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Speaking Out

      Speaking Out:
A Call for Responsibility for the Freedom of Speech

       Founding father of the United States Thomas Jefferson wrote a document by the title of “the Declaration of Independence”, in the Declaration Jefferson states that “Humans have certain inalienable rights… Among them are Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness”. However, those are not the only rights granted by the Creator (God, the Universe, or other forms of deity); one of the most revered right is in the First Amendment of the United States Constitution: The Freedom of Speech. A few patriots have said that the freedom of speech is the most important right for a free society. If a person is able to think for themselves, then they will be able to articulate and convey their thoughts into their speech, unfiltered. The lack of freedom of speech is an indirect way for indoctrination! However, on the other side of the coin, is there such a thing as too much freedom? Does the freedom of speech have a limit? Yes, it does. The freedom of speech was established after the American Revolution to allow citizens to speak freely against their government without fear of death or imprisonment. It was not intended for the call for race wars, hate crimes and even private harassment. The freedom of speech comes with a price: The price of responsibility.
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Chapter Two:



The sun reigned down the Earth with the heat and light that only mid-Spring can give: Heated but not scorching, a dry heat with a mix of humidity. The air is filled with the sounds of the Foo Fighters on the local rock station, which was being played from the open garage of a local body shop. Along with the sound of music, the noise of drilling and car engines filled the air from the garage.

Daniel pulled himself out of the engine of a red 1970 El Camino. He smoothed out his white undershirt, which was stained with oil stains. He took a deep breath, finally breathing fresh air; his stomach sucking in and then slowly released back to its large girth. Daniel looked at the owner of the car, a balding, skinny man with a bushy mustache and a Dale Earnhardt T-shirt and blue jeans. The customer had a distant look on his face and then spoke in a thick, Southern twang.

“It gonna get fixed?”

“What the hell did you do to it?” Daniel asked. “I never saw a car that had that many modifications and still is just a piece of shit.”
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Chapter One:
To Escape and To Live.

 Silence and darkness cradles the room like a mother’s arms. The bare, cold wall lightly glowed gray with the casting of moonlight that shown through the glass, with shadows of the bars that guarded the window sill. The cold, mechanical door remained closed, like the sealed off entrance of a crypt. The bed he laid in was stiff, but not cold as he body heat has created an imprint on the thin mattress. The moonlight made his white flesh glow, as he only had the orange pants of his uniform on. He pushed his raven black hair away from his ears; his hair proved to be naturally bouncy during his three year stint in the prison he calls home. His hard brown eyes scanned down to his bare chest; beads of sweat glistened on him, making the ink of his tattoo shiny. His chest, once virgin, now is forever scared with the claws of a bear, ripping at his flesh. It was only two weeks old, and made him grin at his own handiwork.

His ears pricked up as he heard the noise he had anticipated all night for. The soft footsteps of a certain guard, as rhythmic as the goose-stepping SS, met his wishing ears. By the position of the moon he knew it’s been an hour after lights out, most of the prisoners are fast asleep, the others are plotting a failed version of his own plan: To escape. The keyhole gave way to a key, and the solid door that has held him in this room slowly crept open. A new light shone through, the artificial light of the hallway. The man on the bed rose up, getting to his feet before the silhouette of the guard came crashing into view.

“It’s time,” the guard’s words were cold and soft. The guard stepped into the small room, the scent of jasmine followed, enticing the nostrils of the prisoner.
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The Talk

The Talk


     He wiggles his toes anxiously; he knew he wouldn’t sleep tonight. His hazel eyes scan the foreign hotel room; an American in France, how typical. The sun had already faded and the night life of Paris was abuzz. Richard sat up on the bed, taking a deep breath. In the mirror of the bathroom he could see his silhouette: His lean frame, even some beads of sweat that traced his body. He knew there would not be any air conditioning, yet he still hasn’t adjusted. He moved his head to peer at the open window, the curtains move slightly from the breeze.

A sigh left his lips, as his hand moved to the nightstand; he didn’t reach for the lamp, or his glasses. Instead he grabbed his cell phone, the single device that has been torturing him his entire trip. He closed his eyes, but his fingers already knew the way to the text, the text that broke his heart. He opened his eyes, and like a recurring night terror, he read the lines of the text message from Wendy, his best friend of ten years, and first love.
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Pride and Lose CH.1 PT.2

Chapter One (Part II)
In the Garden of Eden

“Why today?” she pleaded. “Of all days, why the eighth anniversary of the attack on the New Capital? The attack you helped organize.”

Kenny took one last drag of his cigarette and smashed it in his ashtray. He looked at his wife, Elizabeth, with no regret in his eyes. “Elizabeth, I organized that attack for a reason and the end has certainly justified the means. It is time we forgive not only the former powers but to forgive ourselves. Did you really like being in the Alliance when we were teenagers?”

Elizabeth simply shook her head. “But Kenny, you know we use today as the new birthday of Maria. She might not ask anything but she has questions. It’s like she knows her father is alive.”

“That would be my doing,” Kenny grinned. “I told her that Shane is alive and looking for her.”

“You did what?” Elizabeth leaped out of her seat. Her voice bouncing off the stone walls of the den like office they were occupying. “If Shane is alive he is not looking for her. He’s looking for you! He’s already killed Alexander.”
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Rook CH.1 PT.2

Chapter One
Human (part two)

  Daniel froze at the front door of his aunt’s small house. To his amazement, the streets were filled with fog, like an uneasy night at sea. He paused at the end of the front porch to gaze at the sight before him. The grounded clouds stretched over the street like a soft, gray blanket; the cold gusts of wind sliced into his flesh, his eyes tear up from the sudden cold. He closes his eyes, allowing the protective tears slide down his cheeks. After breathing in the cold air once more, he ventured into the fog, straining his eyes to see the lights of street lamps and select few in coming cars.

Daniel tugged at his heavy denim jacket and hitched up his belt on his baggy, faded jeans. After hitting the unlock button on his keychain he climbed into his yellow H2 Hummer and started the ignition. The dark beat of “Boogie Man” by Tech N9ne filled his stereo speakers as he pulled out of the small driveway. Daniel flipped open his cell phone and found Little Ed’s number and dialed it.

“Hello?” the voice answered. It was thick with bass that Little Ed was known for (little body, big voice).

“You’re actually alive?” Daniel asked.

“I was going to ask you the same question. Where the fuck you been?”
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How low can you go?

Use the photo as inspiration for a story of 140 characters OR 140 words and post them at

Word of the week: Memories

What does an old computer, a stuffed dinosaur and my New Years Eve party have in common? No memories.

Rook CH 1

Chapter One:



  “What about your father?” he asked, his word slurred from the vodka and post-sex endorphins rushing through his body.

“No, no,” the voice on the phone sounded distant to him. “The Fathers are pushing a new drug that our pushers never heard of! I sent a guy to test the shit and I haven’t heard back from him.”

“Who are The Fathers?”

“That’s also an issue. I ain’t got a fucking clue!”

Daniel takes a swig from the vodka bottle beside him. “Of course, leave it to me to find out.”

“You are the top drug dealer in Florida. Well, maybe only second if these Fathers keep at it.”

Daniel spits out his vodka, “These assholes spring up overnight and are already threatening my status? It took me months to knock off the Young Riders.”

“Get your ass out of your bed, away from whatever fat ass, disease carrying hooker you’re fucking, put on your pants and meet me at the drop house.”
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Eight Years Ago

    The sound of dripping water was the only noise, besides his heavy breathing, as he ambled deeper into the dark corridor-like tunnel. He was one of the few who helped design this underground bunker so he knew exactly where the president was running to. The man took a deep breath as a rush of pair waved over his body. He winced but tried to make as little noise as he could. So much has happened in the last hour alone. His wife was killed in an explosion, his best friend kidnapped his daughter and now… now he has to kill the president of United Socialist States of America.
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Clowns on Parade

Circus lights enkindle these clowns,
a pie to the face, and pants pulled down.
All fun and games to giggling, juggaling clowns.

Kids run, kids laugh, kids jump on the security staff.
Leaping, sneezing, wheezing, jumping, thumping;
Rowdy kids love the giggling, juggaling clowns.

Their baloon animals go POP!
But the fun can’t and won’t stop.
It’s always fun with the giggling, juggaling clowns.

As I close my eyes, the circus goes on.
It’s like a smiling, white faced marathon.
In my mind it’s just the giggling, juggaling clowns.

I beg for sleep but I hear the laughter.
They play with my brain, their pool of pleasure.
These are the giggling, juggaling clowns.

I wonder of the consquences of this,
To think of only clowns, it is not all bliss.
These are the fake, self-aware clowns.


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