Rumor and Hearsay

Tuesday, August 19, 2014


"How the fuck did you find me..." she demanded in a hushed tone, "Why are you fucking here?".

"The doesn't really matter much at this point, does it?" He responds, quietly.

Her fists are clenched at her side, the jeans she wears hugs every inch of her legs, the white of her shirt offset by the angry red of her face. "Why the fuck are you here Samuel?" she demands again.

"For everything that ever happened, for all the times I have, and could have said sorry, I'm here to trade you all that pain I caused..." his voice trails off as he looks into her honey brown eyes. "I'm here for redemption."

His perfectly polished shoes were accented by cuffed black slacks that sported grey-blue pinstripes, powerful creases led to a bright silver belt buckle which closed a black leather belt around his waist. A blue designer shirt was tucked into those slacks, closed around his neck by a black, skinny tie.  All of this encompassed by a flat, black suit jacket.

"Not this again, that is all the past dammit, I'm not going to sit around for your drama anymore, I've been gone for a long time," she hisses, "just forget everything and let it go, you've done enough already."

He takes a few steps closer to her, as she, one back, "Then set me free...please...this is all I can give you, all I could ever give you."

Reaching into the left breast of the jacket, he pulls out a pistol, FN Five-Seven, their eyes meet again, "Please set me free..." he whispers as he hands her the pistol. He kneels in front of her, and reaching into the right breast pocket, pulls out a sealed envelope and sets it onto the ground.

Tuesday, July 1, 2014

Endgame Pt.2

A young man sits across from him, in a black, banded-collared shirt. His black hair was short enough, parted on the left and accented by low auburn, evidence of salt water and sunlight having assaulting it.

All of the voices combined, including his, coming from himself, "You look really fucking stupid pointing a gun at yourself..." The volume was deafening, both men stared into each other, as if seeking a soul, or maybe just a weakness. James sets the gun back onto the table, "Now what?" he finally asks ,"Where do we go from here?". "Well, for starters, you need to understand who I am and how I relate to your...situation." James reaches for his beverage, the ice having long since melted, the entire drink resting at room temperature. "I know who you are," he starts, "well I knew you once, I see you in the mirror sometimes..." His past reaches across the table towards the cigarettes James left in the open, and, brandishing a silver Zippo lighter, indulges in the newly acquired Lucky Strike. "You see us in more than your fucking mirror," a female chorus, "you've been having some rather interesting dreams lately, didn't you miss us?" "I have nothing to say to you," James snaps after gulping half of the remaining beverage, "the past is the past isn't it? better to leave it dead and buried I'd say." All the voices boom back, "You don't fucking get it do you?" his rival attempting to calm back down, "We made you, we are you, JAMES this is your past, and it's about damn time it catches up with you." James leans his head to the right, searching his reflections eyes for an answer, "What are you getting at?". A smile appears behind locks of blonde hair, highlighted with pink, electric blue eyes piercing him. "We are your endgame," one voice, peaceful, then his own voice, "every time you were scared about your past coming back to haunt you?...well, here I am, here we are."

"I feel nothing for you anymore, I've buried it all away, even you, my ghosts, will never really catch me." A full chorus of laughter echoes through the darkened bar as the ghost rises out of it's seat and fixes a gaze upon James. "I've faced the destruction you've put yourself through, more so, I was part of it, your present misery is quite comforting for all of us, we all hoped you'd suffer one day, and now it seems that we've gotten our wish sevenfold." James clenches a fist and leans against the back of his chair, cautiously eying his enemy. Then, Jame's eyes widened with a sudden realization of the magnitude of his situation, panic. Jumping from his seat, he reaches for his gun and points it between the eyes of his past, "Travis you fucking get away from me you fu..." he doesn't get the opportunity to finish as Travis reaches out and touches the gun, and through the contact launches James into a vivd flashback.

"You're past is going to kill you, James, you need to go and talk to someone because this isn't healthy." James could hear the words that Abigail, his cousin, was saying, but he wasn't listening, only staring out the window to the rain in the night. The pills, the self-help books, going out, nothing had helped, he hadn't taken his medication in days. "Do you think," he finally speaks to her, "You could section off a part of you, like split part of your mind off somewhere and erase it or like, I dunno, bury it?" Abigail looks at him with a concerned expression, she understands what he's trying to do, she understands his desperation, "I don't know love, maybe, we could try." The rain continued to fall outside the window, a faint rumble of thunder occupied the air. "It's like, being followed by ghosts, everyday, and no matter how fast I run they always can touch me, even when I'm out there..." James trails off, "they were never supposed to catch me..."

"Give him a name, then we can move on." a voice tells him through a haze, he doesn't know where he is or who the voice belongs to, but the name "Travis" escapes his lips. There is a flash, a crash, music. He comes to in an office where he sits in front of a list of names and is instructed to indicate if any of them mean anything in particular to him, none do, they send him home to rest. His past blocked away, Travis blocked away.

The bar explodes back into focus as James drops to the ground in a cold sweat at Travis' feet. "What the fuck did you do to me!?" he gasps, "what was that?". Travis shrugs over him, the chorus of female voices, again in unison, "Just getting reacquainted lover, how'd it feel?" The bar comes back into focus, the rain pouring harder than ever, "The mind is a terrible, terrible, terrible thing sometimes...and now, it's time for you to give in, and give up." Flashes of a baseball game, the Red Sox versus Yankees, a wedding ring, two rings, hate, hurt, flashes. "It never mattered" says a voice. James forces himself to focus again, back to the bar, back to the now, as Travis crouches over him, he can feel him savoring the moment. "Endlessly," she said, brunette hair brushed his face as she came into focus for a split second, maybe a single second. "I hope you suffer." says a different voice as he struggles to stand, Travis comes back into view and James braces himself against the wall and releases a slight chuckle. "Let's do this, asshole, I'm ready, it's time," James whispers, cold sweat dripping off his face, breathing heavy.

"I would have done anything, I'm sorry, I should have done everything, but nothings lost now is it?" James catches a faint glitter of blue and grey in the eyes of Travis, a lightening of the hair, "What did you say?" he demands of James. "Travis, you have very simple tastes, especially in pain, but I'm over it." James responds, with a smile, "You're just me when I was weak." Furiously, Travis unsheathes a knife and buries it deep into Jame's gut, while pinning him to the bar wall. "Remember what it all felt like?" all the voices demand in unison, "Remember what you did to us? All that anger, hurt, misery? Let it back in, baby, because its a part of you, we are you." Blonde, brunette, red, blue eyes, hazel eyes, voices.

Gasping, James places his left hand over the hand a knife embedded in his lower left side and meets their eyes with dead, black gaze. "I do remember it all, I remember trying to bury you," he winces as the blade is twisted, "but, after all those nights, all those bottles, I learned how to use it, and I learned a new trait." They look into his eyes, searching for meaning, then, they feel James twisting the knife even more, no expression, no wincing, no reaction at all, he continues to twist. "You were always scared of guns, which is appropriate, knives give you a rush..." James lets go of the knife while they look dumbfounded into his smirking face, "I knew you looked familiar, you're no stranger to taking a life, but I learned how to be perfectly and...unapologetically cruel." They open their mouth to speak, and James quickly throws his bloodied left hand into the open mouth and clinches tight. They bite down desperately and grab his arm with both hands, releasing him from the wall. As they struggle, "I've gotten to the point where I feel absolutely fucking nothing...nothing at all.." escapes James' lips. They bite down with all their collective might onto his hand, no reaction, only fear growing in them as his right hand pulls the knife out of his stomach, lacking any evidence of pain, and tosses it to the floor.

Muffled cries fill the room as a scarlet-eyed Travis furiously tries to escape the grip viced to his jaw, and they share a special moment, "I'd tell you, how much it haunts me, how everything haunts me, but you don't care, and neither will I." James lifts his right hand over his head as they share one intimate second of silence. James breaks their silence, "For you, God called in sick today..." Those red eyes widen and he can hear all the voices crying out as his fist bears down repeatedly onto their face, with nowhere to go, all they can do is accept it. Dislocated jaw. Broken Nose . Fractured orbital. James loosens his grip, and they drop to the floor, looking like one of those from the past, sobbing, begging. The cries go unanswered as he grabs them by the hair and drags all the voices, and all the faces, kicking and screaming to the table they occupied and retrieves his Beretta. "You hit bone," James calmly states to no one in particular as they lay on the ground sobbing, bloodied, "the scars will be beautiful." He set them up on their knees, beaten, finished. They lift their head, and meet his cold gaze, "Am I your anything?" All the voices, broken. James looks into those eyes he'd known so well, "The past, which I no longer want." "Please." they beg, as he lifts the pistol between those beautiful eyes.

A single shot rings out in the empty bar, the smell of gun powder and cigarette smoke fill the room as he returns the pistol to his waistband. He returns to the table, grabbing his Lucky Strikes and Zippo, and ignites a cigarette.

Inhale. Exhale.

Inhale. Exhale.

James slowly walks outside into the rain, and discarding the smoke he washes the blood off of his face and breathes deeply. A bright flash of lighting tears the sky open, followed by an earth-shattering kaboom.

"Man, you tell some really fucked stories you know that right?" Eric asks James as they sit around the television, perusing Netflix.

"Yeah, I know, but they are all from the dreams I have basically, I just run with them." James replies as he continues jotting notes down. "The next book is going to be off the fucking chain, man, it's going to be a wild ride..."

"If you don't lose your goddamn mind first..." Eric adds.

"Oh, that happened a long time ago, a little late for that." James snorts.

"So it was only a dream right? not this weird fantasy you sit around and think of?

James pauses, and looks towards his left hand, admiring the scars he sighs and answers, "Yeah...only a dream."


The Trickster, Maui

Saturday, June 28, 2014


Another speak-easy, another rainy night. A wisp of clove smoke rose gracefully from a table in the far corner, accented by a dim, low slung light. The bar was basically empty, maybe five people occupied it's old frame, including the bartender, who was polishing glasses with closed eyes, maybe contemplating life, or keeping the smoky haze out of his eyes. His target was the source of the clove smoke, in that far corner, she sat by herself, with her back towards the only door in the place.

Inhale. Exhale.

"Gin and tonic, please", James requested of the barkeep, "double." The keep moved gracefully through the motions required to serve the simple, yet iconic combination. James never took his gaze off the woman in the corner, a blonde, who was wearing what looked to be a pencil skirt, grey in color, with black high heeled shoes and a white blouse. Her hair was down her back as she looked straight ahead into nothing.

Inhale. Exhale.

James took his completed beverage, leaving a twenty dollar bill on the bar top, and began walking towards the woman. Low jazz music gave a soundtrack for the sound of his boots as they impacted the old, wood floor of the bar. No one paid the young man any mind, he dressed simple enough, boots, a nice pair of blue jeans, and a black, banded-collared shirt. His black hair was short enough, parted on the left and accented by low auburn, evidence of salt water and sunlight having assaulting it.

Inhale. Exhale.

He set the drink down next to her with care as he turned and took the seat across the small table. James took out a silver Zippo and lit a cigarette in silence. The two sat there in silence for an eternity of a breath as both slowly puffed away, under that dim, low-slung light.

"Well I certainly didn't expect to ever see you again", she said in a way that could only be interpreted as snide, "I thought by now you would have left everything behind, again." her emerald eyes met his for the first time in years as he continued to sit in silence. "I should have", he finally says to her, "but, sometimes in order to leave it all behind you have to close some chapters, or even destroy the entire book." "So you're here to what? kill me?" she asks with a smile, "Or are you here to erase me? it's kind of difficult to edit someone out of reality you know..." She puts her cigarette out on the table, her eyes now blue-grey.

Inhale. Exhale.

James finally takes a drink, and sighs, this is the first time that they have been together in nearly five years, again, in a smoky bar. "You know, maybe I am here to kill you,", he says jokingly, "because that would help my situation so, so, much." He drops his cigarette to the floor, stepping on it to eliminate it's ember. "You need me," she bites, "you fucking need me, and you know admit it." "I don't need you!" he snaps back, "Everything would be better if it weren't for you, do you realize all the shit I've dealt with? Everything comes back to you." She smiles as she turns away, then back to him. Her hair is brunette now, big, brown eyes, intoxicating gaze, blue halter top. "You mean it comes back to us, James, it wasn't just me." "You don't understand what you did to me, how that changed me, you bitch." he retorts. "WHAT I DID TO YOU?! HOW THAT CHANGED YOU?!" she screams at him, her voice sounding as if there was multiple voices screaming the same line in a movie. Her eyes, now dark, seem to be wishing to set him ablaze as they sit there together. "You need me, you selfish fuck, I'm the only reason you have accomplished what you have so far, because OF US!", again, her voice is a chorus.


James breathes deep and closes his eyes, once they are opened again he takes a drink. Her hair is blonde again, eyes grey, black t-shirt, her glasses give her a certain secretarial look, a look he always loved. She lifts her martini and takes a sip while looking into his eyes, "You can't do what you do without us.". Thunder shakes the old watering hole, he had forgotten it was raining. "It was raining that day too.." he starts, but she cuts him off, "It was always raining on those days for you, martyr." she sounds like five different people now. "SO tell me, how are you going to burn at the stake this time? How are you going to spin all of this in a vain attempt to make yourself feel better for a month or two?" she bites at him, "Because so far all you have done is find ways to put yourself in situation to get hurt, or to hurt, and try to spin it like a fucking politician, but everything is stacking up against you again and you need an out...right?"

He lights another cigarette and put the lighter into his pocket. Tilting his head back to look to the ceiling.

Inhale. Exhale.

"I do put myself in holes, just to see how deep it can get before I can't dig myself out anymore." he finally answers. "You taught me very well how to leave shit behind, you were so very fucking good at it." His head lowers to look at her again. Her eyes are brown again, a honey brown, her hair back dark, grey tube-top, smugness radiating from her expression. "Well you didn't expect me to carry a torch for you forever did you? Or did you expect me to hold on and join you in your self pity and misery?" three voices.  James tries to keep a calm demeanor, but the comment did sting, like a hot poker pressed to his flesh, but on scar tissue and he had seen it coming, he knew it would happen."I can erase you" he whispers in a low tone, "I can erase everything, I don't need you.." "What's your endgame James? Hm? how is this going to play out?" Six voices. "Because you don't have it in you, you like your torches..." Blonde hair covers one of her blue eyes as she leans into him, "You love being miserable." she seductively whispers to him, "You couldn't erase me, even if you wanted to. You came looking for me, like Gatsby reaching for that green light." Still six voices. "Never, ever, again will you hold our past because you don't deserve to."

They stare at each other for a minute, James' jaw clinched, his cigarette long burned out.

"Get out of my fucking head." He finally whispers. The chorus of her voice laughs loudly, echoing through the bar as again her eyes and hair change. He finally snaps. James jumps up from his seat and reaches behind his back, his hand returning, brandishing a Beretta pistol. "Shut up! he desperately screams as her gaze mocks him, her laughing stops but she continues to smile. She looks amused, "Sit down, you're causing a scene." she demands sternly, "You are only making the situation worse on your end, stupid boy." One voice. "If you want to know how this is going to work you have to talk to the right person," she jeers, "You can put that gun away now," she continues, while her piercing blue eyes meet his with an icy resolve, "You brought this world upon yourself, so lets talk." Three voices.

James sits back down, placing the gun on the table. Thunder rolls again through the cold night air, as he notices the bar is now completely empty save for them. Breathing deeply he closes his eyes and bows his head down. She finally speaks again, "What is your endgame? You can't find the peace you're looking through me" Four voices. "You need to get the right person, and that certainly isn't me, you're wasting your time." "Then who the fuck do I need to find? hm?" he asks, "Where does it all end?" He can hear the six voices again sigh in unison. "It ends with the person who made it begin in the first place." "And who the fuck is that exactly?" he demands in a loud voice.


"Answer me, dammit!" opening his eyes he reaches for the pistol and lifts his head.

Everything stops in that instant

A young man sits across from him, in a black, banded-collared shirt. His black hair was short enough, parted on the left and accented by low auburn, evidence of salt water and sunlight having assaulting it.

The Trickster, Maui

Monday, May 26, 2014

War Journal Pt 2: An Introduction.

The Interpretation of Insanity. A diary of dreams, thoughts and rants of a man who is losing his mind.

~J. S. Havok

"Dream of Waking"

The Great War
     It has been several years since I wrote the original "War Journal" and in the time since, I have only become more comfortable in the misery I bring myself. I write mental letters against my will, destination? a million miles away, you will never read this.

This collection of rants, dreams, musings...will serve as a record of the spiral possible to ride as one's mind continually assaults his being at an extreme frequency, at deafening volume.

Sleep Well,

James Samuel Havok

Sunday, May 25, 2014

War Journal Pt. 2

It has been a long time coming that I should revisit my first, and only fully realized, however never edited, "book".

The original "War Journal" was a 200 page adventure of seemingly unconnected story lines entwined with a time-traveling love story revealed in a series of letters.

No one will ever read the original, it was not meant to be read by anybody except one person, for whom it was written, Unfortunately in the ebb and flow of life, even that person will never read it.

However, bits and pieces of story and concept can be found throughout my erratic, shaky, writing featured on this blog. Some names and settings may seem familiar, this is because everything in the "War Journal" was in the same universe.

Stay Tuned.

J. S. Havok