Nov
13
2012

Even Hell Has Knights by Shaun McCoy

bya Gabrielle at 8:21 PM

Today my friend’s book, Even Hell Has Knights, became available for purchase.  You should do yourself a favor and order a copy.  If you are feeling particularly adventurous , you should pay a little more for a signed copy.  One day this man is going to be famous, and you are going to wish you did.  It’s an excellent book.  Shaun put a lot of work into it.

For more information, go to his website – www.ehhknovel.com.

Also, there is a Youtube video:

YouTube Preview Image

 

 

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Jun
11
2008

1st Annual FBI Ball – An X-file Story

bya Gabrielle at 12:43 PM

I’m entirely too depressed to write anything meaningful, so I have decided to post one of those files/stories Phil was able to save off my older than sin Apple.

I used to be a huge X-file fan – I mean HUGE.  For instance, I had to be in front of my TV at 9 pm sharp on Sunday or else I thought the world was going to come to a shrieking halt.   Well, I combined my love of writing and X-files and managed to write a story starring Fox Mulder and Dana Scully.  I was a big fan of Mulder and Scully hooking up, so that is sorta what the story is about.  The story, like Brain Cell Bob, has all sorts of grammatical errors and what not – like my blog, so you shouldn’t be too shocked.  I wouldn’t even say the story is a good one, it just makes me laugh.  It makes me remember how retarded I actually am.  :)

1ST ANNUAL FBI BALL

BY GABRIELLE COOK
11/02/96

DANA SCULLY SAT CURLED UP ON HER COACH WATCHING HORROR
CLIPS ON FOX.  THAT WAS HOW BORED SHE WAS.  SHE DIPPED HER
SPOON INTO HER HALF A GALLON OF ROCKIE ROAD ICE CREAM.  SHE
WAS FULL.  SCULLY HAD NEARLY EATEN HALF OF THE CARTON.  IT
WAS ONLY 8:15PM AND SHE WASN’T NEAR TIERD.
SHE AND HER PARTNER, FOX MULDER HAD JUST GOTTEN BACK
FROM ONE OF THEIR INVESTIGATIONS WAY OVER IN THE WEST.
SCULLY WASN’T SURE WHY SHE WASN’T TIRED FROM THE LONG FLIGHT
FROM CALIFORNIA.  SHE HADN’T SLEPT A WINK ON THE PLANE.
MULDER HAD THOUGH.  HE ALWAYS WAS ABLE TO FIND A COMFORTABLE
PLACE IN HIS HARD CHAIR.  SHE JUST READ THE WHOLE ENTIRE
TIME.
ASSISTANT DIRECTOR SKINNER GAVE THEM THE NEXT THREE DAYS
OFF FROM WORK BECAUSE OF HOW LONG THEY WERE OUT THERE.
ALMOST A MONTH.  SHE WASN’T SURE WHAT SHE WAS GOING TO FOR
THREE DAYS.  SCULLY WASN’T USED TO THAT.  MAYBE SHE AND
MULDER COULD DO SOMETHING.  MAYBE GO SEE A MOVIE IN WHICH
SHE HADN’T SEEN ONE IN AGES.  SCULLY DECIDED TO CALL HIM SO
THAT HE WOULDN’T MAKE ANY PLANS.  SHE PUNCHED MEMORY #1.
THE NUMBER QUICKLY WAS DIALED.
“HELLO”, MULDER SAID.
“HEY, IT’S ME.  WHAT ARE YOU UP TO,” SCULLY SAID
FEEDING HER MOUTH A SPOON FULL OF ICE CREAM?
“NOTHING MUCH REALLY.  JUST SITING HERE WATCHING SOME
COOL HORROR MOVIES.  WHY DID YOU ASK?”
“MULDER I MUST REALLY REALLY BE BORED IF I AM WATCHING
THE SAME THING YOU ARE.”
“YOU MEAN YOU, DANA SCULLY, ARE WATCHING HUGE ANTS
DEVOIR HUMANS TOO.”
SHE LAUGHED.  “PRETTY SCARY HUH?”
“COMPARED TO THIS MOVIE, YEAH, I THINK SO.”
“HEY, MULDER, WHAT ARE YOU DOING FOR YOUR THREE DAYS
OFF?
“OH, PROBABLY JUST SIT AROUND THE HOUSE.  WATCH MORE
DULL MOVIES ON FOX.  GO HANG AROUND THE LOCAL BARS.  NOTHING
REAL FUN.  DO YOU HAVE SOMETHING IN MIND SCULLY,” MULDER
ASKED?
“WELL, I MIGHT GO SEE A MOVIE OR TAKE A WALK AROUND THE
PARK.  JUST TAKE IT EASY.  IF I DID GO TO THE MOVIES, WOULD
YOU WANT TO JOIN ME,” DANA ASKED HOPING THE ANSWER WOULD BE
YES.
“WHY NOT.  IT BEATS HANGING AROUND LOCAL BARS OR
WATCHING ANTS DEVOUR PEOPLE ALIVE.  WHAT MOVIE WOULD YOU
LIKE TO SEE SCULLY?”
“I DON’T KNOW.  I HAVEN’T HAD TIME TO GET A PAPER.”

“I’LL PICK YOU UP IN A HOUR.  THAT IS WHEN ALL THE
MOVIES START.  THAT WILL ALOW YOU TO GET READY.  IS THAT
ALRIGHT WITH YOU?”
“YEAH, I GUESS MULDER.  I’LL SEE YOU THEN. BYE”
“BYE.”
ON THE OTHER SIDE OF TOWN MULDER SLIPPED INTO SOME MORE
COMFORTABLE CLOTHES.  HE HAD REMEMBERED THAT HE WAS NO
LONGER ON DUTY.   HE COULD WEAR WHAT HE WANTED.  MULDER
HOPED THAT SCULLY DIDN’T DRESS UP FOR THE ACCATION.  HE
HADN’T MESSED WITH HIS MAIL SENSE HE HAD BEEN HOME SO HE
DECIDED TO SIFT THROUGH IT.  HE NOTICED A BRIGHT BLUE
ENVELOPE THAT HAD “DON’T MISS IT” WRITTEN ALL OVER IT.
THE LETTER LOOKED LIKE SOMETHING HE MIGHT WANT TO OPEN
SO HE DID.  IT WAS A LETTER FROM THE OFFICE.  IT READ:

DEAR AGENT FOX MULDER,

WE ARE INVITING YOU (AND WHO EVER YOU CHOSE TO
BRING) TO THE FIRST ANNUAL FBI HEADQUARTERS BALL.  IT WILL
BE HELD ON NOVEMBER THE 7TH (AT 7:30PM TO 12:00AM) IN THE
FBI HEADQUARTERS BUILDING ON THE 8TH FLOOR.  YOU DO NOT NEED
TO BRING ANY MONEY OR FOOD.  ALL THAT HAS BEEN TAKEN CARE
OF.  PLEASE SHOW UP.  WE WILL HAVE A GREAT TIME.

SINCERELY,
THE FBI

THAT SOUNDED SOME WHAT FUN.  MAYBE SCULLY WOULD JOIN
HIM.  THAT WOULD BE ODD THOUGH.  THEM DANCING TOGETHER IN
FRONT OF ALL THE OTHER AGENTS.  THEM BEING CLOSE LIKE THAT
FOR A CHANGE.  HIM DANCING.  HE WOULD HAVE TO SHOW THAT TO
DANA, PERSUADE HER INTO GOING AND HAVING FUN.  MULDER WOULD
NOT LET HER SAY NO.  HE LOOKED AT HIS WATCH.  IT HAD BEEN
NEARLY A HOUR.  HE BETTER BE ON HIS WAY.
HE ENTERED THE ELEVATOR AND PUSHED THE NUMBER FOUR AS
THE DOORS CLOSED.  THE ELEVATOR SEEMED COLD.  COLDER THAN
NORMAL.  THE DOORS OPENED AND HE WALKED DOWN THE HALL AND
THEN TURNED TO FACE SCULLY’S DOOR.  FOUR-O-TWO STARED HIM IN
THE FACE.  HE KNOCKED.
“SCULLY, IT’S ME,” HE YELLED.
SCULLY WAS SITTING ON HER COACH FLIPING CHANNELS. SHE
GOT UP AND OPENED THE DOOR.  “HEY.”  SCULLY MOTIONED HIM
IN.  “I WAS HOPING YOU WOULDN’T DRESS UP OR ANYTHING.  I
THOUGHT IT MIGHT BE NICE TO DRESS CASUAL FOR A CHANGE.”
“YEAH, THAT IS WHAT I WAS THINKING TO.  HAVE YOU LOOKED
AT YOUR MAIL TODAY, SCULLY,” HE ASKED.
“NO, I HAVEN’T EVEN BEEN DOWN TO THE MANAGER’S OFFICE
TO GET IT.”
“WELL, MOST LIKELY YOU’LL FIND THIS,” HE SAID AS HE
PULLED THE BLUE ENVELOPE OUT OF HIS POCKET.  “OPEN IT.”
SHE DID AS SHE WAS TOLD AND BEGAN READING.  “A BALL?
WHAT GAVE THEM THE IDEA OF DOING SOMETHING LIKE THAT.  WHO
WOULD POSSIBLE SHOW TO UP TO DANCE.”

MOLDER LOOKED UP AT HER LOOKING HURT.  “I WOULD.  OR MAYBE
“WE” COULD.” SCULLY STARTED TO LAUGH.
“MULDER, I COULDN’T DANCE IF I TRIED.  DO YOU KNOW HOW
LONG IT HAS BEEN SINCE I DANCED,” SCULLY ASKED.
“I HAVEN’T DANCED IN FOR EVER EITHER SCULLY BUT WE
COULD TEACH EACH OTHER.”
“WE BETTER GO TO THAT MOVIE WE PLANNED ON OR IT IS
GOING TO START WITHOUT US.”
“THE MOVIE THEATER IS BEING PUT UNDER CONSTRUCTION AND
THE OTHER ONE IS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF TOWN.  WE WOULD NEVER
MAKE IT ON TIME.  I SAW THE SIGN IN FRONT OF THE THEATER ON
THE WAY OVER.  WE COULD JUST RENT INSTEAD OR FLIP CHANNELS.
MAYBE EVEN TEACH EACH OTHER HOW TO DANCE AGAIN.”  HE LOOKED
UP AT HER AGAIN GIVING HER HIS BEST SMILE.  HE APPROACHED
SCULLY GRABBING HER HAND IN A DANCING MOTION.
“COME ON SCULLY JUST ONE DANCE.  WHERE IS YOUR RADIO,”
MULDER ASKED.
“OVER THERE IN THE KITCHEN.  THERE IS A PLUG IN HERE.
BUT I’M TELLING YOU NOW THAT I AM ONLY DANCING TO ONE SONG
AND THAT IS IT,” SULLY SAID WITH A SERIOUSNESS HE HAD NEVER
HEARD BEFORE.  MULDER PLUGED IN THE RADIO AND TURNED IT ON.
HE BEGAN TUNNING ON ONE OF THE 80’S STATIONS.  AS SOON AS IT
WAS TUNED HE HEARD THE D.J’S VOICE.
“THIS IS A NEW SONG FROM THE BROADWAY PRODUCTION RENT.
IT’S CALLED I’LL COVER YOU.”
THE MUSIC BEGAN.  MULDER GRAPED SCULLY’S HANDS AGIAN
AND BEGAN “TRYING” TO DANCE.  THEY SWAYED BACK AND FORTH.
MULDER LIFTED SCULLY’S HEAD UP.
“DON’T WORRY ABOUT STEPPING ON MY FEET.”

LIVE IN MY HOUSE
I’LL BE YOUR SHELTER

“I WASN’T WORRIED ABOUT STEPPING ON YOUR FEET.  I WAS
WORRIED THAT YOU WOULD STEP ON MINE.”  THEY BOTH CHUCKLED.

JUST PAY ME BACK WITH ONE THOUSAND KISSES
BE MY LOVER AND I’LL COVER YOU

“YOU KNOW SCULLY WE AREN’T IN SOME MIDDLE SCHOOL GYM
WHERE THEY SAY YOU HAVE TO BE ARMS LENGTH AWAY FROM EACH
OTHER.”  MULDER STEPPED A FEW FEET CLOSER.  MULDER WAS SOME
WHAT WAS ENJOYING THIS.  EVEN THOUGH HE CARED SO MUCH ABOUT
HER HE NEVER HAD TIME TO SHOW IT.  ALWAYS OUT CHASING
SOMETHING.  THE WORDS ROLLED ON.

ALL MY LIFE I’VE LONGED TO DISCOVER
SOMETHING AS TRUE AS THIS

SCULLY LOOKED UP INTO MULDER’S HAZEL EYES.  THE
TWINKLED TONIGHT.  MUCH MORE THAN USUAL.  THEY LOOKED AS
THOUGH THEY LONGED TO TELL HER SOMETHING.  A FOR LONGED
SECRET KEPT INSIDE.  SCULLY BLUSHED.  SHE HAD LOVED MULDER
SINCE SHE HAD FIRST MET HIM FOUR LONG YEARS AGO.  WHY SHE

NEVER REALLY SHOWED HIM WAS A QUESTION SHE LONGED TO FIND
THE ANSWER TO.
“YOU KNOW MULDER, EVEN IF I DID GO TO THIS BALL I
WOULDN’T HAVE ANYTHING TO WEAR,” SCULLY SAID.
“I’M SURE YOU COULD FIND SOMETHING TO WEAR.  IT DOESN’T
HAVE TO BE THAT FANCY, YOU KNOW.”  THE SONGS CHORUS BEGAN
MAKING THE BEAUTIFUL SLOW SONG NO MORE.  SCULLY BACKED AWAY.
“WHY DID YOU STOP?  THE SONG IS NOT OVER.  YOU PROMISED
TO DANCE THE ENTIRE SONG.”
“MULDER, I’M TIRED AND THE CHORUS OF THE SONG ISN’T AS
SLOW AS THE REST OF THE SONG.  YOU CAN’T DANCE SLOW LIKE
THAT.  I NEED TO GO TO BED.
“WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO HELP YOU TO BED?”
“MULDER…”  SHE HUSHED HER SELF WITHOUT MAKING HER
SELF SOUND MORE REJECTED.  IF SHE TURNED DOWN HIS PROPOSAL
HE MIGHT NOT THINK SHE HAD THE SAME FEELINGS AS HIM.  “JUST
GO AHEAD AND MAKE SOME COFFEE.  I’LL BE OUT IN A SECOND.”
MULDER SMILED.  HE WAS GLAD SHE HAD NOT HAD SAID NO.  HE
QUICKLY BEGAN MAKING THEIR COFFEE.  HE DASHED SOME SUGER IN
TO HER GLASS.  MAYBE WAKE HER UP.
THE LAST DROP DROPPED OUT OF THE COFFEE POT.  HE POURED
THE COFFEE INTO THE MUGS.  AS HE ENTERED THE LIVING ROOM HE
SAW HER LYING ON THE COACH.  SHE WORE A LIGHT RED LONG SILK
GOWN.  HE COULDN’T HELP BUT STOP AND STARE.  SHE LOOKED
AWESOME.
“WHAT MULDER?”
“OH, NOTHING.”  HE HANDED HER HER GLASS.
“THANKS.”
“NO, PROBLEM.”  SHE SAT UP GIVING HIM ROOM.  SHE SIPPED
HER BOILING COFFEE.  THE HOTNESS MADE HER EVEN MORE SLEEPY.
THE SUGAR DID NO GOOD.  HER EYE LIDS STRAINED TO STAY OPEN.
MULDER SAW WHAT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN IF SHE FEEL ASLEEP.  SO
HE GRABBED HER CUP.  HE PLACED IT ON THE COFFEE TABLE.  HER
EYES FINALLY WENT COMPLETELY  SHUT.  HER HEAD DROPPED ON HIS
SHOULDER.  SHE WAS IMMEDIATELY ASLEEP.
HE GOT UP EVER SO SLOWLY SO HE WOULDN’T WAKE HER.  HE
LAYED HER HEAD ON A PILLOW AND PUSHED HER AUBURN HAIR OFF
HER FACE.  HE STARED AT HER.  HOW BEAUTIFUL SHE LOOKED.  SO
ELEGANT.  SO PEACEFUL.  HE BENT DOWN AND KISSED HER CHEEK
WITH A SLIGHT BRUSH.  HE THREW THE SHAW THAT LAY OVER HER
COACH ONTO HER.  MULDER TURNED OFF THE LAMP AND OPENED THE
DOOR.  NOT YET LEAVING.  HE LOCKED THE DOOR AND TURNED TO
LOOK AT HER ONCE MORE.
“GOOD NIGHT DANA.”  HE SHUT THE DOOR.

*** THE NEXT NIGHT ***

MULDER SAT UP IN HIS BED.  HE LOOKED AT HIS CLOCK THAT
READ 10:34PM.  HE HADN’T TALKED TO SCULLY SINCE LAST NIGHT
WHEN HE LEFT HER TO SLEEP.  HE WAS BORED OUT OF HIS MIND.
HE HAD SPENT HIS WHOLE DAY JUST SITTING IN HIS BED WATCHING
TV, LISTING TO GAMES ON THE RADIO AND LOOKING OVER A OLD AND
DUSTY X-FILE.  WHY HADN’T SCULLY CALLED.  MAYBE SHE WASN’T
FEELING WELL.  SHOULD HE CALL HER?  MULDER DECIDED NOT TO

BOTHER.  IF SHE HAD WANTED TO TALK, SHE WOULD HAVE CALLED.
HE SHOULD GET A GOOD NIGHTS SLEEP FOR THE FOLLOWING NIGHT
AHEAD.  HE TURNED OFF HIS LAMP AND FELL ASLEEP.
SCULLY HAD SLEPT MOST OF THE DAY AWAY.  THE FLIGHT BACK
HAD CAUGHT UP WITH HER.  SHE HAD AWOKEN THAT NEXT AFTERNOON
LYING ON THE COACH WITH THE SHAWL OVER HER.  WHEN HAD MULDER
LEFT?  HOW LATE WERE THEY UP.  SHE LOOKED INTO HER MUG FULL
OF COFFEE.  MOST LIKELY NOT LONG.  SCULLY COULD SLIGHTLY
REMEMBER DRINKING THE COFFEE AND THEN DOSING OFF.  SHE
WONDERED IF HE HAD CALLED WHILE SHE SLEPT.  OH WELL, SHE HAD
TO CLEAN UP HER APARTMENT AND FIND A DRESS IF SHE WAS GOING
TO THIS BALL TOMORROW.
AFTER HOURS OF CLEANING HER APARTMENT SCULLY TURNED ON
HER RADIO THAT WAS STILL PLUGGED INTO HER WALL IN THE LIVING
ROOM.  SHE WAS SICK OF THE SILENCE.  SHE COULDN’T TAKE IT ANY
LONGER.  AS SOON AS THE RADIO WAS TURNED ON THE SONG THAT
SHE AND MULDER HAD DANCED TO CAME ON.  IT HAD JUST BEGAN.
SCULLY SIGHED.
“NOW IT IS GOING TO HAUNT ME FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE.”
THE WHOLE NIGHT MULDER DIDN’T CALL OR COME BY.  SHE WAS
SURPRISED HE HADN’T ALL READY COME BY ASKING FOR JUST ONE
MORE DANCE.  SCULLY FAINTLY REMEMBERED THE NIGHT.  SHE HAD
BEEN SO TIRED.  SHE COULD REMEMBER THEM SWAYING BACK AND
FORTH TO THE SLOW BEAT OF THE MUSIC.  MULDER’S GENTLY
HOLDING HER.  THAT WOULD BE NIGHT TO REMEMBER.  ALWAYS.
SHE HAD LOOKED THROUGH ALL OF HER CLOTHES THAT DAY
TOSSING THINGS ALL ABOUT HER ROOM.  SHE WAS BEGINNING TO
BECOME FRANTIC WHEN SHE PULLED OUT A DRESS SHE WORE SEVERAL
YEARS BACK TO A DANCE AT COLLEGE.  IT WASN’T REAL FANCY NOR
DULL.  IT HAD IT’S OWN BEAUTY TO IT.  ANYWAY BLUE STOOD OUT
ON HER WITH HER RED HAIR.  SCULLY PICKED UP ALL HER OTHER
CLOTHES WHEN SHE NOTICED THE TIME.  11:48PM.  SHE BETTER GO
TO BED.

*** THE NEXT MORNING ***

THE PHONE IN MULDER’S ROOM RANG.  MULDER STILL HALF A
SLEEP PICKED IT UP.
“HELLO,” HE MURMURED.
“GOOD MORNING AGENT MULDER.  THIS ASSISTANT DIRECTER
SKINNER.  I WAS CALLING TO SEE IF YOU WERE COMING TO THE
BALL TONIGHT.  ARE YOU COMING,” SKINNER ASKED.
“YEAH, I AM.  I AM BRINGING AGENT SCULLY ALONG WITH
ME.”
“YOUR BRINGING AGENT SCULLY!?,” SKINNER SAID SOUNDING A
LITTLE SHOCKED.
“YES, IS THERE SOMETHING WRONG WITH THAT,” MULDER
ASKED.
“NO. NO, I WAS JUST A LITTLE SURPRISED.  THATS ALL.
WELL, I HAVE SEVERAL OTHER AGENTS TO CALL SO I NEED TO GO.
I’LL SEE YOU TONIGHT AGENT MULDER.  BYE.”
“BYE.” MULDER LOOKED AT HIS CLOCK NEXT TO HIS BED.  IT
READ 10:38AM.  TIME TO GET UP HE THOUGHT.  THE SUN PEEKED
THROUGH HIS CURTAINS.  HE WAS HUNGRY.  MULDER SEARCHED HIS

REFRIGERATOR BUT FOUND NOTHING GOOD TO EAT.  HE HADN’T BEEN
IN HIS HOUSE THIS LONG IN FOREVER.  IT WAS ODD.
ON THE OTHER SIDE OF TOWN SCULLY SAT ON HER FLOOR IN
BETWEEN HER COACH AND COFFEE TABLE.  SHE WAS EATING SOME
CORN FLAKES DOWSED WITH SUGER.  SHE SIPPED HER ORANGE JUICE.
SHE THOUGHT ABOUT THE THE BALL THAT WAS GOING TO BE HELD
THAT NIGHT.  SHOULD SHE GO?  SHE ALREADY TOLD MULDER SHE
WOULD BUT THERE HAD BEEN SEVERAL TIMES WHEN MULDER NEVER
SHOWED UP PLACES WHERE THEY PLANNED ON MEETING.
WHAT WAS SHE THINKING.  TONIGHT WAS GOING TO BE FUN.
BEING WITH MULDER AND DANCING WITH HIM.  MAYBE EVEN MEETING
SOME NEW PEOPLE.  GARFIELD AND FRIENDS WERE ON.  NOT THAT
SCULLY WATCHED CARTOONS BUT SHE HADN’T SEEN A CARTOON SEEN
IN SHE DIDN’T KNOW WHEN.  HER HAIR POOFED IN ALL DIRECTIONS.
SHE WAS MOST LIKELY GOING TO HAVE TO PIN IT BACK TONIGHT.

*** 6:53PM ***

MULDER SLIPPED INTO HIS BLACK AND WHITE SUITE.  HE
THOUGHT HE RESEMBLED A PENGUIN HE HAD RENTED IT FROM THE
PLACE DOWN THE STREET.  MULDER DIDN’T WANT TO WEAR HIS EVERY
DAY WORK CLOTHES TONIGHT.  HE RAN HIS FINGERS THROUGH HIS
HAIR ONCE.  HE PICKED UP HIS PHONE AND QUICKLY DIALED
SCULLY’S NUMBER.  HE COULD DIAL HER NUMBER IN HIS SLEEP.
SCULLY SAT IN FRONT OF HER BATHROOM MIRROR HOLDING A
PIN IN HER MOUTH AS SHE INSERTED ONE INTO HER HAIR.  SHE HAD
PUT HER HAIR UP INTO A BUN AND LET SOME SIDE PIECES DOWN.
HER PHONE RANG.
“HELLO.”
“HEY, SCULLY.  WOULD YOU LIKE ME TO PICK YOU UP?”
“NO THATS OKAY MULDER.  I’M NOT QUITE DONE AND IT’S
GONING TO TAKE ME A BIT TO GET COMPLETELY READY.  I’LL JUST
MEET YOU THERE OKAY?”
“OKAY, I’LL SEE YOU THEN.  BYE.”  HE HUNG UP BEFORE SHE
COULD RESPOND.  HER BLUE DRESS FELL RIGHT BELOW HER KNEES.
IT HAD LONG SLEEVES AND HAD A SLIGHT LOW CUT FRONT.  SHE
DIDN’T CARE.  IT WAS BETTER THAN WEARING HIS NORMAL WORK
CLOTHES.  SHE PLACED A PEARL EAR RINGS IN HER EARS.  THEY
HAD BEEN A PRESENT FROM HER MELISSA TWO YEARS AGO AND SHE
NEVER FOUND TIME TO WEAR THEM.  SHE GLANCED BACK AT THE
CLOCK AND IT READ 7:10PM.  SHE NEEDED TO GO.  SHE QUICKLY
CURLED HER LOSE PIECES OF HAIR AND SMOOTHED THE WRINKLES OUT
OF HER VELVET DRESS.  SHE GRABBED HER KEYS BUT FORGOT HER
CROSS NECKLACE.  SHE PICKED IT UP FROM HER DRESSER AND WAS
ON HER WAY.
MULDER ARRIVED ABOUT TWENTY EIGHT MINUTES BEFORE IT
ACTUALLY BEGAN.  HE STOOD TALKING WIH HIS FRIEND AGENT ALAN
BURGESS.
“DID YOU BRING ANYBODY MULDER,” AGENT BURGESS ASKED.
“YEAH, BUT SHE’S NOT HERE YET.  SHE SHOULD BE HERE
SOON,” MULDER REPLIED.
“WHO IS *SHE*?”
“AGENT DANA SCULLY.”

“REALLY!  AGENT SCULLY.  I DIDN’T KNOW YOU TWO WERE
INVOLVED.”
MULDER SMILED AT WHAT BURGESS SAID.  “WELL, WE AREN’T
REALLY.  WE JUST DECIDED TO GO AS FRIENDS.”
“YEAH, WHATEVER YOU SAY AGENT MULDER.  WE ALL KNOW
ABOUT YOU TWO.  WE AREN’T REALLY ALL THAT DENSE.”
“WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY?  I KNOW I CARE ABOUT HER
BUT SHE IS MY PARTNER.  AM I SUPPOSED TO HATE HER OR
SOMETHING,” MULDER SLIGHTLY YELLED.
“NEVER MIND MULDER.  THERE SHE IS,” AGENT BURGESS SAID
AS SCULLY WALKED IN THE DOOR.  MULDER LEFT AGENT BURGESS TO
GO TOWARD SCULLY.  SHE SAW HIM COMING THROUGH THE SOME WHAT
CROWD THAT HAD FORMED.  MULDER RAISED HIS HAND TO MAKE SURE
SHE SAW HIM.
“HEY SCULLY.  YOU LOOK GOOD,” MULDER SAID.
“THANKS.  YOU DON’T LOOK HALF BAD YOUR SELF.  THERE ARE
MORE PEOPLE HERE THAN I THOUGHT.”
“SEE SCULLY THERE ARE PEOPLE OUT THERE WHO KNOW HOW TO
DANCE.  UNLIKE US.”  SHE SMILED.  THEY BEGAN WALKING TOWARD
THE REFRESHMENT TABLE.  “WOULD YOU LIKE SOMETHING TO DRINK,”
HE ASKED HER?
“SURE, IS IT PUNCH,” SHE PONDERED.  (COULD IT POSSIBLE
BE SPIKED)
“THATS WHAT I’M THINKING.”  HE HANDED HER HER PLASTIC
CUP.  SHE RETURNED IT WITH A SMILE.  A SCULLY SMILE.  THE
D.J’S VOICE CAME ON THROUGH THE SPEAKERS.
“WELL, HERE WE ARE AT THE 1ST ANNUAL BALL EVER TO BE
HELD FOR THE FBI,” CRACKED THE YOUNG AGENT WHO WAS ASKED TO
BE A D.J.  “EVEN IF THIS IS A BALL YOU ALL CAN DANCE TO
THESE FASTER ONES.  THE FIRST SONG IS ONE OF MY FAVORITES
AND I CANT WAIT TO SEE ALL OF YOU DANCING TO IT.  IT IS THE
MOCKERANA!”  THE SONG BEGAN TO GO THROUGH THE SPEAKERS.
SCULLY LOOKS OVER AT MULDER TO FIND HIM HAVING THIS AWKWARD
SMILE ON HIS FACE.
“ABSOLUTELY NOT MULDER.  YOU GO RIGHT AHEAD AND DANCE
TO IT.  I’LL WATCH YOU FROM HERE,” SHE ORDERED.
“YOU’RE NO FUN YOU PARTY POOPER.”  HE JOINED THE
EXCITED CROWD.  SCULLY ONLY LAUGHED AT HIM.  THE REST OF THE
NIGHT DREW ON AND SCULLY KEPT ON TURNING DOWN MULDER’S
PROPOSALS TO DANCE.  THE CLOCK ON THE WALL READ 10:48PM.
“OKAY, THIS WILL BE OUR LAST DANCE FOR THE NIGHT.  IT’S
A SLOW ONE AND IT’S MENS CHOICE,” THE D.J SAID TIREDLY.
“ALRIGHT SCULLY.  I’M NOT TAKING NO FOR A ANSWER.”  HE
GRABBED HER HAND AND PULLED HER TO THE CENTER OF THE FLOOR.
THE SONG BEGAN.  HE PULLED HE CLOSE.  MULDER’S EYES LOCKED
ON HERS AND HERS WITH HIS.

YOUR EYES, THE ONES THAT TOOK ME BY SURPRISE
THE NIGHT YOU CAME INTO MY LIFE
WHERE THERE’S MOONLIGHT I SEE YOUR EYES

“YOU COULD HAVE JUST ASKED YOU KNOW.  YOU DIDN’T HAVE
TO PULL ME OUT LIKE THAT,”  SHE SPOKE ANGRILY.

“IF I DIDN’T WE WOULDN’T BE THE CENTER OF ATTENTION,”
HE WHISPERED.  SHE LOOKED AWAY FROM HIS HAZEL EYES AND
PEERED ABOUT THE DIMMED ROOM.  THEY WERE THE CENTER OF
ATTENTION.  SEVERAL COUPLES WHO WERE DANCING JUST STARED.

HOW’D I LET YOU SLIP AWAY WHEN I’M LONGING TO HOLD YOU
NOW I’D DIE FOR ON MORE DAY ‘CAUSE THERE’S SOMETHING I
SHOULD HAVE TOLD YOU

HE TURNED HER HEAD TOWARD HIM AGAIN.  THERE EYES LOCKED
ONCE MORE.  SCULLY STARED IN TO THEM.  THEY WERE THE MOST
BEAUTIFUL COLOR EYES SHE HAD EVER SEEN.  THEY TWINKLED SO.
SHE NEVER WANTED TO LET GO OF HIM AGAIN.  SHE LAYED HER HEAD
ON HIS CHEST.  HIS HEART PONDED SO VERY STRONG.  MULDER
SWAYED BACK AND FORTH WISHING HE HAD MADE THE D.J DEDICATE
THIS SONG TO HER.  IT WAS SO TRUE.  IT TOOK THE WORDS RIGHT
OUT OF HIS MOUTH.

I SHOULD TELL YOU I SHOULD TELL YOU
I HAVE ALWAYS LOVED YOU
YOU CAN SEE IT IN MY EYES

MULDER PICKED HER HEAD OFF HIS CHEST AND STARED INTO
HER EYES ONCE MORE.  HE NO LONGER RESIST.  HE LEANED FORWARD
AND BRUSHED HIS LIPS GENTLY AGAINST HERS.  HE PULLED AWAY.
SCULLY’S EYES ASKED SO MANY QUESTIONS.
“THAT SONG SAYS EVERYTHING,” HE WHISPERED.  MULDER COULD
SENSE ALL THE EYES.  ESPECIALLY AGENT BURGESS’S EYES.  “EVEN
THOUGH I HAVE NEVER TOLD YOU DANA, I HAVE ALWAYS FELT THAT
WAY.  FROM THE VERY DAY I LAYED EYES ON YOU.”  MULDER LOOKED
UP AND NOTICED EVERY BODY HAD STEPPED OF THE DANCE FLOOR TO
WATCH THIS REMARKABLE EVENT.  THEY STOPPED DANCING AND TOOK
EACH OTHERS HANDS.
“FOX…I LOVE YOU, TOO.”  HOOTS AND HOLLERS WERE HEARD
ALL OVER THE ROOM.  SCULLY RETURNED MULDER’S KISS.

-THE END-

DEDICATED TO BUDDY WHO WITHOUT HIM THIS WOULD HAVE
NEVER BEEN POSSIBLE.  IT WOULD HAVE JUST BECOME ONE OF
SEVERAL OTHER X-FILES.  THANKS BUDDY!

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May
15
2008

Brain Cell Bob

bya Gabrielle at 4:24 PM

Once upon a time, I owned an Apple II C computer. It was what I used to write all of my poems and stories on before I upgraded and got a Compaq laptop, which was handed down to me from my Dad. It was a big upgrade, I know. Phil was shocked to learn that in 1997 I was still using the Apple. I mean, it worked. I didn’t see the point in replacing it until it blew up. My Apple II C never really blew up, though, in fact, it is still working just like it was 11 years ago, but only because Phil did something I didn’t think anyone could do.

Back in 1997, I had been working on a story called “Home”, a sequel to a story I had written called “Next”, when I went to save my data on my new floppy disk. There were steps you had to follow in order to save properly. I can’t remember exactly how it went, it’s been a while, but it went something like this. You had to insert a certain disk, click a button, take out that disk, insert another one, format it, and then save. My Apple was nice, it always asked me if I was sure I wanted to format the disk I had chosen. I didn’t have any reason to believe the disk I had just inserted into the floppy disk was any other than the one I wanted, so I clicked yes. I heard the awful format sound my Apple made, and when I looked down, I saw that the disk I wanted formated was not the one in the disk drive.

What I wish my Apple had asked me was, “Are you nuts? You want me to format this disk? This disk is the one disk you have to have in order to even operate me! Please, I don’t want to see you cry. Don’t hit yes!”

I had formated my start-up disk. And indeed, it was the one disk I needed to do just about everything on my computer. In less than thirty seconds, my Apple II C computer was nothing more than a paper weight. I think I cried for a good two hours, for all of my creative genius had just become non-accessible. All of my stories. All of my poems. Gone. I was devastated.

For years, I asked people if they knew how to get my Apple back up and running, but no one had a single clue. I looked everywhere for another start-up disk, but no one had one of those either, and at this point in the game, no one was even using the type of floppy I would need. I eventually gave up and said goodbye to my creative writing.

Then one day, I met Phil, my computer buddy. Early in our friendship, I mentioned to him what had happened to my computer and asked if he knew of anything to retrieve my stories. He told me that it wouldn’t be a problem, and that he would get around to it one day. I was stoked. Someone had given me hope.

SIX YEARS LATER

Well, I guess anything is better late than ever.

One night, Phil and I had a fight over something stupid, but it made me mad enough to go home and not talk to him for a few days. One morning, still bleary eyed, I opened my IBM laptop to check my email and found this message waiting from Phil : “Hopefully your still not too mad. Anyway, I’ve been working on something for ya, and I think it’s something you’ll enjoy. There’s more to come.” I didn’t know what he was talking about. In a picture file, at the bottom of my screen, all I could see was a black screen with funky green everywhere. I didn’t have my glasses on at the time. I pulled the computer closer to my face and then I realized what it was. It was a screen shot of my Apple II C, and that funky green was the text of a story I had thought I had lost forever. To say that I was happy, would be an understatement. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t cry.

Below is one of the stories that Phil was able to recover. Some how or another, he was able to convert it to a text file. I don’t know how he did it, I am just extremely glad that he did. Brain Cell Bob is still in the exact format that it was before. My spelling and grammar are completely atrocious, but I thought you might like to step into the mind of a 15 year old.

Looking back, my creative genius wasn’t as creative as I thought, but it is good to have it back. I didn’t remember writing half of the crap that he recovered. I found some fan fiction that I wrote when I was addicted to The X-Files. Man, that stuff is hilarious. All I know, is that I was a huge dork when I was 15, and if anything, I am a bigger one now. Enjoy!

Brain Cell Bob

By: Gabrielle Cook

2/04/97

Hi. My name is Bob aslo known as Brain Cell Bob. Well,

I know that you are thinking, “Why is a brain cell writing

in the first place?” I’ll answer that by saying I have no

idea.Remember I am just a brain cell and the only thing I

know how to opperate is the brain. Doesn’t the word brain

in brain cell give it away? Thought so. Alright lets move

on.

First things first. I am only a brain cell. I did

have 1,000,000,000,000 brothers and sisters but they all had

tragic deaths in which I would rather not talk about. I

will mention my fondest brother named George and sister

named Geraldine. The were the last to die after a major

high that the hostess recived in her early years. They were

strong willed brain cells in which I will never forget.

My loving parents, who were the first to die, were

named Fred and Ferline II. Because of their age they could

not take all the childs play times and parties. Before they

died on that December morn they had introduced me to my

furture wife named Zelda, the Princess of Heavna. She was

aspretty as a angel. My parents had found her lost and

astray in the National Brain Cell Park where all brain cells

go to find a new home. She was gladly accepted in to our

humble home.

At the time I was about 16 in human years and 4 in

brain cell years. (About the year thing. Don’t try to

figure it out. It is almost next to impossible. The year

16 has nothing to do with age. That is how us brain cells

have learned to figure our own own age compared to the

humans. We do age faster than you may think.) Zelda and I

began dating but did not marry till many years after that

because of so many deaths in the family. Zelda was a young

girl who was about 12 in human years when I met her. My

life revolved around Zelda so when are age came to marry, I

asked for her hand. Of course she replied yes. We were

married on a beautiful Sunday afternoon in June.

Now before I get to ahead and have to jump all the way

back here I’ll start now. I was born on November 2nd, 1981

which is known for Spirit Day. Brain cells, if you did not

know, are quite smart from day one. That was the day that

my parents gave me two names. The first one was a Brain

cell name in the Brain Cell lanuage known as Bruca Bru. My

name was Lankca Stru. It was translated in human english as

Bob. For the fun of it I’ll tell you my brother and

sister’s names. My brother’s name was Rutzca Nizzru and my

sister’s was Starca Merru.

In my young childhood years I learned that the hostess

was a wild one. (I think it was her older brothers that

influenced it though.) Because of this roughness that the

young child had, I lost several brothers and sisters. By

the time the child was 5 I had already lost close to almost

half of my family including my parents. I then began to

write poetry and short stories. Of course always through

the child.

I gave my hostess a name in the Bruca Bru and it was

Lilaca Chizu. Which translated, is little child which

refers to “now young child, will be young woman, then thy

shalt be pure woman.” You may think that it is down right

stupid, but in our lanuage it is a honor.

My School years were long and stressfull. Zelda helped

me through them because she was very gifted in those areas.

I had a hard time with math and occasional social studies

but managed to get through it all. Of course came peer

pressure which included smoking ciggerets to only what you

can amagine. There again I lost several brain cells in my

family. I was a weird brain cell and wanted to try

everything at least once or in some case never. Throught

all these peer pressures I learned right from wrong so that

I would live my entire life that was planned for me.

The year I turned 18 in human years was the year I

married Zelda. A female brain cell carries several brain

cells at once. Ranging from one to two billion. These

brain cells are not used to inhance the smartness of the

child but instead they are used to add company. After nine

long months Zelda gave birth to a half a million baby brain

cells. To the first girl we named her Georgia and to our

frirst son, Bob the second. All the children were given

Bruca Bru names but for the first time they did not end in

ca and u. Georgia’s name was Rosz Quilm and Bob II was Izzy

Bimja.

I opened a new school in the Right Secter which is on

the bottom part of the brain which is very active. That is

the school where all my children attened. Since I founded

the school I was able to name it. I named it M.F. Luder

roughly translated in to your human lanuage as “Once born

always a learner.” Written in many brain cell books it is

known that aprocemently 2,000 baby brian cells will live.

The other will die before there first birthday. This

happens because rough activity or harsh things cause them to

die. All the brain cells that have died are burried in the

Brain Cell Cementary in the left top secter because of it’s

forlorness.

Many years passed and the year my children was coming

of age, so was I. My memory began to fail and my writing

drizzeled. More of my family died and Zelda became ill.

She was put to bed and remained there for many years to

come. Many of my children left and moved on leaving through

the cliff. See the brian cells that don’t die, who were not

put there from the beging move on to better things. The way

they do that is by jumping. They just sorta fly off to the

next brain who they come incontact with.

On a day, all most very similar to are wedding day,

Zelda went into a comma, a few hours later, she left us and

went to her Heaven, Heavena. I weaped at her bed side for

the remainder of the day and then built a church in her

honor. It was named The Church of Princess Zelda, A True

beauty. I put up several pictures of her life from our

marriage to her death. She may not have ruled the hostess

body but she was my queen and will always be.

I recieved letters over the years from my children.

They told me of who they married and how many children they

had. I was now offically a Grandpa. One of my younger

daughters, who was known by Bobet, ruled in a hostess body

and had close to two million children. My two oldest

children, Georgia and Bob II, decided to stay and live with

me since the brain cell population was beging to die off. I

needed the company.

Even more years past and it ended up just being me,

Gerogia and Bob II. They never did marry nor do I think

they wanted to. They were to lazy too anyways. It was the

year turned 67 in human years when the now adult had a

severly major high. My only two children could not take it

anymore and they died that night. I guess my body had

become used to it and; did not bother me. I buried their

remaines in the alter of their mother’s church. I lit

candles in their owner as well as in Zelda’s.

After their death, the Brain Cell world, in which I was

brought up in, slowly turned cold and silent. Once in a

blue moon a stranger would enter my door to take a look.

But once they saw how large the cementary was they would

leave. Soon there after no one came and my life became more

dull. I always had candles lit in the church to be able to

feel all of my family’s prence.

My old age brought sickness and that was when I

recived my first cold. I wanted sometimes to leave and hunt

down my children and my grandchildren, the Grandchildren I

will never see. I then decided to write my life story down

and this is what you are reading. With all the quietness it

was written quite quickly. I knew my death was approaching

and I knew I had lived a much longer life than any brain

cell had ever had before. Who had operated so many tasks

with only one me and even kept sucessfull in keeping me

alive.

When the day came which was Febuary 14th, Valentines

Day, I knew it was time. That is why this ending is written

in such a knewly stated fashion. As though it is happening

write now. As I closed my eyes for the last time I knew my

life had been a most memberable one. And in my mind those

candles I lit will remain burning till the end of time no

matter what happens to the hostess that I lived with. I can

now join my wife and children in my wife’s heaven,

heavena.

Bob’s Note

This goes to all the one brain cell brains that are

just like me. I begg of you to take care of your host or

hostess till the day that you die. You may think you are

just a brain cell but in truth you are more than the

honorable lanuage the Braca Bru could translate. So I will

leave you with these words and take with you them were ever

you may travel to ever you shall and meet. Diwn Ligh Tusm

Rilsha. Live a long life.

Brain Cell Bob 😉

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Apr
21
2008

My 3rd Grade Journal Part 2

bya Gabrielle at 7:00 AM

Here are a few more of the entries from my third grade journal.

Haha, I was giddy.  I’m surprised I knew that word.

I think I was an angry kid. I’ve found a lot of entries where

I’ve said that I was mad at someone.

I remember nights when I would sing until I got sleepy.  I was a weird kid.

I can see why I never became a famous artist.

I think I actually remember being mad about this.

How dare someone not tell me they are moving!  The nerve! :)

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Apr
19
2008

My 3rd Grade Journal

bya Gabrielle at 9:07 PM

When I was in 3rd grade, Mrs. Lane, my teacher, had me and the rest of the class keep a journal throughout the year.  Phil laughed his ass off when he read through it and thought that I should post a few of them on my blog.  I’ve gone through and taken pictures of the ones I thought were humorous.

How I ever became an English major is beyond me.  My spelling is absolutely atrocious, as you’ll see.  I’m still not that great of a speller today, but at least I don’t spell diary 4 different ways.  :)  Hey, at least I tried, right?

If you can figure out what I’m trying to say in them, well, you must be special.  Phil had to have me translate a lot of it for him.   Most of it is understandable, I think.   Anyway, I thought it might give you a laugh and make you smile.  I’ll post some more later.

And if you think these are funny, wait until I post the funny journal entry that Phil wrote when he was in elementary school.  I’ll try to get that one up, too.  Enjoy.

Apparently, this was my first day of school.  I don’t remember writing any of these at all.

Of course, this is coming from a kid who really wasn’t afraid of anything that had more than two legs.  My parents had to constantly tell me to be careful what I picked up.  I got bit more times than you can count.

Math was never my strong suit.  I cried over my multiplication tables.  Still do.

I spent many weekends at my grandparent’s house.  I don’t know why I wouldn’t have wanted to go.

I wonder if anyone has every died from laughing.  Sounds painful.

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May
30
2007

Why?

bya Gabrielle at 11:31 AM

You are sitting in a blue plastic chair at a desk in a room that you know all too well. On your desk is a pencil with .5 mm lead. It’s the kind you hate because it breaks too easily if you press down too hard. Written on the blue plastic neck of the pencil in black ink is your least favorite number in the world. Two. Specifically, #2.

The room is quiet, except for the steady ticking of the clock positioned on the wall behind you. Every now and again there is a nervous roll of a pencil across a desk from someone sitting behind you. You’d roll your pencil too, but you don’t want to draw any attention from the woman standing behind the podium at the front of the room. It doesn’t even seem like she’s even paying attention, but you know that it’s all an act. Her eyes are trained to see anything and everything that might be deemed suspicious. Years of practice have taught you to remain still and quiet.

The woman, if you haven’t guessed yet, is your teacher and today is test day.

You’ve known about it for a week now and you studied for it, but your anxiety is still running a little high. Tests, well, they just make you squirm. And you’ve heard rumors about this test. A friend of a friend of a friend who knew this one person who dated this one person who took this test a few years back said that it completely made him self destruct. With rumors like that floating around, you have all the right to be just a tad bit nervous. It can’t be that hard, right? It’s just an English exam after all. What is there to be afraid of?

As the clock behind you flips to 9:30 am, the woman behind the desk lays the test face down on your desk. She’s gives you that look that says, “If you cheat, I will personally eat your soul.” You nod in understanding and flip it over.

Before you is the test that you’ve been losing sleep over all weekend.
The test is only one page. One line. One question.

The question is . . .

Why?

“You have until the end of class to finish your test. Good luck.”

*****
Humor me and answer that question for me.

I gave this question as a extra credit to my students on their test today, and they really did self destruct. They had no idea how to answer it.

And finally, a random picture from my collection. This picture comes from the selection I stole from Tim when we met up in Hong Kong.

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Apr
21
2007

Creative Filler – Satan, Zombies, and the Possessed IBM

bya Gabrielle at 2:08 PM

I have things to talk about, I’m just too busy or tired to go through the motions of uploading the pictures and talking about them. So, instead of going silent and having the few constant readers that I have questioning my existence, I’ve decided to post a story I wrote back in the days of college.

This isn’t my normal writing style. This was a project for a Children’s Literature course, and I was copying the format and the style of writing from a book I had to read for the class. This was my attempt at being . . . funny – something I’ve never really tried before. I’m usually much more depressing than this. Ask anyone I know. And like many things I write, this is largely based on my life. The cat and computer exist(I’m typing on her now), and the speaker of the story was modeled after me, of course. Do enjoy. Oh, and please don’t try to steal this and put your name on it. I’m just posting it so people can get through their boring days by reading about other people’s boring days.

Satan, Zombies and the Possessed IBM

Monday March 22
My Computer Room
7:19 p.m.

Oh. And by the way. I’m not exaggerating.

7:20 p.m.

Mom’s out. I’m home. Alone – – which makes the house über creepy since I just got back from watching the new Dawn of the Dead movie at the ever so evil Carmike. Carmike is the scum of all the movie theaters in town. It’s run down. Even their renovations have yielded lack luster results. In an attempt to house as many movies as the other theaters, they’ve effectively created the longest, scariest corridor in cinematic history. All humans and zombies alike would agree. But don’t even get me started on the bathrooms. Ick.
So, I guess to set the mood for the movie, this is why my immature friends and I decided to go specifically to Carmike. Subconsciously, of course. In retrospect, it was sort of “like a horror movie within in a horror movie” as Yossef, the Persian, said. No, not a Persian cat – – a human.
Although, sometimes, I wish he was a zombie – – as long as he didn’t eat me. I wouldn’t be very tasty. Or would I?

7:32 p.m.
I think I heard something bounding down my hallway. I hope it isn’t Yossef, the zombie.

7:33 p.m

Whew! It’s just Satan – – aka Morgan Rose Ireland Yvette DeWitter. See, Satan is much easier to roll off the tongue. It’s unfair how she can just ooze in and out of the shadows. Oh, by the way, she’s a cat and she’s black. Sorry. But yeah, she’s Satan alright. I hope I’m not offending “Mr. High and Mighty” as my Mom, the Bible thumping Baptist, might say. Back to Satan. You wouldn’t know she was Satan by first glance or second. By the third it would be too late. She looks like an ordinary, cute, bumbling, kitty. She meows all angelic like, and purrs happy tunes. She’ll even love on you and then . . . hell opens up and Satan lets loose. You should see the battle scars I’ve obtained from fighting evil. Aw, Satan wants to be petted.
OW! Someone call 911!

7:40 p.m.

Alright. I’ve slowed the bleeding. Sorta. I hate Satan. Most people do. Except those weirdos who worship him. They’re nuts.

8:00 p.m.

My hand is bandaged. Completely. I look like a mummy. I wonder if I’ll turn into a zombie now. That’s what happened in Dawn of the Dead. If you got bit, you were screwed. You’d be a walking, or rather, running, flesh eating, menace to the rest of the human race within an hour or two depending on the severity of the flesh wound and how soon you died of blood loss or insanity. At least, that’s what my immature friends and I determined from viewing the gory film. So, I guess, only time will tell.

8:01 p.m.

Still not a zombie.
8:04 p.m.

Haven’t turned yet.

8:15 p.m.

I guess I’m safe. Satan is glaring at me with her green, demonic eyes. They are as green as the hills of Ireland. That’s how I got one of her many names. She looks disappointed – – probably because her bite didn’t infect me, but yet happy, because she inflicted pain on her master. If cats could grin, I’m sure she’d be laughing. Wouldn’t that be hideous? Thank God for small miracles. I’ll never know how Alice dealt with that darn Cheshire cat.

8:31 p.m.

I’m as starved as a zombie. I mean . . . they are always hungry. They just never stop eating. It doesn’t matter how much human flesh they devour. If you are within a hundred mile radius and they’re hungry – – which they will be – – you’ll be their dinner. Zombies are such animals. I’ll be more wary around Satan from now on.

9:10 p.m.

Fully satiated and time for school work. I wonder if my computer is in a good mood. Maybe Satan and the IBM are kindred spirits. I pray not. At least not tonight. I’ve got too much to do.

9:20 p.m.

I don’t even know where to begin. At this rate, I’ll never finish on time. And if I don’t finish on time, I run the risk of being sacrificed to the angry homework gods. Ugg. They aren’t a happy little bunch either. I’ve met with them on a few occasions.
Ok. I’m lying.
Many occasions. Still, I’d rather be sacrificed to a hungry zombie. I suppose I should be careful what I wish for – – Satan is still glaring at me and she just licked her chops.

9:30 p.m.

Alright, alright. I’ll do it already.

9:32 p.m.

Everyone should own one. A possessed IBM laptop computer that is. It’s the new craze. Well, no, not really, but evil seems to totally dig me. First, Satan, and now the possessed IBM. It was a courtesy gift from yours truly, me, because my first evil PC overloaded with vile intent and exploded. I wasn’t aware that possession was a part of IBM’s package deal when I bought it. Possession is nine-tenths of the law, did you know that? Anyway, back to possessed IBM . If I had known about Mr. IBM’s special personality, I would have doused it with barrels of Holy water, sung hymns of religious glory, and blessed it with anything and everything that my fellow Baptists had taught me about possessed technology. Which for me, sadly, is and was precisely nothing.
So, like a bad western, it is just me and Mr. Possessed IBM – – staring each other down and ready to draw our guns. Reality check. What guns? I really hope he blinks first.

10:35 p.m.

Well, after nearly writing for an hour – – I’ve at least found my direction. What direction you ask? Directly down the page. Time for a break. My eyes hurt.

10:40 p.m.

Either I’m hearing things or there are rats the size of Satan in my attic. And for the record, she’s the size of a ten month old baby – a human baby. I think it’s that darn movie getting to me. Rats don’t get that big, do they?

10:41 p.m.

I wish my Mommy was here.

10:42 p.m.

Mommy?

11:15 p.m.

I don’t want to walk back down my hallway to my computer room. The living room is a comfortable place to be. I need to finish my homework though. And even though I think homework is seriously overrated, I really don’t want to come face to face with those angry homework gods again. Basically, they are teachers, but since my future is being placed in their hands, they are gods to me. I think it is a fair title. They can strike you down or let you pass through the golden gates at graduation if they want you to, but it is solely at their discretion since grades are arbitrary. I hope I am not offending “Mr. High and Mighty” again. I apologize if I am.

11:20 p.m.

Where is Satan?

11:21 p.m.

No, really, where is Satan? No, not Hell. The other Satan. Morgan.

11:23 p.m

THE HORROR! THE HORROR!
“You mangy, cat!” I screamed. “Get off my computer! Now!”
She had never in her kitty life been obedient. So, I guess there is no better time than the present. I was confused, scared as she raised up like a dirty, black cloud. Her entire body appeared as though it had engulfed my computer. And then I saw her back left paw. It was fractions of millimeters away from pushing the ever so crucial power button.
The rest of the scene unfolded in the slowest, most torturing, slow motion event ever caught on film . . . except I didn’t have a camera. She looked like she was smiling again and her black coat was standing on end. I had a Halloween cat on my hands. She really was a poster demon . . . err . . . cat for Halloween.
Oh God! The horror!
And then, faster than a lightening bolt, even though I am not quite sure how fast one of those are, I saw a dark streak zoom past me and watched as my pretty lit up computer screen flashed completely black. Egads!

11:25 p.m.

Oh, please tell me I saved it. Tell me Mr. IBM auto saved it. Most computers naturally save every ten minutes or so, but my computer is far from natural. It’s never been normal.

11:26 p.m.

Now loading windows.

11:27 p.m.

Come on already.
11:28 p.m

A file did not close properly. Do you wish to open it as it was last saved?
God, yes!

11:29 p.m.

Before me was a pure, white screen. No black letters. No apologies from Satan or Mr. IBM. Nothing. Just pure white snow.

11:31 p.m.

You’ve got to be kidding me.
Satan inched back into the room again. She appeared normal, but I knew it was just an act.

11:32 p.m.

You’ve really got to be kidding me.
Satan jumped up into my lap – – purring.

11:33 p.m.

This can’t be happening to me.
And then – – POOF!
My words flashed back on the screen as if they had never gone . . . oh, but I knew otherwise. They had been gone . . . hadn’t they? Mr. IBM had just been frozen, right? I didn’t care.
“HALLELUJAH!” I screamed.
Satan, disgusted that Mr. IBM had decided to spare me in my moment of agony, ravaged a remarkably large portion of my bandaged hand with her chainsaw like teeth and then took off like a flying saucer. I was too happy to cry.

11:59 p.m.

Evil let me win today, but I know tomorrow will bring a new challenge. Satan and Mr. IBM always keep me on my toes.

Categories: Creative Writing
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Aug
05
2006

Addicted to Pollen

bya Gabrielle at 2:40 AM

I tried to conduct an interview with the bee you can find in the picture to your left, but all I could hear or make out was, “Pollen. Pollen. Pollen. Got to get more pollen.” Over and over that is what I heard. He repeated this as he flew from one blossom to another sometimes landing on blossoms he had already been to. “Pollen! Pollen! Pollen! Where is the pollen?!” He would buzz. I tried to interrupt him to tell him which blossoms where the most profitable, but he wouldn’t listen. He was head strong and distracted. I was the last thing he wanted to pay any attention to. When I got my camera close enough to him to snap his picture, he buzzed over and landed on my lens. “Pollen. Pollen. Pollen. Are you pollen?” He buzzed. “No,” I said. “I am not pollen.” And then he buzzed away and landed on another blossom. I snapped his picture, and went on with my day.

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Jul
22
2006

Beam Me Up To Sector B

bya Gabrielle at 6:30 AM

Of all the places I thought I would meet the Holy One of Sector B, I would have never guessed it would have been on a secluded park bench in the middle of a swamp, but I did.

I’ll give you the rundown, but you’ll more than likely never believe me. No one ever believes someone who has met or seen the Holy One of Sector B, because it doesn’t just happen everyday, you know. He doesn’t just bless everyone with his presence. He just visits the crazy people who are sane enough to tell the people who will believe only that the person telling them is certifiably insane. At least, that is what he told me . . .

So, there I was, out looking for strange and unusual creatures with an itch to talk. For hours it only seemed the mosquitoes had anything to say. All I could get out of them was some some annoying “buzz buzz buzz”, which I could only make out as profanity against human kind. I’ll spare you their insults for another day. I’ll just say it had a lot to do with a product called Off and lots of hand slapping. I would have laughed at them, but I didn’t want to get eaten alive. And they would have. Oh, they would.

As the sun started to drift further back to Earth, I took a seat on a nice wooden bench, afraid that my day in the swamp had been wasted. I thought it might be a good time to head back because my beloved baseball team would be coming on shortly. But then I thought about it and said to myself, “They are 12.5 games back. It would take a miracle for them to win even the wildcard. The Holy One of Sector B(Baseball) would seriously have to pull some strings. But since that isn’t going to happen, there isn’t any reason to rush home.”

As my synapses finished shooting that thought around my head, there was this wooph sound behind me. It sounded like a big squirrel had fallen from a tree branch as he jumped from one to another. You know that sound, I’m sure. It’s a funny sound. But since I hadn’t seen a squirrel all the live long day, I didn’t think it was a squirrel that had landed behind me. Curious as to what it was, I turned my head slowly to see.

Coming from the bushes, and brushing off some muck, leaves, and the remains of a tree frog on his right sleeve, the Holy One of Sector B came walking toward me.

“Damn, you killed the only living creature that would have talked to me within a 3.4 mile radius. Thanks.”

The Holy One of Sector B looked down and plucked the remains of the tree frog off his right sleeve and held it up before his spectacles and said, “I was aiming for the bench, but a mosquito flew in my eye and . . .”

“I totally understand,” I said, totally interrupting him.

“What? You fly too?”

“No. I rode on a motorcycle without a helmet once. I cleaned out mosquito guts from my teeth for a whole week.”

“Ick.”

“Yeah, that is what I kept saying.”

There was silence for a bit. I was trying to get the mosquito thought out of my mind, while the Holy One of Sector B tried to make himself look more Holy. After getting most of the swamp off his clean white uniform, he came and sat beside me.

“So, yeah, you’re right about one thing. Your team is most definitely going to need a miracle if they hope to see any kind of post season.”

“You think so?”

“Oh, I know so. But, I’ve got some good news.”

“Really? Did you save 15% on you car insurance today?”

The Holy One of Sector B looked at me really annoyed. “That was really lame.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t help it. . . but you really have good news?”

“Yes, Maniac, I do.” He paused for a moment, then said very seriously, “I deal in miracles.”

“Like the Gunslinger delt in lead?”

“Your testing my patience, Maniac. Do you wish to hear my Miracle Proposal?”

“You sure know how to make a bride blush, Holy One of Sector B.”

“MANIAC!!!!”

Ok. Ok. Ok. I’ll be good. It must be this swamp heat getting to me. Either that or I am in the early stages of Malaria.”

When I got the stare of death and total destruction, I knew it was time to shut up.

“Here is the deal, Maniac. I was on my way to see me some goat haters up north about a miracle that they wanted, but when I heard you mumbling to yourself about how your faith in your team was going kapoot, I decided that the goat haters had hated this long – they could hate a little longer.”

” . . .”

“What, nothing to say?”

“Decided to listen.”

“Impressive. Seems your type can learn.”

“Hey!!”

I spoke too soon, it seems. But getting down to business, Maniac. Here is the deal. Your team needs some luck, a miracle. Well, I will give them that. In a form of a cake.”

“A cake?”

“Ask questions later. Listen, Maniac, or I’ll give the cake to your other favorite team. I believe the wear pin stripes.” And I didn’t mumble another word until the Holy One of Sector B left. “The cake will give them courage, endurance, faith in themselves, and most likely the shits, but they’ll get better, at least their percentage of winnings that is. And hopefully, with any luck, I put the ingredients in right, and they’ll make it to the playoffs, no problem. But don’t be asking for a World Series now. I don’t bake cakes that big.” He swatted at a mosquito that was sucking his Holy blood, and I could of sworn I heard about a billion angry “buzzs”, but I kept my mouth shut for fear of screwing up the entire rest of the season.

He said a few more things to me. Nothing all that important, all except for some pretty cool trades that were going to take place at the last possible second and how he had made some pretty crazy miracles in the ninth inning and some other crazy situations for some other teams. I had to bite my tongue pretty hard a few times there.

And that was how it happened. Now I just sit and wait and hope the right people eat that cake. And that Mr. High and Holy got all the ingredients right and that they were measured correctly.

But as you all know I could never let an interview go without a few pictures. The latter is my favorite. For obvious reasons.

And in closing, all I have to say is, ” GO BRAVES!”

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Jul
13
2006

Berry Berrry Land

bya Gabrielle at 5:56 PM

You won’t find Berry Berry Land on any map. At least I haven’t. And no one that you talk to will be able to point you in the right direction. At least no one I talked to did. But it does exist. Yeppers. And I know because I have taken pictures of it. The rarest pictures indeed. How did I find it you ask? And how do you get there? Which of the cardinal directions do you take?? Those are the same questions I keep asking myself. And the answers? I simply just cannot remember them. Why?? Why, Maniac can you not remember?!? I blame it on the Berry Wine that I could not stop drinking. It was just that damn good.

But the good news is that my trip was not in vain. I do have pictures to share that prove that I indeed was there. Even now, as I look at these pictures, I think that it might be possible that there is a lingering bit of berries on my taste buds. Or it could be that I am merely insane. But until I have proof . . . that Berry Berry Land was nothing but a sick joke my drunk inner child played on me – I will continue to believe that the beautiful land of Berry Berry Land exists!! I do believe in Berries. I do!! I do!!

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