The Night Road

This came to me a while back. Think of it as nearly fiction.

Edited; added second part

The Driver

It's been said that there are as many worlds as there are choices, and that we occasionally dream of the ones we didn't make. Not all of them, of course, but the ones that both have a profound impact on our lives and could have truly gone either way. Those choices, if not for one factor, would have led our lives in a completely different direction. This was the secondary track my mind was on as I drove through the twists and turns of the night road.

It was a state road, winding through the forests of northern Tennessee, and it was late at night, so, for the most part, I had the road to myself. There were as many curves and sharp turns in this road as there had been choices in my life, and since there was hardly anyone else out there, I enjoyed myself. I'd accelerate through turns, coast down the hills, and rocket through the rare straight-aways, handling my machine almost by instinct. Even the occasional deer didn't throw me off as I either sped past them or slowed slightly when they didn't freeze, though most of the time it was as though they didn't care if they died. No matter. My father passed down a hereditary instinct for going very, very, fast and I was good at it. It was a dark night; the only scenery I missed flitted through the illumination of my headlights.

Sometimes I wish I could have lived my life like this, launching myself through every decision by instinct, but I drive on the road of life during the day, when there are other drivers out. And so I have to watch out for them, give their lives the right of way when it isn't my turn. I have to follow the signs during the day. I have to signal my decisions to avoid collisions, and I have to slow down when those ahead of me brake. I feel obligated to stop and help when another breaks down, give them a jump start to continue their trip. Sometimes I even have to let someone else take the wheel, as embarrassing as it is to lose control. My route through life has to be thought out, so I don't waste fuel or get lost. Thus, through planning and some careful driving, my life took a route to lead me a certain way. One group of friends rather than another. One college, instead of another. One night, instead of another. It led me to her.

We still aren't entirely sure exactly how we met. We knew each other through mutual friends, I suppose, but we were never really introduced to each other. We shared no classes, only acquaintances, and no activities save for small events at the dorms or the coffee shop. Eventually, an attraction seemed to grow out of what one did and didn't know about the other. There would be mild flirtation when we'd meet in friends' dorm rooms or the odd meal, but neither of us really pursued the other for quite awhile, for reasons of our own, or simply for a lack of convenience. One night in January, however, something possessed me to go with back to her dorm for a movie with her and some other friends. Maybe it was boredom, maybe it was curiosity. Whatever the reason I took that turn, that night placed us closer than we had been before, and there was nothing to hold either of us back. After that, we approached each other more carefully, the innocent and meaningless banter no longer coming easily. A month and a half would pass before we allowed ourselves to get that close again. Our relationship was slow to start as we tried to figure out where it would take us. The first year of college was nearly over, and we were wary of what summer would bring. Never the less, love eventually took the wheel, and here we are.

She sat silently next to me. Perhaps she was tired, or perhaps my driving frightened her, or maybe she just let me have my concentration, unaware that moving like this was second nature. I wondered what she was thinking, what went through her mind as the scenery flitted by like a slippery memory, or deja vu; you knew you'd seen it, but suddenly it was gone and no longer mattered. I glanced over at her every once in a while; she was just looking straight ahead with her book in her lap, with no light to read it by. Maybe she watched the road in apprehension, should I not notice any danger the night road could throw at me. I suppose it would have been simple as asking her what was on her mind, but I let silence prevail. It was almost as though the awkwardness from nearly half a year before, when all we really knew about each other was our mutual attraction. How much more did we know now? After several months, my puns and corny jokes made her groan, but she loved me anyway. I knew a bit more about her family and social history, and loved the woman that her past had made her. And yet, we've never had any hardship greater than the distance between us during the summer months. What differences have we not discovered? What terrible argument will either sever our connection or make it stronger? I learned a long time ago not to fear the future, but I never grew out of wondering.

My mind continued to wander as I turned off of the winding road and onto the interstate, joining other late night travelers and semi-trucks. Still, she was silent. It irked me, slightly. I could never really get in her head, I never knew what she was thinking. I’d ask, and she’d say she didn’t know. She never knew, or she just wouldn’t tell me. I guess it’s not that big a deal, I don’t really have to know everything about her, but sometimes I felt like I didn’t know anything. I knew about her past, I knew her family, I knew our mutual friends, but all that was really just context. There was no content. What did I know about her?

We soon reached our half-way point, and I had become weary. I checked us into a hotel at 3:30 am. I flicked through the infomercials and old movies as she brushed her teeth. My thoughts were as scattered as ever as I prepared for bed. She turned the TV off, and crawled under the covers, and I forgot my thoughts of the past and ever changing future. She truly is beautiful, her body fitting perfectly in my arms, and her kiss enough to make me forget anything that troubled me. All those thoughts returned afterward, however, the choices and what if's swirling in my mind as I drifted to sleep, and I dreamed.

The Passenger

We were lost at the very beginning. He didn’t believe me at first, and then he took forever to turn around. It was as simple as turning the wrong way right out of the park, and it probably took him twenty miles before he was convinced that the scenery wasn’t unfamiliar just because it was dark. It didn’t seem to be out of stubbornness, though. He was distracted. He had been all week, really, but I didn’t think to say anything about it. It was too dark to read, so I just looked ahead, watching the road.

Everything looks different in the dark. You only see outlines of things, and your mind sort of fills in the blanks. He was kind of like that sometimes, always assuming something was up because I’d sigh a certain way, or not react to something. Really, it wouldn’t mean anything, I don’t think about that sort of thing. I wish he’d just trust me to let him know if something was up. That was a thing about him, he always had to be part of something, he couldn’t just watch. Always had to ask, couldn’t just listen. He always had to know, and some times there just wasn’t anything to know, or say.

We stopped for gas, and he got something caffeinated to keep him awake for the drive. It was an under-used, twisted state road, so we didn’t know when we’d get to the next town or gas station. His car didn’t have any real cup holders, just one that would slide into the window, so I’d have to pass him the drink whenever he wanted some. It was getting close to two in the morning, but I stayed awake to pass him his drink and keep him company. We listened to my iPod set up with some speakers; his old corvair didn’t have a working radio. I had him listen to the original Africa by Toto, since he’d only ever heard a bunch of different a cappella versions. He seemed to enjoy it. Didn’t say much, but I didn’t ask.

I didn’t mind the silence so much. Normally, he wouldn’t shut up, so I found it kind of soothing. I was content to just stay up with him, two quiet consciousnesses appreciating each other’s presence. I had no constant need to know what he was thinking. I could usually guess, and I only asked if it really mattered. That was his problem, I guess, assuming that everything mattered, everything was a big deal, every thought I had was important to him. You’d think that would be a good thing, right? So much concern for everything I thought? It gets to you, though. And I don’t know that he really heard me any time I’d answer, like he was just content that I’d respond. But times like this, they were nice. We didn’t have to say anything. We could just be.

Eventually, the road turned into a highway. On the one hand, it was nice to be out of the woods and have some ambient light. On the other, it was an excuse to drive even faster. A little Jetta pulled in front of us, and he raced. I gripped my arm rest as he weaved us between semi-trucks and chased the other car. Saying something wouldn’t do any good; he liked going fast. I had no idea how fast we were going, the little speedometer only went up to 100, and the pointer bounced around up there as we raced. He claims to have never crashed in his life, but it still scares the crap out of me. It sort of seemed like he enjoyed that aspect of it, got some weird thrill out of scaring me shitless. Eventually he stopped, content with the knowledge that he could keep up in this old thing and proud of his own ability.

His pride got to me, sometimes. He seemed to act differently when he had an audience. It never seemed like he was starved for attention, but he certainly enjoyed it when he had it. I never bugged him about it, but he wasn’t self-conscious about anything. Sometimes, though, I was embarrassed on his behalf. Still, I had no control over that, no more control than I had over his driving.

We stopped at a hotel in Lexington. I brushed my teeth and changed while he waited for me in the bed. He was silent, but he definitely had a few simple things to say when I joined him. Still, there’s something to be said about just being held by someone, to just lie down with him. I wouldn’t know how to say it, but I don’t care much. Just that it’s worth while is enough. He fell asleep, and I watched him for awhile. You think too much, I thought at him. There’s this part of you that makes me feel important, wanted, and respected, but the rest of you drives me nuts. I didn’t know what aspect of him did what, and I never really figured it out. I don’t know that it mattered. Maybe I should have told him, but what good is telling him something that I don’t really know? I didn’t dream that night.

An altered memory, not that great

The two walked bathed in an orangey light that only street lamps could offer. A sort of a misty foggy thing gave it the feeling of a memory realized several years later. It was sort of a dreamy feel, as if this would be important some time, but there was no way to know when, or even why.

The were in the woods, now, a park with a bicycle path winding through it in a figure eight. Various paths and clearings showed evidence of miscreants, insomniacs, and those with nothing better to do: cigarette butts, beer cans, wads of paper, and general litter were lightly sprinkled about the grounds. Despite the scattered signs of night life, the two boys, about 14, had nothing to fear. This was their neighborhood, their park. They were invincible. They walked as though they were a pair of cops on a familiar beat.

"I feel like something big is going to happen," said one. He was slightly shorter than the other, light haired, a bit wirey, and his name was Alex.

"The other, dark haired, vaguely muscular, and named Vincent cocked his head. "When?" he asked. The orangey light poked between the leaves, creating a sort of negative version of the shafts of sunlight that shoot through the clouds.

"I don't know. Soon, maybe."
"Like tomorrow? Next week? What are you talking about?" Vincent looked around, as if something were going to happen right now. Alex had a tendency to know things on accident. "What's going to happen?"

"Something big. Like, the end of the world or something."
"Oh, that." Vincent looked up at the stars. They were to the parking lot past the park. He couldn't see that many, there were street lights. "Well, what do you think we should do?"

Alex's eyes lit up. "We should get ready."

"What, we're supposed to save the world?"

"Yeah, it'l be like a videogame. We have to train. It won't be easy."

"By ourselves?" Vincent looked worried, but he tried not to show it. They were almost to the street. Occasionally, a care would pass by up ahead. The parking lot, though, was deserted.

"Nah, people will join us. And we'll get magic powers or something. Maybe we already have them and don't know how to use them."

Vincent looked at his hands. I bet I could control fire, or something, if I tried, he thought. No, that's silly. They were just about to cross the street.

"You've got to lead, though," said Alex

"What? Why? You're the one that knows all this stuff."

"Because you're the one that leads. People like you, they'll follow you. You can make decisions. And you're stronger."

Vincent laughed. "You alright? You'd never admit that. Besides, you know we're equally matched. With swords, anyway. And when you fight, you're scary."

Alex smiled. "That's exactly why. People think you're stronger anyway. Don't worry, I'm always backing you up. I'll be the brains behind it, you've got to lead."

They were at the entrance to the subdivision, directly under an orange streetlight. This is where they went different directions.

"How do you know all this is going to happen, anyway?"

"I dunno. Maybe it won't. We should get ready anyway."

I was bored. it's not that great.

In a world where nothing is certain, one lone Otter who is all by himself stands alone against the forces of darkness with no one to help him.

Surrounded by servants of chaos, the Lone Otter draws his sword, and proceeds to wave it about in a fairly unproductive and wild fashion, since there was no one to show him how to use it.

Luckily, there were some basic instructions written on the hilt: hold on end, and poke the other end into people.

You would think that with such vague instructions, the Lone Otter wouldn't stand a chance against the forces of darkness and/or chaos, but you've obviously forgotten that this is a world where nothing is certain.

Dark, armoured beasts wearing dark armour slashed and swung at our hero, but the Lone Otter, whilst swing his sword about, dodged and parried every blow. Occasionally, his sword would strike a vital artery or organ of one of the many fiends that surrounded him.

Eventually, the clearing was littered with the bodies of a dozen or so servants of dark chaos. (They were in a clearing, by the way, that may not have been mentioned)

The Lone Otter looked around at his handiwork, and said to himself, since he was the only one there, "Wow, that was easy. I think I'd like an omelet, now," and headed to a local village, which happened to have a Denny's.

Little did the Lone Otter know what waited for him in the adventures ahead. In fact, he didn't really know anything or even that he had an adventure ahead of him. He just sort of figured that being attacked by servants of chaotic darkness was the sort of thing that happened all the time. Otters, after all, are not known for their understanding of evil plots for world domination and/or destruction.

Meanwhile, in a Dark Palace, far away in a country ruled by chaos, a villainous looking fellow paced back and forth (as if one could pace in any other direction, what a superfluous use of words). "Curse that solitary water dwelling mammal, he has defeated a dozen or so of my finest warriors!" A dark figure appeared before him in a sort spooky shadowy hologram. "Fool!" said the shadow thingy. "how could your warriors be so weak to be defeated by such an unlikely hero?" The villainous looking fellow shuddered in terror, as dark shadowy overlord-types are prone to killing their own subordinates. "forgive me, dark and chaotic one. We were unprepared. It won't happen again." The shadowy thing's glowing red eyes (Dark rulers of chaos often have glowing red eyes. So do Chaotic lords of Darkness, for that matter.) narrowed. "No, no it wont." The villainous looking character proceeded to writhe in pain as pain coursed through his dark, villainous body. The shadowy thing did not kill him at this time, however, so you don't need to feel any of that weird sympathy that people sometimes feel for bad guys when higher ranking bad guys kill them.

Back in the village, the Lone Otter found the Denny's with little trouble. Upon entering the restaurant, he was seated in a timely manner by a decent-looking waitress. Said waitress proceeded to pour him coffee and told him his omelett would be out in just a moment.

As the coffee made its way from the pot to his mug, the Lone Otter suddenly realized something. "Hey, I didn't tell you I wanted an omelete!" He immediately drew his conveniently labeled sword, and pointed it at her throat, causing her to spill the rest of the coffee. Luckily, there wasn't that much. "You must have used dark magic to read my mind!"

"Please, sir," said the waitress, "it's common knowledge that otters like omeletes. You looked like you needed one." The Lone Otter sheathed his weapon, and took a sip of his coffee. "Very well. I apologize. It's just that I'm a bit jumpy. I am standing alone against the forces of darkness, after all."
It might be worth mentioning that the waitress is, in fact, human. This isn't some kind of silly animal story.

“That’s perfectly understandable, my dear. These are uncertain times, it seems as though everyone’s on edge.”

The waitress walked off to fetch the Lone Otters omelet.

Conceptual Pre-writing

Equal rights for Naturals!
Enhanced humans have forgotten their roots. Thos who can afford thes technologies have forced many out of their jobs; survival of the richest has taken a new level of unbelievability. Enhanced citizens are still only human, and are a prone to failure as a natural person.

"We have taken the next step in our evolution. If some choose not to enhance, then they doom themselves to extinction. Denying the changes offered is denying natural selection. humanity as we know it is redefined, and if people don't keep up with the times, they will be left behind. We have seen this in the past; hundreds of years ago, the aborigines modernized or died out. The Amish are all but extinct. The only citizens without personal computers are living like animals in the bowels of our cities. Those who refuse to merge are kidding themselves, and will eventually be forgotten by history."

Merging is a popular term for a mainstreamed form of bio-technological enhancement.
-Cerebral implants, directly connects mind to world wide computer network
-mental augmentations- speeds up thought processes, reflexes, reduces need for sleep

Other enhancements
-physical, both in appearance and performance, not plastic or chemical, but through genetic engineering
*issues with perfection

Where is humanity? consequences of supposed perfection? weakness or flaws in system?

plot concept-romeo and juliet architype, using this techno-social rift, rather than family feud.

Customer Service.

Another random dialogue just sort of popped into my head. It could probably be better, but whatever.

The setting is a well-kept barbecue. The walls are lined with posters promoting chili, peppers, sauces, Texas, and various western things. The menu board above the serving line displays meat and side options, as well as a few specials and differing order sizes. Next to the serving line is a shelf with sauces, powders and meat rubs for sale. A customer walks in, examines the menu board, and makes his choice.

Customer: I'd like to order a pound of bulk meat.

Server: Al'right, what kind of meat would you like?

Customer: Well, I can't really decide. Could I have that split into a quarter pound of chicken, sausage, brisket, and pork?

Server: Yes, but I'll have to charge you $5 extra.

Customer: WHAT? Why?

Server: Because you're ordering 4 regular meat portions. It's not bulk meat.

Customer: Yes it is! I'm ordering a pound of bulk meat, I just want it split.

Server: ...Do you know what bulk means?

There is an ackward silence as the server finishes the order.

Server: Okay, what kind of sauce do you want with this?

Customer: I'd like the spicy.

The server places a large, eight ounce container on the counter.

Customer: Could I have another one of those?

Server: (sighing) Yes, but I'll have to charge you.

Customer:Why? The menu says all orders come with sauce on the side.

Server: Yes, all orders come with sauce on the side. No where does it say, however, that sauce comes on all sides.

Customer: Don't get smart with me kid, your job is to give me what I order.

Server: Look, we sell bottles of this stuff here. I can't give you all the sauce you want for free, it's economically unsound.

Customer: Hasn't anyone ever told you that the customer's always right?

Server: (under his breath) Not if the customer's a moron.

Customer: I Heard That! I don't have to take this, I'm leaving. You've just lost a customer!

Server: Not much of a loss if it's a customer that doesn't want to pay for anything

A Dialogue

Not much, but I decided it was funny.

MARTEN: Alright, van, time to go.

VAN: ...

MARTEN: Hey, I gotta go to work.

VAN: I don't waaaannaaaaa

MARTEN: C'mon, I'm gonna be late!

VAN: It's Cold.

MARTEN: Don't be such a baby, it's only two miles.

VAN: Not moving.

MARTEN: Did I not just fill the gas tank and add oil?

(silence)

MARTEN: Hey!

VAN: It would be nice if you actually changed the oil. I've had the same filter since November.

MARTEN: Don't make me get out the starter fluid.

VAN:...Fine. (grumbles)

procrastination

I've officially given up on 50,000 words, but I'm still writing. In the mean time I'm procrastinating with a funny thing that hit me while watching Whose Line is it Anyway? For certain games, Drew grabs a random audience member and has Wayne sing a song about their job.

DREW: You, what's your name? (motions to a dirty old man)

MAN: I'm.... jeff

DREW: and what do you do for a living?

MAN: I live in a dumpster

awkward silence. Drew motions toward a large-ish bearded man

DREW: Who are you?

MAN2: I'm George Lucas

DREW: And what do you do for a living?

hush falls over crowd. some people laugh

GEORGE:I invented Star Wars

DREW:I'm sure. (motions toward another man) Whats your name?

MAN3: My name is George W. Bush

Drew:What do you do?

BUSH: Um.... uh.... I, um....

the old man next to him whispers a few things in his ear

BUSH: I am responsible for the Hurricane Katrina!

okay, not that funny, but it worked in my head.

Peter goes to work.

Crazy woman thought Peter, as he fumbled with his keys. Crazy, stupid waitress, stupid keys, stupid job, stupid car, stupid everything! After finding the right key, Peter slumped into his white Oldsmobile Achiva and slouched for awhile as he built up the motivation to actually start the car and drive to work. Once he did, he reached for the ignition, and realized that he was no longer holding his keys. Crap, he thought, I'm the only one I know that loses his keys between unlocking the door and starting the car. After an annoyed search, Peter grumbled and headed for TW&Q insurance.
His job was a simple one which involved explaining to people why his company could not pay for any of their car repair bills, despite the fact that they give his company large sums of money every couple of months. It was not a very satisfying job; Peter spent a lot of time getting yelled at by his boss, and the rest of the time being alternately yelled at, sobbed at, pleaded with, and threatened with various torture methods by unhappy customers. The only real advantage of all this was free car insurance: depending on a customer's plan, a portion of their cash will be set aside to pay for insurance for TW&Q employees. This was made possible by complicated economic terms and lots and lots of paper work, and is probably the reason Peter got yelled at, sobbed at, pleaded with, and threatened so often.
Peter walked in just as his boss was walking out. "You're late!" he shouted, as Peter clocked in with the secretary. Peter was actually ten minutes early, but he didn't bother to reply. His manager would only tell him not to get smart, and, in a job like this, it was probably the best way to handle things. To get smart would be to get another job, and Peter was too apathetic to apply anywhere new, but his personal excuse was the free insurance.
The secretary, whose name is not important at the current time, eyed Peter and told him not to mind the manager; he'd just been having a bad day.
"You're obviously new here," replied Peter. "For him, every day is a bad day. And it's contagious. God, I hate this job."
The secretary frowned."Then why don't you quit, if you hate it so much?" she asked, as Peter walked toward the elevator that would take him to the 5th floor, where he would find cubicle 12a and begin to die a little more inside.
Peter paused and said, "free car insurance."
Quit, ha, thought Peter, as the elevater carried him up the metaphysical heavens and a metaphorical hell. And where would I go then? Back to school? Study for another few years, hopefully landing a life changing job, and ending up in another dead end? No, I'm not going down that trail again. Peter suddenly realised he had began a peculiar and specific inner monologue. Sheesh, this is pretty pathetic. I'm talking to myself in my head because of something no one important said. I must be losing it. After some careful thought, Peter deduced: No, I've already lost it. I don't think I've ever had it. I don't even know what it was. Oh well. Time for work. So ended Peter's introspection, and he sat down at his cubicle and began politely replying to the hundreds of e-mails recieved from hundreds of unhappy clients.

first Coffee shop scene. not necessarily the beginning, 427

"Why do I even bother to do anything?" Peter asked this question often; many of his friends gave up and begun to wonder why, in fact, Peter did anything. Sometimes complete strangers would give him advice from time to time, but usually they just gave him annoyed looks. Today, however, the waitress pouring Peter's coffee was in an interesting mood and decided to give him an answer.
"Why don't you bother doing anything?" she asked, with a somewhat ironic tone.
"What?" Peter replied. He was quite a bit startled, for after a year of going to this particular coffee shop every morning, Peter had become accustomed to being ignored by the employees and usual clientele.
"You never do anything," continued the waitress. Her voice had all the implications of a rant about to begin. "You've been coming in here for about a year, now, I think, and all you do is sit here for about an hour and drink your coffee with sugar and non-dairy creamer. You never talk to anyone, you never come in with anyone, you don't even read a paper! You just walk in and order a coffee and stare into space, and every once in a while you'll ask why you bother to do anything to no one in particular. What do you do when you aren't here that you shouldn't bother doing anymore?"
A stunned silence gripped Peter, then let go slowly. "Um... er... uh, well, what I do. Um" explained Peter, "I work. I have a job. And that's none of your business!" Silence let go and the usual annoyance and irritability took over. "What kind of a place is this, anyway?" As Peter regained his composure, he angrily began to pack his affects. After a moment or so, he realised he had nothing to pack angrily, flailed with something that was a bit too pathetic to be rage but definately stronger than mere annoyance, and spilled the remainder of his coffee. The waitress merely watched with a combination of sympathy and amusement. This did nothing for his mood. "Do all the employees here go around criticising the customers? Did I ask for an analysis of my personal life?"
The waitress blinked. "Well, actually, yes, you did," she replied, then laughed.
"I don't have to put up with this. You've just lost a customer!" Peter tried to storm out, but it just wasn't his thing. The waitress simply shook her head. Not much of a loss, she thought, One cup of coffee a every morning isn't putting anyone out of business.

It got bigger

We had a sort of a script writing clinic thingy in drama, and we were charged with writing ten lines of a script for a show that clearly took place in the future, and something seemingly impossible had to happen, but it had to be possible to stage.

One and Two are holed up in a moderately small space. It is clear that they are hiding from something

ONE: You think it's gone?
TWO: I don't know. I don't hear anything
ONE: Take a look outside.
TWO: Why do I have to look? Why don't you do it?
ONE: I'm One. You're Two. You have to do what I say.
TWO: What if it gets me?
ONE: It would be worse if it got me.
Two seems to accept this logic. Two slides th door open slightly, looks out, suppresses a scream & quickly shuts the door
ONE: What? What did you see?
TWO: (Panting)It... got... Bigger... I think it saw me...
ONE: What do you mean? How much bigger?
A loud banging is heard off stage. Possibly a roar.
TWO: A LOT Bigger

So that's my crappy handfull of lines. feel free to make fun of it, though I think I've got an idea for an entire show based on the relationship between One and Two. Probably something to do with seniority=/=superiority.

short trip

Unable to focus on my book report, I was hit by a small particle of inspiration. It turned into a short story about a guy who gets his head cut off and thinks about it.

The crowd jeered and taunted as a dejected looking fellow was marched up to a platform by an intimidating figure wearing a black mask. Towards the front of the platform was a basket. Directly behind the basket was the guillotine; the one way door to eternity that had seen the end of many lives, innocent and guilty alike. Incidentally, its next victim was, in fact, guilty. He understood perfectly well the possible consequences of his actions before he took them. This did nothing, however, to keep his mind off the fact that he was about to die a gruesome death in front of thousands of people who hated him.
The executioner slowly lowered his head to the cutting block, and locked him into place. the crowds taunts became louder and some of them began to hurl fresh produce at the condemned man. Were he not about to die, he may have appreciated the irony that these fools were throwing away the very thing that they begged for everyday. The executioner stepped back, pulled a lever, and with a sickening thud, the man's head dropped into the basket.
'Strange,' thought the man, 'That wasn't nearly as bad as I thought it would be. Hardly felt a thing. A quick snap and it's off with my head. Or is it off with my body, I wonder? I'm sure that the rest of me must be more confused than I am, not knowing what my brain wants it to do, and all. And yet, without my body, I can't very well get anything done, myself. Which part is missing which? Perhaps--'
At that point, the oxygen in his brain expired, rendering him incapable of thought, incoherent or otherwise.

Entry 1~239 words

You can see the stars, planets, and other celestial bodies. One star is our sun. Pan down a bit and you can see the Earth, in all its blue-green wonder. You watch as it spins, while wisps of white stream back and forth just above its surface. Every now and then one wisp will meet another from the opposite direction, and join together in a violent dance, completely oblivious of the vast yet relatively insignificant destruction they cause to the inhabitants of this beautiful planet.

Perhaps you see a pattern in these meteorological phenomena. Does it mean something? If so, what? It probably doesn't matter. Or, atleast, not yet.

Perhaps you can see past the pattern of the weather. Maybe you can make out small pinpoints of light, flaring up and swiftly moving from one end of the globe to the other, creating short lived designs as they pass one another. Don't worry if you can't, not everyone can. Just know that they are there. What are they? They are openings. Possibilities. Ripples into the Etherium of Infinity. What happens when they converge is anyone's guess. It's usually something interesting but unimportant; the sort of thing shares news paper space with articles like "Man gives birth to live Chicken," or some such nonsense. Sometimes, however, it's something that cannot be ignored, and if you can see the lights, you can see the End. Or perhaps you see a Beginning.