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Click. Click. Click.

With each click of the mouse, the view of trees grew larger on the flat computer screen. The room was dark, as it normally was. Not really a room, a freshly prompted white wall stood where empty space should be in the garage. The hum of the AC ruled from across the room, struggling against the summer heat to keep the man cave cool.

Click. Click. Click.

Again, the click of the mouse kept the movement alive. The faintly gray light created silhouettes upon the room. A messy queen size bed laid on the floor, with no frame to hold it up. The light casted a glare on the glossy Hustler and GameInformer magazine covers on top of the bed; both were reflected by a slender mirror in the corner. Aside from the hum of the air, the sound from the computer speakers, at full volume, washed over the players’ ears. His eyes fixated on the screen, he bites his lower lip. He stops his frantic clicking and hear the eerie soundtrack. The player wipes a strand of hair from his face and leans in, his face just a hand space away from the screen. He squints, looking for the signs of what he doesn’t want.
“Don’t pop up now, Slendy…”
The sound of white noise starts to pick up, and the player franticly starts clicking on the mouse again. His eyes wide, his full attention on the screen, he was unaware his door began opening. The light touched a figure that stood stock still, observing the player.
In the chair, the player clinches his toes and wraps his thick ankles around each other. He stops clicking the mouse, and turns the avatar around to see what the eerie noise is coming from.
“Hey fat ass!”
A shrill squeal filled the room as the large player falls out of his chair. Heavy breathing, on his back with his hands over his face, his head is shifting from the monitor to the door, and back.
“Don’t kill me, Slender Man! I’ll do anything you say!”
Laughter came from the figure in the doorway. Not sinister, but laughter of hilarity. The man stumbles in the dark as he enters the room.
“I got money. I know you don’t use it in your palace. Don’t eat my soul, Slender Man! It’s all I got left!”
The figure’s hand reached up and pulled the light, making the player on the ground wince. Slowly he opens his eyes and standing over him with a large smile was a long haired, slender young man with a soul patch: His best friend. With his heart racing the player shook his head.
“Ryan you asshole, you almost gave me a heart attack.”
Ryan nodded, “I know, Billy. But dude, you were so into your little game I had to bring you into the real world.” Ryan looks at the screen, which is now red with Game Over written. “The fuck you playing, anyways?”
Billy used his bed to help him up. Unlike his best friend, Billy was nowhere near slender. Chunky in every place, the former high school chess champion took a deep breath to calm his rapid heart beating. He dusted off his torn blue jeans and wondered inwardly how his room gets dusty. He looks back up to Ryan, who was lighting a cigarette.
“Slender Man.”
Ryan raised an eyebrow, “I know I’m skinny, but that doesn’t tell me what got your undivided attention.”
“I just told you, Slender Man. The master of disaster, the lord of the unknown,” Billy saluted, “The most awesomeest badass that the universe ever spawned.”
Ryan blinked. “You mean that fucking comic book shit that made those Twilight fucks go nuts in Wisconsin?”
“Fuck Twilight.”
Ryan shook his head, “You don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”
Billy nodded, “Twilight was a movie that almost game me an anus orgasm.”
“A what?”
Billy gave him a droll stare, “A urine ism. You know what I mean. Where your brain just fries and dies!”
“That… You mean an aneurysm, Billy.”
“That’s what I said, a urine ism.”
“It’s aneurysm.”
“I said that”
“You’re going to give me one,” Ryan huffed and grabbed his long, brown hair.
“I was playing Slender Man,” Billy said with a prideful smile.
Ryan went over to the computer, sat on the rotating chair and clicked out the game. He blinked as he tilted his head. “Are you on a website where you actually talk about porn?”
Billy nodded as he sat on his bed, “Yeah dude. Those discussions get heated quick.”
Using the mouse scroll, Ryan scanned the comments. Billy was right, things escalated quickly in the forms. He gave a half shrug and went to Facebook and signed into his. He stops and looks back at Billy who was reading an article about the next Assassin’s Creed. “Why aren’t you on Facebook?”
Billy looks up, his head tilted, “Because I don’t go to Harvard, duh.”
Ryan’s jaw went slack, “I have my doubts you finished high school but that doesn’t answer my question.”
“You saw the movie about Facebook, it’s for Harvard pricks.” Billy turned the page, “That’s why I chill on MySpace, where the real people are.”
Ryan fully turns in the chair, “Dude, Facebook is for everyone. And I seriously haven’t heard anyone mention Myspace in like eight years.”
Ryan was met with a blank stare.
Ding!
The sound of a message on Facebook caught Ryan’s attention. “Mark just messaged me.”
“That’s a cat who hasn’t scat as of lat.”
Ryan ignored him as he replied. As he waited for the reply he scanned his timeline. He clicked ‘like’ on a few marijuana legalization memes, tour dates of the Kottonmouth Kings, and his cousin’s new relationship status. A new message flashed, to show Mark has replied.
On the bed Billy looked around his room. On the far corner he noticed a cob web being blown by the airstream of the AC. His eyes shifted back to Ryan and sniffed the air. The smoke reached him and made him grimace and gag. Billy pulled his black Gears of War shirt over his nose and took a deep breath. With a shield against the smoke, Billy continue reading the Assassin’s Creed article.
Ryan gracefully lifts up and puts his cigarette out on Billy’s desk. He looks back, “Get your shoes on.”
“Where we going? Dairy Queen? Hi-5 Frozen Custard? Culver’s? Ben and Jerry’s Scoop Shop?” Billy listed off each ice cream joint with more enthusiasm and hope than the last.
“No, fat ass. Well, we might. First, we are going to Mark. He got some Mountain Dew.”
“Oh! Code Red or Baja Blast?”
Ryan shook his head, “No you idiot. Mountain. Dew,” he emphasis on each word.
Billy blinked and then realization hit. Mountain Dew was their code word for weed. Billy smiled, “Hell yeah. You driving? My license sort of got taken away.”
“How?”
Billy looked away quickly. “No reason.”
Ryan raised a finger and lowered it, then shook his head. There is no telling the depths of his friends’ stupidity. “Actually, we’re walking. You know I don’t got a car.”
Billy frowned, “We’re walking! But it’s fucking heat stroke weather out there.”
Ryan nods, “You got water. I checked your fridge before I came in.”
“Who let you in the kitchen?”
“Your mom let me in the house, my feet walked me to the kitchen. It’s sort of connected to the house, you know.”
“She’s not my mom, she’s my roommate. Who happened to have given me birth.”
The duo walks out of the dark garage suite and outside the side door. Billy winces and shields his face, letting out a bellow.
“Fuck! I should invest in some sunglasses.”
Ryan half shrugs, “You could, I don’t know, get out of your house for more than five seconds, then your eyes would be used to sunlight.”
Billy lowered his hands but kept the glare he spared for his friend. They began walking to the end of Billy’s drive way, as he pulls to a stop. Ryan stops next and looks at his friend. He almost asked what he was staring at but in the corner of his eye he saw it.
Across the street to the right, in the driveway laid two blonde German sisters sunbathing. Ryan nodded his approval with a sly grin as the older sister went topless and laid back down on the pool chair. Ryan turned slightly to see Billy practically drooling over the sisters.
They have been his neighbors for over five years now, and he stares at them every time they come from their house; yet he has never had the courage to talk to them. Billy knew who they were: His dream girls, the both of them. Any chance he got, he’d steal Old Man Roger’s blind poodle so he can pretend to have a dog to walk and go near their house. He’d hear yelling from the house, but he chalked it up to them being foreign and that’s how foreigner’s talk, according his Billy’s dad. Once he caught Morgen, the older sister, sunbathing topless on her back. Since then his crush escalated, but every time he tried to talk to them he forget how to talk. The best he ever could do was a wave.
Ryan smacked his back, bringing him to reality. “The fuck?”
Ryan gestured, “Go talk to them, lunchbox.”
“And say what?”
“How about Du siehst wunderschön aus?”
Billy blinked, “You know German?”
Ryan huffed, “I wanted American Sign Language. But every time I went to spell my name I ended up flipping off the teacher. So they put me in German.”

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:

Explanations.

 ***

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 http://grandmas-goulash.info

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:

Human

 

  “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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Prologue:

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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