Blinked

Memory Lane's a rough place
misery, love, and hurt
tagged on street signs.

Visiting for the weekend,
walking down the alleyway
I found my past.

I nearly remembered
my youth.

Rough as it was,
I stopped
and looked around.

Life, progress, confusion,
holidays, trips, siblings,
baseball, birthdays, guitar,
strange thoughts, crushes... driving

No one knows me
no one cares to know me
no one can make me care if they care
no one can stop me
Now or forever.

Memory Lane's a rough place
misery, love, and hurt
helps me become...
Me.

I Remember

I remember birth.

I remember innocence.

I remember the days of old; rather, the days of youth.

I remember preschool, the pool, and popcorn chicken.

I remember swimming lessons. Mom was so proud.

I remember beating up defenseless children

as the bully of the playground, the respected.

I remember the best show ever, Blues Clues.

I remember my stash of matchbox cars and hot wheels.

I remember innocence.

I remember leaving Ohio.

I remember getting my sisters in trouble.

I remember my phobia of rollercoasters.

I remember innocence.

I remember young love.

I remember young love as pointless.

I remember sixth grade.

I remember innocence.

I remember junior high racing past as I briefly closed my eyes.

I remember missing a good lunch.

I remember choir.

I remember my first sister leaving.

I remember the second one leaving.

I remember being alone.

I remember guitar.

I remember the desire I had to learn songs that I now know.

I remember my tastes in music as they progressed.

I remember the first Metallica song I heard.

I remember getting turned on.

I almost remember innocence.

I remember chasing my dreams.

I remember waking up this morning

wondering if it's worth it

wondering if I can make it through the day

wondering what people think of me

I remember the words of my father.

I remember rebirth.

Journal Entry

The Scientist # 12

How could he get over what just happened? He broke into silent sobs, fighting to control his emotions. He couldn't think about his wrist right now. He had experienced a great loss. It wasn't long before the man fell to his knees. Smoke was ascending high into the air. The heat from the flames was incredible. He was gasping for breath.

What just happened? It all went so fast. With the force of an atomic bomb, the research lab finally detonated along with everyone inside it. He leaped with all his might away from the building to the cold, hard ground. Sprinting from the building, his strength finally gave out.

He reached the door, and he kicked it open violently. He could see it—the exit. In desperation, he flew down the last fight of stairs. Three quarters, now. He was halfway there. Those horrible people, he thought. Why would they do this? Trying to get as far as he could from the situation at hand, he began his hurried journey. About twenty flights, he wasn't sure if he could make it. There were the stairs. In his hysteria, he lost his mind; which way was the exit?

Tears filling his eyes, he regrettably turned from them all and ran away, away, away... "Okay," he said, "but you've left me no choice. I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry about us, just go! It's better for one of us to live than for all of us to go up in smoke!"

"I can't leave all of you!" he yelled.

"You have to go," one of them told him.

His friends and coworkers at the lab looked at him solemnly. Apparently, those people had kept their word... A loud computerized voice on the intercom rang out, telling them all that they had one minute prior to detonation. He wondered if those criminals had done what they said they would do. The man had been told to stand and keep watch, not to move. This was as bad of a situation as you could get. As he stood there, he thought of his wife and his son.

The Menu Guy

Menu Guy (MG): Man, I wish I could read. (Puts down menu)
Pam: You're illiterate?
MG: No, I said I can't read.
Pam: Umm... It's the same thing.
MG: Is it, now?
(SiLeNcE)
Pam: I wish the waiter would hurry up.
MG: What? Why?
Pam: I'm ready to order.
MG: Do you want to play cards?
Pam: No, not really.
MG: I'm really good at "Go Fish".
Pam: Congratulations.
MG: It's a cool game because I don't have a job, and it's only way for me to relax.
Pam: You don't have a job?
MG: I have to poop. Excuse me.
(MG leaves)
Pam: Waiter? Waiter! Anyone!
Waiter: Yes?
Pam: I need my cappuccino to go, please. And make it fast.
Waiter: Yes, of course.
(3 or so minutes pass. MG returns)
MG: Pam! I missed you!
Pam: Uhhhh....
MG: Pam, dear, I have something I need to ask you.
Pam: (Oh, no..) Yes?
(MG gets down on one knee)
MG: I know we haven't known each other long, but..(pulls out a ring from his pocket) will you marry me?
(Pam finally snaps.)
Pam: No! You won't, nor ever will be, my husband. You're annoying, you don't have a job, and you can't even read! Anything else that I need to know?
(MG looks away somberly)
MG: Well, I do live in my mother's base—
Pam: Goodbye, Menu Guy!
(Pam grabs the coffee from the waiter on his way to their table. She storms out the door and never saw him again.)

Goop

Beneath a forboding bridge lies the silent killer, also known as the Goop. Angered, the green beast slips along the ground, smoothly, quietly, like a cobra. It spots its target, the man, and delves into the ground, silent, deadly, preparing to strike. The creeping Goop senses a halt in the mans movement. The creature violently pushes upward, and surfaced. Undetected, it attacks. He is engulfed by the monster, and the Goop sadistically suffocates the unsuspecting man.

Death Country

Jerry: (Nothing)
Driver: What? Did you say something?
Jerry: Um, no.
(Silence)
Jerry: Do you think we can change the station?
Driver: Why?
Jerry: Well, first of all, we were just at a Slayer concert; secondly, nothing is more depressing than listening to a static-infested country song while driving in the rain.
Driver: What if I like it?
Jerry: Hey, come on, really. Change it.
Driver: I'm not sure if I want to.
(Silence)
Jerry: Please, change it. I can't stand country.
Driver: No, I can enjoy country on a night like this, especially after my eardrums have been roasted at a concert.
(Jerry reaches for the radio, Driver grabs his wrist.)
Driver: Hey, I wouldn't do that if I were you. Try that again and you're out.
Jerry: Grrrr...
(Driver lets go)
Jerry: You know, they say country can kill you, or make you deaf if you listen to it for long with this much static.
Driver: Oh yeah?
Jerry: Yes, it's more dangerous than Kermit the Frog with a baseball bat, they say.
Driver: Well, that is a story. Cool to know.
(Silence)
Jerry: Okay, I can't stand it anymore!
(Jerry reaches once more for the tuning knob, Driver puts his arm in front of him once again, but not to stop him. Jerry heard the door handle click, and was kicked violently out of the vehicle.)
Driver: See you later, Jerry... hahaha, or not...
(Jerry fell down the edge of the cliff on the side of the road, and was never seen again.)

Little Tortilla Boy

"Shut up." replied Arnold. "There's only one man in this whole town who would be able to sell these things, and make a decent living, and that's me."

"Go for it then," replied Roberto. "If you think you can do it."

Tepoztlán was a city where you had to fight to survive. Killings, thefts, and rapes were but a few of the many hardships you would find in the small town on the mountainside. It seemed hard to make a living in any occupation there. Most people appeared to rob others houses as if they were simply going to the store. It was a tough life, but it was accepted because it was so consistently bad.

The only hope for the hopeless city lied in the little tortilla stands on every street corner. Now, most vendors did it for the money. None of them could be trusted. Most people knew them as "The Corrupt Crew," or simply "The Crew". The tortillas were cheap, so families low on money (which was the majority of the town, considering the crime rate) chose them over, say, an ear of corn. However, they weren't particularly tasty a lot of the time--which is why Arnold had the desire to make a difference.

"Don't worry about me, Roberto," said Arnold. " I can do this. And I'll take down anyone that gets in my way."

Arnold Mejito was a hulk of a man. He could be mistaken for a sasquatch. He worked out every day until he vomited. He had a thick Austrian accent, but no one could understand why, considering he lived in Mexico for his whole life. He intimidated everyone, although he couldn't figure out why. His friends strangely called him the "Terminator".

"Mejito, you go get 'em! That's the spirit."

Roberto was quite another story. Arnold found him on the side of the street one morning while he was on a jog (carrying two three hundred pound dumbells and doing a handstand), and he took him in as an almost little brother. Roberto was a small, thin man and had no family to turn to, because his family all died in a tragic accident involving a clown, four whipped pies, and a very large pair of shoes. He was very humble, and scared quite easily.

He said, "But Mejito, are you sure you have the skill to do this sort of thing?"

"Listen to me; you've tasted my tortillas," replied Arnold. "They are perfect. How can you tell me I don't have the skill?"

Roberto stared at him for a second with his bright, blue eyes. "You're right. It's just that no one else, except for Brantley, has made a good tortilla stand, and still, Brantley charges so much money for only one tortilla. Then again, yours are very good, Mejito. I'm behind you all the way on this."

Arnold tossed away the fifty pound medicine ball that he was twirling on his finger and hugged the tiny man. "I thank you for your kindness, brother. However, what will my parents think of me? They don't approve of this business... if they find out there will be nothing but trouble."

"Don't worry, man, what Mom and Pops don't know won't hurt 'em, eh? I mean, what kind of trouble can a little tortilla stand get us in?"