Motivation Found on a Dusty Shelf (Revised)

            Writing has been a tool people have used for centuries to communicate ideals and philosophy that they themselves have learned, developed, and used during the course of their life in hopes to inspire others to adopt and follow. These writings range from topics of religion, Do-it-Yourself, Self-Help, cooking, and several others; but the story behind the writing, I find is more interesting.

A child could grow up in an upper middle class loving family, good home, parents with a good job, and all the love and support in the world from mom and dad.  Mom is head of the PTA at the local elementary school and dad is the cool dad; coach of the little league softball team.  Anyone looking in on this child would see nothing wrong and would consider him lucky to have such a good home life. What about all the things not seen on the surface? What about the dark little secrets each person and family carries with them? It is typical that things that look too good or perfect… aren’t.

Good old PTA mom uses the position as a status symbol, an envy of all the other mothers, the leader of the pack. Tackling the big issues that affect our school; like, school uniforms, the cafeteria menu, what play to put on in the spring, or the annual bake sale. Any pleads from her son about bigger serious issues go unheard and brushed aside.  Seeking comfort and validation form dad he soon finds himself alone; cut from his own dads little league team. The only comfort comes from a pep talk given at the end of the try-outs when he gives the same rehearsed speech, “It was a close one this year and you just barely missed it. Keep practicing and come back next year, I’m sure you will be ready then.”

Ignored by the two people that are supposed to love and support him, he finds himself alone. Over weight he is tortured and tormented by the school kids and teased relentlessly. Sent home constantly bruised and in tears he tried to tell his parents about the troubles, but he was shot down and told to exercise more, quit eating so much, and boys will be boys. His day was guided by fear and he would spend hours in the library until dark and would take the long way home in the hopes to avoid all of the neighborhood kids. Overtime he read a lot of books about anything and everything, mostly in the self-help section; his favorites were books about overcoming adversity and anything motivational. Within those stacks he would make a vow to himself to fix his problem and help others do the same.

For the remainder of his years at home and through high school the beatings would subside but the teasing would continue. The stresses of his home and school life made it difficult to lose weight. No matter what he did the weight loss seemed to plateau and he was never able to reach a socially acceptable weight. Trying to remain focused on his vow and dream of helping people he would continue reading anything he could on how to motivate people and even volunteered for the Peer Counseling Team and Teen-Line. He had found solace in being able to help his fellow students with problems that he himself shared. He did this all four years of high school and had granted him scholarships that would allow him to leave his parents and attend an out of state college.  

Once in college and away from the negativity of his parents he developed a stronger drive to lose the weight; to practice the message he would one day soon give. He took several weight lifting and nutrition classes on top of his major in communications and public speaking. He took on more classes than his advisers suggested but never fell behind his studies and stuck to the strict diet and workout schedule he developed. Every time he looked in the mirror he saw the weight loss and he grew more and more confident. That confidence was the main source of all his drive. That drive hurled him ahead to put him one semester away from graduating a year early; all his goals achieved but one… to have his book done before graduation.

During his last semester he dropped most of his electives he was taking and really focused on the completion of the book. To maintain an “active student” status he kept two easy classes and picked up a creative writing class; he felt that it would help him become a better writer and was easier enough that he didn’t have to take a lot of time away from his motivational/self-help book. During that last semester that was exactly what he did; he would do the bare minimum to get my assignments in and really pounded away at that book. Everyday pages upon pages of writing would fill his notebook. The ideas and concepts poured from his head, sometimes almost faster than he could write. But every thought, every word he wanted was captured and nothing was ever lost; like he had devoted years of hiding in libraries and countless tears to memorize the entire contents of the book he wanted to write. 

His book would be finished within days of the end of the semester. Totally exhausted but excited that his book was done he took the last few days to relax, wind down and prepared for his last finals. He took my final with no distractions and for the first time seemed excited to be in my class and excited about the final. On the last day of class he had come to me and apologized for his distance and being preoccupied during the semester. I comforted him in that I understood and that the purpose of the class was to write and reminded that the final is the only thing really there for a grade. Before he left my class that last day he had stopped and asked for permission to use some of my ideas in his book to help with some exercises used to create goals and set up his idea of the ideal mind set. I was puzzled at first by the request but after a few minutes I granted him the permission and wished him luck with his book.

A few weeks after that last day of school I had phased myself out and followed him around for a while. I was surprised to see that he was meeting with a publicist and discussing an upcoming tour. What had happened was that after class ended he moved as  fast has he did the three years of college and quickly found a publisher and a publicist that loved his book. His publicist was as excited as he was about his book shared similar feelings that they were on the verge of the next big craze. Not wanting to lose any momentum the two quickly worked together to set up a series of book tours and signings, to help get the book out there in circulation, that would follow a small run of seminars he would be hosted at some of the top companies in the country in front of hundreds of people.

The idea was that he would do the five to six seminars with limited copies of the book but will provide preorder options that would give those companies a two week advance copy of the book before the book signing tour began. The hope was that they would create a buzz in the corporate world as well as the inner circles of friends and family of the hundreds that attended the seminars. This route was taken to get his name and face out there so that when the books did hit the selves that people were familiar or at least had an idea of who he was.

On the eve of his first seminar, he began to prepare as he was the key speaker for 600 plus business men and executives the following morning after breakfast. The company had rented out an entire hotel with a large conference space to host the event. He double checked his presentation slides and note cards and assured himself that everything would go great. The next morning as hundreds of well-fed men piled into the conference space one could already hear the buzz going around about the upcoming presentation and excitement became to fill the room. The presentation was to begin promptly at 9:30am and at 9:35am as a straggler snuck in trying not to disturb the presentation he noticed that the presentation hadn’t started and the once positive buzz quickly turned to restlessness.

As of today the book is currently on book shelves around the country but unfortunately those shelves are still in the book stores. The book was released as scheduled but there was no booking signing, there was no buzz, there was nothing. The morning of the seminar, in the sold out hotel, with men buzzing about the next best motivational movement there was a prep room on the side of the stage where the founder and creater sat and waited for his time to go. I was there watching as he centered himself and counted down the last few minutes to the moment he worked so hard for. As the final seconds approached and he walked towards the door, I watch as his eyes closed and he fell to the floor. I claimed another one. In the official reports it states that he had a coronary episode from a pre-existing condition that had developed from his being overweight as a child.

 

Q&A Post for Soul Collector

I just want to give a quick thanks to everyone who has viewed this blog and are following the story of Nameless-The Forgotten and a huge thank you to everyone who posted a comment. I hope this will shed some light on me and this story.

Q: Don’t you feel you are limiting you audience with this subject matter? What audience are you hoping to attract?

By: Lenore Sansbury-

A: Yes, but only at first. I understand that on the surface the subject matter is a little dark and without knowing the storyline it can be off putting; but I’m hoping that those that do take the time to read it will understand and embrace the art within the writing and storytelling that they move beyond the literal to see the beauty. As for my target audience, I’m going for a “word of mouth” approach to build my audience. Within the last few years books and stories have become trendy (Harry Potter, Twilight, and Shades of Gray) and looking to fall into one of those trends. Not saying my writing is the best but believe there is something special here; it just needs its chance.

Q: Are the characters based on any people in real life, or completely random ideas?

By: Soteria E

A: The characters right now are just random ideas and thoughts that I have. I have this process/outline that I fill out with very brief details, traits, and characteristics. From there I begin to write and find my “creative center,” I begin to imagine that persons face, height, weight, hair color; I create that person giving them dreams, wants, feelings, emotion… life.

If you have been following the story since the beginning you would have noticed that the blog description changed, it use to suggest that readers could email be there information and I would write a story about them. I have since changed/abandoned that idea and am focusing on creating life. But not opposed to receiving emails and writing your story.   

Q: What made you think of such a dark theme? Isn't the concept a little morbid?

By: Michael Desmarais

A: The idea originally came while I was working on a separate novel idea and ran into writers block. I had a million ideas coming but no idea/direction for the novel. Taking some advice I heard on a podcast (Nooner- SModcast Network) I shelved the novel for now and picked up a new project, Soul Collector. I don’t really know what direction I was going with it so I just started writing stories. Soon I realized that this blog and these stories will be my way of growing my skills as a writer. Also, I want to use these stories to test and push the boundaries of my writing ability and take me on a journey outside my comfort zone; I want to evoke an emotion when people read these, I want to find and write from a place I never been, I want to be vulnerable.

I don’t really feel that these stories are morbid. These stories are about telling a story about a living, breathing person and celebrating their life. Everyone dies and when they do we gather to exchange stories, laugh and cry and pay tribute to a life lived. Yes some of my stories are sad and seem messed up, morbid even; but open a newspaper or turn on the news and try not to find a story that’s not worse than mine, you can’t. They're filled with stories of hate, despair and sadness.

Rarely do they tell us personal details of that person outside the cause of death or circumstance leading to their death. My stories respect each person’s life and treat them as a person and not just some story. Argue if you want that they are just made up stories; but is there really a difference between my stories and those the media tells you to read of people you don’t know?

I look forward to hearing any of your feedback and hope you continue to follow this story. My only request is that you give me and this story a chance and I guarantee I will surprise you.

I Killed the Radio Star (Revised)

It’s not every day that I had a celebrities join my class. I was approached by the principal when he had informed me that there had been a donation made to the school but there was a slight catch. After listening to the principal for a few minutes I soon learned that I had the honor of teaching a major TV personality for an episode of their hit TV show. The donation was made in hopes that the school would be willing to allow the show to film a few episodes at the school, mainly the class room, for a contest that they were running that tied into the TV show. The idea intrigued me; I never collected a famous person’s soul. I agreed but under the one very strict stipulation that I am not interviewed or filmed.

It was 2 weeks into the summer session when I arrive at the school and was greeted by hundreds of boys and girls. It was utter chaos with screaming fans everywhere. I got out of the car and noticed a small camera crew hanging out in there van preparing to shot for the show. From the parking lot there was yellow tape blocking out and sectioning a walk way to the class room. I grabbed my bag, locked the car door, and started to walk to the classroom. As I unlocked the door to the classroom I was startled by shrieking coming from the parking lot. I turned and saw a car pull in; I thought to myself that couldn’t possibly be the star of the show. I mean it was a regular car and only one man go out, but if not the star why are they all freaking out.

As I stared a little longer the man walked from the car to the yellow tap and he began to shake hands, sign autographs and even saw a few photo ops. I began to question my previous assumption and drew a new conclusion that it was in fact the star of the show. Baffled and thunderstruck I just stood there and marveled at that man. He walked with his head held high proud, and confident, but radiated humbleness. I expected him to be like all the other A-Listers, too good for everyone else, too important to be bothered by pictures and autographs, and too damn lazy to drive themselves in some $100,000 environmentally hazardous beast of a car. But this guy was different, he was genuinely thankful for each of his fans support. He finishes with the crowd and meets me at the door; he introduces himself and asks a favor if it was ok to talk to me a little before the shot to get to know me. This man was a freak, no one is that nice.

I granted his request and we talked for a while, until class was to start. He led an interesting and very fulfilling life. He was married to a beautiful woman and had 2 teenage daughters; the picture in his wallet seemed almost fake; like he took it out of one of those new frames you buy at the store with that “too perfect” of a picture, but in his case it was legit. He opened up about his childhood and the parents that raised him. He talked a lot about his brothers, family trips and his father. Stories of his father fascinated me; they were filled with moral stories, tough but fair discipline, saint-like values, and love. As he talked it became clear how and why he was the man he was.

He also explained why he was taking my class. His fame reach beyond just TV, he was also a very popular and successful radio personality. I forget the name of the show but on their weekly segment him and 4 other friends would sit around and just talk. One of his friends liked to make up games and contests. The newest contest was a friendly competition. The newest contest would be filmed for the TV show and it would be a friendly competition between sister radio show within the station. It was decathlon with events ranging from eating contests, cooking challenge, “Are you smarter that a radio star”, and a few other ridiculous games. This challenge was to see if my TV/Radio star can get a better grade in creative writing that some joker can in home eke.

The class continued for the remaining 3 weeks of the summer session, although they were only shooting for the week to get enough for the show; but he continued to come to class each day and finished my course. His writing was nothing spectacular but was still enjoyable to read. The last day of class he had thanked me and expressed a deep gratitude for the work that I do and told me that if it was anyone else teaching the class he wouldn’t have come back for those last 2 weeks… the 2 weeks that ended in him participating in the final paper.  

During the nine months that followed, the TV show took off and the contest 2-part episodes were the highest ratings the network had ever seen, even beating out a top rated fantasy thriller. Unfortunately his team didn’t win and the sister show reigned supreme as the better radio show. The highlights from the contest were that the one guy failed his school experience and set fire to half the kitchen. My guy ended up in a cooking contest and blew away the completion beating out 2 professional chefs brought in as ringers. There was also a touching episode where the group got together and bought an entire 3rd grade class all iPads. At the end of the season reports confirmed a signing for a guaranteed renewal for 4 more seasons of the hit TV show. Oddly enough and against all the critics, the show was nominated for an Emmy, unfortunately they didn’t win.

The success of the show had spawned good new outside of radio and television show. Following the huge win in the cooking challenge he was contacted by a restaurateur and offered him a head chef job at a new local restaurant due to open within a few weeks. He was given carte blanche to do as he wished with the menu and the direction of the restaurant.

The night before the grand opening of the restaurant there was a friends and family party to celebrate all their success. The night was filled with love and LOTS of food. I sat in the back and watched  as everyone in attendance were laughing as each person took turns to reminisce about their favorite stories of the past. The party ran all night and well into the early morning. Just as the sun was peaking over the horizon the last of the hugs and goodbyes were handed out as everyone went their separate ways. Eventually there was only an Emmy nominated- high priced head chef of the hottest new restaurant-radio star-son-brother-father-husband and his wife left. The loving married couple entered the restaurant to clean up and get ready for the grand opening. While they were clearing the tables a bell chimes, signaling the opening of a door that wasn’t locked. The stranger that entered was greeted with a smile, but no smile was returned. Quickly the smile turned to sadness and fear. The stranger had revealed a gun and while continue to walk slowly to the couple his arm with gun in hand rising. Whether it was primal instinct or just an overpowering love for his family and wife; he pushed his wife into a nearby booth to shield her and then he rushed the stranger. Two shots were fired but he continued his pursuit. Two more shots echo through the empty restaurant. He finally reached the stranger and tackled him to the ground. He wrapped his hands around the neck of the shooting stranger’s and grabbed on tight. The two rolled around as the stranger struggled to get away but as each second passes the fight began to calm and within a minute the two laid there, both lying very still.

When the police arrived on scene they were met with a crying woman in a booth and two motionless bodies. Coroner’s office confirmed the cause of death for the gunman was strangulation. As for the other body it was a bit of a mystery. He had died from a fatal gunshot, but the mystery wasn’t disputing he was shot, but that he was struck 4 times in the chest, two in which pierced his heart. The two shots to the heart would have killed him instantly. So how was he able to rush to the gunman, tackle him, choke him, and roll around? It was like was a super hero.

The widow in her grief backed up the kids and moved to an unknown location; the kids and widow are now living full lives. The restaurant never opened as it was not able to recover from the tragedy and no longer had a head chef. The contracts for the renewal of the TV Show were voided as it was signed with a cast of 4 not 3. His friends never worked in TV again and within a year the radio station closed down and the show never aired again and their mics were hung up.

 

Upcoming Q&A Post for Soul Collector

First off, I would like to thank you for reading this blog and following the story of Nameless-The Forgotten.



I would like to offer you an opportunity to ask me questions about anything you want. (me, individual story, why, what's next, how, etc.) Please post your questions or thoughts into the "Post Comments" box blow each post or email me at Loveless.Sebastian@gmail.com and I will compile them into a future post for all to see.

Show your support and I will post your First Q&A by Sunday, August 12, 2012.

A Ring so Beautiful it will Bring Tears to Your Eyes (Revised)

            

There are a number of reasons why people write; sometimes it’s a coping mechanism to get them through the day or to grasp the realities of their lives, an outlet to get bottled up feeling out into the universe. There was a student, a young woman that attended my class under the strong recommendation of her therapist. Some kind of traumatic experience happened and after a few years of countless sessions it was suggested that she find an outlet to express herself.

                The young woman seemed normal enough, nothing really stood out so I was a little baffled at why there was such a strong recommendation to take a writing class. That was until I began reading some of her writings. It was a sad story about her family and the events of the last few years. But as the class continued I witnessed huge strides in personality and confidence. Throughout the year he writings even became more cheerful with an underlining feeling of acceptance. I think a large part of that was a reconnection to an old friend that soon developed into more. She began to smile more, less jumpy, nervous, and wary of people. She didn’t just reconnect with an old friend but also with civilization and humanity.

                Shortly after the semester ended her relationship progressed to the next step and she got married to the man that recently rejoined her life. I had attended their wedding, at least not in the physical form, and it was a small but lovely very intimate set up. It was just the two of them, the priest, and 2 of her closest friends. There was something very sweet and rewarding to see that moment in time knowing that she has had so much hard ship in the past. I would check in on her from time to time to see how she was and for months she was legitimately happy and finally living her life.       

                On the night that would be her last I phased out into her room to witness the final hour. When I arrived the newlyweds had been fighting. Some kind of argument had broken out and the two were screaming at each other. Before it could escalate to something physical she had enough mind to walk away and she had stormed out of the room and ran to the bedroom. There she frantically grabbed a bag from the closet and started to fill it with clothes. As they continued to scream at each other she lost focus with what she was doing and started clearing out his drawer. He quickly but not aggressively rushed her and asked her to stop, as if trying to protect a surprise or secret. From his drawer fell a box and as it hit the ground the most beautiful ring had fallen out. Both became speechless and the house quieted to nothing, both stood there frozen, eyes lock as a tear rolled down her cheek. 

                                                                                               ***

Some five years previous the young woman was working late one night at the local grocery store. Tired and exhausted from the mandatory overtime for inventory she left the grocery store as she had a hundred times before. When she arrived home she noticed that the front door was slightly opened and became irritated that her little brother again couldn’t shut the door correctly. As she approached the door she saw that the door wasn’t just open but looked like it was kicked in. Her heart began to race as she continued inside the house.

Once inside the house she saw that the in table was turned over, a potted plant had spilled across the floor, and broken glass everywhere. Realizing something was wrong she rushed up stairs. She yelled for her mom or dad, but there was no answer. Terror and fear filled her voice and she yelled and pleaded to have someone answer her. Before she reaches the top of the stairs an odor filled the air. She sees picture that had fallen off the walls many of them trampled upon. When she gets to the top she screamed in horror and dropped to her knees. Tears flowed from her face as she sees what that strange odor was.

She saw her father on the hallway face down and was illuminating from a hall night light she could tell he was covered in blood. She slowly crawled to him hesitating to reach him; he can’t be dead if she doesn’t confirm it, “he’s just hurt. He will be alright,” The fear that he was dead doesn’t exist if it’s not confirmed. When she reaches him she reaches for his neck and could fill no pulse and her heart drops. Sobbing she remembers mom, rises to her feet, and runs to their bedroom. From the door she knows there was no reason to continue as she sees the shadowy outline of a person in the bed surrounded in the crimson soaked moonlight. She fell again to her knees again crying fighting to keep the images out of her head.

The police arrived moments later responding to 911 calls from neighbors about some screaming that they heard. The police would spend the next several weeks investigating the incident trying to find any clue to whoever did this. After weeks of forensic tests and questions of a dozen people nothing had come up. There was hope that there was a break in the case 6 days into the investigation when a letter was received from the killer. The killer had written a more or less apology letter. The letter expressed remorse that the events of that night unfolded as they did and explained they were just needed some cash for a problem and had the man of the house just let him take what he wanted it never would have become what it was. The police thought that they had their break in the case but while exhausting every resource and perusing every angle and lead the case soon became cold. At the end of the investigation it was deemed a cold case and was classified as a robbery gone wrong.

Disappointed with the local police and their inability to find any answers to the viscous slaying of her family, she quickly fell into a depression. Seeking help from grief counselors and a therapist she would spend the next 5 years coping with this tragedy. After countless hours of counseling and therapy sessions she would eventually be able to live alone, be out after dark, and trust people again. She would even take the advice of her therapist and enroll into school; the idea was to rejoin society now that she has started to cope with her loss and it would be the first steps into gain her life back. During that first year back she did just that, she reconnected with friends, interacted and socialized with others, learned she had a wonderful skill in writing, and even found a husband. She moved beyond the misery of losing her family and had found the start of a new family.

                                                                                   *** 

From his drawer fell a box and as it hit the ground the most beautiful ring had fallen out. Both became speechless and the house quieted to nothing, both stood there frozen, eyes locked as a tear rolled down her cheek. She bent down to look at the ring; it was the most beautiful ring she had ever seen. He stopped dead in his tracks and stared trying to feel out her reaction. Still bent over she slowly lifted her head to look at her husband. He tried to speak but there was nothing.

Slowly she stood up and still looking at him gives a look of confusion. His eyes saddened.

 “I can explain…” he began.

“Why do you have my grandmother’s ring?” she asked.

All he could do was repeat, “I can explain, I can explain. Please listen and give me a chance to explain.”

Her face quickly changed to horror, and she began screaming. Panic stricken her loving husband tackled her to the bed and she continued to scream. Trying to quiet and calm her down he covers her mouth to silence the screams and whispers again, “I can explain.”

                Terror and disgust filled her eyes as she struggled to break free. She bit down on his hand, drawing blood; in pain he removed his hand only to let out the screams of a woman who knows the truth. Continuing to panic and fear of being bit again he placed his hands around her neck; doing anything he could to quiet her. The struggle continued for a short moment; both of their eyes filled with tear, one was with sadness for a lost family and the other filled with fear and remorse. Still whispering for her to stop and listen to him, her body soon stopped struggling. As he wiped the tears from his eyes he had thought she was ready to listen. With the tears freed from his face he stared down at her and slowly with head held low I stood and walked out.

When a Hero Fall (Revised)

During my first year at the university there was a lot of buzz going on throughout the campus. Moral amongst the student and faculty were at an all-time high, riding the high from the state championship win two months prior. The star quarterback threw for an amazing 500+ yards and five touchdowns clinching the first championship win in twenty years. I thought that the hype would have subsided after two months but there was a lot the school had to celebrate as the basketball team won their fourth straight game. The star quarterback that led his team to win a championship was now dominating the court and once again leading his team to another championship.

                Just a few weeks before March Madness and after an astounding 123-78 win, The coach had cut weekend practice and gave everyone a deserving day off. With a huge win underneath them and no practice the next morning, the team partied through the night. The school hero was not a drinker and rarely stayed out that late; but at that party he partook in a few drinks, making out several girls, and overall just let loose. Just before the sun was coming up the party was still going strong but he had enough fun for one night. Not a single responsible person was at that party and let their hero drive home.

                Eventually the school calmed down as their dream for a second championship came and went, disappointed that they didn’t even make the playoffs and that the rest of that semester was without their hero. Tears flowed from everyone for the unfortunate event that occurred to their fallen hero. His former team played with all heart as they dedicated the rest of the season to him, but disappointment when they fell short and realized exactly how important and irreplaceable he was. That night after the party was the night that the school died.

             

 The following semester after the summer break students and faculty returned to their classes and it seemed there was a hint of normalcy. That first day back I sat outside my class room and watched as friends ran to each other to catch up in the previous months. Everyone was excited and full of life; I watched in amazement as it was seemed as if nothing happened the year before; how an entire campus could die one day and thrive the next. I watched until 8:00am when class was to start, held the door for the few stragglers I saw running to class. A few minutes into the class and while discussing what was expected we were interrupted when the door opened. The room filled with gasps and then a deadly silence as everyone looked to the door. Motionless and utterly shocked, everyone staring as a fallen hero enters the room.

                For the remainder of the semester awkwardness filled the room. Students walked on egg shells around the once hero. Everyone tried so hard to assist and accommodate him; holding doors open for him, picking up dropped pencils, and never spoke out aloud about what happened or how he looked. Towards the end of the semester he would wait until everyone left the room after class before he would leave. I would sit with him sometimes and talk to him; I’d asked about classes, home, and even asked about the accident. He would open up to me and pour out his soul. His eyes would fill with tears when he talked about the pity and how he was being treated differently. He had accepted that he made a mistake and owned up to it. He was old enough to know he shouldn’t have driven and described how he felt being the university hero and how he was untouchable and indestructible, or so he thought.

                His writings were some the best I had ever seen before and since. In the beginning he wrote of a life he should have had; first round draft pick for the NFL, married to college sweetheart, making lots of money and praised by everyone, he was going to be a household name. As we continued our talks and with each passing day his writings started to change; they became stories of recovery, healing, happiness and overcoming the odds. Those stories were touching and heartfelt, they were about a boy once out casted treated like a leopard or a wondered dog and returns victorious. Not as a hero as he was done with that dream, but as a man that is accepted into society, a man that can walk again, a man without a wheelchair.

                The semester soon ended and little had changed by the end of the year. He was still being treated as a crippled in a wheelchair. He wasn’t invited to parties; the football or basketball games, or really even talked too. The thing he felt was the worst part about the whole situation was that no one talked to him about it or sincerely asked how he was feeling. Had they asked then maybe they could have understood better about what happened or about him; that he accepted what happened and doesn’t blame anyone. Maybe then they could have moved past the wheelchair and see that he was still a person, he was still the same person as before.

                During that summer he met with his doctors and there was a lot of discussion about some of his options. Quickly he decided that he wanted to walk again; he wanted to be as close to normal as he could, he wanted to walk again. He told me a week before the surgery that he was tired of the looks and the special treatment. As strong as he was on the outside and when we would have our talked, there was still a large part of him that cried at night. To be accepted by all his peers one day and then forgotten the next was too much for him to handle and that was why he went through with the surgery.

                The day of the surgery I phased out and quietly sat with him in the doctor’s office.  When they came for him I say him kiss his parents and with a big smile quietly got wheeled away knowing that in a few hours he would be walking. I walked with them down the hall to the operating room as they set up and prepared for the 12 hour surgery. As the anesthesia was applied they asked him to count backwards from a hundred. 100, 99, 98, 97, 96 and quickly he started to doze off. 95, 94, 93, 92 he’s was almost out completely, but just before he was out I made myself visible to him. He saw me but was confused why I was there, I mouthed “I’m Sorry” and his face dropped, but I wasn’t sure if he knew why I was there or if the drugs too hold. I sat in that room for 11 hours of that surgery and watched over him. At the 12th hour the monitors went off and made all kinds of noise, doctors began running around in a panic at which time I stood up and slowly walked out.  

 

Two Plus Four Equals... Still Short (Revised)

It was only about 50 years ago that man would die off from the most simple and now common diseases and ailments. With the arrival of the technology age, man had made huge strides in modern medicine and eliminated the risks of many diseases. Man is just steps away from immortality. But until then everyone is vulnerable, even the happiest and perfect of families can be torn apart in ways that medicine and science can’t mend.

                A woman will still weeps a year after her husband dies in a drunk driving accident on his way home from the grocery store to get her ice cream. Her soul and her heart find what little peace they can when she is around her beautiful daughter. Together they cope with the loss of a husband, father, and a friend the best they can. The daughter goes to class and loses herself in the dramas of high school and graduation just one year away. Mom, broken hearted, stays active and borderline over-protective with the daughter’s life ensuring no harm or pain comes to her.

                With such pain still close to the surface mom and daughter will fight. Above even the love of a spouse, a mother’s love for a child and the primal nature to keep them safe can be over-powering. Not meaning to smother her daughter, the mom will overreact to the simple things. By wanting to be closer to the only remaining family she has, mom will ultimately push them apart. Ironically the only way for the two to reconnect and care for each other as they did before the accident is when mom is given 2 months to live when she gets diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. Chemotherapy, a relatively new product of Modem Medicine has been said to extend lives six months and sometimes more.

                Two months to live, seven months to daughter’s graduation, and four extended months from chemo still leave mom a month short. Faced with her own mortality she reflects on the life she had. Everything was great with only two regrets: asking her husband to go get ice cream and losing touch with her daughter. Not dead yet, she decides there might still be time to fix her relationship with her daughter. For the first few months the two become close as the daughter is needed to assist mom to her doctor’s appointments for chemo; and while the two sit there for the two hour treatment, they begin talking again. By the end of the third month mom is still technically alive, but only in the shell of a person she once was. Chemo is a brutal treatment that kept her alive but she was miserable and the daughter could see it.

Pleading with her daughter, she begs to get off the chemo.

“I DON’T FEEL ALIVE ANYMORE AND I CAN BARELY REMEMBER YOUR FATHER,” she yelled with a pain and strained voice.

Tears feel her eyes as she continues in a tired whisper:

“Let me go, I want to feel again…” she pauses, “I don’t want to forget your father.”

Against the doctor’s recommendation and the acceptance that mom will not see her graduate the daughter does not take mom back for a single treatment. Slowly, color returns to mom’s face, strength to the limbs, and her head began filling with the long forgotten memories of her husband. Not expected to make it even a few days, mom beat the odds and lived on; each day getting stronger and stronger. What was once acceptance that she would not see her daughter graduate soon became a reality that she would.

                The medical world would argue that it was the 3 months of chemo that slowed the growth of the cancer that would eventually extend her life. Man hides behind the delusions of science and that it will one day birth immortality. The reality of it is that, yes medicine does help extend life but it will never give immorality.

Medicine didn’t even extend this woman’s life; a few words written on a piece of paper did. Come the day of graduation, the daughter walked proud that she had competed a huge chapter in her life and as she grasps the diploma in her hand, she catches sight of her mother still alive and tears fill her eyes.  After the ceremony the two walk to the car and are interrupted by a car of celebrating graduates. Her friends tell her about a party and insist she goes. Hesitant at first, she resists wanting to make sure mom gets home safe. But mom is so happy and proud of her daughter. Mom ensured her daughter that she was feeling fine and could make it home. Mom pushes her towards the car of new graduates and tells her to have fun. The two hug each other and she mouths a “thank you” to mom and jumps in the car.

As mom drives home she thinks about how she only had 2 months to live and that it was a miracle to see her daughter graduate. Not paying attention to the road she has to suddenly swerve to avoid a car accident. Shaken about the near accident she pulls off into a parking lot to catch her breath. What mom didn’t know was at that exact moment several miles away there would be a car filled with kids running a red light as a large semi clears the intersection.   

 

A Fairytale with Bondage (Revised)

Still in the early days of my new career change I would meet so many interesting people. Like this one women in her mid-20’s from Casistan. She was from a broken home on some little farm. She would spend a lot of her childhood helping the family tend to the farm. She was a cute child full of innocence and knew nothing of the outside world and some could argue that it was a perfect life. In the early 1980’s a massive winter lasting 5 months came rolling through and decimated everything. Farm land became infertile, animals froze to death, and many townspeople died.

Among the death toll from that winter was this little girl’s mom. Mom had caught pneumonia in the winter’s 4^th month and because of the blizzards the family couldn’t get her to a doctor and no doctor could make it to them. In the spring as the family, now only a little girl and her father, grieved for the mother’s passing the two tried to hold it together for each other. But as the summer rolled around dad’s attitude had begun to change. He was stressed out about the additional work load being one person down and unable to cope with his feeling of losing his wife; he became a different person. Pushed to his limit and unable to control his anger he would from time to time lose control and take it out on a little girl.

She would endure regular beatings and wonder what she did wrong, why she was being hit. She began hating herself but eventually understood why. She was being punished for mom dying; she was being punished because she was the one that was supposed to die, not mom. After some time she no longer cried and accepted her punishment. After her beatings she would crawl to her bed and from underneath the bed would pull out a box of old torn up books. She would spend each night reading tales of flying boys coming to take other little children to Neverland, or fairytales that ended with a princess saved by a handsome prince.

For years the beating continued and so did the reading. On good days when she was allowed to go into town and the bruises were visible, she would pick up supplies for father but would also quickly visit a little book shop. The shop was owned by a missionary and would engage in small discussions or debates every time she came in. The two were delighted with each other and were the highlights of each of their days. The Missionary could see the pain in her eyes and each visit he would insist on giving her a new book. Over time he would give her everything from American classics, to Russian, text books, and poetry. Each one she would have finished within a few beatings.

Her world was being blown wide open with ideas and philosophy and hopes for a better life. That realization would come a day late when that night she received the worst beating she ever had and something happened that hadn’t in years; she cried. That night after father went to sleep she packed up a few books, and 2 days of clothes. She snuck out of her house and ran, never looking back. With the help of the missionary she wAould find herself in America within a few days. With lots of help from a lot of loving and caring people she met in America she was provided government assistance for housing, and because of all the reading she had tested extremely high. With those test score she was given an opportunity to go to a real school and after four years in a high school she graduated at the top of her class.

After high school the government assistance dried up. When she stepped foot into my class it was hard not to notice that she was beautiful. She was stunning but unlike the stereotypes for someone that beautiful she was brilliant. But like the struggling college women stereotype, she was an exotic dancer trying to pay her way through school to get her license to practice medicine. She had put up a compelling front to all those looking in that she was happy. But the eyes told everything, she was miserable, and the long sleeves said there was a problem. I never noticed her in class or around campus with a boyfriend or hanging out with any male students. I always thought that was a shame because she was so bright and beautiful.

Slightly after she aced my class she had stopped by and told me she was taking a semester off due to some financial problems. She mentioned she had a few jobs lined up and planned to be back in the fall semester. In my new role I knew there was nothing I could do to help, so I wished her luck and asked her to please come back and visit. The job that she had mentioned was a model for a local convention. She was to dress up and man a booth, but she had to dress up for a fetish ball. She was into stuff like that so it wasn’t too far outside her comfort level. Something amazing happened that night and among all the sexual deviants. While she was dressed up and manning her bondage booth she was arguably the sexiest person there. So much so that a local event promoter and exotic agent caught wind of the beauty on the other end, the one with the huge crowd surrounding her. He rushed over and pushed his way through the crowd to get a look. At first glance he saw that she had a very “Dita von Teese” look to her and knew instantly he had to represent her.

The man eventually became her agent and began plans to market her. He had visions of global fame both inside and outside the exotic/fetish world. The two began working very closely together on best ways to sell the image, which talk shows to do; there were even some early movie scripts. Day and night the two would spend all of their time together. Naturally, being in close proximity to someone and always talking about fetishes and sex toys the two quickly turned the professional relationship into more. Everything was moving so fast that the sexual relationship spawned into love. The first time since her mother died she felt love, love from a man. It scared her so much and at times she thought about leaving him. But like after her beatings she read and fantasied about a fairytale ending and she was convinced that this was her happily ever after.

She did come back to visit me a few months later and told he all about the adventure she had been in. I joked about how that was her fairytale ending complete with a prince saving her from the shackles of a dungeon, and she would joke that her prince actually puts her in those shackles. Shortly after my visit she was married. I phased out and quietly attended the wedding, and it was a beautiful reception, fitting for a princess. The two made plans for a tour across the country to headline fetish balls. They had agreed to take some time off after the tour to pursue a family, complete with child. The first stop of her tour she dressed up as he did a hundred times before and manned a similar bondage booth. The difference in that booth was a new project they were promoting and came complete with hand/foot straps and a throat strap. Once she was bound the throat strap was put on. This was the first time she had tried out this product and thought she could work it. Tragedy struck that night as the throat strap was placed too tight around her neck and the fail safe refused to engage. No one was able to get it off until it was too late. She died thinking, “Remember me at my best; let my worst die with me.”

The First Soul- A Father's Sacrifice (Revised)

April 3, 2004

My first soul claim came from a twenty-something out of Somewhere, U.S.A. He was a relatively smart kid, thought he knew everything, much like all the others his age. Two years prior to taking my class he was on top of the world, untouchable, and could achieve anything he wanted too. He had several friends and was life of the party. He was the guy with groups of people crowded around him waiting for the next funny thing to come out his mouth or to see if he would actually get naked. He seemed to have this gift, one that makes the rules of normal man not apply to him.

By the time I met him something happened to him and left a shell of that man. His eyes used to burn bright red, like fire, with passion and determination. That fire was the same fire that burned deep within his heart and was the source of his entire being. That raw burning passion was the reason why he lived. He would see and want something and it would drive every fiber of his being to accomplish. He wanted a house and months later he bought one despite not making enough money. He wanted a girlfriend and then weeks later he had one. He wanted to go back to school so he did. He was on the path to greatness; he was on his way to his ultimate goal/dream, in that everyone would know who he was.

When I first saw him his eyes were dark, cold, and empty. He was defeated and pathetic. His life seemed to be turned upside down and spiraling out of control as everyday he fought to get up and keep trying to regain his claim to glory. Nevertheless each day took its toll on him and added more and more weight to his shoulders. I was amazed at the strength and will power he had. It was quickly becoming clear that he has reached his threshold and couldn’t maintain it much longer.

The day he turned in his paper he had sealed his fate, but weirdly enough he smiled. Why after all this time, when nothing was getting better, would he smile? I followed him home that night to find answers, trying to understand why he was so happy.

He arrived at his house and checked the mail. When he opened the mail box a dozen envelops came flooding out. He picked them up and walked into the house. He sat at the table and began to open the mail: “Bill, Bill, Bill, Overdue, Second notice, final notice.” He opened all the mail and added all the bills to an existing pile of bills on the counter. I was shocked at the lack of worry and concern in his face.

He goes to his room and sets an alarm for three hours later. I was curious why he needed such a small amount of sleep; I couldn’t find it in me to leave. I watched him sleep alone in the dark, quiet, and lonely house.  After the three hours he rose, looking exhausted and like death he got dressed, grabbed his keys and left. As he began to drive I saw a name tag hanging from the rearview mirror and assumed he was going to work. As he drove, he turned up the radio as loud as it would go. I sat back and enjoyed the ride. Not paying attention to him I started to notice that the car was drifting from side to side. I looked over and he was sleeping. I yelled at him and he startled awake and regained control of the car.

Once at work he clocked in and walked to the back of some office, sat at his desk and began working. His desk was plain and boring. There was some hand-me-down calendar, paper everywhere, a few empty soda cans and surprisingly a couple pictures of a beautiful little girl. He was some kind of accountant or something as for hours I watched him enter numbers from one spread sheet to the next. I was shocked to see that he was actually pretty good at what he did. He was good enough to finish his work in six hours and when he finished walked to a break room and slept for the remainder of his shift.

When he had awakened from his nap he got back in his car and started to drive forty minutes back towards home but he stopped at a restaurant. He reached inside the glove compartment and pulled out another name tag. He changed his shirt in the car and put on this ugly green shirt, clipped on his name tag, and walked inside. Once inside he checked the seating sheet and stood waiting to greet people. For eight more hours, I watched dumbfounded at this burst of energy from this kid, who only a few hours earlier was sleeping while driving. Table after table he took orders, brought out food and cleaned up empty tables. The restaurant located a few blocks from the collage so the late night shift was packed and never slowed down.

Once he got off work there he returned home for a couple hours to sleep. He would repeat that first day again over and over for the better part of the next year. The only time he seemed to smile were the two days in the week he was off from both jobs and would pick up his three year old daughter to stay with him. Once that little girl got out of mommy’s car something amazing happened… the fire in his eyes and heart flared up again. I never saw this look before; the happiness the two shared for each other was like something out of a book. Yet that fire burned out just as quickly as his daughter left. This man had only one thing to life for and it was her.

For one year I watched this guy kill himself working countless hours with no rest, he never ate, hardly smiled and never had fun. Night after night he repeated the same tasks over and over and over; never gaining any ground to improve his situation and everyday he lost a little of who he was. He worked to barely survive while he watched everyone around him getting everything they wanted. Nightly people called or texted him about all the fun they were having. Friends were drinking and partying, someone was getting married, or a few close friends of his were getting promotions and making something of their lives. Every one of those calls and texts added more and more burden and regret. The news of everyone’s’ great lives improving caused fewer smiles to escape his lips. He did not smile but at the same time he did not hate or envy them. Within his heart he was genuinely happy for them.

As the last of his days close in on his year, he was informed of some predominantly good news. An ex-girlfriend, who had stayed close over the years, was dating again. Of all the good news that he had heard over the last year, this one was different. This one seemed to hit especially hard. He called and emailed her to congratulate her. After a few days pasted with no reply the pain became overwhelming. He stopped going to work, stopped eating what little he normally ate, and closed off to everyone. The only time I saw him leave that last week was to run a few errands. He went to work and visited the HR Department to check the details of his Life Insurance. He talked to the neighbor kid to see if he would watch the animals for a few days and he offered pay for his services.

That night he fell asleep relatively quick and had this relaxed expression as if a huge weight was lifted off his shoulders. I would watch him sleep for a close to a year and never did he look so peaceful. He reminded me of his daughter when he was sleeping. His daughter slept happily with not a care in the world. As a child with no responsibility or worries; her only job was to get a good night’s rest so that she could laugh, smile, and play all day tomorrow. There were no alarms set and I watched him as he slept in for several hours. When he woke he slowly opened his eyes, stared out the window to catch a few rays of sunshine, and stretched. Moving slower than I have ever seen him move, I continued watching as he dressed into some jeans, a black button down shirt, socks and shoes. He walked over to the TV. Atop there was a bowl. He took the key out of and put it into his pocket. The next thing he did caught me off guard and never saw it coming. To the left of the TV there was a small box. As he stood in front of the TV and bowl, he moved contents from the bowl to the TV. Inside the bowl was a Money clip that he had for years and carried everywhere for years, a few used earrings (one had some kind of charm on it), a watch, and four rings that he always wore and rarely took off. After he added those items to the box he reached for his wallet, closed the box and left.

He left the house and drove to a greyhound bus station. I watch as he slowly but calmly walked to the window, ordered a ticket, and then walked to sit down on a bench. He sat there quiet for about an hour when bus 212 pulls up. He stood up and patiently waited for everyone to exit the bus and grab their bags. Once the bus was emptied he started to walk onto it but found it difficult to get on the bus. He reached the door and froze.  I watched as he took a few deep breaths then continued onto the bus; he never looked back. He closed his eyes as a single tear rolled down his cheek. Minutes later the bus driver closed the door and began to drive away.

A few days later as I followed and studied a few other students through their last year I stopped cold in my tracks as I overheard a news report of a man found dead in his sleep in a greyhound bus. The report indicated that his identity was unknown along with the cause of death. After hearing this report I went to his house and stood in front of the small box labeled “Princess’ Box” and re-read his paper. After I finished reading his essay I grabbed a piece of paper from my bag and wrote a letter to his daughter that only she could see and read.

“Your father was a very tired man. He lived a good life but in the last few years he struggled hard. Your father could set his mind to anything and he would accomplish it. His last few years were hard and he just wasn’t able to pull himself together. That was when he decided to make the toughest decision any one person could make.  He noticed that people were doing better without him and that life would probably be easier for everyone if he wasn’t around. He spent the last year making arrangements and ensuring that everyone he cared about was happy. When the last person was able to move on it was time for him to move on.

Please don’t view your father’s decision as cowardly or of him surrendering. He believed this was the best decision for everyone. I can assure you that it wasn’t an easy choice for him and I want you to know that the hardest part about this for him was leaving you. It killed him every day knowing that he would never watch you grow up, graduate high school, get married, or have kids of your own.  Your father loved you, so please never forget that and try not to hate him so much for leaving you.”

                                                                                                                      ~Nameless,The Forgotten~

Soul Collector- Nameless the Forgotten (Revised)

Have you ever wanted something so bad that you would sell your soul to the devil?

Today marks the 9th year of my contract with Lucifer. Let me take you back to July 16, 2003. I was a proud father and happily married. Work was going great and was heading to a very promising promotion that would make me the youngest CEO in the company’s history.  I had everything going for me and life seemed to be the best fairytale story.

The morning of the 17th my wife woke me up and showered me with kisses. My lovely 5 year old daughter, followed not long behind carrying a tray. On the tray was a peanut butter and mayo sandwich, a bowl of cereal with orange juice (instead of milk), a glass of milk(go figure), and a handmade card covered in glitter and macaroni spelling “Happy Birthday Papa.” She kissed me and sang happy birthday and watched me intently, waiting for me to eat my breakfast. I didn’t want to eat it but looking at pure joy in her face, I couldn’t refuse and took a bite of my sandwich and a bite of my cereal, her face lit up. My heart filled with love and my eyes started to tear up at the smiles of my wife and daughter. I was the luckiest man alive. After a few minutes my wife gathered my daughter, “Let daddy finish breakfast and you and I will go and get his surprise at the store.” She screamed with excitement and ran to her room to get her shoes. “We are going to get daddy’s new bike,” she yells running down the hall. My wife’s face was in shock as the surprise was now ruined. Clearly she was disappointed and upset but I couldn’t help but laugh. She didn’t think it was so funny and she started to cry. I held her tight, kissed her and smilingly told her it was ok.  

Knowing what I know now I would have never let her go. She gathered the kid and left to get my new motorcycle. Hours pass and they still haven’t returned home. I called her and there no answer, it went straight to voicemail.  I started to worry and got in the car and attempted find them. As I drove down the neighborhood I noticed the street is blocked off and police are everywhere. Before I was detoured I noticed there was a red van flipped upside down. Time stopped and my heart sunk as I already know what happened.

I slammed the breaks and exited the car and ran. The policemen saw me, “Sir please get back in your car.” I threw an elbow attempting to get his hands off me and I ran to the van. Police and Fire officials were trying to clear the wreckage. I scrabbled to look inside when five or six men restrained me. As they took me to the ground I noticed two blood stained sheets. With all my power I fought my way free and ran straight to the two sheets. I knelt next to the sheets and one at a time, I pull them back.

Reports later indicated that I screamed and sobbed as I held the lifeless bodies in my arms for over an hour. It took ten men to separate me from them. The next few days were all a blur as I sat in my empty house alone and in the dark; I disconnected the doorbell and phone so not to be disturbed. Unable to cope with the death of my wife and daughter I began to contemplate suicide. Knowing that killing myself wasn’t the way I began to pray. I begged and pleaded with God, telling him I would do anything to have them back, to not have them die.

Just as I began to give up hope that God existed, a man visited me in my room. Thinking it was God I was ecstatic and I dropped to my knees and began to thank him for coming and for helping me. The man interrupted me and advised that he wasn’t God but Lucifer.  He pulled me to my feet and asked to talk to me. We talked for hours that night and I listened to what he had to offer. He offered to bring them back, for the price of my soul. My eyes filled with joy at the thought of seeing them again. I agreed to give up my soul to him as well as work for him as his Soul Collector. He produced a contract that I was to sign:

“By signing this I relinquish my soul and everything associated with it to the devil, Lucifer. In agreement that he will return:

                1) Wife

                2) Daughter

At the return of the (2) persons listed above, I, the signer of this contract will agree to work for Lucifer as his Soul Collector until goal is met. The goal of 1000 souls is to be collected, at which time the signer’s soul and associated materials shall be returned.”

After I signed the contract he disappeared. The next thing I remembered was standing at the Motorcycle, no idea how I got there. However, to my surprise I saw them; my wife and daughter smiling and laughing. Excited, I rushed to them. I run and picked up my daughter and threw her into the air and caught her and hugged her tightly. I looked at her face and her mother’s and there is nothing but terror. There was panic and fear. I wanted to talk to them and tell them who I was but I couldn’t remember my name. What was my name? My wife and daughter screamed, while three large men came storming towards me. They restrained me and threw me out the back door, after kicking the shit out of me.

Confused about what just happened I yelled and demanded Lucifer to show his face. When he appeared he drew caution to my tone and advised that is the only time he will tolerate my anger. He explained everything that had happened. He informed me that he moved time back to before they were killed, however since I no longer have a soul I no longer existed; that they were living a life in a time where I didn’t exist. He explained that my wife married and had a daughter with someone else.  A man with no soul has no identity, no name. He presented me with my signed contract. I reviewed the contents and quickly realized how vaguely written it was; nothing within that contract said they would return as “my” wife and daughter.

No owning a soul and a merchant of death I was able to phase in and out of the physical world and be invisible; for a few weeks I followed them around to see their life.  They were happy and smiling. They lived their lives just like they had when I was there. It killed me to see my lovely wife making love to a different man and my daughter hugging this other man calling him daddy. After some time though I grew to accept it and was happy that they were alive and happy.

Having been fucked once by Lucifer, I don’t know why I thought he would play fair. After a couple weeks, I had left the room when my wife became intimate and I left to give some privacy (frankly I didn’t want to watch) so I sat in my daughter’s room and watched her sleep. All of a sudden I heard a crash and banging around. I ran to find out what all the ruckus was and came across a stranger breaking into the house. I ran to the master bedroom. I was too late, one of the men were already in there. The other husband was beaten and tired to a chair as unmentionable things were being done to my wife as we both stared on. I yelled and screamed for it to stop, I attempted to change into my physical form but I couldn’t, it wouldn’t happen. I watched in terror as the attack continued. The fear and terror in her eyes were heart breaking. I know I should have felt something but I couldn’t, I was sorry and wanted it to stop. Finally the attack ended with the slaying of both my wife and her husband. Anger filled my body as I tried to punch and kick at the attacker but nothing happened, I just phased right through him. Once he was finished in the master bedroom he turned towards the door and exited heading down the hallway.  

As I ran to the door and down the hall I saw a bright light flash and was outside at a nearby park sitting on a bench. Sitting across from me was Lucifer. He looked at me, “It’s time for you to work now. You aren’t going to get my souls watching your old family.” Infuriated I yelled at him about what happened. “I warned you once about taking that tone with me,” he said calmly. “God in all his infinite knowledge cannot control man but knows everything that man will do,” he continues to explain. “God knew that the home invasion was coming and how horrific it was going to be. So to show mercy he took them early and in less pain. By sending them back without the accident, events unfolded as they were supposed too.” When I asked about my daughter he refused to tell me any of the details that happened… I think this was his way of showing me mercy.

That’s my origin story of how I became what I am today. I am a professor at a local collage where I teach a creative writing class. At the end of the semester each student is asked to write a two page paper titled “If Only I had 1 Year Left to Live.” The only rules to this paper are that after the year you will be forgotten, you can’t be famous, you can’t cheat (have cancer and then cure your own cancer), and can’t plan your own death.

What these students don’t know is that I will make whatever they write happen to them… ultimately getting me one step closer to reaching my quota of 1,000 souls.  These stories celebrate the last year and the lives of the now forgotten.