Short Story, Part Two

Author's Note: Remember, this is a two person narrative, do not think this is David, This is Esther. Also, please tell me if you like it, I haven't gotten that much feedback on it. Thanks
OUIJA WEAPON (CONT'D)

The computer makes a soft hum in the living room. It’s dark, and so even the gentlest sounds are like the reverbs off an electric guitar, loud, and possibly dangerous in the wrong hands. My keystrokes are silent though, because I have developed a keyboard of my own that is virtually flat and touchscreen. The firewalls Suse put up are difficult, but it’s only a matter of time before I break through it. My system is flawless, running off its own triband and employing several programs that I calculated into my logarithms. Suse’s secrets in her involvement with the Ouija are about to be mine, I think to myself.

“And what exactly are you doing, Esther?” a voice behind me says.

Impossible, I think. I should’ve heard her come. “Uh, hey Suse. I was just logging on when I saw that your side is still open. I was just logging off.”

Suse circles around the desk to see what I’m looking at. The screen justs shows the desktop background. She scrunches up her face, doubtful but accepting that she doesn’t see anything.

“Esther, we generally don’t get on the internet at this time. Mexico is different than America.” she says.

“I’m sorry honey, go back to bed. I’ll see you in a bit,” I say.

She trails her fingers on my shoulder. “Hurry back Es,” She whispers in my ear. She sways away, and lingers in the doorway. Then she dips her head behind the doorway and goes to the bed.

I really like this job, I think to myself as I slip the drive out my boot. Wireless downloads can come in handy when being secretive. I will handle the criminal side of this, later. For now, I have other duties to attend to.

A few hours later, once Suse is out cold, I get out of bed and go toward my laptop. I have to walk out the room, again and step on the hardwood floors. California cedar, I think. Her hallways are an old Victorian mix with the modern comping on the walls. At the end of the hallway is the closet. I open it to clothes, shoes, jackets, the works. And in the corner is my little array of charges. My clothes and duffel bag and of course, my laptop. I pick it up and turn it on. During these times, where there is a binary presence around me, where there is no one in my focus but what is at hand, is when I am truly me. Even when I am with Suse in bed I am only partially me, the rest is my body reacting to what she’s doing. Anyways, my computer and I could be said to understand each other. Logging in, I am able to hook up the wireless drive seamlessly within the password. My computer automatically puts me through a warm up hack, the usual victims, the FBI, CIA, NSA easy low level classified documents.

Once that’s done, I am able to get into the drive’s files. Since they’re already decrypted, it should be a breeze read through. What I find though is amazing. Schematics for Ouija drones, Security protocols for infiltration, which I promptly memorize so that I can counter them, Ouija hierarchy security detail, and Suse’s home’s security protocols. That’s weird, I think. Suse has no security protocols, so what is this doing here? I dig through the files bones and find a secret source code. I plug it into the Frooty C++ program I crossed to see what I would find. There are more schematics. It’s to the Weapon. Page after page and I find myself drooling over the technology, cringing at the cruelty, and studying the schematics. I save it to my laptop, hook my triband to the nearest Cloud 9 and link the plans through the connection. I put my laptop away and put everything away. I go back to bed as though I was always there.

The next morning I wake up and there she is, right beside me, sleeping peacefully. Even though she is a wanted criminal, I can’t find it to hate her. I think I like her. I think I like her. Oh  my God, this is bad. Now what do I do? I can’t just betray her outright. I need to figure out what I’m going to do. Oh what if she finds out? I need to figure out…

“Es? Are you ok?” Suse brings me back to reality. “Were you having an anxiety attack again?”

I put on a smile. Relax, I think. Nothing to worry about. “I’m fine Suse, I was just trying to remember a dream or something.”

“Are you sure? You can  stay in bed if you need.” Suse seems worried. God I hate to see her worry.

“It’s fine Suse, really,” I respond. I put on a smile again. Then my stomach roars. Well that’s convenient. “I do seem a bit hungry though,” I chuckle, “Perhaps some breakfast?”

“Well since you said you were hungry I don’t need an excuse either it seems,” Suse said. I laughed. “Willie!! Make us some breakfast.”

“Since when did he get here?” I asked.

“He arrives every morning, and is gone before the sun sets.” She says. “Don’t worry, he didn’t hear us” She laughs that easy, loud and piercing laugh.

Oh thank God, if he saw me sneaking around there would be trouble. I don’t know if I want to kill anybody part of this mission just yet.

There is a firm knock at the door. Suse tells the man to come in, and close the door behind him. He seems to have no age to his oldness, like I can’t figure if he’s 60 or 600. It’s a wonder that he’s still alive.

“Mistress Suse, Daniel is at the door, he wishes to speak with you. Privately.” Willie says.

Suse’s expression turns dark for a moment, as though something died on the inside of her. I don’t think she likes this guy.

“Tell him to wait until after breakfast, Willie. I don’t feel like business right when I awaken,” Suse says.

“Why don’t you tell me that personally?” A familiar voice says. Daniel steps from behind Willie, dressed up really nice and looks like he could cut someone with that kind of suit. I gasp, because I recognize him. Not just because he may or may not be the Daniel that’s the head of Ouija. They have no pictures of the hierarchy on the files. No, this Daniel is ex-Cloud 9. But it’s impossible that he’s here.

“You.” I say.

Daniel looks puzzled. “Me?”

“Daniel, you should be dead”

The End (TBC)

Short Story

Ouija Weapon

Author's Note: Technically this is 1065 words, but irrelevant. I wrote this story in a 2 person narrative kind of thing. This is one guy's perspective, namely David. So don't think this is all I wrote cause I have another 1100 words locked and loaded. Enjoy.

“Look out!”

“There’s no where to go”

“Whatever you do don't let him get away”

BOOM!

“David!!”

“David, are you ok?”

“He’s bleeding, how is he bleeding? I thought he was immortal”

I lay on the cold floor, my comrades feet in my line of sight. My sight in itself is blurry, and I continuously fade in and out. I can feel Sam on my stomach, trying to hold pressure to my bleeding wound. God it hurts, like when you’re riding a bull and you fall off, and then it proceeds to trample you.

“Sam, how is he?”

Another pair of shoes has walked up, but I can't tell who it is. The power in her voice makes it seem like a higher ranked officer is in our presence. And there’s only one person that’s higher than me on this battlefield.

“Mary, your shoes are not from this millenia,” I say jokingly. I smile, as though I'm completely fine.

“David if you weren't injured I’d disintegrate you,” she says.

“Do we have to talk about that now?” Ruth asks. “I mean, look at what we are in!”

It is true, Phoenix is littered with traces of disintegration. All the buildings that depended on what was once there has now collapsed. Emmanuel decided here to launch a surprise attack on the Ouija and cripple their Weapon before it moved past testing.

“What’s our status Analiya? Where’s the Weapon?” I say to her while I try to get up.

Analiya snaps out of her daze. She looks at me and I see in her eyes the calculations flying through her head. Her skills in world analyzation landed the rookie here, of all places, with my squad.

“Tango Squad Delta has moved the Weapon to an alternate warehouse ten miles outside the suburb perimeter. Your vitals are stable, however we need to find our residential Guardian medic to fix that...that um...ahem, that hole in your side.”

“Thanks beautiful, let’s see now.” I stand up and get a full view of what’s around me. Everyone is present and accounted for, thank God. I only see a minimal amount of injury.

“David, I must get going now, General Emmanuel needs me,” Mary said

“Can’t it wait? Mary you are needed here to take down the Weapon,” I pleaded with her. As strange as it is, I really believed we needed her.

She paused, considering my words. Then simply replied, “No, this is a four man squad and the Alpha team at that. I’m not a fighter David.”

I sigh and just say “Fine then Mary. Go help him, but come back when you’re done OK?”

“Of course old man, I wouldn’t leave you hanging,” she says. The wind picks up, her hair blowing in a way that only a model on a catwalk could pull off. And just like that, she’s gone.

“Analiya, where to?” I ask

“The closest known Guardian for the injury you have is Esther. But David, she’s moving about freely in enemy territory.” Analiya said, looking puzzled. She couldn’t comprehend how a supermedic could be in a hostile environment without backup “How is she-”

“Esther is an...unconventional operative of Cloud 9, Analiya,” I say delicately.

“What do you mean? Is she a spy?”

“Kid, Esther is someone who will do whatever it takes to defeat the enemy,” Sam said, exasperated at the kid’s lack of knowledge.

“Sam, don’t be so rude,” I say. “Analiya is as bad as you were when you joined Cloud 9.” Sam sulks away, and keeps close to Ruth as we survey our new route. He suggests we simply fly overhead, but I put that idea down immediately. They could spot us easily from below, and our camouflage would have no effect. Analiya reminds us that Esther is in the opposite direction of the Weapon, as far as across the Mexican border even.

“Then shouldn’t we head towards the other direction?” Sam asks. “We can’t let the Weapon leave Phoenix, the government is sending in people to investigate the nuclear meltdown, as far as they know,  as we speak.”

“No! the Weapon requires us to all be at our very peak. I can’t, we can’t face it until we are equipped with the right gear,” I say. “As much as I would love to destroy that thing now, I wouldn’t be able to touch it, let alone annihilate it.”

“Then what should we do with the Weapon? It will be on it’s way soon,” Ruth asks indignantly.

What will we do? I think to myself. Then I remember the most obvious thing, that we are not alone in this fight.

“We call in the Bravo squad,” I say with confidence. “They can pursue the Weapon at least until we are back on our feet.” There are groans in the midst. “I don’t care that you have no taste for those guys, if you want this to succeed, then you have to do what is necessary.”

And so we decided to go after Ruth. Getting out the city unharmed was a rigorous challenge in itself. Each turn we made there was one tango after another, oddly enough patrolling in pairs. We were able to take them down of course, but they wore us out. By the time we got out the city, we had to take a break.

“Sam, can you spin out some food?” Analiya said. “I’m starving”

Sam looked as though he would pass out, his energy was completely spent. And yet everyone also seemed to take glances at me a lot.

“Why do you guys keep staring?” I say.

“We’re all tired David, but you have been losing energy due to that wound all day.” Ruth comments. She is sweating, but her intense brown eyes have more energy than Hiroshima’s Little Boy. I should know, I played a hand in it.

“Yeah man, you need to sleep. Just lay down, we will keep a lookout for anything,” Analiya responds.

I want to protest at first, but my whole body just instantly obeys them. The body wants what it wants apparently, I thought. I layed down on the ground, and just as I  began this day I saw their shoes once more. I guess I could sleep for just a little bit. Gently as the winds breezes by my eyes droop down and I drift off into sleep

Old Money, New Money, and Everyone Else

Our dear friends the rich people have their own set of classes. Though they are all part of the upper class, they separate themselves by how old the money is. Mark Zuckerburg is new money. The Kardashians are new money. Rockefeller, Vanderbilt, Carnegie, and the like are most essentially old money. The thing about it is, the new money does not want to be new money. At least that's the general idea, from the middle class perspective. It may in fact be backwards now, because old money is thought of as old, senile, ignorant, and void of understanding to the middle class. They do not want to be thought of that anymore. They want the look of Bill Gates, donating billions of dollars every year. They want the respect of old money, with the adoration of new money. Everyone wants to be new money, where you can be extravagant with anything. Justin Bieber has a $10 million dollar house. The mansions that are built are more and more amazing, there's one that is shaped like a spaceship, and the cars are lightning fast and supreme to the middle class cars in every way. Ferrari's come in at nearly $1 million per car, and the horse power they pull out are miles above most others. We as americans, as Capitalists, as humans, want more of what is good. It was ingraved into our minds 200,000 years ago living on the skin of our teeth. We got as much as we could get. We shouldn't let it consume us, and make us sacrifice our "humanity", but we should instead remember why we do what we do and keep it separate from our being. That's all that matters.

Thankful for You

I don't know whether this will show on my page. I am typing from my phone for reasons. Anyway, I an thankful fur many things. But for this post,I am thankful for Aidan Acosta. He's my friend, and when I walked into English 2 in the first day, I needed to see a friend. Sure there was Devin and Nancy and Holly, but Aidan just seems like he's more...there. Not counting Pokemon X, then he's just unresponsive to the world. But otherwise he's someone to be thankful for. It helps that he's smart and a fast analyzer. So yeah, Aidan I better be someone you're thankful for. I got my eyes on you.

I Celebrate Myself

Willlow Smith released a song a year or so ago titled "I Am Me" It was completely different from previous songs, and it extended her new hair-do and her outlook. She essentially escaped what was expected, and continued to do so. Long story short, that song was the start of her truly celebrating herself. It is in this way that we must do the same for ourselves. I do what I do, and I have no regrets. I make my mistakes, I play my games, I act my heart out, I sing even if it's not my vocal range (as long as I like the song). I do these things, and many others because that's who I am. You celebrate yourself by doing you, being real, and all the cliche preach crap that comes with it. Willow is still doing that, she is still making music in fact, and being criticized for being too mature and being too emotional. But she doesn't care about the critics (don't say haters, that's annoying), and neither do I. Celebrate yourself by Being Yourself. You'll regret it otherwise. (see Miley Cyrus)

Edgar Allen Poe

Edgar Allen Poe. New England's finest writer of the 1800s arguably. A man who "reinvented" the sci-fi world. This man died at only 40 years old. This man, who wrote so much, whether it be the dark romantic and gothic poetry, or his dabble in horror that was meant to be a joke. and wrote even till death, we remember as the Romantic Period's knight in shining armor. I admit I have not read all his work, but I guarantee you that his work surprises you at the end (at least in his Gothic stories)As to his direct poetry, it is dependent of his mood and outlook on the world. At one point he was an anti-transcendentalist (although he is stated to have said he didn't hate it, but rather the fakes among them). Regardless, I personally would say The Raven was his best poem. Although I'm probably not even the billionth person to say that, but it is. It's flow from one word to the other is this unique, Eminem-would-more-than-happily rap along with imagery that tingles the mind. Normally, I would read it, be impressed, and move on. But when you analyze anything you find more than meets the eye. Edgar was a great writer, The Raven was superb, and it doesn't hurt that The Simpsons used it. If only he could've seen The Stylus published, he would be satisfied.

What is an American?

This thing was malfunctioning for a moment. But that's a part of being a modern american, having technology that spazzes out on you. An American is a simple definition, a person who was born, is a current citizen, or identifies even in other countries as being from America. However going truly into the "definition" of American is like the denominations of Protestantism, it will never end in it's diverse and dividing soul. Being American comes with the benefits of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, and the Bill of Rights that guarantees the many things some countries simply don't have. Granted, those freedoms can be suspended depending on the scenario,but we still have them. Being American means originating from one place, and then being here. Some people wonder when you can just be plain American, but an American is indeed as Crevocoeur (don't know if I spelled that right) once said, "a melting pot" of culture. America is essentially the Eastern Hemisphere given the greatest thrill of it's life. Being American means being at the forefront of breakthroughs, having new technology at our fingertips. An American is the one who lives here and is generally proud of what we are. I say generally cause let's face it, we have our flaws. We are also war paranoid to an extent, but less so now that the UN is here, and we are pulling out of the Middle East (they really don't like us [US hahaha!]). We (well our government) can't handle money. Just can't, they're the people you swear you will not give your money to. But as I said,  we have flaws, but we're human, not just American. We are proud of our ups, and weary and watchful of our downs. It will only strengthen us to be better. Because an American is not a quitter. An American is not someone you can push around. An American is someone who is proud to call themselves an American.