Moving Day

Twenty-four rooms in the hallway of my mind and the new room is just next door, the last one on the right. The new Tenant is already moved-in, a confused look on his face – unsure as to just what happened in the last year as if he wasn't a part of it, or merely too separated from it to remember.

I've always hated new rooms. The lock is intricate, dead-bolt – complex to keep everyone out. The door is heavy, solid wood – restraining to keep everything in.

Inside the paint is an off-white color. Its only begun to dry and yet its already starting to fade. There's a crack in the ceiling and a creak in the floor. I can't tell if its the age or my flaws.

The room is already furnished. Organization becomes Compartmentalization as everything is hidden away in its proper place. Hobbies in a chest, Vices on the shelves, Problems under the rug, Secrets in a dresser, Nightmares in the closet.

But its all wrong. It shouldn't be this neat, not this clean. It needs to go, all the furniture needs to go. Scatter the remains of myself onto the floor. Because my Legos have never played Call of Duty; my Power Rangers have never met the Marlboro Man; my Teddy Bear never tasted Johnnie Walker; my Saturday Morning Cartoons have never seen my Friday Night Binges.

I remove the hinges and drop the door. Twenty-three pairs of feet shuffle in the hall. Twenty-three Tenants I've still yet to meet but already know too well. Twenty-three who stare horrified at the living landfill I've turned my room, my year, into.

Turning back I see the pile mix and mold, already starting to take shape – an ear here, a toe there. I don't remember if I'm supposed to water it or not. Its been too long since we've grown a complete Tenant but now's as good a time as any to start again. An itch on my neck reminds me I'll need to buy a screen door. I don't want mosquitoes getting in, after all.





I really did plan to update this on my birthday as a way to write a new Introduction piece for this next year (the first one was the first post I wrote). But like most plans, it was doomed to fail, especially after I found out the deadline for this comic script contest was in a week (later it got pushed back to Sept. 23). Thus everything I was working on, including job applications and resume revisions, got pushed to the back burner for awhile (this is actually one reason for my current, unemployed status). Luckily I finished and submitted my entry so I'm just waiting til tomorrow with my fingers crossed.

And now I've completely forgotten what I was going to say. I've always sucked with transitions (which is why moving into post-grad life has been a pain-in-the-ass). Honestly, aside from graduation, I can't really think of anything really big that I've accomplished in this past year. My only immediate goals seem to just be getting a job that I can at least tolerate going to.

"Happy Birthday [insert name here]!"

Because just saying “Happy Birthday [insert name here]!” never sounds like enough. What I mean to say is that, well, of course I’d be wishing you a Happy Birthday. It’s not like anyone would wish you bad things on such a special day (though how would I know what kind of enemies you’ve made after all these years?). Saying “Happy Birthday” just seems like something everyone says, or at least the other 379 friends who wish you the same thing do. It doesn’t seem personal enough, especially when it takes a notice from Facebook to remind me that you still exist, let alone that it’s also your birthday.

So why can’t I just take the five seconds to write the same post everyone else wrote and be happy with it? I guess it's because the only present I can give you is in words and so I want it to mean something, especially since I’m doing it through Facebook means that we are either too far apart to say it in person or else I’m too cheap to actually buy you a present. I assume at this point in your Facebook career you pretty much just scroll through your birthday messages until you finally see one longer than three words and a clever little emoticon or one of those semi-colon faces (which I’m assuming is the only reason the semi-colon is still relevant in today’s society). But to muster up something witty or heartfelt that would actually brighten your day for just a single, brief, fleeting second before you click “Like” and continue scrolling – that’s what I really do try to aim for.

Maybe it’s because I don’t know you as well as I should or as well as I want to. Or maybe we haven’t seen each other for such a long time that I’m not sure what’s appropriate to write anymore (“turning 21 – round 5” or “Fuck Adulthood” seems inappropriate now that a lot of people I know are looking for new jobs and would very much not like their co-workers or bosses see that kind of crap on their Facebook page).

Maybe it’s just because I’m so used to writing now that to provide a mere three words for such an important occasion makes me feel lazy to the point that it’s almost unprofessional. So for everyone who feels cheated when they receive just those three meager words on their wall to add to the dozens, if not hundreds, of the exact same thing, I really mean to say more but … ah, fuck it – its your fucking birthday so make your fucking wish, eat your fucking cake and have a fucking good time dammit!

full permission for anyone to use when they want to say more but can’t seem to find the words

Rapture Chronicles (Jack's story)

May 8

If there’s one thing I hate about Sundays it’s waking up for church. I don’t mind going, it’s just the whole waking up early thing I don’t like. A new family moved in down the street (met them at Denny’s after church, The Jacobsons?). They seem okay though I don’t think I’ll being seeing their kids at school (their son Steve is about Jack’s age while their other two kids look like they’re still in elementary school). Jack went out this afternoon. I think Dad’s still bugging him about getting a summer job before he goes back to college next fall.

May 11

The Thompsons (yeah, way off on that one) came by earlier tonight asking if we were going to church today. Apparently they saw us on Sunday (they came BEFORE moving into their new house) and thought we’d be going tonight as well. Luckily dad answered the door and politely told them we weren’t (he’s the reason we go anyways since he went as a boy). Spent the rest of the night playing online.

May 14

Jack left today. I don’t know where he went but he just said he needed to go. Said that he heard it in a dream. It happened right after the broadcast. At least that’s what everyone online is calling it. Dad called it some sort of global mental telepathy or something like that but he’s always been too much into sci-fi and junk. But it was like everyone, everywhere was hearing the same thing at the same time. I swear I saw a figure too. Like a man except he had wings, but not like a bird or angel. They were different. Just different somehow. Mom and Dad said they didn’t see anything, but they did hear it, the broadcast that is. It said the world was going to end. That the rapture was upon us and soon we would all be judged. That he would judge us. I thought it was just me, until I realized I was in my parents’ arms, all of us sitting on the living room floor. Their faces were wet with tears. Jack though, Jack was standing in the doorway. A duffel bag was slung over his shoulder and Dad’s rifle was in his hand. I remember just staring at him in the doorway. He said he needed to go, that he had a dream about this and that he needed to go. He said he would be back in a week, the same day the world was supposed to end. My parents just stared at him without saying a word. I thought he was nuts. I chased him out the door but I froze when I got to the porch. I didn’t even see which direction he went. All I could see was the sky. The afternoon sky covered in black clouds which still haven’t cleared. No rain has fallen yet, but still I can hear a rumbling from above. I don’t know what’s going to happen but I’m scared. My parents haven’t left the house. They just sit by the phone with the radio and news on (everyone says to carry on normally but I know they don’t believe it).

Note: I taped Jack’s crucifix to the bottom of the page (I found it on the steps outside). He’d probably be pissed if I lost it.

May 15

The sky hasn’t cleared yet, but the booming is getting louder. At certain times, I can see a faint glow in the clouds (sometimes it’s just one, sometimes many). The storm is all over the news and it seems like it’s happening everywhere, even in other countries. I think everyone else is trying to stay calm though I can see how tense they are just walking around. I don’t think anyone’s gone to work. I know my parents haven’t. Me and a couple of my friends tried to go to school today, but someone burnt it down. I just wish they had waited for Mr. Wallace to finish cleaning the classrooms. He really was a cool guy (even promised not to turn us in after he caught us smoking stoges that one time).

May 19

I know it seems like I would want to log down every day and everything I do until the world ends but for some reason I just didn’t feel like writing. I’ve been trying to carry on with my day normally though the constant lightning show is making it a little hard. Yeah, not just clouds anymore (the lightning is even red!) Luckily no one seems to have gone into the full-on-end-of-the-world mode. Well, except for the Thompsons who just moved in the other week. I mean, I think they’ve already abandoned their house because I always see them preaching on the street with their three children or else hanging out at church. Dad makes us go for about an hour every other day now (though I don’t even know if it’s going to help). The other day there was a slight earthquake and the McGrady’s house fell down. Luckily it was the only one on the street that did. Dad and a couple people went over afterwards (I assume they found all of them because they dug 4 holes in the backyard). I don’t know. I’m just really hoping Jack’s okay. Yeah, stupid tangent but it just popped into my head.

May 21

JACK’S ALIVE! HE’S ALIVE! WE ALL ARE!

It was the morning of the supposed final day of humanity when we woke to the sound of a helicopter outside our house and a convoy of black SUVs. I stood behind Mom and Dad as they approached the door. Then we heard Jack’s voice. I pushed through and opened the door and there he was. He was Alive!!! A bunch of other men in black suits were getting back into their cars but I didn’t care. My brother was home! We had a huge dinner that night. It was mostly canned food and bottled water. It was the best meal I’d ever eaten.

I know I should feel like there could be nothing better than having my brother back home, but I feel like something’s wrong. He wouldn’t talk during the whole meal. He wouldn’t tell us what he saw or what he did. A whole week’s worth of being gone from home and supposedly battling the Rapture and he won’t tell us anything. He still had that duffel bag but I could see the hilt of a sword sticking out the top. The only question he answered was about the crucifix around his neck (he said he found it). But I mean he must have some story to tell. Something must have happened. He just won’t tell me anything.

May 24

Everything is kinda settling back to normal though it still feels awkward. No one is going to work or school (I think they’re going to start rebuilding next month). Nothing strange or paranormal has happened since we thought the world was going to end. We’ve heard reports that the government was going to start sending out agents to collect information from everyone to assess things (whatever that means). But until then we all seem to be carrying along fine. We missed church on Sunday because of the celebrating and stuff but it seems like the Thompsons are gone. For a while they were on the street, preaching and stuff. I think they still think the Rapture is still coming. Or at least that’s what they would shout at people as they walked past. Except for me. They kinda just stared. It was really weird. Speaking of weird, it was a sword that Jack brought home. He just has it sitting in the corner of his room, point down. I walked in there last night when he was in the bathroom. It shines on its own and somehow hasn’t stabbed through the carpeting yet it feels sharp. Just being near it, its its like I don’t know… can it be called “pure happiness”? It’s like I just feel happiness when I was near it. Jack however, he just stares at it, eyeing it like it’s going to come to life or something. He still won’t tell me where he got it, just that “he won it” whatever that means.

May 28

Someone arrived to see Jack today. He looked like he was the same age as I was. Said his name was Mark and he was looking for his brother Tom. That Jack might know where he was. I tried to tell him that Jack wasn’t talking to anyone but nothing would make him leave. I showed him to Jack’s room and a couple of minutes later he left. I asked Jack about it. He said Mark was just the first of many and that if anymore came to just let them in. “Especially,” he said, “if her name was Laura.” (who was she?) I asked him what had happened and for a while he just looked at the sword. Then he looked at me and I thought I could make out tears in his eyes but I couldn’t be sure (the only light in the room was glowing from the sword). People began following him wherever he went though he didn’t know exactly where he was going. He couldn’t tell me what happened but he was the only one who made it to the end of the road. He said they didn’t understand why he was going through all this trouble even when he told them. He said he was afraid, afraid to die. He said they didn’t understand

June 1

Jack Jack I want to write it, but I don’t believe it. I don’t want to believe it. Jack’s dead. They came to the house today in their robes. At first it was just the Thompsons but then more showed up. They watched the house, but we were so busy we didn’t pay attention. They said they were believers. They said Jack had damned them, that he had damned us all. There was nothing anyone could do. That he had cost them all salvation. They were willing. They had accepted their fate and Jack stopped it, stopped it all. They said it was his fault. I couldn’t watch as they as they beat him. He didn’t make a sound except to say that he was ready. I couldn’t understand. Sorry it’s just too hard. The next part. I heard a shout. One of them tossed aside a red can as a flame snaked its way to Jack, lying motionless on the ground in the street.

The flames engulfed him as it is engulfing our house now. I can feel the heat of the flames now as it consumes the hallway outside my bedroom door. The crackle and pop of the wood drowns out the sirens as the flames march closer and closer. I can still hear mom and dad’s screams outside my door, but it’s too late. They just don’t know it yet




*I actually thought about writing several of these pieces to turn this into a series (I actually have two more that I'm working on) but, truth is, I'm bored of these already. Maybe I'll come back to them later.

Rapture Chronicles (Tom's story)

May 13

We lost again, though 5-4 isn’t too bad. Went 1-3 with a double and finally got a stolen base. Made routine plays at second (nothing impressive like last game). Tom came home today. He’s back for just a couple of days before he goes back to Cali to keep looking for a job. I think he’s just slacking since he graduated from college last year. He’s said that he wants to do something meaningful but I wish he would just move back home and find a job here so he can help out too. It’s getting hard taking care of both Mom and Laura (though she could probably start helping with some of the chores now that she’s starting intermediate). Oh, and coach still remembers him though he always just brings up how Tom quit the team his senior year. He’s still never told me why

 May 14

I’m scared. It feels like the first time I’ve actually felt fear. And yet with it comes….I don’t know how to describe it…is it relief? It’s the end of the world and can I actually be feeling calm? We all saw, heard, felt it (I don’t know what word describes it). We were all sitting in front of the tv this morning and suddenly its like the entire living room disappeared into darkness and there was just this man I think it was a man and he said the world was coming to an end and we had just one week to prepare ourselves. What can I possibly do to prepare? And still I feel like there’s something I need to do. I know its stupid to think that when the sky outside is black with clouds and I swear its like a lightning show. Mom and Laura just sat on the couch after it was over. Tom went to his room without a word. Nothing. What the hell?! I don’t know what he’s going to do, but he better come outside soon and help. The wind is starting to rattle the windows and I should board them up soon. Hopefully its just a hoax and we can all just get back to our normal lives. Maybe the storm is just a coincidence too

May 15

Tom ran away. That bastard ran away with those people. They said they were going to stop the Apocalypse. That the guy Jack was their leader. He had a “dream” which told him how to save them all, us all, that it was his calling to stop the Apocalypse or some shit like that. They said he was their hero, their savior. I don’t trust him. How could they believe that? That just the 7 or 8 of them could stop the end of the world. Half of them already looked like they were on the verge of death and they said they still had miles to go. How could they think they had a chance against something which could control the weather, that could destroy humanity? It was too big. And Tom just went with them. He packed a duffel bag and just left with them. What chance does he think he has? He can barely find a job. He told me to take care of Mom and Laura, which is exactly what I’ve been doing THIS WHOLE FUCKING TIME! “It’s all I can do” he said. That’s stupid. He could do so much more by staying. I don’t know if I can still do this on my own

 May 18

I’m scared. Mom won’t let me leave the house after we barricaded the door with the couch. Tomorrow I’m gonna put up boards on the doors and windows like I saw other people doing. I can see buildings on fire from my window only two blocks away. When we went out this morning, everything looked fine and normal. Well, besides the sky (getting even darker now and the red lightning?) and the people (families packed close together on the sidewalk) it was normal. Mom and I grabbed a couple things from the store and as we reached to grab a case of bottled water some guy came out of nowhere and grabbed it right from my Mom’s hands. I mean, like he just snatched it and when she yelled, he just yelled back and took off running, screaming something about “The End.” It wasn’t even the last case, but as we tried to grab another we were swarmed by shopping carts and screaming people reaching and piling on as many cases as they could before bolting out the door. Tom should’ve been here. He should’ve been the one to go with her. I couldn’t do anything, anything to make her feel safe, to gather the things that we needed. I don’t understand, they were all perfectly fine just a minute before. Did they all finally just snap? When we got outside, every shop was covered with shattered glass and there were even a couple people lying in the street. We didn’t stop. We couldn’t. We just ran. It was all we could do

May 20

The electricity finally went out like I knew it would. For some reason the water is running. It’s quiet outside, and from the cracks between the boards I can’t tell if anything is going on outside. I’ve been using the small propane grill to heat up our food but I need to force Mom and Laura to eat sometimes. They still won’t leave their rooms. Mom just cries about her “lost son” Tom. Tom, who should be here helping me, helping us

The world ends tomorrow so I guess I’ll just say this now. I don’t know if I’ve completely accepted that this is the end. I mean, the fact that I’ve stocked food and haven’t done something insane yet kinda proves that I’m hoping tomorrow is coming and yet I I don’t know if I really believe that we are going to survive this. I want to live and I keep thinking that tomorrow we all die. I hate this. I just wish things could go back to the way they were and yet somehow this all feels like the way it was – taking care of mom and Laura ever since dad walked out, trapped in this house while Tom just does whatever the fuck he wants. I never wanted to die here and yet I guess that’s what’s going to happen. Stuck in the same damn place until I die still doing this crap. Sometimes I think I hate them for all this, but they’re still family, they’re all I got. We are all we have. I guess this is just the way it is

 May 21

We’re alive. I don’t understand it, but we are. I haven’t gone outside yet but I’m pretty sure I heard people screaming or cheering so I guess that means other people survived too. Maybe that means those guys Tom went with really did save us. Maybe they really did stop Armageddon. Now we need to survive this. Our food supply is low and the electricity still down along with the brown water now coming from the pipes. They were pounding on the door, trying to get in. Goddamn animals. I don’t know how well my baseball bat can defend us, but its worth a try. I don’t know what they want or what they’ll do to get it. We barely have enough for ourselves

May 23

It’s been two days and Tom still hasn’t come back. Our water is gone. I haven’t eaten all day (I had to lie to Mom just to get her to eat). I’m going to have to go outside to look but I’m scared of what I’ll find, or if I’ll even have the strength to just pry the boards down. They haven’t come back since yesterday when I yelled at them to leave (I’m just hoping they believed that I had really did have a gun). Everyone is probably having as hard a time as we are and I don’t want to see what they’ll do to save themselves. I mean, we are desperate too and I guess I’m scared of what I’ll have to do to save not just mom and Laura, but myself

May 24

I don’t understand how this happened. I don’t know what time it was, but they broke through. I didn’t wake up until I noticed the light shining through the door which they managed to break in half. I couldn’t lift my bat to beat them back much less lift myself off the floor. All I remember before I woke again was Mrs. Luke’s face looking down at mine (she’s the lady I think I helped with her groceries a couple months ago). Then I was on a mat under one of those pop-up tents in the park down the street. Someone came by and gave me some water to drink. The smell of the soup though made me puke on the floor. Mrs. Luke later said it was because it’d been a long time since I’d eaten. I think she meant “actual food”. I spent the rest of the day on that mat

Oh, I heard rumors too. The government was escorting the people who saved us back to their homes. I can’t wait til Tom gets back home

May 27

It’s been a couple of days and Tom still isn’t back yet. Things are getting along better than I ever imagined. Usually they send me and a couple other guys out to scavenge for supplies and also to let the people still boarded up in their houses know that there are other survivors. I’ve never been there to break open doors (mostly it’s the older group that does it). There doesn’t seem to be any fighting for stuff which I expected. We just kinda forgot about all that stuff before we thought the world was going to end (even that guy at the market apologized to my mom this morning before breakfast). Mom and Laura seem to be getting along a lot better now too, even helping Mrs. Luke and the others with all the chores we all need to do to get through the day

I heard that Jack guy lives just a couple hours away, but I’ll have to travel by foot. I let mom and Laura know that I’ll be leaving tomorrow morning. I need to know where Tom is

May 28

I went to see Jack. It took me half the day to bike where I was told he lived. Strange, I never would’ve thought that it looked a lot like my neighborhood. A small suburb looking place. His brother Kyle was in the yard and he showed me to Jack’s room. He said he hasn’t left there since the day he returned. I was expecting him to be some weirdo like I first saw outside out house just over a week ago, but instead he was just quiet, sitting on his bed and staring at the wall. Jack said that he expected more people soon. I asked about Tom. He said he liked Tom, that he had one of the most interesting reasons for coming – that it was all he could do. Tom wouldn’t say more, but Jack said he understood, as if such a vague reason was all he needed. He wouldn’t tell me his reason, but his brother Kyle assured me it too was stupid. After that, Jack wouldn’t speak; he just went back to staring at the wall, though I’m not sure if his eyes ever stopped staring at it.

I’ve been thinking about those words my entire trip back and I still can’t shake the possibility that Jack was full of shit. All he could do?! That’s ridiculous. He could’ve stayed. That’s one thing he could’ve done. But then maybe he couldn’t. The more I think about it now, especially with all the work we need to do now just for our group to survive. Tom never would’ve been any help to us, neither now nor during what we thought was the end. Is that what you meant?

Finally decided to try my hand at epistolary style (though this would be a character's diary rather than letters, but close enough)....I really need to start looking for a job

Always thank your muse

If there's one thing I've learned from writing that I can apply to everyday life is to always give thanks to my muses in whatever form they appear to guide and assist. Unfortunately, all I can afford is to post my thanks on this blog, which I use mostly to check on other people's blogs. Anyways, thanks

HalCali for Tip Taps Tip (I still don't understand this video... or the words)

and Scandal for Shoujo S (sorry I couldn't find the actual video on youtube)

for shuffling their way through my iPod, literally killing my nervousness, and getting me through the interview today. Got my first day of job training on Wednesday (I'm gonna try to sell vacuums) so I may need to find a new muse to get me through that one


I promise to start doing some actual writing soon...eventually... whenever I get around to it

May, 21 2011 or December 21, 2012?

Honestly, I've never really thought about the end of the world. Okay, that's a lie. A lot of the video games, movies, video games, comic books, and video games I play, watch, read or otherwise consume deal with the end of the world. Also, quite frequently my stories go through "Doomsday scenarios" (none of which I've finished though). But, I mean, they are never about the end of the world and characters working to prevent it. No, these stories are boring. Of course they need to save the planet and of course the audience will care about a character who is trying to save the very planet they are a part of. Besides, if the planet were to be destroyed, how could I write a sequel and make more money?

I guess what really should matter are the people. Yeah, a strange thing to think about when the whole world's falling down around you, but its true. Fuck the hero and his rag-tag team of flunkies going to stop what should spell humanity's ultimate doom. In all honesty, give me a few friends, a pack of cigarettes (preferably Smooths), a cooler of beer, and "Apples to Apples" for an hour or two while I wait for the apocalypse to arrive in all its glory. And if that means I need to go find those people or, God-forbid, a carton of Marlboro's so be it. At least it'll give me something to do while I wait.


p.s. Don't get me wrong, I still have my ascension bag packed in case I get called up to Heaven. I also have a bag packed in case I get left behind during the rapture.... its actually the same bag. I think it'll work in either situation.

The Final Case for Detective Jones (part 4)

            At night, as he’s done for the past week since the killings started, Master Grim sits at his desk. He examines the notes Jones emailed to him earlier. Like the other cases, none of the spells match with any spell used by the Four Arcana Houses. What seems strangest, he thinks as he stares at the pictures, is the physical harm the spells created. Most, if not all spells leave behind no marking or residue. These must be caused by a very powerful mage, he thinks, one who wishes to wage a war on all four of the Houses simultaneously. Master Grim feels what he thinks is fear for what feels like the first time in a long time but easily dismisses the notion. He is the Head of the House of Grim after all, and one of the four most powerful magi in the city.

            For reasons unknown, Master Grim decides to type Detective Christian Jones into his computer. The first dozen or so pages turn up old cases Jones worked on (all solved, of course): cases protecting his fellow ignorant New Men from attacks involving magic or punishing (i.e. killing) magi for attacking New Men. He skims page after page until he finally finds one that isn’t an assignment.

            It’s an old news article taken from a New Man newspaper. It’s an old article, roughly thirty-five years old. Too long ago for Jones to have been a threat to the magical community. Perhaps another person with the same name, he thinks. Master Grim reads on with curiosity. Witnesses stand around the wreckage of a bus fire. Probably a cover up of the reckless activities committed by another young mage playing god amongst the New Men. Master Grim knows he, back in his younger days, was the same way – thinking himself a deity compared to the abundant New Men. Master Grim sighs as he recalls the days (not too long ago actually) when showing dominance over New Men wasn’t so frowned upon.

            In the article, authorities claimed it was a gas explosion and everyone on board, all two dozen, were killed. In addition to the article is another picture – a little boy whose mother was killed. He skims the article. Diana Jones, survived by her son Christian Jones. “Shit,” Master Grim says as he hears a foreboding knock at the door. Master Grim feels fear he cannot ignore this time. Slowly he reaches for the wand which he keeps hidden under his desk.

            Jones kicks the door in, knocking both of Master Grim’s bodyguards to the ground. Both men reach into their coats for their wands. The first barely lays a finger on his before Jones puts a bullet into his head, splattering the floor with the back of the man’s skull. The second man manages to actually point his wand at Jones. Before he can open his mouth to cast a spell, Jones fires two rounds into his chest (magic is slower than bullet, after all).

            With the two men dead, Jones walks toward Master Grim’s desk, the barrel of his gun pointing squarely at Master Grim’s head. He wears a smile on his face, but no cigarette in his mouth. Jones carries a small red container in his hand. A familiar smell wafts through the room.

            “You know, I almost gave up searching. Then I saw your wand, heard your alliterations. What really gave you away though was your spell signature, that distinctive green light,” says Jones as he takes a seat across from Master Grim. “Before you die, I want to tell you a story, though I’m sure you’ve heard this one before.

            “Thirty-five years ago, a single mother boards a bus to her second job after getting off a graveyard shift just three hours earlier. She waves at her son as she leaves him to wait for his school bus. As she boards the bus, a man approaches the boy. The boy is wary of strangers and so the stranger introduces himself and lets the boy know that they can be friends. He asks if the boy wants to see a magic trick. The boy, curious as all boys are, agrees. The man pulls a stick from his coat and, with a wave, a ridiculous rhyme, and a green flash, the bus he just saw his mother board erupts into flames. The man just laughs. The man who introduced himself as –”

            Master Grim finally seizes his opportunity. He has no intention of dying at the hands of a filthy New Man. Master Grim pulls the wand from under his desk and points it at Jones. “Wrathful, raider, righteous, –”

            “Jonathan Grim.”

            The light at the end of Master Grim’s wand fades as he feels power flow out of his body. For the first time in his life he feels frailty, weakness, powerless, helpless. He feels the approach of Death. Jones holsters his gun and Master Grim sees on his face the smile of bloodlust. Jones’s broad grin consumes his view such that Master Grim doesn’t even see or feel what hits him next. When Master Grim awakens, he finds himself tied to his chair and Jones standing over him with the red container. He hears the sloshing of the liquid moving back and forth.

            “I bet now you wish she hadn’t taken a window seat. I might have just put a bullet in your head and be done with this ordeal.” He opens the container and the smell of the liquid wafts throughout the room. Master Grim tries to struggle free but the rope holds him tight. He calls for help but the walls suppress his voice. He begs and pleads but his captor’s mind is focused on revenge. The gasoline drenches him from head to toe, seeping into his clothes and filling his nostrils.

            The door bursts open and several magi stand in the doorway, wands in hand. They arrive just in time to see Jones drop his cigarette onto Master Grim, his body erupting into a pillar of flames before their eyes.