? Even by modern standards, the dive is risky, and estimating that they were diving with medieval level technology in the early 20th century; their mission was close to suicidal. Perhaps, the crew of the Harding dropped their cargo over, and the crew of the Morgan were able to to investigate? However, not until they dive down, they won’t know what was left onboard the Harding or not.

[mydiaryuh-blog]

Ghosts

The ghosts that follow people don’t obey the common rule of thumb of physics, gravity or even rational thought. Many people find themselves staring down ghosts of the past in high stress situations. Triggering you to become an unexpected audience member as you witness something you otherwise thought was impossible. Understanding these stressful situations is one way to contain the past. But in some cases, the past can’t be controlled. And it becomes unwilling to leave. Thinking that, in an self-centered way, that ghosts of the past always pertain to you, is highly incorrect. Maybe the living are ghosts of the present?

[mydiaryuh-blog]

Flossers Anonymous [RLW Series]

Prompt: Stories shared at Flossers Anonymous  A fluorescent lit room, with dark gray shadows casting against scuffed white walls. Eleven metal fold out chairs are placed carefully in a circle. In them sits a variety of people, young and old, the well off and the well off the beaten path. Outside of this crusty old conference room is a fold out chalk sign, written on it: “Flossers Anonymous meeting at 7pm.” And underneath it, “Alcoholics Anonymous meeting CANCELLED.”

“Good evening everyone. Thank you all for showing up. I’m glad we have enough seats for everyone.”

The leader grimaces, then goes back to a straight face.

“If this is your first time, welcome, we are flossers anonymous, admitting the truth about your flossing habits.”

The leader of the room takes a pause, looking around at the nervous faces, making eye contact with each and every person.

“I just want to make this very clear, this is a safe place. No one is judging you for your flossing past. Today is a new day, and a day to grow healthy habits.”

Once more looking around, this time with a skewed smile.

“So who wants to share…”

Quickly interrupted by an older woman.

“I don’t floss because they floss will cut out your teeth, and I’m already missing three. See?”

She pulls down her lower lip, showing three gaps in her smile, all along the bottom row.

The leader chides back, “No Mrs. Hartley, you lost those teeth when you were demostrating what it might be like to base jump in last years meeting. Take this as a warning everyone, belly flopping on this tile floor will result in similar results to Mrs. Hartley.”

Nervous laughter follows the leaders warning.

“Thank you for sharing Mrs. Hartley. Can everyone say our groups motto?”

In a jumbled chorus the group responded back:

“FLOSSING MAKES YOU SMILE”

“Does anyone else want to share? Have we all flossed since our last meeting? Can I get a show of hands?”

Of the ten, excluding Mrs. Hartley who already had her hand up, only two raised their hands. The leaders chipper attitude droops down.

“Really? Really everyone? I’ve seen all of your at least one, except for that guy! And you all still come in each night?” Turning to Mrs. Hartley, “Are eating the free dental floss? Come on! This, uh, this is why I stay and wait for the Alcoholics Anonymous meetings! Ya’ll can do whatever, free floss is over there, Mrs. Hartley can lead the meeting for all I care. I’m done.”

[mydiaryuh-blog]

Netflix Bios [RLW Series]

Prompt: Rewrite Netflix movie bios The Village: Everything made sense in the beginning, but what is the on the other side will scare more than any “monster” could.

The Babadook: When horror-ible children’s pop-up book gives wings to nightmares, it’s up to this mother to face her own demons.

Scream: Question who, more than why. And don’t forget the horror movie rules along the way.

The Taking of Deborah Logan: Is memory loss a choice or the choice of something much more sinister?

Sharknado 2: Because why not?

[mydiaryuh-blog]

Snapchat Servers

Prompt: Internal logs of Snapchat servers

[1:06] Accidental selfie

[1:06] Accidental floor pic (with filter)

[1:06] Dick pic

[1:06] Dick pic

[1:06] Dick pic (same user)

[1:06] Selfie (no filter)

[1:06] Dick pick

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[mydiaryuh-blog]

Visions of sound

My interpretation of Morning View by Incubus. A storyline based on the lyrics, sounds and mood of the album. It helps to listen in on the album when understanding the story.

Pre: It’s early 2000’s and we follow a young man, Devin, in his late twenties, working in a California beach town. Overpopulated during the afternoons of summer, and quiet during the mornings and evenings. The man is a lanky, clean shaven, thin, tanned, long haired, and generally carries his own “musk” around him. Spending his days in late May, the weather finally turning to the warm end of 70. His town, still relatively quiet from the swarms of tourist. Riding his longboard towards his work, a local pizza cashier. Entirely content within his life choice, the man provides for himself, and lives within his own means. Finding his own relaxation within the lines he’s drawn for his life. No desire to be more, or no less. He isn’t a deadbeat, nor is he stupid. He has just found a lifestyle that fits him. He’s had love interests, but nothing more that would dramatically affect his lifestyle. Committed, and honest, he’s the type of guy that is desired, but not often pursued.

Nice To Know You: Starting on a warm late-May night, the sun freshly set as Devin leaves his then girlfriend's house. He has been fighting a feeling for weeks about their short two month relationship. Seeing no future in it, and no point to continue. Devin makes it clear to her that he is moving on. Calmly and calculatingly doing so. She is obviously distraught, throwing mental objects at him. Exiting, his story begins. Mentally believing that maybe he did the wrong thing, but on his ride back to his house, finding that indeed this is the best thing for him. Flanking the oceanfront along the main bike path, Devin calmly and smoothly rides along the flat concrete. His button down shirt opened an extra button than usual, and his sockless vans control the zig and zag of his longboard along the deserted sandy path.

Circles: The next couple days, Devin finds himself acting out of character. Slipping out of his cool demeanor and being out-of-control wild. He is drinking and going out at night. Finding himself waking up in random beds, or with random girls in his bed. Continuing along for several weeks. Devin’s overall outlook on life is slipping. His appreciation for his place in life isn’t where it use to be. His balance of contentment and disapproval is tipped. He finds himself not wanting to better the situation for himself, but only seeing it as, “This is just the way it is now.” Deep down, he dreams back to the night he left his girl. Thinking of how calm he was, and perhaps that was the calm before the storm he finds himself in now. If nothing else, Devin has become self-aware of his plight.

Wish You Were Here: Devin is preparing himself for another night out. Going to a good friend of his party that sits right off the beach. As the party progresses, Devin begins to realize that maybe he made a mistake. Maybe he was misguided and that in reality, his current actions have been in response to the initial action -- which was breaking up with his girl. Stepping out from the party, Devin walks along the beach. Free of any sense of responsibility and emotionally fueled by the night’s alcohol; Devin begins to feel happiness. He sets his mind to think of her. Feeling his arms outstretched, as if free from the shackles of what he used to be. Walking alone in the dark of night, with no care for anyone else in that physical space of time, but her. His feet leave semi-permanence into the sandy beach, he looks out as fishing boats dot the horizon. Stars filling the black spaces in the night sky. And for a brief moment, Devin feels himself become happy.

Just a Phase: Coming back home after the party. Devin begins to try and right his life. Waking up the next morning early, and feeling a calm that he hasn’t felt in a while - a haunting calm. An uneasy understanding of what he thought he was, and what he currently has become. His thoughts seem to be rooted on making himself better through this girl. Attaching his emotional feeling to her, leaching onto the thought that through her, he will become better. Repeating to himself and believing that the life he is currently living is nothing more than just a dip, he begins to build up himself onto the thought of her. Dismantling the confident side of himself, and putting up a hollow shell. The only way he feels he can be better is if he fills his shell with the attachment of her.

11am: Obsessively falling into himself over her, Devin wakes up the next morning unable to decide for himself what he is or wants to do. He skips his morning commute and thusly, work. And lays in bed, the day growing warmer by the hour. His sheets lay strewn across the bed. He stares blanky at the ceiling. His home phone next to him. Debating whether or not he should give her a call. Unable to make any decisions for himself, but only lie and wait. Tormented, and weighing his options on what he could possibly do next.

Blood on the Ground: Bringing up the courage to head over to his girl’s house. He leaves his stale bedroom and rides over to her. Feeling energized, nervous and out of character. Knowing that once he professes his missing of her, that she will come back. Knowing how struck she was when he left, this feels like a sure thing to him. But yet, a seed of nervousness is still planted. Devin arrives, and walks up to her screen door. Giving it a frantic knocking. He see’s her come around, the corner hallway. Looking unbelievably beautiful, dressed for a casual summer day. He heart beats faster as he views her through the filter of the screen door. She is surprised to see him, but quickly the mood changes. She informs him that she has moved on, that what he did to her is unforgivable and if he expected to win her back by just showing up out the blue, he is dead wrong. She makes it clear that his actions towards her have been emotionally hostile, and that she has broadcasted to everyone she has talked to has been informed of his wishy-washy nature. Devin can’t believe it, a simple and clean break-up of a girl that he is now really developing feelings for is now proclaiming that he is untrustworthy and unable to cope with a relationship. Devin is seething through this. He finds his feelings towards her has changed. He had built an emotional colony around the idea of her, and she just swept it away. His anger is based solely on his own misdirection and false belief in how to make himself better. And that one person has single handedly changed who he was, into who he thinks he is, into what he really isn’t.

Mexico: Several days pass as Devin feels with the fallout of losing his lifeline. He brings himself up to call her, explaining, with an upset and hurt tone, that she is reacting and not acting on her true feelings. Continuing to say that if she really wants him, she better let it be known now. Devin has contemplated leaving the California beach community to get out and see a bit more of the world. As it stood right now, Devin had little to nothing left of who he was comfortable with. Everything that was around him was this reminder of the destruction that he wrecked on himself over her.

Warning: Still on the phone, she responds back to him that she isn’t worth his time. She has fallen into the trap of staying in this town and living in the world that she created for herself -- and thinking that this is everything that life can offer. Begging that Devin not do the same, don’t fall in love with her or this lifestyle or you will find yourself miserable. Go out and see what you need to see without the stress of what you “think” you leave behind here. Devin is struck by her sentiment, and only finds himself more lost than where he was before calling.

Echo: Hanging up the phone, Devin takes a walk. No excitement, no long board. Just his barefeet walking down the sandy black tarmac. Kicking up sand as he drags his feet across the beach. Midday sets in, and the sun hangs high in the sky. The ocean a teal color, matching, as if they were paint swatches, the dark blue of the midday sky. Devin thinks back on what she had said, thinks back to what he should do with her. But no matter what, no matter where she places him in her head, he can’t get her out of his. He see’s that no matter her story plot, that he wants to “enter stage right” and stay awhile with her. Her beauty and her soul is so encapsulating that he finds it hard, and has found it hard to think of anything or anyone else.

Have You Ever: Walking down the beach towards the high traffic of the downtown beachfront, Devin is still deep in thought. His feet covered in sand as if he was wearing sandy pair of socks, and his hair windswept and salty with his sweat. He goes to a payphone, mustering up the coins to make the call to his girl. Pausing before putting in the last coin, before pushing it in. And waiting for the ring. His mind made up, that yes her struggle is tough, but so is his. And that with this amount of contemplation and thought of her, that his only action is to be with her. The phone begins to ring, his raging monologue running through his head, echoed by his ego and desire for her.

Are You in?: With phone calls becoming too frequent of a narrative for Devin, he poses a simple question to the girl on the other line. “I want to be apart of your life, you willing to let me in?” She has her reservations, and informs him that he should come by early in the evening tonight. He suggests this is a date, to which she laughs and repeats the time once more to him. Devin has felt this feeling of triumph before, but now he feels that perhaps there is legs and healthy support of his affection for her. Running back home, and laying out his best dress shirt, a short sleeve sea foam green button up.

Under My Umbrella: Kicking back onto the bed, his body stale with the smell of sweat and ocean, Devin slips into a restless nap. His mind wanders and he can’t help but feel cautiously optimistic. His dreams are fraught with indecision and treachery. He is unaware of what his reality will become. Convinced in his dreams that this is nothing more but a trap for his body and soul to experience. That maybe he has become too enamored with her to realize that he is trapped under her watch. Suddenly waking up, several hours had passed, and by his own calculations he was late to the date. Rushing together, his mind and stomach sour with thoughts and fear of what tonight might be with her. Tightening himself up, combing his hair with his fingers and grabbing his longboard and running out into the brisk summer night.

Aqueous Transmission: Getting to her apartment, he knocks, she opens quickly, he can’t believe his eyes, her beauty seemed to open the door before she did. His fears dissipate and his heart overflows with emotion. Inviting him in, he floats through the apartment. Being lead out to backyard. She had strung up lights hanging across her backyard, candle light flickering and making plant leaves dance against her wood fence. She had set out a small plate of food, but his stomach was full. She had two bottles of wine out, but his mind was drunk. And she had laid out a blanket, but his body was already comfortable. And in this moment, his idle life made sense. His world that built for himself was missing something: her. He takes her hand, intertwining his into hers. And with a silent agreement they step out from their romantic enclosure and towards the beach. Walking on the night beach, laying out on the dry sand, and waiting for the coming morning view.

[mydiaryuh-blog]

//Faceless [RLW series]

Prompt: Short film idea

An older man is in a bustling 1950’s metropolitan. He is dressed to the times, a brown suit, brown suitcase and brown tophat. A bland lifestyle has lead him to this moment, but as he gets off the train, entering the world of uncaring, a slight, noticeable difference is seen. Or perhaps unseen. Hundreds of people rush around like clothed ants. However, as the camera focuses  around, you never see anyone’s face. The older man notices this. A slight turn of the head, and suddenly uncaring becomes unfamiliar. No human face to rest his eyes on. He walks into the metro plaza. Standing in the middle, hoping to catch a familiar feature. Yet, no face is seen. Walking a long at perfect angles, or behind convenient boards of lumber, no face can be seen. Yet he is completely surrounded by the hum of human activity. Conversations feel more like radio waves than they do connections. The man begins to sweat, panic and hoping for some type of help. He rushes off to the train station. Stepping into the bathroom to find a mirror. Inside he sees men with their backs to him, still faceless. He steps forward to the sink, and looks into the mirror. The reflection broadcasted back to him is the back of his own head. As if like an owl, his head turned completely away, unable to see his own face.

[mydiaryuh-blog]

Seinfeld Plot [RLW series]

Prompt: Write a Seinfeld plot

A new restaurant opens that only serves specials. The cook informs Jerry and Elaine, “That he’ll be sure to make it extra special for you.” Skeptical, they both don’t eat the food. Later on discovering that Kramer is behind the idea of a specials only restaurant and George is a regular customer.

[mydiaryuh-blog]

5linelove [RLW series]

Prompt: Five line love story

Having found love requires no purchase. Having experience in love requires only time. Having love needs no instruction manual. Having lost love… Requires only a closed heart.

[mydiaryuh-blog]

Unfinished future [RLW series]

Prompt: Uncertain future

The ship listed to one side, making a sharp turn to the west. The wind sighing into the three masted ships’ sails.

“Prepare the men,” the admiral calmly orders his junior.

“Yes sir.” And with cold confidence, the junior officer walks professionally down the wooden staircase into the hull of the creaking ship.

Off in the distance a parade of ships gather, the wind blowing unfavorably, but definitely they gather. Flying under Her Majesty’s colors, the well kept admiral was preparing for another battle, all in the name for his country. Standing in a darkened suit, he looked more like a businessman than he did an admiral. He stood, English proper, to one side of the wheel, calmly steering his vessel against the howling breezes. Coming with his natural ability as a sea captain, came his uncanny balance behind the wheel. Even in the thick of battle, or roughest of seas, his stance remains stoic; feet planted together, a hand gripping the inside lapel of his coat, and the other still calmly controlling the fates of 143 men.

HMS York glides into the fray. The admiral screams out, “PRIME THE CANNONS!” His voice strong, with a notable bassy undertone that travels throughout the ship, surely carried by the wind itself. Men scurry like rats on the floorboard. Three levels of sailors, cannonballs, and gunpowder became primed. Ready for the admirals defining order to fire. His hand steady, stance strong. Just in front of the HMS York are two enemy ships firing upon one English ship. An avalanche of noise cracks out. Deafening the sailors that are all around it. Four floors of cannons unload into the English vessel, ripping men from ship, and wood beams from the structure that they hold up. The admiral glances over, seeing his fellow sailors -- many decapitated and wounded, fire back. Only the lower level of the ship gets off a volley.

Rushing his ship into the fray, the admiral hoped to put his own ship in between the skirmish, protecting what remains of his wounded fellow sea captain. The upper deck, loosened and weak from the last volley, begins to collapse in on itself. The British ship begins to crack and creak. A clear fissure breaks the front third of the ship; quickly becoming two separate entities.

The HMS York rushed into position, it’s larger mass shadowing its disintegrating comrade. The admiral turns and faces his enemy. He has sailed his ship so close to the two enemy ships that he can see the enemy reloading, and the opposing captain looking calmly back at him.

“READY MEN?!” He bolsters, echoing louder than the distant sounds of cannon fire. Ker-CRACK A bullet rips through the air. Thump

Piercing into the admirals hand, clutching his lapel, through his chest, and out his back. His crew trained and ready for his voice heard nothing. The admiral fell back, catching himself against the back rail of the ship. Slumping down, sitting, and gasping for air. Lacking sudden action, the crew of the HMS York hear the screams of the two opposing ships.

“Schießen!”

The HMS York gets ripped apart by the orchestra of syncopated cannon fire. Ripping every noticeable feature off the ship, and splitting it into two. The men on board, never receive the order to fire, and never were given the chance.

[mydiaryuh-blog]

What mystery? [RLW Series]

Prompt: Mystery

A foot peels back a thin cotton sheet off of two sweaty bodies. Body heat is the coolest temperature in this east facing one bedroom. A man sits up, being greeted with blinding rays of hot light piercing through his apartment windows. Standing up, the sheets cling tightly against his moist skin, acting as a sticky adhesive before releasing and clinging to the hot mattress. A woman rolls over, pillows surround her, mostly on the floor. She spies through her hair, using it’s brown shade as covering.

“What time is it?” she asks, as her bedmate stands in his underwear against large panel windows.

She hears nothing in return.

“HEY, I’m talking to you.”

He stands silent. The woman pulls herself up off the bed, readjusting her hair, throwing it back behind her, as it whips against her neck and back. She sits up on her knees, and steps off onto the floor. Joining her partner at the window.

“You’re scaring me, what is the matter?”

He presses his finger against the window, pointing up at the clear blue sky. From what she sees, following his finger up towards the moon. The ghost of the moon can still be seen, but the moon itself is not stationary. Rotating at the same speed as a lazy ceiling fan, the cratered companion of the Earth is now spinning slowly.