4 Minutes

As he stood there, he could feel a slight tingle deep within his gut, hidden away, tucked beneath his stomach, coiled in between his innards, behind his instestines. It was the feeling that something wasn't right. It was the kind of nervous that lay dormant, only rearing forth to shock and make aware of unseen danger. He was nervous.

A magician should never be nervous.

Tonight was supposed to be his grandest spectacle - his last performance before he slid into retirement, disappearing from the public eye. Becoming a myth amongst his followers. His tricks would live on through word of mouth, tantalizing those who's ears it'd meet. It was supposed to be special that his last show - his most daring performance, was on Halloween. His manager pleaded against it, swearing it was a bad omen. Spirits walked free that night he'd warn. They liked to cause mischief.

As the crowd waited for him to perform his final trick, he noticed how the smoke lingered in the theatre air, dancing amongst the lights. Swirling endlessly. Hovering. Waiting. It made him uneasy. He felt it watching him, ready to encase him at any moment and whisk him away. He knew he had to push it out of his mind and so he did. Nerves couldn't play a roll in the last trick. He couldn't afford it.

It was a variation on Houdini's water tank. When he pulled off the curtain hiding the container, the crowd immediately began cheering and applauding. They waited with held breathes as his slowly lowered himself in. First his feet, than his lags, finally his waist. His hands and ankles were bound by thick rope, tied in knots that appeared to be impossible to tackle.

As many times as he had practiced it before, every time he lowered himself into the water, it took his breath away. This time was no different. It immediately reached down his throat and pulled the air out of his lungs. As he settled in, he mentally prepared himself. Four minutes. That was the magic number. He knew how long he could last. He'd counted in his head before, practiced with the lid off. Slow movements. Work the knots until they slipped free. From there he could slip out and stand to the side of the stage, waiting for the big reveal. He felt ready and glanced up at his stage hand, nodding. As the lid closed over his head, he slipped below the surface of the water. The liquid immediately filled his ears, muffling the noise of the theater. All he could easily make out was the rhythmic beating of his heart.

Once the curtain dropped, shrouding the tank, he began his escape. He sat for a minute, counting, lowering his heartbeat - letting his muscles relax. His knees hit the bottom of the tank and he drifted freely. The two minute mark passed in his head and he began slowly moving his wrists back and forth, loosing the ropes. He did so for the next thirty seconds. Once his hands were free, his ankles would be easy. By three minutes, his hands should be free, but they weren't. There was a problem. The ropes, even with the rocking back and forth of his wrists hadn't loosed. They felt tighter. The water had drawn them closer to the skin, pinching it. He began to move his arms more violently, ignoring the goal of remaining relaxed.

This was when feeling deep in his gut began to creep into the back of his head.

He was nearing the fourth minute and he still had made no progress. By now his mind was hazy from fear. He had lost count. He just wanted to get out of the tank - not allow the audience to see him slowly drowning.

That's when the curtain came up. He floated there, in front of the crowd, still bound, shaking in the tank. People gasped. Parents turned their children away from the sight on the stage.

They could see the terror in his eyes.

He opened his mouth once to let out a gargled scream but stopped before he wasted any air. The stage hand was next to the tank, climbing a ladder, key in hand to unlock the top, when the magician saw it, through the haze of the water, fall down to the floorboards, skipping across the wood until it disappeared between the slats. It was over.

People in the crowd were now screaming. Hystarical. He could see their mouths moving, but his ears were ringing, as if a train was barreling down a set of tracks straight for him. His lungs screamed. He could feel the vessels in his eyes beginning to burst.

The world around him was closing in. The edges of his sight were becoming black.

Thats when he saw the smoke wafting towards him, closing in on him. He was hoping he'd drown before it reached him.

He swore he reached six minutes before his world faded to black.

*******

When he woke, he sat straight up in bed. Shaking and coughing. Reaching over, he turned on the light next to his bed.

His whole bed was soaked through - the sheets clinging to his body.

Looking down, thats when he almost threw up.

Around his wrists was the perfect, still red indentation of ropes.

Zonked

My god has this week been long. Not in the sense that it has taken forever for Friday to roll around, but regarding my tired level.

I am absolutely BUSHED and I apologize for it.

Per usual when I am falling asleep at my keyboard, I'll just load this post up with some videos and get back to the real writing monday.

Talk to you soon.



People are awesome:




Touching and sad - but it drives home a great point:




If I I ever work at a douchebag (there's your word mom) company or have an asshole bob, I am certainly going to quit like Joey:




Hope you enjoyed the videos - have a great weekend and I'll write to you all on Monday!

Don't Chu Worry

And for those of you who were waiting for a story this evening...

Don't you worry, I'm cookin' up something for the holiday that's right around the corner.

I Wish

Peoples' talents just amaze me.

I used to draw as a kid, a lot, like, all the time. If I wasn't outside romping in the forest or playing some kind of sport, you can bet I was inside drawing - mostly monsters (mainly Godzilla or Alien), or anime, or animals.

Something about drawing just sucked me in and relaxed me. I never considered myself a "good" drawer in the sense that I need something to look at in order to draw it well. I was never good at just reaching into my mind and letting that image flow from my mind, through my body, down my arm, into my hand, and out of the pencil tip and onto the paper. I needed something to look at. Mimic. To in a sense, copy, which, on some level, really isn't respectful drawing since it could be seen as plagiarism.

But, thats where I excelled and I did it often. In school I'd be the kid who would copy animals out of National Geographic, or characters from my favorite comic book (Spider Man....duh) and my classmates would love it. I'd be asked to draw for them, my teacher would ask for me to add to the decorations in the room. Of course, I never had a problem with this. I loved it. It was nice hearing from others that I was good at something.

I had one rule though - never...never ever use color. I was strictly a black and white artist. There had been times when I'd attempt to add some shading and the picture would always come out wrong, looking worse. I'd be disgusted with it and ultimately stuck with it, since you can't just easily erase colored pencil.

It only happened a few times. I learned quick.

So by this point, I'm sure you're sitting there, wondering why the hell did I just ramble on about all this? Well, the following video to brilliantly explains why I brought you to this point. Even with my history of drawing, when I see a real good artist or piece, I'm still amazed by the skill involved.

So, the video below blows my mind. For two main reasons.

1. There is no color. I love that there is no color. It's like how I used to draw. It just feels cleaner to me, while also, somehow dirty - probably from shading with the pencil.

2. While there are clear aspects that are copied from other pop culture work (such as characters or scenes or themes - just like my old ways) - there clearly was no reference piece to this. It is all hand drawn and it is long. I can't imagine the man hours poured into this in order to complete it.

This is a level I would never be able to reach. This is the kind of talent you have to just be born with.

Impressive just isn't strong enough of a word to describe it:

Autumn Remembrance

As he stood there, his nose tingled. Not from the chill of the autumn air or the breeze that had wrapped around him. It was that smell. The unique scent that wafted from the ground as Mother Nature was tucking herself into bed, ready to hide away for the remaining month of the year, to escape the oncoming snow. She'd drop her leaves, like clothes to the floor, and slip away, waiting to be enveloped by the snow, to hide beneath it.

Her aroma was his favorite part.

She smelled sweet. Like the blossoming leaves in her forests. Thick and pungent, coating the inside of his nose. It reminded him of his mother's perfume, when he was younger, sitting on her lap, or as she leaned down close to kiss him on his forehead to say goodnight. He felt connected to her - through the pollen in the air and the freshness that escaped her leaves.

He also loved how she smelled of rot. The leaves that had fallen - the pieces of her that she had shed in order to bare herself to the snow. It smelled organic - real. It was the kind of smell he couldn't escape even if he tried. It lingered in the air, ready to bombard those who tread outside. It surrounded him, hugging him, reminding him that Autumn had arrived and that the frost on the leaves would soon turn to inches on the ground, and the patches of clouds overhead would soon turn into a blanket of grey - Mother Nature was preparing him for her departure.

He was always sad when she left at the end of autumn. As much as he loved her sweet and her rot, he loved her because of the memories the two smells brought back when they mixed in the air and entered his lungs. They reminded him of his mother. She'd so delicately hold his hand as they hiked through the woods, finding the brightest leaves on the ground - the "screamers." They'd stop and listen, picking out the animals that were scurrying around them. When the breeze picked up, she'd bend down and pull his collar up around his face, protecting him. He always felt safe with her - even in the middle of the woods. They'd collect their findings and bring them home and laminate them, decorate the house with them. During winter, even with absence of life outside, those few pieces reminded him that spring was on its way.

As he stood there, he smiled. He had no memories with the shiny slide ahead of him. That he didn't care about.

All that mattered was the smell of the air. Every time he took a breath, he was with his mother.

As if he was lost deep in the woods with her again, his hand enveloped in hers.

Weekend Recap

My god, what a whirlwind of activities.

Don't worry, I do remember them all - alcohol wasn't that present in the visit.

Lets do a little recap shall we?

Thursday Night:

Chris and Will strolled in to the house and within 10 minutes, we were on our way to In N Out to grab dinner. That's right - who could think of a better way to begin the trip. We all over indulged just a little bit - animal style burgers, animal style fries, and milkshakes. Mmm mmm. This set the tone for how poorly we would be eating for the remainder of the trip.

We then went to the local Ralphs (grocery store) and Chris and Will loaded up on what they call "craft beer". AKA not the usually crap I drink - Coors Light. They bought a bunch of European beers that I had never heard of and were damn good. We drank a couple and stayed up playing Xbox since there isn't a whole lot to do on a Thursday evening.

Friday:

We awoke at the early hours of 11ish to shower and begin out day. First stop? Roscoe's Chicken N Waffles. Yup, that's right - the best combination of food I had never had up until that point. Imagine, southern friend chicken, next to a stack of waffles, topped with gracious dollops of butter and dishes of syrup. Not only were they good separate, they were even better when you ate them together.

Dayum straight son.

So then we drove through downtown, so Will could soak in how tiny "downtown" actually is. Being the New Yorker he is - he wasn't impressed. We then proceeded to the Hollywood sign. While he didn't hike the hill, he did get to view it (it was smoggy so we opted out of the hike). We then proceeded to downtown Hollywood, basically right in front of Trailer Park and caw the Walk of Fame and the Chinese Theatre...the usual touristy things. Following this, we drove down Santa Monica Blvd and through West Hollywood to see the "club scene" and "dive bar" scene. It didn't take us long to end up in Beverly Hills where we oodled the houses, driving down Rodeo blasting Rage Against the Machine. They scoffed at all the 17 year olds driving Bentleys.

By the time we got home, we were a little tired and recouped before heading out for the night on Main Street Santa Monica where we hit up a great Irish bar, O'Brien's, eventually shifting to a clubish place called 310Lounge.

Saturday:

We woke up late again and found our way to a great Mexican place called Taco's Por Favor, where Chris and Will were in heaven (Chris opting for the Mole burrito). We literally ate so much that by the time we came home, we just lounged until 3ish, at which point we started getting ready for a "beer party" Will had found in downtown LA. So, we got ready and headed there for a bit, sampling a wide variety of local micro brews. After a while, we left and made our way to the main event...Roller Derby. With my brother visiting, this is now kind of an annual thing, so this was my second time and I have to admit, I absolutely love it. Not because of the women pummeling each other, but because of the energy in the arena. It's such a blast...oh, and the 6 dollar "tall boy" mexican beers don't hurt either.

Once that was done we went to the after party and a bar downtown, and while I was DD, Chris, Will, and I really had a blast. Mingling with the women, laughing, talking about LA, and the sport. Someone heard in a passing convo that I'm an Assistant Editor and offered me volunteer time to edit together the league videos and I'm considering it since I get to go to the events for free. There's just something about those kind of women and their tattoos...hm...

Sunday:

Chris met with his old Roommate Alan for lunch and Will and I went to a "build your own burger bar" called the Counter, which Bravo (the TV channel) highly recommends. And now I understand why.

While that isn't my burger...mine had Gruyere cheese, grilled onions, green chilies, cole slaw, sprouts, avocado, and a fried egg on it, with a side of Russian dressing. I'll admit it - it was a bastard child, but it was so damn good.

We then made our way to Santa Monica where we met up with Chris and walked the beach and pier.

Coming home, we decided we needed frozen yogurt, so we stopped and loaded up on our probiotics. We then just hung out and let our stomachs digest...only to then go to a local Mexican place "El Super Taco"around 9pm for a late night snack.  Hell yeah.

We all turned in for bed, Chris Will and I saying our goodbyes since I needed to leave for work before they woke up.

It was a great weekend. Great times, great memories, great meals, a whole lot of laughs, and a much needed "vacation" for me, since I took my first day off from work since starting there (Friday).

While my calorie count for the weekend was much higher than I would ever had hoped it would go, I have no complaints.

I just with the weekend was longer.

Brosiff

Brother is in town!

Wahoo!

Day off tomorrow!

Wahoo!

Brother brought his friend Will!

Wahoo!

Roller Derby!

Wahoo!

It'll be a great weekend.

Talk to you on Monday.

A New Dimension Of Pictures

Don't ask me how they did it, because, well, I'm not exactly sure. So please don't ask me. I'd like to try and explain it to you, but the truth is, I can only bullshit so much before you realize that I'm just blowing smoke up your asses and have no real idea what I'm talking about.

Anyway...I digress.

There is this new start-up camera company, Lytro, and they are claiming they have created something that will revolutionize the camera market (and from what I've seen so far, I'd agree with them). Dn't get me wrong, their technology can be faulty and turn out worse than they currently predict, but, for now, I've been sippin' on the Kool Aid and I like the way it tastes.

So what exactly did Lytro create? Well, they call it a "full light field/spectrum" camera. Let's see if I can explain it the best I can, as simple as I can (although I don't fully understand all the science behind it). Normal cameras only capture certain light in the light field/spectrum, basically whatever the camera is focused on. This new camera somehow captures all the light - the intensity, the color, and the direction. Beyond this explanation, I can't really off anymore insight.

But, what does it mean?

Well - somehow, because you're capturing all aspects of light within the picture, it allows you to focus after the picture is taken. Again, I don't know how this works, but it's honestly mind blowing. Let's say you take a picture, but you don't like how the foreground looks - simply click on a section of the photo you want in focus, and you can shift the depth of field, bringing background into focus while obscuring the foreground. Don't like the background? Click on something in the front of the photo and watch the back fade out of focus. Or, why not just click something in the middle of the picture to find a happy medium.

Pretty trippy shit right? If you don't understand what I mean - try playing with the photo's below. They are a perfect example of how this technology works.







Unfortunately these don't really serve much of a purpose for moving images (since you wouldn't want to change focus of a movie while it is playing - although it would be cool to try). And I know what you're thinking - it's some kind of gimmick. Well, maybe it is, but I've never seen technology alter an image this well before.

When you play with the photos make sure you really explore them. See how close you can bring the focus. Find the furthest part in the picture and focus on it. The range is jaw dropping.

It's still just unbelievable to me. A camera that allows you to shift focus endlessly. After you've taken the photo - cementing it in time. I'm seriously contemplating getting one.

God I love technology.

https://www.lytro.com/

Click the link if you want more info on it - or if you want to play with more, full size images.

Barstool Condolences Pt.5

All she had wanted to do was breath. Leave it all behind, break free.

She was stuck in the gloom.

Her picturesque life had tricked her. She hadn't found the perfect man. The house they shared wasn't really where she wanted to be. It didn't feel like home. All of it felt alone.

At first she was happy. They had met innocently, randomly, and seemed to just click. Days turned into weeks. Weeks into months. Months into years. She didn't believe what she had lived. Looking back on it she saw it all as a lie. The arguments. The torment. The inevitable smell of alcohol lingering in the air when she'd arrive home from work. His eyes would be bloodshot the times they were still open, hair tussled, shirt color cocked to an angle. She'd have to coddle him, take care of him, walk him upstairs after gently prying the bottle from his slack fingers. She knew what it meant to be a mother, without ever giving birth, watching first steps, or letting go of a hand as the first day of school began.

She didn't like it. She wanted a baby. Not a grown man who would drink himself into a condition that wearing a diaper would be useful.

What had expired early in the evening only drove the final nail deeper into the coffin, sealing it shut from any hopes that what lay within would ever be resurrected. She hated herself for putting herself through it all. Verbally and physically abused, she retreated, running into the night, unaware of where she would end up.

The last couple years had been a swirl of black, churning and building, swelling at the surface, tumbling endlessly - a tide that only continued to rise, never ceasing to fall. Keeping her down. Below the brackish liquid, her lungs burned, pleading for air, clawing at her insides, wanting to swim to the surface themselves.

Just when everything began to fade and she felt like she was ready to give up, his hands broke through, plunging deep down to grab her and pull her to the surface. It was amazing. Rebirth. Her head broke the surface and the air invaded her, assaulted her. It tasted so good. Refreshing. It tasted like ozone. It t tasted like rain.

She couldn't make sense of how she got there or how he found her - alone, desperate, at a random bar.

It had been so long.

All she knew was that she was happy.

Concert Follow Up

Boy am I f*ckin' bushed.

Good part of the weekend:

I'm going to be honest - our seats were a little sub par. But, I can't really complain - I'm very biased. This was only the second time (in seven shows) that I wasn't on the fence. Who cares though, I wasn't there for the location, I was there for the music and performance.

And they didn't disappoint at all.

Without exaggerating - this was probably their best sounding concert. We were off to the side of the stage and I could still hear every word, regardless of how damn loud it was. It was one of those concerts that we were all yelling at each other out in the parking lot after the show. Ears ringing. It was great.

It was a long show - they promised to play for "as long as they could" and that ended up to be over three hours. I was in absolute heaven.

Fun surprise? They played two covers - Pink Floyd's "In The Flesh," which they absolutely nailed and Tom Petty's "Breakdown," which was amazing. God, they're so f*cking good.



Good shit right? You bet.

Bad part of the weekend:

I got called into work Sunday for a 13.75 hour day...womp womp.

Oh well, it's money.

Random part of the weekend:

I found this picture and something drew me to it. Other than being kind of edgy, I'm a real fan of the "realistic feel". I'll admit it's creepy and I'll also admit that this is probably the most random picture I've posted, but, I think it'd genius:

Real life Sponge Bob...who woulda thunk it.

Reunited

Four very simple words are all that matter today.  What are they?

Foo Fighters concert tonight. And yes, unlike those secret shows earlier in the year, I have tickets to this one.

Am I stoked? Yes - I feel like I'm 6 again trying to will myself to sleep so tomorrow will arrive faster. I honestly cannot wait. It's been over three years and I can't wait for them to rock my face off.

There isn't really much more that I can elaborate on. Sorry.

Although, I am looking forward to four very specific songs:







And the greatest song of all time

One Of Those Days

Today was long.

Let's be honest - the whole week has been long. Usually I recoup on Sunday so that when I return to work on Monday, I feel fresh, recharged, ready to take on the week. Unfortunately this Saturday night, based on drinking on haning out with people - I got virtually no sleep, which puts me in a shitty position.

No matter how much I sleep during the weeknights - I feel as if I'm 8 hours behind on rest. Ugh. All I was to do is curl up in bed, not go to work, and not wake up until at least Friday afternoon.

As a result - my brain becomes fried. I feel hazy - slower. The result of this? My writing flounders. Not only do my words stop flowing as eloquently as they should, they almost cease to bubble forth at all. That's why, much like last week, I am taking tonight off. Unlike last week though, I know where I want to keep going with my story - I just can't coax it out of my brain at the current moment.

What I can offer in instead (yup, you guess it) is a video. Wait a minute...a two part video.

One that I think is beautiful. Not in the traditional sense, but I think you'll understand once you watch it.

It's simply about a boy who is a survivor. To be honest, it's not a glamorous story at all, but I'm really drawn to it. How he bounced back from it. His attitude. His energy. He just seems like someone I'd like to meet.

I felt inspired after this story - although I'm not exactly sure why. Maybe it's as simple as he just didn't give up.

What do you think?





It is a truly moving story.

Barstool Condolences Pt.4

Her jaw hung agape like a door with a broken hinge.

She wanted to use it. Move it. Form words with it, but it felt too heavy. Her tongue was numb, stuck floundering on the bottom of her mouth. Useless.

It was him. And he was standing right in front of her.

The smell was the first thing that took advantage of her, bringing her back to prior times - forcing the memories to come out of the depths of her brain, reintroduced to the light. He had always smelled good - his scent tickled her nostrils. It was a pleasant scent of musk and flowery clothes detergent, the perfect combination to tell her mind that he was both strong enough to never let her fall, but soft enough that when she needed someone to lean on, she would be embraced wholly in him. It always reassured her. It made her think of the thickness of his arms - how her hands could barely wrap around the bottom of his bicep, or the shape of his waist - the lines of his hips. It made her want to nuzzle up against his neck, lost in the waves of a comforter on a Sunday afternoon.

His appearance was what had changed, although his eyes were still as warm as ever, a deep mahogany, dark and stormy, brooding with passion, but inviting. His face was no longer bare - it was covered in hair, the kind that grows when one loses the motivation to impress others. It was perfect for the harsh winds outside, but far from ideal to touch another's face. She was relieved that even through the beard she could still make out the lines on his face that were the foundation of his smile. That hadn't changed either. She knew it would be as big and carefree as it always had, illuminating his face.

It crossed her mind that he must have noticed the markings on her face. The swelling. The bruising. He had always been so compassionate. Before it all crumbled, they had a strong bond, stronger than she had ever felt - he would never let anything happen to her. Now that he had seen her face, she was scared.

She didn't know what he would do.

He was an imposing force. His body was well taken care of - sturdy, chiseled, dangerous when driven by rage. It didn't help that he knew who had done this or that he was the reason that their bond had fallen apart. She knew he loathed him for taking away the most meaningful person in his life.

Her mouth began to work when he took a seat next to her.

"That seats taken." She knew it was a lie and so did he.

"It's nice to see you again."

Her heart began to melt.

Barstool Condolences Pt.3

The sight of her caused him to shift in his seat, the memories had already begun flooding back into his mind, pushing against all the walls and barriers he had built over the years - ready to overflow. When he finally caught a full glimpse of her face, his drink lost its flavor - something that no longer was important to him or worthy of his time. Boring. Dull.

Looking down into his drink, he stirred the ice around in the bottom, lost in thought about her. He didn't want to look up - he hoped that if he didn't see her, she wouldn't notice him.

Everything he remembered was there.

Even across the dimly light room, her beauty still shown through, parting the swirling, lingering smoke a head of her as she made her way to the bar. Head down, hidden beneath the hood of her jacket, in between the quick steps, he could still feel her. It was one of those rare auroras that had the ability to warm a room. She didn't need to say anything, do anything, or look at you. If you were in her presence you felt it. You were lucky.

His eyes followed her, hovering over her until she took a seat. She ordered - he knew what it'd be. The bartender returned with an amaretto sour. When she took a sip, he looked at the corner of her lips. Waiting. On cue, the sides of her mouth curled up into a tiny grin. That hadn't changed.

They hadn't spoken in years - the last had burnt the final bridge. Yet, tonight, all he wanted to do was walk over to her, sit down next to her and introduce himself. People change, mature, evolve. He wanted to forget all that, throw it away, start anew.

Page one.

The only problem was that he was scared. He felt weak - if he stood up her felt like his knees would buckle beneath him. She had always had that effect on him. He had never been rocked to the core by a woman like she was able to do. Everything seemed to fade into the background when he looked at her - shift out of focus, become blurry, non-existant. Her beauty held complete control over him - he could become lost and never find his way out, blissfully stranded - drifting amongst her sea.

When he pulled himself out of his daydream, he was startled to find her staring at him, as he was gazing back at her. There was a slight tick in her face. Something had registered. He didn't know what to do - yet all he wanted to do was continue staring into her eyes - he felt himself being sucked back in. She controlled him.

Contact had been made.

Step Back for a Sec

Alright - I'm sorry to break the chain that I had going, but its not exactly intentional.

I just got home from work about an hour ago - so I guess you could call it a long day. Over 13 hours, more than I needed for a Thursday. From earlier in the week I am already spent, so A) all I want to do is sleep and B) I don't want to diminish my writing by taking a crack at it without fully being devoted to it.

I know, I know, I'm sorry.

I guess that means you'll just have to wait until Monday for Part 3 - give me some time to develop it, decide what path I'm taking, whats going to happen next.

It's a creative process...it takes time. But I promise Barstool Condolences will continue next week (maybe even over the weekend).

But, I won't leave you empty handed.

Could this be the best time lapse video ever? (I'll give you a hint - it is).

Everything is perfect about it - the lighting, the movement, the sun, moon, stars, the scale, the beauty of Arizona. It just makes me want to camp there.

Thought?


Landscapes: Volume Two from Dustin Farrell on Vimeo.

Barstool Condolences Pt.2

She just drove. Not knowing where she was heading. Who she would run into. How long she'd be there.

The snow below her crunched as the tires rolled over it, wanting to give into the vehicle's weight - there was too much of it. At times the tires spun, struggling to grip and propel the car forward, engine straining. She wasn't the only one fighting back a whimper. The windshield wipers were doing the best they could to clear her vision. The falling, swirling snow pelted the glass, exploding against it as the car trudged forward, blanketing the world before her. She was lost amongst the storm - tumbling in a massive snow globe.

Her mind was clouded, confused, dazed. She couldn't see straight. Her eyes were leaking - running down her cheeks, falling onto her jacket, splashing down to mix with the slush, salt, and grit that pooled on the floor only to become lost within another mess.

She wasn't sure what had happened. It was their anniversary, things were supposed to have gone well. There were plans for dinner, followed  by a night out dancing. He showed up late - tie loose, hair ruffled, eyes bloodshot. His breath smelled of hops. In what seemed like a flash, everything had fallen apart. He had stormed out of the restaurant, leaving her in amazement. She followed - leaving her dignity at the table with the tip.

It was only when she walked into the apartment that she heard him and smelled it. The liquor had already begun flowing. Straight. Out of the bottle. She could hear it sloshing in his hand. He was murmuring under his breath - names she had never heard before, names she didn't think he'd ever call her. He was pacing back and forth. She wasn't scared until her turned, eyes locking with her's. That's when he took his first step and she began to back up.

She was walking now, briskly against the pummeling wind, leaning into it, trying to stand upright - she didn't want to fall again this evening. The air felt strangely nice against her skin. It kissed her cheek, taking away the pain from the night's earlier events. She stumbled a bit. It was hard to guide herself through the storm with one eye. The other had already swollen, the skin pushing up against her eye, like a back against the wall - a position she had already been in earlier.

Looking up, the bright "Bar" light caught her attention. She needed to get out of the cold - her fingers were already tingling, pleading for warmth.

Ducking inside, the odor was what first hit her. Pungent, yet inviting - the aftershave reminded of her father as she had nuzzled against his neck as a child and the cigarette smoke brought her back to the packs of Pall Mall cartons sitting on her mother's dresser - the "classy way to commit suicide".

It was right after she took off her coat that she noticed him, sitting there, staring at her from the corner of the bar. He looked familiar.

She walked forward, hoping, praying, it was dark enough to hide her face.

Barstool Condolences Pt.1

It was one of those nights. The kind that even amongst a winter of ashen skies, bleak days, and temperatures well below freezing - it still managed to stick out as worse.

The wind was howling  - swirling the very top layer of snow throughout the streets. It wasn't even snow, but just tiny ice crystals piling up to create a powdery, sand-like layer. Snow didn't have a chance to form within these temperatures.

He trudged along, feet shuffling through the inch and a half of icy grit. His hands were dug deeply into his pockets, collar raised around his neck, head down, pushing forward, trying to protect as much skin as he could. Still the wind licked at the corner of his eyes, temping tears to well forth, only to freeze upon contact with the air. His nose wanted to drip, his ears were ringing from the cold, and he could barely feel his feet. All he wanted to do was get inside.

Not far ahead of him was his salvation. Glowing proudly in the swirling streets was the neon "Bar" sign. Somehow it shown through the particles in the air, even when it was a struggle to see the streetlights. The thought of whiskey warmed his core and he quickened his pace.

Reaching the door, he shouldered it open, not wanting to reveal his hand to the elements. The first thing to hit him was the warm smell - of cigarette smoke drifting high in the air, stale beer spilled on the bar, the lightly buttery scent of the popcorn machine in the corner, even the cologne of the regulars, all combining into a cornucopia in his nostrils. It smelled like a drunk's Thanksgiving. Once he was inside and the door swung shut, he slowly removed his hands from his pockets, flexing them softly, trying to regain some blood flow. Next came his hat, followed by his scarf. As warm as it was in the bar - he still felt naked without them wrapped tightly around his body. It had been a long winter and it had become habit.

He waved and nodded at those he recognized and took a seat at the bar. Two shots of whiskey. Filled up. One went immediately - tingling every inch of his throat on it's way down. He waited a few seconds and let out a sigh. Down went the second one - sending a gentle warmth throughout his body.

He ordered a beer. When it arrived he took a sip, slumped his shoulders and began to relax. A storm was brewing outside - he could hear the wind kicking savagely at the door. It was going to be a long night, but he didn't mind. With nothing else to do - he decided he would wait it out. It would be nice - he was sure no one else would be foolish enough to come out in this weather.

He turned when the front door rattled and she walked in, bundled up. He only caught a quick glimpse of her in the smoke-filled, dimly lit entrance, but he recognized her and the tears frozen against her cheeks.

Tonight would be different.

Hydro Reaction

She just couldn't take it anymore. Sitting there, peering out her window just wasn't doing the trick. She had made up her mind. It didn't matter that it was still down pouring - she had waited so long for this and now she needed to take advantage of it.

Without a second thought, she raced out of her room, down the stairs and right out the front door.

The first thing she noticed wasn't the chill of the rain, but the feeling of being wet. Being covered in rain is a completely different feeling than any other liquid - it's fresh, clean, pure. Sure, it took her breath away, but it lifted her spirit. A smile spread across her face.

She knew what she had to do.

Scanning around her driveway, she saw what she was searching for. running forward, she propelled herself into the air, slamming down into the puddle. The water exploded all over her body, soaking her denim, clinging her shirt to her chilled skin, throwing droplets high enough to become entangled in her hair.

It had been so long.

Water Solace

There is something magical about rain when it has been absent for so long. It seemed like an eternity since she could last remember the pitter patter of it on her roof while she lay in bed. The smell of ozone had all but disappeared from her memory - only to be replaced with the nauseating smell of hot, stale air.

The ground had all but puckered up - the soil cracking at the surface, little fissures running through the crisp, brown blades of grass. Her parents had tried to water the yard, but the water only collected atop the dirt, pooling, never soaking in. In the time since the last rainfall, the ground had forgotten how to open up and welcome the nourishing liquid.

But today was different. The sky was black when she woke up. Churning. Clouds coiling amongst each other. Their underbellies were swollen and hanging low. She was excited. It was hard remembering what it was like to have the sky fall around her.

In the distance she heard thunder begin to roll.

That's when the wind started to pick up and swell through her house, sending a chill down her back.

It was only a few seconds until lightning cackled over her house, illuminating her room. By the time she opened her eyes, the clouds had split open, soaking the ground. Within seconds, puddles were forming in her yard - the ground unable to do anything with the water quick enough.

This is what she had been waiting for. She cracked her window a little bit allowing the cold, damp air to invade her room. Taking a deep breath, she tasted to ozone, fresh and pungent in the back of her throat. She hadn't even noticed the rhythmic pounding on her roof, but when she did she smiled, relieved that the noise had returned.

Pressing her hand against the window, she welcomed the cool touch of the glass. It sent chills up her arm, raising her skin as they went.

She couldn't explain it.

But nothing made her feel safer than a thunderstorm.