10/31/2010

   

From across the bar she could barely see him, the man dressed in a steel gray suit. He almost mixed in the smoke, his black hair and dark brown eyes being her only indications that he was actually there.

But, oh, what an impact they made.

She caught his glance once. Just the once. That's all he gave her. That was all he needed.

Something deep inside of her drew her to him. He hadn't said a word or even given her a sign that he was even interested in something only she had to offer. She just knew he was what she wanted.

Spectre noticed the attraction, for it was he who created it in the first place.

Mind-walking wasn't necessarily an easy thing to do, even though it was a talent that didn't need any special kind of cultivation. It just needed practice, as most things do.

His first mistake was to think he could change someone's mind outright, find the idea and radically change it. It wasn't until he'd accidentally killed someone by way of driving them insane that he realized that he should probably be a bit more subtle in his approach.

So then he only changed small things in small increments. In the case of the sleazy bar crawler with a slightly above average body, it was her attraction to dark eyes. Nothing major. Certainly nothing that someone might take into consideration while weighing someone's validity as a spouse. But it was enough, in his case.

The thin crop of attractive people, both male and female, in the establishment, with the sole exception of a blond man who could have passed as a bronze Ancient Greek statue if he was told to stand still for a few moments, worked in Spectre's favor. All he had to do was give his target a general disdain for hair lighter than her own, an all-encompassing stroke given how dark hers was, and give the Golden Boy with devilishly good looks an insatiable lust for women with strange accents.

The fact that probably the only female stand-up comedian in all of Grazenburg with what could actually have been classified as more of a speech impediment than an accent happened to be the evening's entertainment also worked extremely well in his favor. The fact that she happened to be a good stand-up comedian did not, however. His target seemed to enjoy the show more than the members of the opposite gender in the establishment or the remarkably strong beverage in her hand.

To alleviate this slight inconvenience, Spectre listened in on the comedian's act for a few seconds.

"So dis cow be walkin' roun' like in the field, righ'," she started, giggling to herself about the upcoming punchline throughout. "An' he sees dis otha' cow sittin' thera'. An' he siz, "Owrite mate. You heard 'bout dat Mad Cow disease an tha'? Righ' scary innit?". An' the otha cow he siz... he siz... "Righ', yeah mate. Is righ' scary n' tha'. Make you glad we is squirrels dunnit?""

Despite the almost indecipherable delivery of a joke Spectre had always liked to tell as sort of an icebreaker, the joke hit just about every one of the patrons' funny bones, including Spectre's brunette target. After a bit of pondering, Spectre did a little bit of rummaging around in the comic's mind and convinced her that she had an irrational hatred of minorities.

It didn't take long for her new found racism to work its way into her previously successful act. She followed up her crowd pleaser with a less-than-appreciated remark about the economic stability of black people, much to the chagrin of the large family of at least twenty black people in front of the stage.

Spectre's brunette was having no part of this ignorance and turned her back away from the stage in protest. That was when she caught Spectre's glance. After the ten or so seconds she spent staring deep into his eyes, she found herself moving across the bar towards him. She stood speechless in front of him for a few more seconds before she regained her ability to converse.

"I...I'm..." she started.

"Katelyn," Spectre interrupted, the corner of his mouth coyly rising upwards. "I know, dear. I know."

"How did you..."

"I don't think you'd believe me if I told you, darling."

"I don't know, I've heard some crazy shit," Katelyn protested, clearly not trying to impress Spectre with the breadth of her vocabulary. "The other day some guy told me he had to wrap his dick around his thigh when he wasn't using it. You know the crazy part?" Spectre, thoroughly charmed, shook his head to indicate he had no idea what said 'crazy part' could possibly be. "He actually did."

"Bartender," Spectre called to the clearly overworked man behind the bar after realizing that he was still going to need what amounted to a mild sedation to enjoy the rest of his night. "Strongest thing you've got." The bartender nodded hurriedly. Spectre turned his attention back to the boringly-named Katelyn. "How fascinating."

"So how did you know my name?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you I guessed, would you?" Spectre asked, hoping she was stupid enough to say yes. Instead she revealed that she also had an almost unbearably annoying laugh, crushing Spectre's dream of an easy conquest with every high pitched hiccup she let out.

"No, silly."

Spectre's drink arrived just in time. He didn't question as to what was in it. Instead he just gave the bartender the idea that he'd already paid for the potentially lethal concoction and took a sip of it.

"Well," Spectre started, shaking his head in an effort to fight off the remarkably potent kick and almost repulsive taste of the cocktail, "I read your mind and changed your idea of what an attractive man is so you wouldn't take that perfectly adequate body of yours over there to that blond boy toy."

He motioned his hand at the blond he'd dealt with earlier. His once-formidable adversary was now in a heated argument with the group the comic had offended earlier on. The words "girl of my dreams" and "most beautiful thing in the universe" came out of the blond's mouth a few times, confirming that Spectre's efforts had worked their magic.

Katelyn looked at him and laughed again. Spectre took another sip of his drink nonchalantly. Katelyn then realized he wasn't joking.

"You... can control my mind?"

"Oh no, no, no," Spectre scoffed. "Nothing as serious as that. Just individual thoughts. Small things. If I got too ambitious I might damn well kill you."

"You're lying," Katelyn giggled.

"Am I?"

"That's not even possible."

"You want proof?"

"Yeah." Spectre sighed and took another sip of his drink, which was already starting to taste a lot better.

"When you looked over here, across a smoke filled room and saw a man in a gray suit with dark features, you didn't think "That's just some guy" or "No way in hell". You thought "Yes. Yes indeed". Didn't you?" Spectre said in the smoothest of voices. He pulled Katelyn in close and stared into her eyes. "I saw you across that bar and I told you something. Do you know what that was?" Katelyn, her eyes wide in awe, shook her head slowly.

"You want to be bad," Spectre whispered. "You don't know why. You just see this man across the bar and he makes you want to rebel, to strip down to your most primitive form and just go insane. Isn't that right?" Katelyn nodded slowly. "What do you want, Katelyn? What do you want to be?"

"I... I want to be bad," she stuttered. Spectre flashed a smile. A deliciously evil smile. 

"Outside. One minute," he said.

"Why?"

"You're going to be bad," Spectre replied, brushing Katelyn's chin with his thumb. She almost darted away from the bar and through the door to the outside shortly afterward, leaving Spectre alone with his quite possibly radioactive beverage. He downed what was left of it with a swift flick of his wrist. The alcohol didn't take long to slap him across the face just as quickly.

He stood up quickly, buttoning up his suit jacket, and made for the door.

*****

This is a little vignette for a character in what I hope is going to be a well-planned story. If you recognize the name, it's the same character from the story about the Cobbler. I want to say it's called Fiction Friday. Check it for a bit of light reading.

Live well, my homies.

A Conversation From a French Textbook, Translated and Extended

Thomas: (How many people are in your family?)
Robert: Sorry?
Thomas: I said how many people are in your family?
Robert: That's a strange question to ask upon meeting someone. Usually I get "hi" or "how are you". Way to break the mold, anyways.
Thomas: I try.
Robert: (We have seven: my dad, my mother-in-law, my mom, my two brothers, my sister, and me. My sister is married and lives in New Orleans), in case you were wondering or needed a target to fix your probable habit of assault and subsequent murder of random young people.
Thomas: You just listed your mother in law before your own mother.
Robert: I wanted to announce that I was off-limits lest you were of the homosex.
Thomas: And you did so by failing to mention that your wife is also included in your family of seven people?
Robert: Well I thought you meant how many people are in your family in a 100-mile radius. My wife is currently out of town.
Thomas: Right, because that's immediately what you should think when someone asks you that.
Robert: You're the one who I needed to convince that I wasn't gay as to protect my anal virginity.
Thomas: Okay, I'll prove to you I'm not gay.
Robert: Good luck, bum boy.
Thomas: Your sister, (Is she younger or older than you? How old is she,) in other words?
Robert: Well, good on you. Now I just think you're a sex offender.
Thomas: Answer the damn question.
Robert: (She's 28.)
Thomas: Mmmm... ripe.
Robert: Sorry?
Thomas: (What's her name?)
Robert: You're starting to scare me, bro.
Thomas: What's her fucking name, asshole?!
Robert: I'd probably tell you if you weren't panting and shouting obscenities.
Thomas: Tell me her name or you will lose your anal virginity.
Robert: (Her name is Sarah)! Jesus Christ!
Thomas: See you later!
Robert: Goodbye!



Basically, while reading through my French book today, I noticed that the little conversations two people have are often kind of creepy and not things people would really ask even if they were good friends. Anything in parenthesis is actual dialogue straight from the book, in case it wasn't obvious, and the last two lines are the normal little salutations that usually finish off those stupid little exchanges.

10/3/2010

Yesterday was a very, very strange day.

It started in a town about 20 minutes outside of Kansas City. If you'd told me three years ago that I'd be in Lee's Summit, Missouri a day before I turned 19, I might have laughed at you as obnoxiously as I could. That's what I tried telling myself as the day started off on a sour note. I wanted to harness the knowledge that I don't have a plan for everything these days and it's just good to lay back and just enjoy it.

That would have been a lot easier for me to do if I wasn't so paranoid about everything and everyone around me, but still I tried.

And for a stretch of about 30 minutes I lost my grip completely. I'm terrified of what will happen the day that I lose control for more than 30 minutes, but hopefully the epiphany/vision/realization that I'm about to describe will hold that off until I've hit the stage in life when I don't have anything to complain about.

I sat alone in my room last night from about 7 to 8. I'd anticipated going out and having a chemically enhanced good time, but those plans changed fairly suddenly and for some reasons I'm not aware of. At first I was really, really angry. One of those mindsets that could only be described as livid or infuriated.

Then I felt desolate. Alone. Homesick.

I haven't been homesick the entire time I've been here. I haven't missed an awful lot about Plano except my dog an my friends and family. I credit a lot of that to the fact that I've found a group of people here who I enjoy being around. I've already confided in some of them about things that I have trouble letting out to just anyone. I really thought that I'd found a little niche here, something I was scared I wouldn't find at all.

But suddenly, in the course of 12 hours or so, that changed. Suddenly I was sitting alone in my room with the whole world against me. I tried watching football with everyone in the lounge, but I just didn't find myself enjoying it. So I went into my room and, after a few minutes of sitting on my bed, I called my dad and talked to him.

That was about when I broke down. I wanted to go home. I wanted to sit on the couch and have my dog press herself up against me. I wanted to stroll lazily out of bed at some ungodly hour in the afternoon and make myself a quick breakfast. Shit, I even wanted to throw on a bleach-covered polo and go clean a meat market.

But then I got over it.

I can't really describe it any better than that. I was sitting down in my room, now with a group of people I can safely call my friends, watching Forgetting Sarah Marshall. At 11:59 I went over to my fridge and got out a bottle of Dr. Pepper I'd been saving, then I waited until the clock struck midnight and cracked it open with a toast to the room.

And since then, it's been pretty smooth sailing.

It might sound kind of bi-polar, but I assure you it's not. When the clock struck 12, I was hit with something that I apparently missed around this time last year: I'm an adult. Holy fuck, I'm an adult.

All of the shit I'd been stressing over for the previous few days were the problems of a child, a high school student. Almost as soon as I turned 19, I realized that I'm no longer either of those things. I don't need to be stressing about any of that anymore.

So I decided that I'm just not going to.

I guess I grew up last night.