Saddlebrook Village

A cold breeze blows through the hallway
of an apartment complex soon to be abandoned
for another location equally worthy of the memories
that were made in the last year, memories
both ugly and beautiful, many, yet few
in the grand timeline that frames our lifetime,
some insignificant looking back,
others that form the newest outer-layer
of my existence,
fragile, yet strengthening,
fragments slowly forming a whole,
the man I always knew myself to be
is slowly coming into focus
when I look at myself in the mirror,
once a sad, lonely man who
struggled by the day
has broken into ash
for the chance to be born again
as a better man,
the first shoot
of a majestic redwood emerges
from the ashes of a lesser tree,
its peak is unknown, probably farther
than the eyes can see,
yet its highest branch
is only a green nub today,
it will grow higher than anyone
could dare to dream of,
and it happens by the day.

Future Focus

The future is a gray amorphous blob waiting to be given a form.
Our past decisions form the core if we wish them to,
for its our conscious decisions that determine its shape and color.

Should we allow our past to make our decisions for the future,
I believe that's how we stumble along our journey,
time and time again.
Instead, let us take the past as a roadmap for the future,
marking the potholes and shortcuts.
The past exists behind us for a reason,
that reason being that it has taught us lessons
time and time again;
Mistakes of the past should never haunt us,
because they are behind us and cannot catch up to the present
as long as we keep a strong, steady momentum
towards tomorrow.

What our future becomes is entirely up to you and I.
The present is that canvas, and the past is the failed works
of yesterday.
Make this next piece your masterpiece
if only to make an even greater expression tomorrow.
The future is upon you, it is upon me.
Don't make the same mistakes today
that you made yesterday.
Learn from the past, live in the present, strive for the future
of yourself and the world as a whole.

The Valkyrie and the Jester

There were three on the floor, and two in the back,
for the workers of Starbucks, the time between Thanksgiving and Christmas was like a break from the busiest times of the year.
Kasey, the best if the best of the Baristas, didn't bother taking that break, for she knew what loomed just over the horizon.
With a fire in a soul and a sip of caramel brulee frapuccino snaking its way through her intestines, she worked as hard as she had on that blackest of Fridays, regardless of it being a slow, Wednesday afternoon.

Armed with a hair tie, her green apron, and the fighting spirit of a Valkyrie queen, her very calling up drink orders motivated a full-on caffeinated conquest.
The sheer number of tipped dollar bills could very well build her a castle that reaches from one coast of Florida to the next.

Her fellow-in-espresso, Yoandy the Vargas, helps to chew the fat and re-energize the spirits of all around him, each and everyday... except on sick days, where he practices his craft of mischief to the trees in his back yard.
His verbal antics both shock and astonish, delivering a Shoryuken of service to both his workers and the customers alike.

He brushes the light fixture with his barista visor, and sets off fire alarms with his white-hot wit, and when paired with his partner, the Nordic Destroyer of non-fat lattes, the day is safe from the onslaught of snappy snowbirds.

Let me tell you a tale of one such exploit;
Once upon a time... about two or three weeks ago, when the Spirit of Black Friday was making his yearly rounds, stirring up chaos in every corner of this proud country, it made a personal visit to this simple, yet lavish coffee shop in the heart of Naples, Florida. When push came to shove, and aggravated shopper after aggravated shopper filled that small space in a matter of minutes, demanding the most complicated and sugary of beverages be made when and where they wanted, the Tooth and the Nail went to work, both of them refusing to succumb to the ensuing madness that particular day brought with it when it rose out of hell's fiery chasm.

It was at this time the most locally famous of duos, Kasey the Valkyrie and Yoandy the Jester, sprung into action, leaving no ounce of milk unsteamed and no cranberry bliss bar unserved.
Low-fat, low sugar cardboard frapuccinos were served by the trayful to appease the tastebuds deadened from months of fad-dieting and artificial sweeteners alike.
All the while, the master wordsmith Yoandy served his share of drinks and jokes to keep the air fresh from the imported air of the Northeast.

The other baristas stood not a chance to be noticed, as it was these two valiant and unshakable souls that stole the spotlight on that night of darkened flight.
Venits were filled, and gift cards were depleted, all in the name of fueling caffeinated rage to be projected on the hapless storeworkers caught up in the maelstrom of Black Friday's spite.
Regardless of the fight nobody believed they would win, the dynamic duo took orders through the earliest hours of the day without breaking away from the forces that would see them sway.
The night drug on, and many of the baristas lost to Black Friday, but when the first light of dawn rose over Golden Gate Parkway and Goodlette Frank Rd, Black Friday was driven away from the masses of civilians, who were left fawning proudly over their newest consumer-goods, and dreamily returned to their vehicles, gift receipts in-hand.

Likewise, when the time came for the heroes of the night to part ways,
The Jester awarded the Valkyrie with a hug and words of fellowship,
departing the scene with a head full of pride at the victory the night left behind.
As for the Valkyrie, she knew the war over Black Friday was far from over,
and she drove her Scion xB to the gates of Valhalla for a short break of recuperation.

Even If You Could, Chapter 1

It was dusk already, the fighting from the night before continued on, lingering like the dust spit up from the hours of gun fighting. It wasn't just the fighting from that last night, either. Night after night for the last six days they battled one another, all of it over a disagreement from a hundred years ago that grew like a cancer until there wasn't enough room for more than one tumor. Regardless of how it came to be, it had become the full-scale war that it was on that day, and there were bullets to be fired, curses to be shot, and blood to be spilled.

---

"Sarge, we can take them out if we utilize our remaining mortars to take out multiple enemy units all at once." Hopkins' eyes remained focused on his commander, he tried keeping a half-smirk on his face, but his hope kept running dry, and his expression failed him. Sergeant Petronus wasting as little precious time as he could spat to his Specialist, "That's your plan? All of our mortars are being shot at those mother fuckers to keep them from encircling us. If we could Somehow get God to grant us the time we needed, we'd be defenseless."

Hopkins inched towards the ledge overlooking a valley of despair, but only for a moment. His will overpowered him and he stepped away. "Sergeant, with all due respect, we have to do something or we're going to run out of ammunition. Gather Cavan, Reinheil, and Deffer and instruct them to order or forces to focus their fire to keep the enemy back at all costs while we gather the mortars. We'll fire into the larger clusters of enemy troops and reduce their numbers. Once that's accomplished we'll use the opportunity to launch an offensive and gain a foothold on them."

Sergeant Petronus turned to look at Hopkins from his seated position. "You are not the commanding officer, Specialist Hopkins," emphasis was placed on his rank, "your plan has such a high probability of failure that we have a better chance of surviving by continuing as we are. We Will hold them off until their ammunition runs low. We will strike then."

Specialist Hopkins knew there was nothing more he could do. He questioned why he enlisted in the army to begin with when he entered this "plane of death," the proud battlefield that lay around him on all sides. He wanted the easy way out of life. He didn't want to go to college, but he wanted to make something of himself at the same time. He thought the military would be his ticket to life, but now it threatened to end everything. Now he stood in place, unable to confront his officer further, he felt the blood of his brothers in the soil beneath him, and they wanted him to join them. He refused such temptations, his will to live had overcome any of his fear at that moment, he knew that if he didn't do everything he could to defeat the enemy, he faced certain death. Sergeant Petronus dismissed Hopkins, who saluted his commanding officer and joined Reinheil and Alpha company.

M-16 at his waist, Hopkins fell in line next to Sergeant Reinheil and double-checked his weapon. "You're back already. It didn't go over as we'd hoped, did it?" Hopkins answered Sergeant Reinheil by jumping above the trenches and firing in quick bursts. Reinheil did the same, taking extreme care to conserve his ammunition.

The whole of Alpha company spoke not a word for four hours. The monotony of exchanging fire with their enemies was their only expression, and the company as a whole took part in it. The fires of hell tore at their bodies, while their minds had remained safe havens... for a while.

As the battle dragged on, the number of casualties grew, and the black hand of despair caught up to the lesser soldiers and dragged their hearts into the bottomless valley of despair. For soldiers like Hopkins and Reinheil, the hand was simply too slow to catch up to them. For the fallen soldiers, their weapons came to embody their souls, so they could continue the fight from beyond the grave, and as each clip ran empty for the soldiers still fighting, they turned to their fallen brothers for support.

Then the mortars came.

The first one took out just one soldier, but the ones following were fired with climbing accuracy, and became a real threat. Reinheil hit Hopkins in the chest with the butt of his gun, "look over there," he instructed, pointing to the company to Hopkins' rear.

What he saw was unbelievable.

Concentrated mortars to high-density areas, the very strategy he suggested to Sergeant Petronus. Hopkins turned back to Reinheil, "I can't believe this shit," Hopkins fired at a mortar hanging in the air, but couldn't take it out in time. Luckily, it wasn't a good shot and nobody was injured. Hopkins continued firing as he had, simply trying to take out as many soldiers that he could. He was fully aware that consuming all of his ammunition is what the enemy wanted him to do, but he would much rather fight back and face a probable death than a certain one. Reinheil, however, saw it differently. He had tried yelling at Hopkins for him to stand down, but it was to little effect. In fact, Hopkins was the only soldier from Alpha Company still firing.

Black Friday Brawlers

Behind a column of people she stood,
knuckles bleached from gripping her shopping cart,
a nervous bead of sweat formed on her brow;
Cecille was a patient woman, a devout Christian, a caring mother.
When her son told Santa he wanted Modern Warfare 3,
all that she knew of the subject was that she would have it.

As quickly as he could,
He lept between women, children, and even old farts,
Their anger for him meant nothing, for he could almost see it now.
Brent was a gamer, one of rare caliber; in his life he had met not another.
Since it was first announced, he thought not of another; Modern Warfare 3,
It was Black Friday today, and on this day he would have it.

They would have never met, had fate done as it should,
but another force was at work, practicing his art,
The Spirit of Black Friday was running amok, he was having a cow.
Dancing and weaving a quilt of hate, it the consumers that he sought to smother.
He watched and he waited, and found the thread to bind all together, Modern Warfare 3
There was a day to be won, and by devil, he would have it.


There was yet another that day, his name was Cassius Wood,
he was the manager, but tonight, he was a dart,
He'd seen it all before, but up until now,
there wasn't a sight he hadn't seen. Well, tonight was like no other,
She had struck with her right, while her left clutched none other than Modern Warfare 3,
The kid hit her back, yelling, "I had it first, you decrepit old bitch!"

That's when he stepped in, and did what he could,
Cecille's cousin Jacob jumped in to break them apart.
Surprised at who stepped in, she decided to back down,
Brent, too ceased, figuring he was her brother,
Then she did the unexpected and fled, fleeing with Modern Warfare 3!
Brent took off after her, knowing that one way or another, he would have it.

And when security stopped her, along with Mr. Wood,
she was taken off to jail, Black Friday had did his part.
and if you ask of yourself, every now and again, "what's wrong with this town?"
remember the Black Friday is there, seeking to smother,
there's always an X-Factor, and when it's Modern Warfare 3,
all hell will break loose, you should have reserved it.

X and Vile

It stood proud and untouched, a single flower that had somehow escaped the flames of war until now. Those flames consumed the proud and humble alike, using those it consumed as fuel to spread itself to every corner of the earth it could find. A battle was taking place, one of many. Not the first, certainly not the last; it was an important one, however, and it's result set in motion a rivalry that would echo through the records of conflict for years to come.

"Vile," spoke X, a defiant fire in the reploid's eyes reflected throughout his resilient stance, "Are you fighting because you believe we're better than the humans who created us, or are you fighting for Sigma's cause?" X threw his words into a black hole, for the only other soul on that deserted stretch of highway seemed immune to X's words. The only thing X could do was wait for the man standing in his way, his enemy, to act.

---

There he stood in his former ally's path, an obstacle refusing subtlety, a man neither good nor evil. His name was Vile, a queller of fires by trade, just a somebody ordered to keep the peace from radical elements, but unlike his former comrade, Vile placed his own agendas before his orders. Months of insubordination and ruthless tactics on the battlefield earned him the nickname 'Vile' from within the Maverick Hunters, a name he was quite fond of. On the eve of his decommissioning from the hunters' ranks, he was given the opportunity to lead a new life by his commander and future leader of an emerging world order; Sigma, a man, a reploid like Vile and X, that believed in the superiority of the mechanical reploids over their human creators. Sigma instigated a rebellion from within the Maverick Hunters that quickly escalated into a full-scale war, rebellious reploids, Mavericks, battled the remnants of the Maverick Hunters, whose numbers fell by the day.

Vile, a reploid aligned with Sigma, and X, a reploid sworn to defend the helpless, human and machine alike, met once more in the midst of battle. The sword greeted the shield, Vile welcomed X, eager to quench his appetite of flames. He walked towards X, who readied his buster gun. Vile readied nothing, his undaunted march to where X stood didn't falter in the least; his gaze never straying from X's. Vile was closing the distance between him and X, who held his buster up to Vile's face. "Not one more step, Vile." He stopped walking, his gaze remained focused on X, "To answer your question, X, I follow no one."
"Then why, Vile? Why are you doing this? How many people have you killed so far?"

A chilling wind materialized from what could have been Vile himself, who stood there motionless, allowing the tension to build between like a bonfire between them before striking at the critical moment. "What reason do you have to defend those arrogant humans. All they've ever done for us reploids since we were created is belittle us, make us more like them. It's simply maddening living life as a human's, when we're capable of so much more." Vile, had he been any less of a man, would have given X the fight of his life at this point to prove his former ally wrong, but something in him had changed. Ever since Sigma granted him freedom that day, Vile had changed. No longer was the the reckless warmonger that spread war-fire with every step, he became cold, calculating, choosing rather to break his opponent's fighting spirit, than to crush his body, but he would make an exception if the time called for it.

"They say we're equal, they give us similar rights, but when it's a reploid committing a crime instead of a human, we're all held accountable. It was a "programming error" that all reploids Must possess," Vile paused to collect himself, "they say we're all broken, imperfect machines... They speak of us like we're monsters, X, but we're exactly the same as they are." X stood, stunned, "that's what Sigma wants to prove." The wind picked up as it swirled around the battlefield. X, struck by Vile's words like a punch to the chest, took no time in retaliating. "Vile, you and Sigma are wrong. As far as I'm concerned, you're both monsters, along with every reploid following along in his rebellion." Vile's failure to say anything back expressed his lack of impression through his opponent's words. "As Reploids, we're equal to humans in terms of our souls. We think, feel, and hurt exactly as they do." X paused, "but we're not the same as humans, that's why they fear us. Our bodies are capable of far more than theirs, you should know that more than anyone, Vile." He remained motionless. "As reploids, we have an obligation to show them we're capable of the same self-control they are. Only when we keep our power in check can we say we're equal to humans." Vile looked up from his cold posture, and the wind died down to a breeze.

X lowered his buster, and similarly loosened his stance, but only slightly. "I know what you're thinking, X. You want me to say that humans don't have the self-control you speak of so you can say that neither do I." Vile rose back into his posture and looked X straight in the eyes, "Sigma fears what you will become as the fighting drags on, he's offered to pay me handsomely for your head," X suddenly became serious again and lept backwards and aimed his buster at Vile, who just stood there and simply adjusted the angle of his neck to look at X before continuing, "but I don't intend to deliver." X aimed his buster at the open slots in Vile's venom-purple helmet, "what are you gonna to then?" X's open eye reflected a ray of sunlight as he looked at Vile down the barrell of his buster. "I want you to join me, X. You won't join Sigma, I know that much already, but what if I told you that once all of this business with Sigma's war settles down, there will be untold of opportunity for reploids like you and I."

X fired his buster gun, Vile snapped his neck to the left and dodged it by mere centimeters. "I expected that much from you," Vile scoffed, "what if I told you you could help countless numbers of people under Sigma's rule? You could be a hero, X. Let's face it, Sigma's going to win this thing anyways, why not be a savior to the people left afterwards? You and I could live a life of luxury, all we would have to do is take out the few stray mavericks keeping these people down, and when Sigma comes to put an end to us himself..." Vile's clenched fist tightened, "we'll crush him."

X took only a moment to think of the possibility. Strategically, the plan would allow for Sigma's forces to be whittled away little by little, and when he's slipped into a moment of arrogance, he would join forces with Vile and take him out. The plan was perfect... almost. "Vile, what of the humans and good reploids? If we run away now, many will be killed by Sigma. I couldn't bear that responsibility, knowing I could have saved them." X raised his buster once again, aiming at Vile's chest. Vile began his dreadful march again. "Don't be a fool, X. If you fight now, you're going to die and then nobody can save them. How does your conscience feel about that one?" Vile's voice carried with it a wisp of anger. "Humans and reploids will reproduce after Sigma dies and his regime crumbles. Facing Sigma now in the prime of his fury will only spell death to not only you, but hope as well." X was struck by Vile's words, his stance broke, his buster fell. "This plan gives the good people of the world the best chance of survival. I would make sure the plan succeeds because there's something in it for me as well, if you've forgotten so quickly." Vile stood proud in front of X, whose resolve was quickly failing. "Join me X, give these people a CHANCE to SURVIVE!" Vile extended his hand to X. "Do it for them, X." X looked up to Vile, then to his hand, and without speaking a word, started towards Vile's outstretched hand with his own. As he took X's hand in his own, Vile began to shake with laughter as he savored the moment. "Good choice, X. You are truly an intelligent man.

Before his victory could be celebrated, Vile let go of X and jumped away from where he stood. A blue mass of energy approached quickly, exploding at it struck the ground where Vile was once standing. "No, not now!" Vile faced the direction the energy shot came from and readied his shoulder cannon. "Where are you?" Vile scanned the area in front of him and found nothing. X looked around himself, wondering where the blast came from. The sound of somebody landing on the road behind them caught Vile's attention. "I've got you, Zero!" Vile turned around, but found nothing. X shuddered upon hearing Zero's name. "Zero? Commander of the 0 squad?" X caught a glimpse of a shadow covering Vile and looked up to find what he had dreaded at that moment. Zero, the second-highest ranking Maverick Hunter had arrived in the midst of their battle, but for what reason? The possibilities rushed through X's head, meanwhile, Zero landed perfectly behind Vile and struck Vile in the back with his own buster. "You're trying to sway my men, Vile?"

Vile's head snapped to the side to look at the man with a gun held to his back. "Z, Zero. You misunderstand, I was simply explaining to X how we could work together to bring Sigma down. In fact, if you let me repeat it to you, you might think it's a pretty good..." Vile was cut short as Zero pressed into his back, "Shut up and die, Vile." Reacting as lightning, Vile ducked to the right to escape, but Zero was too quick. Zero fired his buster, but it didn't strike Vile as he intended, he severed Vile's right arm at the shoulder, the remainder stumbling across the highway. "Dammit, Zero. You're going to pay for this with your life." Vile began stumbling towards the edge of the highway, his left arm covering the recently freed-space that was once his shoulder, sparks flying wildly. "That really smarts, Zero. I'll be sure to take your whole body with me the next time I see you." Vile stood dangerously close to the edge of the road and the seventy-foot drop on the other side of the barricade. He turned to X and nearly fell over the edge in the process. "We'll meet each other again, X. Count on it being soon." Vile removed his left arm from his damaged area and gripped the barricade behind him. Struggling to balance, he stood up straight and looked down at the pair of Maverick Hunters, "Farewell, for now." Vile lept backwards off the barricade and his eyes slipped behind the obstruction.

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Liberation: Chapter 3

The chill of the wind in the slash pines marked the season, November had begun to build a forward momentum and was trying its best to let everything from the migrating birds to the busier-than-normal residents of Kaylant, Florida breathe its energy. In this modest Florida city of 26,000, second jobs are commonplace, even among professionals, and unless you bring in six figures, your weekend wasn't spent at the beach, but at the local BP working a double. This Thursday afternoon heralded the beginning of a three-day weekend, and a spell of silence indented that vital first sentence of this particular working gear's weekend sabbatical.

"Uh..."
Dan stood in a trance, he had to make a careful choice. Brad was a friend, he wouldn't want to make a fool decision. Even if he did, it wouldn't make a big difference, but it would probably matter in some small, perhaps inconsequential way. But he used to do this too, he remembers what it was like. They were all so similar, yet the difference lies in subtlety. Which one? Which one?

"Which one, sir?" Inquired a man roughly eye-level with Dan. He was older, but his hardened gaze told Dan he'd been doing this for a very long time. Pulling himself together, Dan focused on the task at hand, put all of his energy into making the best decision not only for himself, but for his friend too. His mind flew through a cloud of possibility, breaking past all of the barriers, approaching the pinnacle of mentality where the truth waited for him to arrive. Closer, slower, the end was nigh, the train was coming to a stop. Dan peered out of the window, and saw the truth waiting for him like a child with a big red balloon. His mouth wet, his tongue extended, and he spoke...

"That one, above the grey and gold one." A nod accented the statement. "The 27s?" Inquired the clerk. Daniel looked at the package with a limited intensity, "uh huh." The clerk took a package of cigarettes from the rack and turned around, scanning the UPC. "$6.80, will that be cash or credit?" The clerk's eyes deflected from the computer screen to his customer, who pulled a twenty-dollar bill out of his pocket.
"Cash," Daniel's word coincided with the moment his middle and forefinger pinned the note to the counter top, he slid it to the clerk and grabbed his cigarettes. The clerk gave him his change and gestured kindly as left the convenience store. "Come again."

Outside, Dan stepped to the side of the door and examined the cigarettes. He unwrapped the cellophane and opened the top of the pack. He placed his thumb on the filter of a cigarette and pulled it upwards, but he stopped himself from taking the plunge. Pushing it back into the pack, Dan reminded himself that he gave that up. Cocking his head upwards, he quickly scanned the parking lot and walked around to the side of the convenience store to Brad's car. Dan was met with a flash of sunlight as he rounded the corner and walked around the back of the silver Outlook and homed in on passenger seat door.

Dan climbed in through the door and held the cigarettes up to his friend, "Here's your payment for coming to get me," Dan said in a contrived tone. Smiling a boyish grin Brad removed them from Dan's grasp with a slow, right hook-motion, "you've really quit haven't you?" Brad said to Dan, referencing the broken seal of cellophane and full pack of cigarettes. Dan looked over to his friend, "I've been keeping it that way, it's never been easy, you know." Brad nodded in compassion while Dan fastened his seat belt. Brad lit his cigarette with the car lighter, and took the first puff, "that's good, I'm happy to hear you're sticking with it," Brad stated as smoke rolled out of his nose and mouth. "Did you have enough in that joke-of-a-bank-account of yours?" Brad said as he chuckled to himself. Dan replied, self-assuredly, "Sure did." Dan reached for the cash in his pocket. "Once I get old Betty out of jail we're going out for a night on the town." A slowly-intensifying smile crept across Brad's face and he chimed in, "Old Betty huh? You have a date with another senior citizen? And she's a convict?" Dan sat there for a second before smirking and facing the window. "First of all, she wasn't over 55, second, you know I'm talking about my car, and third, it was an interview, not a date." Brad decided to muse himself a little, "all I'm saying is that if an attractive, recently-divorced editor of a nationally-recognized publication wanted to interview me at a four-star restaurant that's more than well-known for their champagne, age wouldn't make a difference at this point. Hell, we're old men practically." Dan rubbed his chin to hide a smile, "Age is a state of mind, my friend. If you feel you're better suited to prowling the nursing home, I've got your back," Dan responded without missing a beat. Brad sounded off with an accented "Fuuuck you," before starting the engine of his proud locomotive. He backed around the corner of the convenience store, causing apparent concern for a couple walking just outside the store. The boyfriend started walking toward the SUV shouting something harsh from behind his Oakley knockoffs, but not before Brad threw the car into gear, sporting a one-fingered salute as he drove off the lot.

Half an hour passed and Dan and Brad reached the impound after an extended series of U-turns, illegal rights, failures to signal, and illegal lane changes. They had reached their destination, the words "Kaylant Auto Park" painted in blue over a long banner made from intersecting sheets of plywood signaled the end of their journey. Brad took the right into the impound but stopped in front of the makeshift banner. With cold eyes from behind the shaded glass of his aviators, he did the only thing that could complete his 1980's Top Gun facade, he lit another cigarette and stared down the motionless banner as if it were a sworn enemy. Brad's intensity was broken as a mother with her teenage daughter in a brown suburban blew her horn to his rear. He broke off his stare and drove into the lot.

Brad grimaced at the broken-down vulgarity of the impound, "good move getting cash, I don't think they accept credit or debit." Dan admitted to himself having the same impression of the Kaylant Auto Park, he expected to find a pitbull tied to a fencepost every time he could see around a new corner. Brad pulled his silver beast into a parking spot to the left and put it in park. Dan unbuckled his seat belt and stepped out, walking to the left to reach the stairs leading to the main office. "I'll just wait out here," Brad said matter-of-factly. Dan passed by the driver's side window, looked in, and walked up the stairs. He reached the door and turned door knob only to realize it wouldn't turn. Looking down at it sharply, he jabbed it briskly left and right a few times before it opened, and he walked into the office.

Once inside, Dan noticed the one-hundred-and-eighty degrees of difference from the outside of the office. Painted walls, the average-looking waiting room chairs, the fact there was carpet; had it not been for only a single, half-functioning fluorescent light lighting the office with a dull shade of despair, the inside of the office could almost be considered... normal for this city. His remained focused and walked towards the man sitting at the desk bathing in lifeless illumination. That man, he remained virtually motionless, breathing his necessary breaths, but none more. He stared listlessly at a blank claims form, making no effort to populate it. For all Dan knew, this man could be dead, which would probably be appropriate, given the mood of the office.

Daniel approached the desk, at which moment the mannequin of a man snapped a curve in his neck and looked at Daniel. "Good afternoon sir," this mannequin-man spoke, his bark-black hair, sagging face, grayish-blue eyes, and subdued vocal tone told Daniel that this man was as lifeless as the light that could manage no more than to ward off the darkness that would surely consume him from all sides. Daniel managed to break himself from his current train of thought, "hi," he managed to sputter, "I need to get my car out of here." The man, identified by his name tag as "Tyler" breathed a heavy breath inward as he reached behind him to grab a clipboard hanging on the wall, "was your car towed within the last 24 hours?" Daniel replied with a 'yes' and Tyler flipped over a single page on his clipboard. "What's the tag number?" Daniel shot back, "H-zero-one, eight, V, I" Tyler looked at the page for a second, "Yep, we've got her, that'll be $187.50 from you sir," Tyler muttered in a deadened tone. "Cash or charge?" Daniel reached for the money in his left pocket. "Cash," Daniel pulled out $193 from his pocket, pulled off the three single-dollar bills, and handed them over to Tyler, who opened a drawer, put the cash in, and handed Daniel back a dollar bill and six quarters and shot him a quick look, "I'll be right back." He signed off with a smile and headed to the back room. Checking his cell phone, it was 4:36 and the sun was bright, but it wouldn't be for much longer.

Meanwhile, Bradley sat outside in his car, admiring the dump he was in the midst of, smoking another cigarette, when he noticed a short, stocky, balding man of roughly 40-or-so years and Hispanic or Indian descent walking next to a light-skinned man of average height speaking Spanish. The Spanish man spoke for a while, but then paused and said something seemingly removed from his established rhythm, and the short man's eyes lit up like a fire. He immediately turned to the Spanish man and began yelling up at him in extended bursts, his downwards-flying forearms accented with the trademark tightly-clenched fists of a tiny raging man took the Spanish man by surprise, throwing him on the defensive, taking a step backwards, frightened. Bradley chuckled and smirked at the ordeal, watching amusedly from the car window. The Spanish man paused and looked at Bradley for a second, then slowly back to the short man, who had paused his yelling for the duration of the Spanish man's diverted attention, and then continued with a short lunge and a shout, scaring the Spanish man again, and resumed his yelling. Brad, thoroughly satisfied by this display of aggression, turned to face the building once more while taking another puff of his cigarette to witness Dan emerging from the office as he made his way down the stairs.

Brad looked towards Dan, who had turned to look at the building and resorted to walking backwards to do so, "They found the drugs, didn't they?" Dan whipped his neck towards Brad once in disbelief, then once again in confusion, then it dawned on him that this was his friend's way of joking around. "They found them all right," Dan said indifferently, still looking at the building, putting his arm on Brad's roof. "Funny thing, too, they say that someone, probably a friend, was using my car as a stashing place. They also found a significant amount of dark curly hair on the bags, he said they looked consistent with that of a Jew-fro. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" Brad scratched his head, "What about YOUR car? Isn't it fixed yet?"

Dan briefly recalled the incident from two weeks ago that left his car in the shop. A fruit-vendor was walking between cars during the red light at a busy intersection peddling bananas, when two men began yelling at him from across the street. The man began arguing with them, yelling something back to them whenever they yelled something at him. Even after the light turned green and he drove off Dan saw the fruit man yelling furiously across the street from his rear view window. He turned his attention back to the road ahead of him. Having just gotten off work and being Friday, Dan's first stop was Street Cle@n, a poorly-named dry cleaning business in a plaza on Rusty Pkwy. He stopped, went, turned, and even made an illegal U-turn, but he eventually made it to the dry cleaners often mistaken for a computer repair store.

Dan parked facing the road, squealing his front-left tire as he turned the corner. He popped his trunk, walked into the cleaners, and took his spot in line. Outside, a few children ran around, yelling and screaming as they do, throwing those little firecrackers at each other that snap when they hit something. One kid screamed as he was hit by one on the cheek. Looking to the right, a young blonde girl from the salon two suites down was stood outside. She gave a sort of laugh and watched them run around. Dan turned his attention back to the line in front of him, which had shortened to only two people standing in front of him. Waiting half-patiently, his eyes darted around the suite, reading the little posters detailing garment-cleaning prices and employee safety, observing the yellowed faux-silk wallpaper, he looked at his cell phone for the time, and finally put his hands in his pockets as the guy in front of him moved to the front of line. He watched the young Latina girl running the register as she took the clothes from the man in front of him. He took another look outside to see two kids hiding behind a dumpster while an elderly man walked towards them at a slow pace, the kids seemed to be holding something in their hands, but it didn't matter, Dan took another look over to where the girl had been, but she was gone.

Dan stood facing forward again at the dry cleaners, looking up at the ceiling every so often. He might have been next in line, but the guy in front of him seemed to be taking longer than the two people before him. He looked outside again to find a dump truck approaching from the far end of the plaza, and the two kids hiding behind the dumpster jumped out and both threw a hand full of their firecrackers at the old man who was very much taken by surprise. Some of the firecrackers hit him on the chest and face and snapped audibly. The old man's temper sweltered as the two brats ran off, and he took chase to them as best he could. Walking as if his suspenders held the seat of his pants far too high for comfort, the elderly man hobbled as fast as he could towards the inner walk of the plaza, "you little rascals!" He yelled as he pushed his glasses back on to his face by the bridge and breathed heavily while his right arm ran in opposition to his legs.

As Dan watched the scene, the girl at the register called for him. He stepped forward and put his clothes on the stretch of counter. Pressed, starched, and done by Tuesday at the latest, as usual. "Will that be cash or charge?" He was asked, "charge." He pulled out his card and before she could take it, the sound of two very heavy objects colliding with one another with a loud THUD shook the glass and everybody inside turned around.

Everybody turned to see a garbage truck with a caved-in front end and the dumpster that it struck running away from it's attacker. It arched around towards the plaza before the slope of the concrete threw it on its right-side wheels and it arched away. Dan looked to see where it was going, and he soon saw the dumpster's designated target. "Oh, shit!" Dan immediately dropped his card and wallet and collided with and pushed everybody out of the way as he threw himself with all his might out the front door and into the parking lot. Within an arm's length of the dumpster from Dan, it struck the back of his car and sent it flying out into the middle of the street, while the dumpster exited on the far end of the plaza. Those drivers erring on the side of caution saw the hurdling dumpster and immediately stopped to avoid the collision, while two drivers, apparently braver than the rest, sped up to avoid it. What they didn't notice was the blue sedan slowly stretching across the very three lanes they were driving on. The first car struck the front of Dan's car, sending the back end flying, while the second received the full impact of the rear end of a sedan being thrown into their gunmetal, hemi-powered 4x4.

Dan ran into the middle of the street, where a young boy, no older than 14, climbed out of the 4x4's passenger door, who, being unable to contain his excitement ran around the front of the 4x4 to look at the car they just hit. A second man, somewhere between 35 and 40, got out of the same passenger-side door and looked over at Dan, the man's face screamed of anger control issues, and they didn't look like they were going away on this particular day either.

I ran,
I ran through a field littered with what remained of an ancient, yet powerful machine.
It's use long forgotten, a time never remembered.
The way we are, the people we have become.
What purpose do we serve?
We sweat from victory to sleep afterwards.
Our hearts race for an hour only to stall for an eternity.
We place our faith in what lies above our crowns, and we stand the storms and battle the winds.
When the ground by our feet chips away, exposing the mud between the pebbles, we fall to our knees in disgust, and curse the Earth for our misjudgment, refusing to look at ourselves.
Every day brings with it a battle that cannot be won, cannot be drawn out.
We face one outcome that never changes, and it waits for our slumber to end.
Tomorrow will be today, and has been yesterday for eternity.
When yet another day lies in wait, hope is our fortress, and love is our spear.

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Liberation, Chapter 2

CLUMMP!!!!

The dull, reverberating sound of boot-on-cheap metal bench extracted Daniel from the warm clutches of sleep and brought forth an even warmer greeting with an irate cell-mate.

A mid-afternoon dose of "Wake the fuck up!" met Daniel's ears, his extreme irritation from being woken compelled him to look his assailant in the eyes with a demeaning zeal.

His nemesis for the moment stood in front of him, looking down at him through a mess of greasy hair. "You're in jail now, you do NOT get fancy meals, you do NOT get to drive fancy cars, and you do NOT get to SLEEP!" Daniel started to stand up, but the man put his hand on Daniel's chest and pushed him backwards into the wall, after which Daniel fell back to the bench. Daniel turned his head to look back at the large, hairy man and was greeted with a thick wad of spit. His face tightened with rage in response and he stood up, and grabbing the man by the shoulders, tried shaking him... or something. The man simply let his torso weave back and forth, and allowing his head to sway back and forth in opposition to his torso.

This continued for a good 15 seconds or so before Daniel stopped. With his face tightened and his hands on the man's shoulders, he opened his eyes to look at the immovable lummox in front of him, who took only a moment to laugh in Daniel's face, "heh-heh... hm-hm-hm-hm-hmph... ya-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha...." Daniel stood there, dumbfounded, "shhhitt..." he quipped as he threw his hands in his pocket and walked away to the back corner. Sat back down, Daniel brought one leg up to him and brought it close to, leting out a large but silent sigh, looking up at the concrete ceiling.

Three hours passed and the unmistakable chink... chink... chink... of keys mashing together drew closer to Daniel's cell. An officer stopped in front of the cell, picked out one key from the rest, and placed it in front of the keyhole; both Daniel and the large man looked to the door. "Okay you two, I'm only lettin' one of you two out." The officer held up his free hand and pointed with the index finger to Daniel. "You, come on over here," the officer said as he thrust his finger at Daniel from across the cell. Daniel did as he was instructed, slowly standing up and walking calmly to the cell door, engaging his cellmate in a three second stare-down before turning his head forward and walking out of the cell and following the officer down the sunlit hallway; the burly-sounding words "twat biscuit" reached from behind the cell bars and found him from around the corner.

"Mr. Emerson," the officer started, "you're being released on grounds of insufficient evidence against you. You may collect your belongings and arrange for transportation to escort you from the precinct." Daniel scratched the back of his neck, "what about my car, officer?" He asked in a complacent tone. "Your vehicle has been impounded in the Kaylant Auto Park, the standard fee for vehicles impounded for under twenty-four hours is $187.50 if you were not aware." Daniel's eyes rolled for a brief second before he resumed his slow, uninterrupted march, but everything seemed to catch his attention; chain-link fencing shadows from the windows, the way some of the floor tiles were more yellow than the others... This was the first time he had been inside a cell block. "What's your name, officer?" Had had asked out of nowhere, almost out of impulse. "My name is Officer Hengrin. Everybody around here knows me as Chuck." Daniel shot him a nod in response. "Do you have kids?" A pocket of silence spaced his response, "I do, actually. Two young boys, six and seven." Officer Hengrin's eyes lit up as he spoke. He turned and looked at Daniel over his shoulder, "You?" "Nah, kids aren't my thing. They're cute I guess, but I wouldn't be able to stand the shouting and running around the house." Officer Hengrin, now looking forward, remained doing so. "I get that, I felt the same way at first, but that changes once you get to see them in that delivery room. They're something else entirely, kids." Officer Hengrin couldn't help but smile, but it soon came to and end as they rounded the last corner on the left. "Mr. Emerson," Officer Hengrin began, "in this room you may claim your belongings. A telephone will be provided to you to arrange pickup if you do not possess one yourself, all of that aside, I wish you a good day and I hope to not see you often." Officer Hengrin stood with his back to the corner, straight-faced and official. Daniel walked past him, giving him a silent two-fingered salute and turned the door handle, walking into the claims office.

Daniel scanned the room, finding a rather good-looking, early twenty-something sitting at the desk to his left with curled auburn hair and light skin. "Good afternoon, sir. What's your name?" The young girl beamed her not-so-perfect white teeth and Daniel, who smirked slightly and met her hazel eyes with his own. "My name is Daniel Emerson, you should have a cell phone, a brown leather wallet, and some keys waitin' for me." His speech style mimicked that of the young girl, who replied with a brief, contrived chuckle, "Just one minute, Mr. Emerson." The girl stood up and turned to the cabinets to her rear, while Daniel leaned against the grate of the empty station behind him and crossed his arms, looking to different points across the room as if they were numbered. He heard the sound of high heels on a plastic step-stool, and he faced forward to catch the back of the young girl's black skirt, which quickly turned into the back of a pink blouse, which turned into the back of her head, and then to her face, where she beamed those same not-so-perfect white teeth at him again and set a blue tub down on the desk in front of her and pushed it to over to Daniel. "Here you go, a phone, a wallet, and some keys. Have a great day Mr. Emerson." Her teeth retreated and left two happily-pursed lips in their wake, and Daniel took his belongings, told her "thank you," and turned to the door at his right and entered the main lobby of the Florida Highway Patrol precinct. He reached for his cell phone and began to dial, when a sudden, "hey, no cell phones in the lobby. Take your call outside," hit him from behind. He walked to the double glass doors in front of him without turning around before pressing the send button, the adolescent windmill palms were a welcome sight after his collective six hours in the precinct.

A dial tone sounded in Daniel's ear three times before it ceased and made way for a voice familiar to him. "Hello, Bradley Tzernich speaking." Daniel replied in an unconcerned tone, "good afternoon Brad, you're not gonna believe where you're gonna pick me up from." Bradley responded with, "I'm picking you up from somewhere? What if my car just got stolen and I'm stranded in the middle of a swamp?" Daniel replied coolly, "Who would steal your car in a swamp, Skunk Ape? Why would you be in a swamp in the first place? Are you dropping off a body or something?" Bradley replied in a composed manner, "not quite... kind of... what's it to you?" "I need to know because you need to come pick me up from the Florida Highway Patrol precinct off of the Sea Oak exit. If you're doing something illegal, they're gonna know, karma you know?" "Karma my ass, karma's for fourteen year-olds with exceptionally poor eating habits." "Are you gonna pick me up or not? I need you to take me to the impound lot." "Sure, why not. You're in luck I don't have any clients scheduled right now or I'd come down there just to leave you on the side of the road." "Whatever, your clients would tag along with a four-pack of tallboys just to sit and gawk." Brad took a moment to reply, "damn, you got me. I'll be there in thirty." Having suffered defeat, Bradley hung up his phone, Daniel in turn, did the same and sat down on the curb.

Twenty-seven minutes later, a silver 2009 Saturn Outlook turned sharply and smoothly into the drive-around in front of the Florida Highway Patrol precinct and the passenger-side window rolled down. "Hey man, what's up?" Daniel stood up, walked over, and climbed into his friend's car, closing the door and sticking his arm out the open window. Bradley looked over at Daniel through his pitch-black aviator sunglasses. "What'd you do? Did you finally snap and take a school bus hostage?" He put the car into neutral to rev the engine before taking off. "Sure did. Those little bastards didn't know what was coming." As soon as he was out of the precinct's parking lot, Bradley kicked his Outlook from 20 to 60 in five seconds flat, Daniel was taken aback. "What the hell man, you're in front of the Florida Highway Patrol precinct." Bradley looked over at Daniel, those fat lards aren't gonna do anything, it's not like they have an active patrol car in the lot itself." Daniel forgot about it quickly and lowered the back of the passenger seat. "I hope you don't mind, a large, angry man thought I was a CEO or something and wouldn't let me get any sleep," Daniel said as he shut his eyes lightly and let the sounds of the road place him under their lethargic spell.

Simple Poem

Four lines outline the boundaries,
and four lines determine the height.
There are two doors available to me;
one leading to hope, and the other to the bathroom.

I choose neither of these,
for I find comfort within my bounds.
These things, those familiar sights
Provide me with comfort.

Four walls that surround,
One door that can lead me away from here,
and a comfortable bed to lay upon
when I grow tired.

I am here for the night,
so leave me be.
I'll be fine in the morning,
so worry not.

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Long-Shot Lounge

This place I found was a long-shot if I'd ever heard of one. After taking the highway thirty miles out of Tuscon and driving twenty minutes town a little dirt road where your only enemies are cow piles and horseflies, a little spot of light rises out of the ground and offers itself to you. It told me a few things, too, "come on in, our beer is the coldest in town," and "fifty cent wings all night long!" I said to myself, "you're only tellin' yourself things you wanna hear," and I slapped myself awake to focus on what was really in front of me, and what I found was not at all what I expected.

Out in the middle of nowhere there was a little bar with bikes lined up out front underneath a large neon sign that read "Jan'saloon." It was easy enough to tell what the owner was like; he was a Central European immigrant who's sense of humor was all but dead in this country, but I didn't let that stop me. I parked my car and walked inside, the two front doors were painted with a classic saloon-door effigy.

Once inside, I was taken aback by how remarkably similar it was to every other redneck bar I'd been to in the last eight years. Darts, pool tables, college kids; it was all the same, regardless, I walked up to the bar and ordered a drink. "Thank you," I tipped the bartender, because I expected to drink only one... maybe two before I split. I looked at the happy people, dissecting what made it possible, but not understanding, this looks like any other bar I've stumbled into before.



I sat there for a total of fourteen minutes, drank two beers, and was about to get another, but I decided it wasn't worth it, and I got out of my bar stool and walked into the men's restroom. I got down to the business at hand, washed my hands and began to walk out the door when it burst inwards and I jumped back to avoid one idiot being thrown around by another idiot. I put my back to the sink and leaned as far back as I could until they left enough room for me to slip on by, and when they did I walked out and headed to the front doors. Before I could leave, I turned to the voice of a woman standing and yelling at a man sitting down with seven empty beer bottles in front of him. I could only assume that was her date. She turned around and headed for the same doors I was standing at, so I walked out first and let her follow afterwards.

Outside, I stood some distance from the doors along the wall and called out to her once she emerged. "What was the deal with that?" I asked her, figuring this would be the best place to try and talk to her. "Nothing. Some drunken idiot is all." I chuckled and smirked. "This place seems to be full of them. Why are you here then? Isn't this place full of just about the same people you find anywhere else?" A small flash of light hit me from the corner of her eye, but she smiled a little. "Yes, it is. But it's the only thing around here." She turned her head to look at me, and I did the same for her. When I approached her and pressed my lips against hers, I was taken away to a place not far away, yet completely different from where I was moments ago; it was if the world had suddenly changed from winter to summer. When the kiss ended, we looked at each other in the eyes and just smiled. It was at that time three idiots stumbled out from inside the bar. Huey, Dewey, and Louie. I crossed my arms and looked at them for a second, they looked back, dumbfounded. I turned around and took my woman by the arm and walked to my car. I was done with idiots...

Liberation, Chapter 1

August 29, 2011 began not unlike any other before it, but within minutes of merging on to I-75, the day skipped down a path of steepening instability.

Left turn signal, check.
Cut around slower vehicles prior to the end of the merge lane, check.
Enter the leftmost lane and drive 15 MPH over the speed limit, check check.

Daniel sat in a relaxed position in the drivers seat of his 2001 Chevy Malibu rental car, left arm on the window well, elbow against the glass, hand on back of head. Stretching his back from the early, static hours of the morning, Daniel took in a deep, slow breath, holding it for a few seconds, and then releasing it; an indication that the morning had truly begun. He reached for his orange juice, a replacement to his regular coffee, and before his lips could reach the straw, his body heaved forward with a sudden jolt, his grip tightened around the steering wheel. "...the fuck!?" Daniel gazed into the rear-view mirror to spot an empty lane of traffic, and as if on cue, a red-and-black Firebird sped around to his right, and he floored his accelerator.

Center lane, left lane, center lane, left lane again... The Firebird jumped between cars like a flea, leaving Daniel with only a couple of feet worth of room to navigate the same route as his assailant. Center lane, right lane, center lane, left lane... The Malibu and the Firebird reached the front of traffic, lingering for mere moments before the Firebird's custom exhaust system roared with the fire of ogre bellies and began widening the distance between the two vehicles. Trying to keep up, Daniel's Malibu whined and squealed; it's rebuilt engine taking the stress of high-speed driving with stride. Coming upon the next block of traffic and closing the distance on the Firebird, the pair entered the cluster from the center lane, immediately cutting to the right in front of an aqua Honda Accord, back to the center lane around a black and grey Chevy Blazer, and into the left lane around a Publix semi-truck and trailer. By the time Daniel's Malibu caught up to the left lane, the Firebird in front of him was pulling in front of the truck and took chase to it, but on impulse he tapped his brakes halfway up the side of the truck and pulled around behind it to find that the same Firebird he had been chasing was hovering around the back corner of the truck in a vain attempt to outsmart him. Daniel pulled up behind them and flashed his high beams at them; this amusing game of cat-and-mouse was in check. The Firebird once again accelerated to escape, but as soon as they had started, the Publix truck swerved right and cut them off. The vehicles collided, and the Firebird hovered into the emergency lane for a few, brief seconds before succumbing to drop of the slope, mere feet to the right. The Firebird's driver slammed the brakes as soon as he was on level ground, and the car squealed and smoked before spinning out on the dewy grass and, at last, coming to a halt. Daniel flipped on his emergency lights and pulled off the side of the interstate, threw his car in reverse, and slowly approached the Firebird, his dented bumper leading the excursion.

Since the moment he got rear-ended, Daniel had his first, rational thought. "Who would run from something small like that, considering I could have reported his license plate later." The thought that the Firebird he had been so desperately chasing could have been stolen, and the driver was some hardened criminal who was breaking his parole. "Ah, Christ. What have I gotten myself into?" By the time Daniel has his epiphany, he had already backed up to the car with the smoking tire wells, and the doors had already begun to open. "Fuck, why did I have to stop for this asshole? He's probably got a handgun and an ounce of cocaine in his glove box. Maybe I can throw my car in reverse and... no, that's never gonna work, he's probably The freakin' Flash on that crack. Shit! Fuck! I could always just drive off..." Daniel threw his car into D and was about to slam the accelerator, when he had an epiphany. His foot hit the brake and the car shook and his transmission grinded as he threw it into P from an idle speed. "Fuck it, I'm no pussy. I'm not gonna run from this shit, I've got too much pride for this." Daniel opened his door with haste to meet the driver of the Firebird face-to-face. His face tightened, a confident scowl formed from his lips, his eyes squinted, and he marched stiffly from his car to his partner in chase. Daniel walked around the open driver-seat door and was greeted to a twenty-something blonde girl with her nose pointed downwards at a small puddle of vomit; his guard was dropped immediately.

Daniel bent over, wrists to knees, "Ma'am? Are you alright." She shook her head up and down as well as she could and he looked side-to-side and noticed there wasn't a steering wheel on the car. Puzzled, he looked through to the assumed passenger side of the vehicle and found a forty-something man with receding whitish-brown hair attempting to call someone on his cell phone, his forearms resting on a steering wheel. Snapping back into defensive mode, Daniel power-walked around the front of the car and the right-side driver's door, putting his hand on top of it. "You," he said in a powerful voice. The man shook as his neck snapped over to look at the man he had been running from. The man replied with a heavy Brazilian accent "I am so, so sorry Mr. American Man. My girlfriend and I were driving when I drove into you car... and..." the man was cut short. Daniel smelled marijuana. "Let me get this straight. You were stoned and driving on the highway when you ran into my car and tried to run away." The man nodded once, "Yes, that's it. I'm so sorry, if we were caught I would have been deported. I'm here on a student visa, I'm learning about physics. I'm just here for the weekend, I go to University of Florida. Do you want to see my student ID?" The man was panicking. Daniel just stood leaning inward in the doorway, one bent arm on the door, the other on the roof, looking around for any other details that might be useful to know, when the sound of a car tire driving through gravel sounded to his right. The progenitor of the disturbance? A Florida Highway Patrol car driving off the side of the interstate and into the grassy area occupied by the two cars. Daniel turned to look at the third car, suppressed a spiteful quip to the Brazilian man, and tapped his middle and index fingers on the roof of the car in anticipation.

The officer stepped out of the car calmly and approached Daniel and the Brazilian man, glancing to his left on the sound of the young girl vomiting. The officer looked slightly taken aback. "We received six reports of two cars racing on the interstate, and five reporting a car driving off the road. Would any of you like to explain to me what happened?" Daniel glanced at the Brazilian man before starting. "I would, I was on my way to work when I was rear-ended by him," Daniel pointed to the Brazilian man with his thumb, "and he tried fleeing the scene, so I chased him down and he was run off the road by a Publix truck," Daniel concluded by stepping out of the officer's path to the Brazilian man. The officer looked at the Brazilian man and spoke, "Sir, is this what really happened?" The Brazilian man was unable to keep eye contact, "Yes, officer, it is." The officer quietly inhaled a deep breath, paused for a second and walked over to the other side of the car. "Ma'am, are you okay to stand up?" She nodded her head as she had for Daniel, only quicker, took a deep breath, and stood up with the help of the officer. He led her towards his car and said to her, "Ma'am, I'm going to have to place you and the driver of the vehicle under arrest for the possession and use of a controlled substance. Will you please step into the back of my patrol car?" Looking at the ground with her arms crossed, she nodded again and sat in the back seat as he held the door open for her. She sat there with the door opened, arms crossed and staring at the headrest of the passenger seat, her lips pouting. The officer walked back to the Firebird, past Daniel to the Brazilian man, who had stood up on his own. The officer locked eyes with him for a moment before walking back to his patrol car, seating him next to the blonde girl and shutting the door. The officer walked back to Daniel with shifty eyes.

"Sir?" The officer spoke to Daniel, "Yes officer?" A sinking formed in Daniel's gut, "You are being placed under arrest for illegal racing and reckless driving. Please follow me to my patrol car and I will escort you to the Florida Highway Patrol holding facility." Daniel's reaction was that of someone struck in the solar plexus. "I'm sorry, officer?" The officer continued to look Daniel in the eyes. "I do not intend to repeat myself, please follow me to the patrol car," the officer said as he turned around and began walking. "Fuck my life," Daniel hesitantly followed the officer, who held the door open for him. Daniel took his seat next to the blonde girl, who was hunched over, forearms to thighs, looking roughed up from sweating too much, and the Brazilian man gave Daniel a quick glance before huffing and putting on his seat belt. The officer entered the driver's seat, started the engine, and drove back on to the interstate and sped up to 80. The blonde girl began leaning to Daniel's side and turned her head to say something, but her speech was interrupted as a mass of vomit left her lips instead of words and coated Daniel's shirt and tie; the excess pooling in his lap.

Nature Poem

The hills are alive with a soul of cheer
Clouds part in the wake of the past's treasure.
Forgetting the rain, foraging the trees,
A great river is born out of the mist;
leading, winding, brimming with life in tow.
Breath beating in the rhythm of nature,
eternity can take a rest one night.
It's you in my arms that now makes me whole.