the man with no name. [trigger #200]

Ray has never been one who believed in moments of truth. He never put much stock in the possibility that there could be a pivot point in one’s life where your mettle was tested, and after which everything would be different forever. He knew there were major moments, turning points, he just didn’t believe that they were very often of the sort that tested your character and abilities in such a way that it made everything before seem like mere prologue. 

However, his very own moment of truth has found him. After working on this project for so long, it all comes down to the next few moments. If he can handle himself well, then all that he has worked for will bear fruit, and if he fails, he will literally need to start from scratch or move on to a whole new plan for his life. 

Much to his surprise, he is actually ready for this. He was sure he would wilt under the pressure, fall apart and crumple into a bundle of nerves. Instead, he feels more alive than he has ever felt. He is confident, in control, master of his domain. 

He looks in the mirror one last time, allowing this strange confidence to course through him as he centers himself looking into his own eyes. He is ready. He is James Bond and The Man with No Name. He is Kal-El. He is Yojimbo. He is Michael Jackson on stage and Michael Jordan on the court. He is Tiger Woods in the zone. He is Ender Wiggin in zero-gravity. Nothing can touch him.

He smirks at himself in the mirror. After a lifetime of self-doubt, his moment of truth has come, and he is about to own it.  

did you hear that? [trigger #199]

Michelle stood in the lobby outside the conference room. She felt electric, like every part of her was functioning at its peak. After so long, after so much work, her validation and vengeance was at hand. 

A young intern, the same who had offered her and her associates coffee when they arrived, came out to indicate that Mr. Joseph was ready for them, and to lead them to the main conference room. Of course, she didn’t need guidance to that room. She had worked her for nine long years. How long ago was that? It feels like a lifetime. Several lifetimes. However, Mr. Joseph has no idea she is here. 

Once inside the conference room, it takes a good 15 seconds for Mr. Joseph to recognize her, but once he does his eyes grow wide in a most satisfying fashion. Michelle knows that Mr. Joseph is not a man to forget anyone who has ever worked for him. Even her, who he constantly belittled and berated, constantly harassed and treated as a second class employee because she had the nerve to be a beautiful woman. Never once did he seem to think she could also be capable and intelligent, he summed her up with no input from her aside from her outward appearance, and categorized her along with the other furniture and decorations that merely added to office aesthetics. 

She had taken his constant disrespect, his dismissiveness, his regular double entendres, his condescending and misogynistic tone, and she had used it as fuel. “Someday,” she had told herself, “I will come back and own this place, and he will be the one who is nothing.” Now, someday had come.

He knew, once he recognized her, that he no longer had any leverage. She was delighted to see that even the great negotiator Stan Joseph, the legendary businessman, let his shoulders deflate in a visible sign of defeat. He knew she’d won before she even opened her mouth. He was desperate, her company was his only hope, and seeing her face he knew at once that he had burned the bridge he needed most long ago without realizing what he was doing.  

With great delight, she launched into her presentation. She listed all the ways that his company was no longer relevant. With relish, she revealed the ways that she would eliminate many of the departments that Mr. Joseph had always taken the most pride in. 

He had hoped, she is sure, that he would have been able to work out a deal in this merger that would have helped him maintain his dignity, caretake his legacy enough to carry on after he had retired and even died. Instead, she made it clear that his only hope for any financial solvency in retirement would mean giving her and her company the power to show the world just how inept he had been in his final years of business. He would no longer be a legend. 

She came to her conclusion, and now was the moment she would decide if she would take her last measure of revenge, using words that would push the knife in just a bit further, or let him maintain a little dignity, at least within the room. A particularly humiliating moment returned to her mind, and she sided with vengeance after all. “Mr. Joseph,” she grinned at his obvious discomfort, “you have nothing to negotiate with. You will give us the power to do exactly as we see fit with your company, or we will walk out this door for good and leave you to deal with the circling sharks on your own. You really only have one choice.”

Then, she looked him dead in the eyes, making sure to hammer home her point as she had dreamed about for so many years.

“Did you hear that, Mr. Joseph? That’s the sound of everyone in the business world forgetting you ever existed.” 

With that, she walked out of the room to let her associates finalize the paperwork. 

kanye west. [trigger #198]

Molly had three pets: a dog named Argyle, a cat named Mr. Whiskers, and a gerbil named Kanye West. People were always telling her that she anthropomorphized them too much, but she knew those people were wrong. She could tell there was more going on in these animals’ brains than other folks understood. 

For example, Argyle was the brooding type, always depressed and angry. She could tell he had deep thoughts going on inside that dog brain of his, and if he could only talk, she knew they would have great conversations about life’s pain and the cruelty of such a random and capricious universe. 

On the other hand, Mr. Whiskers was an optimist. Compared to most cats, he was downright happy-go-lucky. He didn’t let anything get him down. When he lost his tail in that accident with the lawnmower, he just kept right on going. He had a ‘go get ’em’ attitude that inspired her to keep trying herself. She just knew if he could talk, he would have all sorts of positive encouragements for her. 

Kanye West was a sensitive artist. She could tell by the way he looked around his cage, he was taking the world in. He watched with knowing eyes, perhaps feeling too much. He would sit there, nibbling on his sunflower seeds, lost in thought. He was the smartest out of the bunch. Scientists would tell you that he had almost no capacity for thinking beyond instinct, but Molly knows better. Kanye West’s little gerbil mind was full of concepts and creativity. She wished she had magic powers, so that she could grant him hands to paint and draw whatever was churning inside his gerbil heart.

Instead, she couldn’t grant her animals any human abilities, and so all she could do was watch them and know, holding their secret thoughts and ways close to her heart.  

“w.t.fuck!” then died. [trigger #197]

We always thought that Randy would die in some grandiose fashion. He’d been leading the human uprising against our alien invaders for 12 years, and he had escaped more than a few close calls by the skin of his teeth. He was indestructible, or so we thought.

It just seemed meant to be that he would lead us all the way through this. His very existence gave us hope that we might be divinely preordained to survive the arrival of those orange bastards who came down from the sky and started blowing everything in sight to shit. Early on, those of us who had been with him from the beginning saw him survive things that no human had any business living through. We thought that if he died, it would be after we had learned the aliens’ weakness, and he would go down summer blockbuster style, screaming as he flew a bomber into the belly of the beast.

Instead, we had just made it back from a shit-storm of a mission. We lost 83% of the soldiers who went with us on a supply run into territory that is currently controlled by the Clementines. In case that isn’t a universal nickname for the invaders, that is what we call them, because their heads look like swollen oranges, but Clementines sounds so silly for the name of an invading army, so we figured it would help the others be less afraid of them, maybe. We went with Clementines at Randy’s suggestion.  

Anyway, we barely made it out of enemy territory alive. Randy is the only reason we got out. He pulled off another of his miracles, showing up behind the wheel of a school bus, when the small group of us still alive thought we’d come to the end of the line. Where the hell did he get a school bus? Vintage Randy. 

So, we made it back here, in our burnt out school bus. We got off the bus, and stretched under the darkening sky, breathing in the air of an evening we never thought we’d see. We lived to fight another day, and we had more confirmation that Randy was immortal, and humanity’s best hope. That’s when something in the cooling school bus engine exploded with a loud *POP*, more like a balloon popping than a deadly explosion. A rod shot through the side of the hood and plunged itself into Randy’s chest. He looked at us, a confused look on his face, whispered, “W.T.Fuck!” then died. 

I’m suddenly doubting our chances against the Clementines. 

 

a curse. [trigger #196]

They say that when King Reardon died, he shouted a curse that has darkened this land ever since. I wouldn’t have blamed him if he did, what with him being murdered by all eleven of his legitimate children, as well as five of the illegitimate ones for good measure. If he actually succeeded in leaving behind some remnant of a curse, I suppose we should all be impressed. He himself would probably be surprised if it worked, since he was most likely just trying to say the most angry and vengeful sounding thing he could think of as the blades plunged into his flesh, stuck there by the very product of the flesh being pierced. Perhaps, if it did work, this is why it worked, because of the inherent wrongness of patricide. To kill one’s direct progenitor is a grotesque thing. It is possible that with that sort of horror being committed, the gods looked down and heard King Reardon’s curse and decided to let it stand.

Of course, there is no way of truly knowing if the curse is truly on this place. Curses are tricky that way. Those who want to believe have a convenient way of holding firmly to all the bad things that happen as proof the curse is real, while ignoring evidence to the contrary. Those who do not want to believe are equally guilty of the opposite. The only way we could truly know would be to see another world, parallel to this one, in which King Reardon’s children never murdered him, and thus that darkness was never allowed purchase in our world. If that world were truly better than this one, then we would know. However, as things are, all we can do is wonder.

convinced that my parents are demon aliens. [trigger #195]

My parents are the worst! I’m pretty sure they enjoy making my life miserable. 

Like, last week, when Todd C. invited everyone over to his house to play video games all day, my parents wouldn’t let me go just because Todd C.’s parents were out of town. My dad said that they ‘wouldn’t feel comfortable with that.’ So annoying. 

And then, on Monday, when my mom was making me stop playing Call of Duty for like, no reason whatsoever, I said “I hate you people,” and she misheard that as me calling her a B., and then she freaked out and won’t let me use the XBOX until October! OCTOBER!! I’ll be the only guy out of all my friends who isn’t playing CoD anymore. And for something I didn’t even do. It’s so unfair! 

They also won’t let me quit piano, which sucks, because it is on Saturday mornings at like 10, and that is my only day to sleep in, so instead I am just really tired all the time. I even Googled sleep for teens the other day, and teens totally need to sleep in later than adults, so like, I’m pretty sure making me go to piano at 10 is like child abuse or something. 

I can’t wait until I get to go away to college, and I won’t have to listen to them anymore. I am convinced they are like demons, or aliens, or demon aliens. They are the worst, like, ever. 

surprise: impotence! [trigger #194]

Almost didn’t get this one up before I went to bed. But, one more trigger in the books. Not exactly good work, but another day with some form of writing work done. Huzzah! 

———————————————————

It was supposed to be the perfect week. Everything was planned down to the smallest detail. Sean was going away with his new girlfriend, Rachel, for the weekend, and he was as excited as he had been in quite a while. He felt thrilled and even a little bit nervous. This was the first time he remembered having that breathless, jittery feeling about someone in as long as he could remember. They were going to go visit Whidbey for the weekend, and all would be right with the world. 

Then, it all went wrong. First, Rachel found out last minute that her mother was going to need emergency knee surgery (who knew knees could require emergency surgery?!?), and Rachel was now going to be stuck taking care of her twelve year old step-sister for the afternoon they were meant to leave. It was already an adjustment for Rick that his 30 year old girlfriend had a 12 year old stepsister, and he certainly didn’t want to delay their departure for her, but that’s life. 

Then, when it was finally time to leave, the most bizarre weather in Seattle history blew through out of nowhere, subjecting the early stages of their journey to an unprecedented May snowstorm. It took them an extra hour to finally make it to Whidbey Island. 

Once they arrived, he realized he’d forgotten all the wine on his kitchen counter, along with the keys to the friend’s vacation home they was using. After breaking in, his girlfriend dozed off for two hours, and when she did finally wake up in a particularly amorous mood, the day’s frustrations had taken their toll, surprise: impotence! 

 

his passport was full… [trigger #193]

Dunn needs more! His appetite for new experiences is voracious. His passport is full of exotic locales the world over. He has tried more foods than most people know exist. Name a cocktail or delicacy, he has tasted it. Describe a genre of experience, he has probably had some firsthand knowledge of it. Whisper some forbidden pleasure in the dark corner of a bar, he will smirk knowingly, and you will just know he has lived ten lifetimes in his brief 46 years on the planet.   

Call him a hedonist, he doesn’t mind. He might actually agree with you. Although, those who know him well know his ethics run far deeper than that. He just refuses to limit his life by someone else’s knee jerk fears. He has never heard a rule he didn’t want to subvert, never met a person he didn’t want ask a million personal questions, never had an idea he didn’t want to circle around and pick apart.

He is unceasingly curious. He is the devil’s advocate. He is a sophist and he knows at least a little bit about just about everything.

He doesn’t know it yet, but today he is going to experience something truly new even for him. Today Dunn is going to die. 

sweet, shaggy donkey. [trigger #192]

Princess Chloe has been in hiding her entire life. Only a small handful of people even know who she really is. Most know her as Keen, the lowly servant girl who assists Eno, the local holy man in the small border village of Westerbrook. Eno is really Brother Emin, formerly the royal priest and magician, and best friend of Queen Leona and King Genten before they were assassinated by the queen’s brother, Sen. Now Sen rules the land as a tyrant, and the only reason Chloe is safe is because Sen believes she was killed in the explosion that killed her parents. 

So Chloe lives far away from her murderous uncle, just across the border in the neighboring kingdom of Totopa. Her identity must be kept a secret, as she trains with Brother Emin for a day when she will return home to face her uncle and retake the throne that is rightfully hers. Most days, she spends the evenings after supper learning martial arts with Brother Emin. However, today he is busy visiting a dying man in a neighboring village, and so Chloe has the day to herself, to ride around the countryside with her best friend: her sweet, shaggy maned horse, Donkey.

She hadn’t been riding for long when she heard a scream off in the distance. Somewhere nearby, a woman was in considerable distress. Chloe could hear Emin’s voice in her mind, making it clear that she must avoid trouble and unnecessary attention at all costs. She ignored this voice, and spurred Donkey into a gallop in the direction she judged the scream had come from.

She soon came upon the source of the disturbance, four men in King Sen’s royal colors, inexplicably on the wrong side of the border, were harassing a young woman who had been out collecting apples alone. It didn’t take much of an imagination to see where this was going if no one intervened. Chloe planned on doing quite a bit of intervening.

She rode fast to close the distance between her and the others, and shouted as she drew near. “Hey, you four! Leave her alone. Why don’t you try picking on someone your own size?”

With this, she slowed Donkey down and rolled off the side of the horse in a fluid motion that even an accomplished trick rider would find impressive.

The men turned, for a moment taken aback by the sudden interruption. Then, they slowly broke into grins and chuckles when they saw that the challenger telling them to pick on someone their own size was barely half the size of any of them. She was also quite striking, although a bit unkempt and dirty, and they started to think that perhaps they’d doubled their day’s entertainments without even trying.

One of the men holding the other woman struck her across the face hard enough to daze her, so that they could deal with the newcomer without their original victim having the wits to get too far away. Then, the four men lazily moved to surround Chloe, cutting off any easy routes of escape.

“Well, little one. How’s about we pick on you then, eh? We’ll have a good time, you and us.”

The man who spoke began to reach out for Chloe’s wrist. This made him target number one. Moving with stunning quickness, Chloe grabbed the man’s reaching hand between his thumb and forefinger, twisting it uncomfortably, and bringing down her other hand in just the right place, snapping the bones in the man’s wrist with a satisfying crack. He let out a scream that began as shocked and ended as furious.

“You little…! Boys, kill that little cur.” He had tears in his eyes from the pain as he spit the words at his compatriots.

The others were hesitant to keep moving towards her, still in shock from her sudden and violent interaction with the man who she’d discerned by now must be the leader in some form, official or otherwise. 

It took a few moments, but finally the men overcame their shock, and began to reengage Chloe from three sides at once. She was more dangerous than they had originally thought, but surely the three of them could handle her. 

She quickly judged which of the men seemed to be moving toward her with the most momentum, this made that man target number two. She launched into a roll, toward two but just to his right. As she had hoped, his surprise tripped him up, and he staggered a bit, giving her the opening to regain her feet and kick him from behind into the man across from him. With the two men briefly tangled, it gave Chloe the chance to face the third man one on one. One on one with Chloe was hardly a fair fight, and she quickly landed a strike to his temple and throat that left him rolling on the ground in pain, temporarily unable to see or catch his breath. 

She quickly engaged the other two men, running full speed at one and using him as a pivot point, launching off of target two and into target four. Two was too slow to grab her as she did so, and she was able get the height she needed to connect the heel of her hand with four’s nose. She did so with enough force that his body went limp immediately, she knew he would be unconscious for the next few hours.

Without hesitating, she turned and brought her foot quickly, and with great enthusiasm, into target two’s groin. Any plans he had for harassing lone women he encountered in the countryside would be put on hold for the foreseeable future. 

The first soldier, the one with the broken wrist, had seen enough. He stood and began running as fast as he could away from Chloe, wincing as he held his forearm by the wrist. 

Chloe had no way of knowing if other soldiers were nearby, so she whistled for Donkey, jumped into the saddle, and put out her hand for the stunned woman she had just saved to join her on Donkey’s back. 

the lint brush was full of blonde hair, she’s not blonde. [trigger #191]

Victoria lived alone, and I mean that even more profoundly than you might imagine. Not only did she live alone, she lived far away from other people. Her house was at the end of a 26.4 mile drive with a large gate separating the drive from a seldom used dirt road. No one found Victoria without going looking for her, meaning no one found Victoria. 

This is why it was all the more disconcerting when she began finding random items disturbed around her home. At first, she thought she was just imagining things, being absentminded. A spoon in the wrong drawer, a shirt in a room she didn’t remember leaving it, the freezer door left open overnight, little things she could blame on herself. Then the things started getting harder to explain: her wall calendar set to the wrong month, the books in her study reorganized from her normally fastidious alphabetical order, her lint brush full of blonde hair, when her hair was kinky and brown. 

That is also when doors started slamming themselves, when she awoke one night to a phantom dog barking in her basement, and when a snowball hit her kitchen window while she was cooking even though it was a hot day in July. 

She didn’t know what was happening, but she kind of liked it. She couldn’t wait to see what happened next.