Kill Society

Break the trend 
Will it rise again 
Government fails 
We'll rebuild from within 
Empty lives 
Filled with cries 
We'll give them more 
From those who take from the poor! 

Kill society 
We'll make it what we want it to be 
The fallout has begun 
And it's we who have won! 

Blood will be shed 
Till all are well fed 
Tear down the lies 
Let's see what they hide 
Murder our pride 
Or fall and be tried 
This our call to war 
Now make your way through that open door 

Kill society 
We'll make it what we want it to be 
The fallout has begun 
And it's we who have one 

The writing's on the wall 
For corporate America 
Warmongers choose to take away 
Our peace and democracy 
I'm not asking for human contact to end 
But for society to die 
So let us all take a stand 
And better this land! 

Kill Society 
We'll make it what we want it to be 
The fallout has begun 
And it's we who have won 
Kill society!

The Black Ring: Prologue, Part 4

Bryson flipped through the paperwork absentmindedly, he was hoping that there was going to be a trip to boot camp leaving tomorrow from MEPS. He had heard of it happening before, and he just wanted to move on to a new life with a career that he could look forward to. He knew the Marine Corp would afford him the opportunity for that. Lost in the thought of boot camp and a future without them he almost missed the point when the recruiter called for them to board the van to MEPS. A flutter in his stomach made him question for a split second whether he was doing the right thing, but he suppressed that thought as he joined the other high school and former high school students on the van.

            The MEPS examination went without a hitch. The first day he filled out a lot of paperwork and signed his name what seemed like several thousand times. He picked is Military Occupational Specialty in Intelligence, granted he passed an extensive FBI background check for clearance. On the second day he went through the medical examination. He turned his head and coughed when he was told, and nearly questioned if they wanted him to quack like a duck when he was told to duck walk across a room with many other military candidates dressed only in boxers. At this time he wondered if he was actually performing a medical exam to get into the military or if he, and the many others around him, were on the pilot episode of a hidden camera television show.

            When all was said and done he passed his exam and took the official oath to join the military. Before the van was set to leave to go back home, each of the future recruits met with their respective recruiters to discuss when they wanted to leave for boot. They each sat in a room waiting for their recruiter to call them in. Allen, Donovan, and Edwards were all called before Bryson was called in to meet with his recruiter. He walked into the room and took a seat in a chair opposite the overly confident ego-less Marine.

            “When were you thinking you wanted to leave for Paris Island?” his recruiter posed the question, not looking up from the paperwork before him.

            “As soon as possible,” Bryson answered without hesitation.

            “Well, you have a few choices. Each Friday for the next three weeks we have a group of recruits heading off for boot. Otherwise, there is one that will be leaving here at seventeen hundred hours today.”

            “I'd like to leave today, if at all possible.”

            For the first time since Bryson entered the room the recruiter looked up from the paperwork before. “Hurrah! That's what I like to see, a gung ho future Marine. Well, I'm sure you'll want to call your family to let them know you'll be leaving.” His recruiter walked him out of the room, and pointed to a corner of the room where a pay phone stood. “You can use that phone over there, you don't have to pay with that phone, and you can tell your parents that you'll be able to call them once you arrive at Paris Island to let them know you arrived safe. When you're done just come have a seat back over here, we have more paperwork you'll need to fill out before shipping out today.” As Bryson walked toward the phone, the titan Marine called David Garrett into the room after him.

            Bryson made his way to the phone, his feet felt heavy as if he was walking the green mile. What would he say? What would his parent's think? Well, he wouldn't have to worry about too much fallout, he'd be gone for three months, and during that time they'd get over the fact that he left so abruptly, and would embrace the fact that their son was in the Marine Corp serving his country the way his stepfather thought every young man should.

            He made the call. His mother cried, his stepfather dejectedly told him he was proud of him. He was sure his mother was thinking he was going to end up shipped overseas where he would be shot by some evil insurgent with the highest contempt for America. He wasn't sure himself what was going to happen to him from here on out and didn't want to think too much about a future that led him to war. Bryson told them he loved them and would call them when he reached Paris Island to let them know he got there safe and he hung up the phone.

            One month ago everything had changed. All it took was one moment to determine the course of the rest of his life. Now, here he stood waiting to board a van that would take him up the east coast to the Marine Corp training facility in Paris Island, SC. Where he would go after that he did not know, he just knew it would be far away from them.

            He found a spot in the back of the van, and looked around at all the families with freshly minted recruits about to board the bus and leave on their way to a life of bravery and American tradition. As he looked behind him he could have swore he saw Ian in the parking lot looking directly at him. He turned at looked the other way and never looked back. This was a time for moving forward, he could never turn back.

NaNoWriMo Questionnaire

Today marks the beginning of NaNoWriMo, or National Novel Writing Month. The idea is to write a novel of 50,000 words over the course of November. That’s approximately 1,667 words a day. I might not seem like much at first, but once you get into it, it’s a lot! Of course, I hear that as you get toward the middle of the month it isn’t so bad. Anyway, I have my outline to help me.

When I decided to join NaNoWriMo this year, I saw that there were regional message boards you could check in on. One of the message boards had a questionnaire to fill out to introduce yourself to other NaNoWriMo participants in your area. Following, you will find my NaNoWriMo questionnaire giving a little information about myself and my writing habits among other things. I hope you enjoy this look into my process!

1. WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE US TO CALL YOU?

I don’t really have a preference. My writer name is J Courtney Wilkerson, my first name is Jason. So you can call me Jason or J. I used to be in a metal band, and my stage name there was Whitey McWhite (because I was a black lead singer doing metal) and there are still people who don’t know me by any other name than Whitey. In high school I had a plethora of nicknames: J-1, Uncle Jemima, Shaft Jr., etc. Of course, a lot of that came from being the only black dude in a white school.

2. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL?

I don’t eat cereal, but when I did I liked Cinnamon Toast Crunch.

3. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM?

It depends on what’s available. If I walk into an ice cream shop for a waffle cone, I’ll take cookies and cream. Otherwise I always go with Stephen Colbert’s Americone Dream from Ben & Jerry’s.

4. WHO ARE YOUR FAVORITE AUTHORS?

Right now I’m really into Stephen King, Chuck Pahlaniuk, Elmore Leonard, and Roddy Doyle. I also absolutely love J.D. Salinger and F. Scott Fitzgerald.

5. WHAT COLOR SHOES ARE YOU WEARING?

At the time that I’m writing this, I’m not wearing shoes. I prefer not to be wearing shoes if I can help it.

6. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE?

I think a bluish green. Mainly because those were the first colors to pop into my head and both blue and green popped up at the same time. I couldn’t decide so I mixed them together.

7. SUMMER OR WINTER?

I would say summer, but I never seem to write as much as I want to during the summer. Of course, the places I want to write are better for writing in the summer. Autumn is when I have the best ideas though.

8. IF YOU COULD BE ANY FICTIONAL CHARACTER, IT WOULD BE...?

Pip from Great Expectations. He might have had it hard early on in life, but he had a rich benefactor later in life. Sure he couldn’t get the love of his life, but I’d like to think I wouldn’t make the same mistake of wasting so much time pining for a girl I knew I couldn’t have.

 9. FAVORITE SPORTS TO WATCH?

Football and football. Well, I guess I should say American football and football. If you still don’t like that then football and soccer. I’m a fan of the Florida Gators and Wisconsin Badgers in college football, Green Bay Packers in the NFL, and Manchester City in soccer.

10. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW?

I’m watching a movie right now, but the last couple of albums I listened to were Collapsible Lung by Relient K and War by U2. I’ve been on a major rock n’ roll and alternative rock kick lately, listening to a lot of Third Eye Blind, U2, later Relient K, early Weezer, Oasis, Black Lab, The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, etc.

11. WHAT DO YOU LISTEN TO DURING NANO?

When I’m writing I prefer to listen to Nine Inch Nails. I find the creepy vibe really works for me.

12. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED?

I’m currently watching the Irish film Intermission starring Colin Farrell, Colm Meaney, and Cillian Murphy (back when the only part he was known for in the US was 28 Days Later). Before tonight I had finally gotten my wife to watch The Hunger Games so that was the last movie I had seen in its entirety prior to writing this.

13. WHAT BOOK ARE YOU READING NOW?

Cloud Atlas by David Mitchell, however, I haven’t really been reading it since the semester picked up. Since then I’ve read excerpts of Jesus’ Son, Brief Interviews with Hideous Men, and The Graduate.

14. WHAT IS ON YOUR MOUSE PAD?

I don’t have a desk top computer or a desk, so I don’t have a mouse pad.

15. WHAT'S YOUR WRITING VICE? (EG., COFFEE, CHOCOLATE, ETC.)

Probably coffee, beer, and whiskey.

16. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING?

My handwriting is pretty atrocious, if I wait too long to type what I write I can often forget what I had written down and I’m unable to translate it. I do like handwriting at times, stories as I feel the writing by hand leads to a more organic story, but because of the way I hold writing utensils (pens and pencils) I find it cumbersome because of hand cramps. So for NaNo I’ll be largely typing out my story.

 17. HOW MANY YEARS HAVE YOU PARTICIPATED IN NANO?

This will only be the second time. The first time I didn’t make it past a week, but this year I’m working on my outline over October so I know exactly what I’m doing throughout the month.

18. HOW DO YOU DEFEAT WRITER'S BLOCK?

I’m typically a short story writer, so I know exactly what I’m doing prior to writing. Often I come across news stories that lead me to consider how a character sees a certain issue, or I think of how I feel about issues and I take those issues and figure out how to turn them into stories. Even using forms such as satire to make them into stories can help me usher my thoughts into something coherent that I and my audience can understand.

19. DO YOU HAVE A PLOT YET?

I have what I think is a great plot and idea, which is why I decided to participate in NaNo this year. Novels aren’t typically my ideal form of communication as a writer, so I decided this was the year to really work toward it. After communicating with a small group of writers and friends, I feel very confident in this idea.

20. FAVORITE WRITING SPOT?

I really like to write at the beach in Veteran’s Park in Milwaukee or the Beer Garden in Estabrook. The problem with those places is there’s too much stimulation, so I end up watching people more than writing. I really enjoy writing in my basement as well. There’s very little stimulation down there and I usually have my cat, Maggie, for company. 

The Black Ring: Prologue, Part 3

Julie's voice hit his ears first playing a sour note in his noggin, “Bryson, please speak to me, we really need to talk.”

No. The word popped into his head, but never issued from his lips.

“Come on, buddy, it's not what you think,” came Ian's voice through the window.

I'm sorry, the dagger in my back will not allow me to comply.

“We're not going to give up until you come out and talk to us,” Julie reported.

Give up trying to talk to me, or give up humping each others brains out.

 “Will you please just come out and talk to us?” Ian pleaded.

Nevermore, quoth the raven.

They issued a few more pleas, but with pillows over ears, Bryson refused to hear them. Not only that, but he seemed to have fallen asleep during their barrage of pleas, after all heartbreak can take a lot out of a man. In his twisted dreams toy soldiers blasted the hell out of invisible aliens, cheating girlfriends, and conniving best friends. When he woke up three hours later to the DVD menu for Predator he knew what he would do: join the military.

Of course, it wouldn't be that easy, for a freshly graduated former high school student he was grossly out of shape. Besides his short stint in sports, what little physical education he had to take during high school he never took seriously. So to make boot camp easier he started getting up in the mornings to either walk, run, or bike. It was the only time he'd leave the house, and he made sure to do as early as possible to keep from running into either of them which is how he started referring to Ian and Julie a few days after the incident.

During the day he remained in his room except to eat and use the bathroom. His parents wondered what was up with him, but he refused to answer any questions, after all, he knew they would just think he was overreacting and that this was just a phase. While he was in his room he watched movies and researched the military on the net to determine what field would be the best for him. The Air Force would be easy, but it would be too easy for a guy who wanted to kick his life into high gear, and he didn't want to go into the Navy because he knew he didn't want to ever be referred to as “Seamen.” The Army was a viable choice, but most people went into the Army, it was the biggest branch of the military after all. He wanted to kick his life into high gear and become a badass, so the only choice was the Marine Corp.

For a month straight he kept up his routine, and they kept their routine as well. Everyday like clockwork Bryson's mother would come to his door telling him that Ian and Julie wanted to talk to him, and everyday he would tell his mom that didn't want to speak to them. Everyday following this routine they would appear at his window pleading to speak to him, and he would remain as quiet as a church mouse until they left. By the end of that month since the incident he had steeled himself against the attack so that he was able to keep his functionality, and even would routinely do situps or pushups as they shouted through the window.

When that month was up he knew his next course of action. After he finished with his run that morning he ran a little further down to the Marine recruiter's office. When he walked into the door of the recruiting office he was nearly blown back out by the excellence that exuded from the office. Marine Corp decor littered the walls, as well as motivational posters that weren't cheesy, but instead they were badass, and he never thought that was possible. The recruiter behind the desk made him think of the Spartans of old, he exuded a confidence that didn't feel like it derived from an ego in the least bit. At the same time Bryson felt both at home and proud that he made the right decision and slightly intimidated by this gladiator sitting behind his desk.

He proceeded to step in before the recruiter and made no bones about what he wanted, he wanted to join up and ship out as soon as was humanly possible. The recruiter smiled and told him that there was an Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery test available today, or he could schedule one for next week if he wanted to study. When he said today, the recruiter gave him a look of incredulity and told him testing starts in an hour. The recruiter reached into a drawer on the desk that stood between them, and pulled out a book and handed it to Bryson, “I still recommend you give this a once over before the test starts.”

Bryson took the book and sat down in a chair across the room and began to look through the book, but wasn't really taking much in. For one thing the intimidation of the warrior sitting across the room coupled with the thought that in a few hours his life would probably be changed forever. On top of that the other testers were starting to file into the recruiter's office taking seats next to him. Increasing his nervousness was the fact that a few of them had gone to school with him, but luckily he didn't know any of them from closer than a distance.

The hour passed fitfully slow, and then the recruiter called them all into the back room where they were to all take the computer test together. After they finished the preliminaries, Bryson felt at ease once he started taking the actual test. He scored high on the SAT and the ACT, he knew he'd ace an aptitude test to enter the military. He was the first finished, and when the score was tabulated by the computer he had scored an overall score of 77, allowing him his pick of any job he wanted in the military. He already knew he was going to pick Intelligence, but he still had another obstacle to overcome before he could say he was ready for boot: Medical Expenditure Panel Survey or MEPS. He had to pass the physical to get into the military first.

Thankfully, he chose the day that he did, MEPS was taking place the next day with a battery of forms to sign and military career counseling going on that night. The recruiter handed each of the testers pamphlets and forms to review, and told them that while they were at MEPS, since the office was over an hour away, they would each be getting their own hotel rooms to stay overnight rather than having to drive back to their residences. He told them to review the paperwork they just received and they would be leaving shortly.

The Black Ring: Prologue, Part 2

It was just all so sudden: he walked over there knowing her parents wouldn't be home, walked in without knocking as he normally did when they were gone, and stepped into her bedroom to see Ian and Julie lying there nose to nose. What were they doing, or what would they say they were doing? What would be their excuse?

 “We were just discussing the deeper meaning of life and preparing for future lessons in philosophy for college when a seizure overcame me and Julie was giving me mouth to mouth and you walked in at the moment her tongue became disengaged from my throat,” Ian might say.

Or maybe Julie would chime in: “It's not what it looks like, I was just practicing on Ian what I was going to do to you later, after all he is a suitable stand in, don't you think? When I'm screwing Ian, in spirit I'm really screwing you!”

At any rate, it was over, for both of them. As he reached his house, he was determined to find his own way. Sure, he had already been accepted into the same college as Julie and Ian, but he didn't have to go there. He might have just barely squeaked out a 3.0 GPA when school was all said and done, but he'd find somewhere to start a new life with new friends and a new girl. Maybe he wouldn't go to school; maybe he'd just dive into the workforce. There might be a lot of sharks in the water ready to devour a small fish like him, but he was more up for the challenge of that then having to see either Julie or Ian ever again.

He made his way to his room avoiding any eye contact or words with his mother or stepfather, afraid the slightest bit of human interaction would send him into a barrage of tears and unstoppable shakes. As he went into his room he quietly closed the door, as much as he wanted to slam the door shut several hundred times he knew that would quickly arouse suspicion. Once he was in his room he quickly drew the blinds to make it as dark as possible in the room. Eventually, they would come to his house to tell him that what he had seen was an accident of some sort, and at that time he would alert his parents that he didn't want to see them. Of course, they wouldn't stop at the door, they would try knocking on the windows when the door didn't work and he didn't want to look at them.

Right now all he wanted to do was turn off his mind and give into a movie or TV show or something that didn't require a thought to enter his sad little brain. Maybe Tenacious D, the HBO skit “Death of a Dream” seemed apropos at the moment. What was the next step in the death of his dream? Maybe Door to Door Rocking? No, there's too many memories to be had with Tenacious D to keep his mind on the current situation at this time. An action movie might fit the mood better. For sure a few explosions would cheer him up a bit. Maybe Predator. The idea of a humanity murdering unseen alien force ripping through a team of special ops soldiers only to be thwarted in his scheme to take over the world by an overly ripped Arnold Schwarzenegger seemed to warm his broken heart. It seemed like an allegory for the soul: the Predator was his heartbreak, and now Schwarzenegger must be his mind fighting back the heartbreak and ultimately defeating it.

As he lay on his bed, huddled under covers and pillows watching his mental metaphor on film, it came much sooner than he expected. He heard the rat-a-tat-tat on the front door followed by the muffled sounds of his mother talking to someone. The edges of his sight became black and his vision blurry as his heart began to race with the sound of footsteps making their way down the hall toward his door.

 “Bryson, Julie and Ian are here to speak to you,” came the typically soothing voice of his mother through the door delivering this message of certain doom.

Thickly he replied, “I don't want to see them right now.”

 “Why not?”

“I don't want to talk about it. Please just tell them to go away.”

 “Okay,” the response seemed to almost question if this was truly his wish, but she reluctant seemed to trudge back down to the hall to deliver the message. He heard her muffled voice from the front door followed by the sound of it closing. He started to breathe a sigh of relief, but the sigh caught midway in his throat as he realized this can't be it. Sure enough, the steps came back down the hall once again. “Can I come in?”

 “Not right now, Mom, I'm indecent.” He felt like a fool as the words came out of his mouth. Was he now transported to the early nineteenth century that this phrase now issued from his lips. Of course, he knew he meant this more about his mental state than his physical appearance.

“Okay, well if you need to talk about anything, your stepfather and I are here for you.”

“Thanks Mom,” the words came out thicker than before and he had a hard time getting them out as a couple tears leaked onto his cheek. Of course, he would never talk to his parents about what happened this day, not in twenty or a million years. They'll question his choices once he makes them, but they were his choices to make and they'd just have to accept the fact that he made them. Right now wasn't the time to think about those choices though.

Not to mention the attack on his mental state wasn't quite over yet as the rat-a-tat-tat came to his window.

The Black Ring: Prologue, Part 1

Everything was beautiful outside when Bryson had left his house, or at least he thought it was. Now that he was returning there in shame everything was losing its color. What once was a bright deep blue sky now took on a gunmetal gray sheen, and the green grass he passed through was masked by what appeared to him as ominous shadows, an omen that should have foretold the coming doom that was spread out before him as he had left his house. As he reached the sidewalk he couldn't bear to even look at the cars that passed by for fear of more heartache and that doom would reach through the window of a passing car and rip his stomach out the way his heart had already been ripped from his chest. Such a thought didn't ease him any, and as he made his way to the nearest tree he felt all the life drain out of him, just as the sick spewed forth from the stomach that remained within him drained down the trunk of the tree.

How could this happen? Just a week after graduation, everything seemed to be in perfect order. He was enrolled in college, the same college that his best friend, Ian, and his girl, Julie, were enrolled in. It seemed like it would be the perfect set up. He was almost certain that when they got to school he'd be rooming with Ian, and Julie would be less than a stone's throw away. Maybe later on they could rent a house or a large apartment together, most likely after Ian found the love of his life like Bryson had. They could do everything together, and why wouldn't they: Bryson and Ian had been friends since they were six years old, and he had been dating Julie for the last four years. They were practically family.

Of course, “were” was the key word now. That one word incensed Bryson as he picked up the pace on his walk home. The walking pace didn't last, though; as he thought more about the word “were” he quickly went from a brisk walk to a run. “Were” ruined friendships. “Were” tore apart lovers. “Were” broke apart families. “Were” brought nations to their knees. “Were” caused the world to stop spinning. “Were” was a destroyer of the future. If the world ended today, aliens would pass by the wreckage and say, “There WERE humans there.” When you die you're conversations with other dead people would most likely begin, “If I WERE alive...” “Were” was the most useless, no, heartbreaking word in the English language. Then again, “Was” wasn't very far off, in Bryson's mind. “I WAS going to college,” he thought.

How could he have been so stupid, though? He always felt that Ian was making eyes at her, or whatever it was called nowadays. Bryson lived in such an old school world in his mind though that he never thought once of it let alone twice. Seriously, though, how could he have forgotten the way Julie looked at Ian though? Bryson knew he, himself, was lazy, but he could have taken Ian's place as captain of the soccer team easily if he had the ambition. He could have even run the Math League had he not been busy with World of Warcraft. Captaining the football team might have been a tad bit harder, but Bryson was confident he could pull it off. Okay, maybe he was kidding himself a little bit. Wait, a little bit, try a whole lot. There was no way he was as good a person as Ian, and that made things hurt that much more. He knew he had never been on his level. For Christ's sake, he would be lucky if he finished undergraduate school, let alone go on to further education like Ian had planned.

In all honesty, he could take betrayal from Julie more than he could from Ian. There was more than one occasion where she had left him in the past and he had always taken her back. Even Ian had wondered why Bryson had always taken Julie back. Bryson never had a question in his mind about it though. Each time Julie left him, he took her back with open arms, no matter what had happened. Why wouldn't he? She was the class president and captain of the volleyball team. On top of that she never neglected her jobs on the yearbook staff and as the editor of the Astronaut Herald at school.

All in all he wondered where he fit into their schemes and things. He tried playing sports his freshman year of high school but gave that up when the coach pissed him off. There was that time that he spent a little bit of time in school choir, but got himself kicked out when he had the whole boy's section cracking up in class as he made fun of the teacher. Now that he thought about it, he was more known for spreading joy through the lower levels of the student body with his shenanigans than he was ever known for his school spirit or academic valor while those closest to him embodied those latter qualities.

Now here he was, running the gamut through every emotion dealing with loss, while Ian and Julie lay canoodling in her bed. That's why he went over there; it was supposed to be him lying there nose to nose with Julie, not Ian. They had made plans today to lie around and do nothing, sit around and do nothing, or walk around and do nothing. Had she become so tired of doing nothing that she was driven to the arms of someone more like-minded?

The Story Behind "Bloodletting"

I’m torn on my feeling about this Social Fallout song. I enjoy it but I feel it’s a little too different from the rest of Social Fallout’s material. I also feel like some of my lyrics are a little too cliché. At the same time, this is also one of my angriest songs lyrically, and the lyrics serve the title in a personal sense for me. I was going through some personal issues where I felt that I was getting screwed from many different directions. I wanted to put my frustrations to song while being vague about my personal situations.

Another reason I’m proud about this particular track is the fact that it doesn’t contain any cursing. I wrong this around the time that Mushroomhead released XIII, and they created that album with no cursing. Seether’s Karma & Effect was also an album that had come out recently that contained no cursing. The choice to avoid cursing wasn’t a moral choice, I don’t find anything wrong in cursing; this was merely an artistic decision. I felt that using curse words would be an easy way out artistically and it was best for me artistically to avoid that.

While I do in retrospect find this song to be a bit of a mess (our attempt at progressive hard rock/metal that became more meandering than anything), I’m still proud of our attempt at experimentation. This song also probably took the longest to finish of all the songs that we did. I had a hard time finding the melody for the track, and the bridge was particularly difficult, which explains why I decided to devolve into screaming it besides giving those lyrics emphasis. You can catch the originally recording of the track as it appeared on Chapter 1: Peaceful Aggression below.

Bloodletting

Where did this all begin

When will it all end

At a time when we bleed the poor to feed the rich

In this sad sick nation of ingrates

Where we feed our ambition with the decision

To take what we can and desecrate the rest

The bones of our dead become fodder for crows!

Is this what we have left

To burn our cross in disgrace

Is it time to give in?

So slit the throat of our children's hopes

Cause the rich are getting richer

On keeping the poor where they are

So let's find hope in the hopeless

The truth in the lies

And die fighting

Or just sit on the sides!

Is this all we've become

Am I screaming to deaf ears

Is there no turning back?

Is this all we have left

To burn our cross in disgrace

Is it time to give in?

Make me believe

I am nothing

And I might back down

Give me the flame

Start up the fire

And I'll burn this down

Down to the ground!

Is this all we've become

Am I screaming to deaf ears

Is there no turning back

Is this all we have left

To burn our cross in disgrace

It's not time to give in!

The Story Behind "The Chalice"

I actually don’t have much to say about “The Chalice”. The idea came about because I hadn’t really worked with Flash Fiction before. Flash Fiction is a very short version of the Short Story. These stories are often 1000 words or less, and that was the length I set for myself when I wrote the story. I have since worked in Flash Fiction once before, but it’s still not a large part of my repertoire, so to speak. In all honesty, that was my main inspiration going into this story.

The actual concept of the story, I’m not really sure from where the idea came. If I may be so blunt, this is the story of a vampire transformation. I used to be really into the concept of vampires, and had even planned out a vampire novel trilogy at one point that I may or may not try to write at some point. The idea of leading up to the transformation and then cutting it out leaving whether it worked or not to ambiguity really sparked my interest. 

The Chalice

Jake looked down at the glass that was set before him. The thoughts that crossed his mind didn’t automatically turn to what would happen when he drank the contents. No, instead they turned to the contrast between what stood before him and the booth of the restaurant where he currently sat. The booth stood as a representation for the diner: very nondescript with a green and red theme running through it as if the owners wanted to remind everyone of Christmas when they entered.

It’s funny what runs through your head when your life is about to change, he thought to himself. Staring at the glass, Maybe it should be called a goblet or a chalice instead. He thought to himself that maybe they should have found a different area for this; a high scale restaurant where the cup wouldn’t seem so out of place. The men accompanying him thought differently though.

Ivan and Gerald sat across the table from him. Dressed in Versace suits and wearing their Ray-Bans, they didn’t quite fit in here either, especially in the middle of the night when only the drunks looking for something more substantial than Taco Bell would be apt to visit this particular venue. That was one of the reasons for choosing this place for the task at hand though: people were less likely to take notice of the peculiarity of the situation.

Jake picked up the glass and examined it closer. The entire chalice appeared to have been crafted of solid gold with the bowl encrusted with various emerald, ruby, and clear colored precious stones.

 “Is this the Holy Grail?” Jake asked Ivan and Gerald.

“Of course not,” Ivan responded.

“You can almost guarantee the actual Holy Grail, if it exists, is being kept somewhere deep in the Vatican,” Gerald chimed in. “We have no interest in that. Besides, anyone who knows anything about the myth of Jesus Christ knows that he was born a carpenter, not the king everyone was expecting. His cup was more likely made of clay and possibly adorned with lead. So if he did exist maybe the lead could explain his delusions of grandeur in later life. He should thank the Romans for executing and saving him from becoming as mad as a hatter in later life.”

 “So where did this come from?” Jake further inquired.

 “We can’t just give away trade secrets, Jacob,” Ivan chimed in. “Once you join us we can tell you more, but for now you just need to trust us.”

Jake wasn’t sure how much he could trust them though. They had initially met half a year ago in a tavern downtown. Ivan was about to get into it with a hothead who frequented the establishment and stood about twice Ivan’s size. Luckily, Jake knew the guy and talked him down. Jake had always been the type to keep the peace, and he didn’t like fights in his bar. He waved down the bartender and bought them each a shot. The hothead drank them both and was on his way. Once a week for the next several months Ivan and Gerald would run into Jake at the tavern, and since Jake was always a loner they felt the pleasure to keep him company.

Finally, a few weeks ago they brought up this meeting. It took Jake a few weeks to warm up to the idea; after all, he had never talked to Ivan and Gerald aside from at the bar at night. In the end he figured what harm could it do? Now that he was staring at the goblet he wasn’t so sure he wanted to go through with this.

 “Listen,” Gerald said, “there are sacrifices that have to be made, but that’s like anything. If you want to lose weight, you sacrifice food. If you want to get drunk you sacrifice sobriety. If you want to find love you have to sacrifice self. That’s all you’re doing.”

 “We started off right where you are,” Ivan said, “but we can attest to the way our eyes have been opened since we took the exact same step that you’re taking tonight. Sensory deprivation heightens the senses.”

 “To truly live, Jake,” Gerald said, “first you have to die.”

Jake shuddered at the thought of this last comment. He wasn’t ready to die, but they had told him before he would come back. That was part of the reason that they chose to do this here: so he would feel safer, and because the wait staff would just assume he was a passed out drunk. What if they were wrong though? Could they just be freaks who get off on murdering people in public?

Jake peered into the goblet. Knowing what was in it, he had to suppress the need to gag. It appeared to be red wine, and he made himself believe that’s all it was.

 “If you have your doubts still,” Gerald said, “we don’t have to do this tonight.”

 “No,” Jake said, “I’m going to do it.” Jake raised the chalice to his lips. After hesitating for a moment he poured the warm liquid down his throat. He suppressed the urge to allow the drink to return to its golden home, and didn’t remove the cup from his lips until it was all gone. For a moment he sat there swallowing the contents of his mouth to make sure that the drink stayed down, and then he spoke, “Now what?”

 “Now, we wait,” Ivan said. As soon as the words left Ivan’s lips Jake could see the vision at the corners of his eyes become blurry. He started to feel tired, sluggish. His arms which he had rested on the table fell limply to his sides. I hope this is for real, was the last thought that passed through his brain as Jake’s entire world faded to black.