The alley

Run, just keep running...

This is his only thought as his muscles burn the oxygen left in his constantly depleting blood supply. The rain helped and hurt, cooling him, while making his sprint all the more dangerous. A burning sting embedded in his abdomen spewed hot essence of life, a wound channel punctuated by a hollow point. Vision blurs as he weakens, the Beretta heavier by the moment breathing smoke, bleeding acid. Breaking to a street, Edgemont, he frantically looks left and right, choosing the latter in now a brisk pace, no longer able to run. The light of a ravaging fire faintly glows from the direction he came, sirens screaming in the night. An alley, the first one he sees, is where he escapes to, bracing against the wall of a quiet bar.

How did this get so fucked up?

How did it get to this?

The adrenaline is gone, slowly starting down the way, he searches for his phone to no avail, replacing his pistol into the holster in the jacket the out of breath figure is startled by a noise. A young lady stands in a doorway, her eyes give away confusion and shock at the wounded beast. He lifts a bloodied hand, taking a step, as if reaching for a saving angel. She steps away, fearful. This is where it goes black, this is where he falls.

Face first.

Exit here.

~The Trickster, Maui

THIS

Is this what it feels like? Constantly feeling as if you want to throw up? Constantly exhausted even after 8 hours in bed. Is this what it feels like knowing you never get to hear a new story in their voice? Zoning out in the kitchen where they taught you everything you know about culinary prowess. Is this what it feels like to realize your father will never see you attain your goals in life. Watching your mother try to sleep on the couch because going back to that bed is out of the question?

Is this what being truly broken feels like?

H.E. Wallace

2015: Prologue

Punk rock blasts over the amps set up in the back yard, Kelly and Mike are making a new round of shots for everyone at the party. "Get o'er here you assholes, drink arerrready!" Kelly exclaims, or slurs. There must be about 20 people here, all high, drunk, or both. The Crombie sisters were both wearing bikinis, Kyle couldn't tell if they were on X or if they just stop giving a shit as they started making out, good thing they weren't really sisters. Bryan and Jimmy were here too, old band mates from Bomb Shelter Fallout, a lividly raw experiment from college, which strangely enough, gave birth to Rock Me Raw, a group of sellouts tearing up the Los Angeles hardcore scene. The looking glass Jimmy handed over had engraving on the edge "Bombs Away", perfect rails laid out for the three. "It's good to have you back home man, crazy fuck we thought you were dead." Kyle slides the first rail hard, clean. Drip Drop. "FUCKERRS LESSSSGGO!" Kelly demands, spilling a shot on the table. Mike laughs, hard enough to seem like he'll die at any second. Jimmy, Bryan and Kyle make their way to the table, the Crombies right behind. "Here's to the prodigal son returning to the angels!" proclaims Mike as he sniffs hard, an effort to stop his running nose.

HERE HERE!
PROST!
SALUD!
CHEERS ASSHOLES!

New Year's Eve with the angels, Jesus Christ.
Kelly probably wouldn't make it to midnight, Jimmy and Bryan are probably gonna try to bag the sisters, outside the close friends, Kyle doesn't really know anyone else. Some guy named Travis with this dimepiece Claire, evidently he's rich, or she's rich, or both. They seem cool enough while they rip cigs on the patio, the Claire chick eyeing Mike as he brings out a bong. Kelly follows closely behind, probably recovering due to the Colombian sugar one of the Crombies brought. Kyle hands Travis and Claire beers and goes back inside. He overhears a conversation, "Man 2015 was the shit, this new year better bring it hard, man!". "2015," Kyle repeats to himself, "fuck man, 2015...".

A few hours pass, Kelly and Mike are still going strong, the Ramones blast over the speakers, Kyle, is wasted. Bryan is missing his shirt, and probably his jeans, while in the hot tub with one of the sisters, Jimmy is busy making more shots. The other sister is nowhere to be found, maybe making out with herself in a mirror. Mike locks onto Kyles neck, dragging him towards the pool table. "Man, we fucking made it, bro, we survived!" Kyle has no idea what Mike means, but takes a pull from the bottle anyway. "Dude we kinda thought you weren't coming back, really bummed us out man, almost lost you to those rednecks."

Texas, that's right.

Fucking. Texas.

"Dude this year was goddamn weird" Kyle struggles to slur, "man, I could try to tell but you, you peoples would, not, believer me at all." "Holy shit Kelly, Kyle is fucking wasted babe!" WOO is the only response, Kyle thinks he sees Kelly with the missing sister, but he can't make out the scene. "Breathe, hard" commands Mike, Kyle obeys. A vial under his nose comes to life through a tingle between the eyes. "That's some good shit, it'll wake you up." Kyle takes another pull as he leans against the pool table, attempting to stop the patio from freaking out. A few minutes pass. Jimmy hands Kyle a smoke, they light up.

Inhale. Exhale.

Travis and Claire start handing Solo cups full of champagne or cheap whiskey, Russian Roulette style. Jimmy and Kyle still perched on the table, watching Bryan suck Kassi's face off, or Amy, they can't tell which sister it is. "Dude," Bryan starts, "the last few years have been a drag with you gone man, this last year was the worst, you wouldn't believe how stupid it was." "Man, don't even start with me bruh, I could write a book about that shit, but I'd have to sell it as fiction shit man, unbelievable." The other sister pulls Kyle's hair back as she empties the contents of a bottle down his throat, the burn is distinct, grain, it's pure grain alcohol.

This is the point where the shit, that had been thrown somewhere off in the void, slammed into the cosmic fan.

Everything slows, everything has trails.

That stupid song comes on, the one for New Year's.
You know the one.

A torrent of emotion grasped him by the throat, memories flooding his mind. It was all so surreal, every bit of it. Every drunken night, every hungover Sunday Funday, the motorcycle, the wreck, the fights shown like a newsreel in his mind. Damn Texas. "HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!!" Amy or Kassi lift the Solo cup to his face as Jimmy winks at him and takes his shot. Mike and Kelly are singing that song, Jimmy is lighting another smoke. Travis drapes an arm over Kyle's shoulder, like if they were friends already, "Man fuck 2015 AMIRITE?! I was so tired of that piece of shit year, here's to bigger and better my man." "What would you know about a shit year, man?" Kyle angrily exclaims, "man, you have no idea."

Meltdown.

"Holy shit, fuck off 2015!" Kyle screams at the top of his lungs, "seriously holy shit the whole, shit, like, fuck me man 2015 was fucking stupid!" "Dude, calm the fuck down...jus" "Nah man, fuck you, you don't know me you little prep school piece of shit!" Kyle and Travis stare at each other, neither flinching, everyone frozen, watching, waiting. Kyle takes a hard drag of his smoke, blowing the cloud in Travis' red-hot face. "You go through the last year I had in that redneck ass place, with all the bullshit and see how long you last, you little bitch." Travis blinks, shaking his head, "Man these peeps all hyped you up man, but you're broken, dude, get it together."

Kyle walks back into the house, the ground shifts, everything starts spinning again, he stumbles, hitting the ground hard, ignoring the shoe he looses, continuing through the house to the front. A lone beer bottle had survived the trek, and quickly was shattered via throw, which connected with Kelly's mailbox. Fireworks are lighting the sky on fire, City of Angels, skies aflame. Mike and Bryan follow behind the stumbling Kyle. "Dude what the fuck was that man, get back to the party dude." Bryan begs. "Dude, where is your shoe? Are you walking on broken glass?" Mike adds. An artillery shell sets the hazy air ablaze, lighting the entire street. Kyle, now in the road, looks down into a bloody puddle, tracked from the curb. In that flat flash, both Mike and Bryan can see the coke tainted blood draining from Kyle's nose, more shells explode overhead as he slowly wipes it away with a bare arm, his yes meeting theirs. "Dude," Bryan begins, "what happened to you last year?" by this time, more people have come outside to see the spectacle.

Like a fallen king, opposing his former court.

"You wanna know what happened?" he defiantly asks.
"I promise you won't believe it...but you gonna see..."
"Sit the fuck down I'm about to tell you a story." he commands.

He almost seems majestic in this one, beautiful, moment. As he closes his eyes, seeing the memories, feeling the emotions. It's like a silent movie, lightning quick transitions, disorganized, frantic, like dreaming in Hollywood Land.

"Twenty-fucking-fifteen..."

Into the Air

"It's going to be a bumpy ride out..." Announces the disembodied voice of some god or another. This is my first flight on this particular model aircraft, also many years have passed since the vector taken has been westward out of the desert. The stranger next to me prays, allegedly a Catholic, and proceeds to close the sunshade. Effectively blindfolding us from the sight of our plummet down to a jealous earth that wants its prisoners back.

Slip-stall isn't the right word, but its the first that comes to mind.

I've heard a story of a plane that fell from the heavens at roughly 10,000 feet per minute but only in the final seconds did anyone realize that they were already dead.

Sucker-punched by death is such a shitty and melodramatic way to go, in my mind.

My parental units are stationed across the aisle and ask if I need to turn on the halo above me to see the words that bleed out of my pen, then return to sleep. The Catholic stranger asks if I could grab her blanket from the overhead bin as the voice of the god from earlier commands us to sit the fuck down. I disobey him, like so many other times I've disobeyed some god or another, fetching the security she needs.

Time bombs, we are all time bombs. The couple to my left, my aging parents, albeit neutral currently, could poison the innocents encased in this missile. Time bombs next to each other, me and this stranger.

Tick-tock
Tick-tock

Luckily, I should have been a doctor, or so my long-since ghost of a great grand uncle would say, in agreement with my handwriting. She cannot read of my wiring of a falling plane, or of stupid people who could not feel their failure to survive as souls evacuated bodies at 10,000 feet a minute. Funny to think, as a pilot, does every trip count as a business trip now?

She takes our blindfold off, I playfully wonder how long it would take till we'd get a last shower through the puffy cotton on our descent to that terrestrial prison to which we all return. Violently, in a jealous grab for those trying to air with angels we slam, zero survivers. She scares at turbulence, I get excited.

Arousal is maybe the right word, its the first to come to mind.

Once we calm, she sleeps again for the remainder of our flight. I stare out towards infinity.

Daydreaming through final approach, mirroring the god behind the controls in practice. I turn to the allegedly Catholic stranger to my right, cloaked in her blanket, saying, "Mom, time to wake up..."

Whispers of October

Whispers of October.

"(Insert arbitrary month here) is my fucking month man, lemme tell ya..."

Personally I'm a fan of February or July. But my life, and the events that have filled it have a strange, well, perplexing connection to October.

Let me explain.

October is  normally seen as a transition month, as far as it seems to me at least. We are leaving the long sunny days of summer behind as we transfer towards the shortened, cooler days of fall and winter. But October...it's always October.

Football at the high school level, one of my true endeavors and passions  in life is starting to wind down for the season for most athletes. It was in October I had my seizure that resulted in a totaled car and a year of daily stabilizing medication. The tenth month brought our last homecoming together, me and my sister. The last time I'd ever play football in front of my friends, even from different schools, under the lights of El Paso, October.  The most important romantic relationship I feel that I ever had started in October. Two great personal wars were started in the month on different years. 

It also brings the information wars and powers the rumor mills. Possibly telling the wolves to get ready for a cold winter of hibernation or slow news. The rumor mills are the worst, spewing their black clouds as a fog of war over the landscape. Fucking October, I'm used to it, sometimes I act in ways to power them even more effectively like a hobby. A strange hobby. 

October is strange for me, and this one has proven to continue the trend. At least we've been consistent? May this transition be ever fruitful as The Trickster moves forward, onto a new dawn, which is hopefully void of pumpkin spiced anything, but overflowing with Oktoberfest style beer.

Just a thought...

Signed,

~The Trickster, Maui

House of Wolves

Driving into the desert, sun setting behind the mountains that overlooked my existence for 18 years, I ponder. Global Reach stretches itself out behind the airport, 737s coming and going, incoming Cessna, probably 172, lifts gracefully into the air. I ponder. Something isn't right, so many things that just don't fit.

Intersection.

I think about wolves, how we see them sometimes as viscous, how we describe someone untrustworthy or unloyal as a wolf, we warn each other of the wolves lurking in the darkness.

I turn off the radio, silence in this desert oasis, then I play a song, fitting for the mood. "Keep the Wolves Away" by Uncle Lucius. I suggest you listen to it, great jam.

I ponder.

I drive.

The clouds coming over the top of the mountains are a beautiful shade of flirting with being a storm, the low light of the sun mostly blocked out by the mountainous teeth that the earth spits upward into the sky.

Once Hollywood fell, I looked around. Loneliness is an emotion or state of mind, alone is a situational condition. I was alone. Not completely, but, the closest ones were nowhere to be found, at least willingly. Now this is where the battle of the mind starts, what do I make of this new condition? Waking up in my room had me feeling more exiled than the affectionate nickname "The Slavehouse" would suggest. Where is everyone?

Turn the lights on, loop 375 exchange, 65 miles an hour. You can see the lights of Ciudad Juarez, Mexico awakening. Used to be the most dangerous city in the Americas, maybe even the world, memories of watching the city exist from atop the mountains on summer nights is pretty amazing, the $10 "Drink and Drown" specials we used to abuse are a close second. Memories of food, drink, great friends and experiences interlaced with sounds of occasional gunshots somewhere in the darkness. We had to trust each other, that whatever happened, we would stay together, we'd fight if we needed to, run if we had to, but it would never be alone.

Loyalty solidified through crossing a bridge.

My phone has never been so silent. But the majority of those who reached out, surprised me, people I never talk to, or hang out with, someone I had had such a monstrous falling-out with that I almost transfered out of Tech... True, I had a few that are close call, or come by to chill, and I thank them for that. But for the ones that I thought I was even closer to...

Is loyalty a wasted virtue? It seems that I've had wolves around me, waiting for something.

Maybe self-interest, perhaps.

I will ride into battle for my family any second of my existence, I will fight for, pick up, save those who have trusted me to be by their side. I'd hope to be able to count on some around me to be at that point too, however, as my campfire becomes brighter in this desert, I can feel the eyes of wolves all around.

Nothing is ever black and white, but, the mind is a powerful thing, and with the pieces not fitting, I'm becoming more determined to find out who is dressed as a sheep among my "family" I've lost everything before, I'd rather not do it again, but, that's something that life will decided.

And as far as that goes, at least life has been wanting to screw me...

Almost thought that this was gonna be my year, but it's painfully obvious that ship  has sailed.

'cos now it's my turn to keep the wolves away..."

Is that a new coat?

H.E. Wallace

Better Every Day #6

The Darkness Zone.

(Destiny really has taken over)

One can't keep running forever at terminal velocity, eventually, by virtue of wind resistance, kinetic and static friction, and the breakdown of our bodies and vehicles or just the existence of reality...we slow down. As we run away from the darkness, and demons...as we slow down we learn that the condition isn't something we escape from. As we break down, the steps get louder the former excitement enveloped by a deafening silence as the darkness surrounds us as the true reality. The demons and darkness are not truly to be ran from, but to be held at bay, to be fought.

Respawning restricted.

Stage one was seeing the darkness

Stage two was choosing to take a sword up against the demons

Stage three was the horde that you had to escape in order to claim victory

Stage four is watching yourself crash just when you thought you could reach out and touch your horizon

Darkness Zone: Respawning Restricted

Once the exhilaration of seemingly escaping from the event horizon of a former, poisonous, toxic self, has worn off, we must confront the truth. The darkness and demons aren't meant to be ran from and escaped, but to be kept at bay, to challenge us to continuously grow. The light that we have reached out, and hopefully touched, should be something we obviously cling to, but we must also allow it to shine onto everything around us. The light and hope of change is only useful if it's allowed to show, brightly and passionately.

Th light can be something as small as that worn and battered Zippo lighter, striking to create a flame for that last cigarette on a starless and moonless night.That small light, in it's orb of warmth, isn't static of course. It can flicker, wax and wane, it can be in danger of being snuffed out in the snap of a finger. The light it creates can be moved, shaped, pushed and pulled out of it's perfect orb. In these moments the darkness can come closer, the demons reach towards us grasping at our hearts, and throats.

It is in these moments, where we are allowed to shape our destiny. I'm currently reading the book 'Choke' by one of my favorite authors, Chuck Palahnuik. In chapter 15, there is a line, "The way humiliation is humiliation only when you choose to suffer." And at the close of chapter 13, "Just let your hand drop, and let fate decide for you." In this moment, everything can explode into a supernova of possibilities if we refuse to drop our hands, if we refuse to suffer. If we actively reach for, and seek a better, stronger, more fulfilled self, we can become legend umong the stars, untouchable by the surrounding darkness.

We must know, not fear, that we will be haunted and surrounded by our demons, by the darkness we have tried to run from. If we can allow ourselves to remain strong and continuously grow, the ghosts and demons will never catch us.

Our lives can be like a 1,000 piece puzzle that has no picture to guide us...but as long as we persevere, one day the picture will be complete.

Become Better Every Day

H.E. Wallace