I honestly would love to read about the first time Cam finds out Luther is shrinking because he has feelings for him. In that hanahaki disease au.

ask and ye shall receive.... cam figures it out. just shy of 2000 words.

~~~

“Aaaand… there,” Cam said, and gave the screwdriver one final twist. He pulled on the little contraption in front of him a few times to test its stability and sat back on his haunches, finally satisfied. “You’re all set.”

It is one of four little rope and pulley elevator systems that he’d set up around Luther’s apartment. It consisted of a small wooden plank that Luther could stand on and use the rope system to raise or lower himself. Each one was operable at height ranges between about a foot and a half to four inches. They let him get up onto his sofa, his bed, the kitchen counter, and the bathroom sink.

“You really didn’t have to do all that,” Luther protested from his position just behind Cam. “I mean, I don’t get that small that often, I probably won’t use them that much.”

Cam laughed and pushed a stray wisp of hair out of his face, looking up at Luther. “What are you talking about? You’re always shrinking around me. It’s okay, I’m happy to help. That’s what friends are for.” He watched the usual blush spread across Luther’s face, the telltale shiver run down his spine, and smiled as Luther shrank another inch. He’d lost some height here and there during the installation process as they chatted, and had gone down to about five foot even, if Cam had to guess. “Anyway, you let me know if you have any trouble with these, and I’ll be over to fix ‘em as soon as I can. And there’s the bells if you’re in any real trouble - those strings there, see? They’re hooked up to a bell in my apartment, ring that and I’ll come right over.”

“My cat’ll have a field day with them,” Luther murmured, brow furrowing. “Maybe we should do something other than string.”

Cam chewed on the end of his screwdriver in contemplation. “Hm. Good point. I’ll figure something out later.” He slipped the screwdriver in his toolbelt and slapped his hands on thighs as he stood up. “Well! I’d better get back to my place and start dinner. You’re coming over, right?”

“Oh! As long as it’s not an imposition? I mean, I don’t want to be any trouble…”

“Nah, s’alright, you’re always welcome. Spaghetti and meatballs tonight. See you in an hour?”

Luther’s blush deepened and he lost another two inches. “S-see you then,” he managed.

Cam chuckled fondly to himself as he left. He tried not to think of Luther’s condition as cute or funny, because when the shrinking was really bad it put the poor guy in danger. But he couldn’t help but find it amusing when Luther lost just a little height, ending up just a slightly shorter version of himself. And when he went on one of his long rambles and shrank a little bit at a time all throughout, it put Cam in mind of a deflating balloon, which was just too silly not to laugh at. And when he ended up really tiny, and he was just like a little doll, and fit so perfectly in the palm of Cam’s hand…

Cam shook his head to clear his thoughts. No, that was too far. He shouldn’t think like that, no doubt it was terrifying for Luther to be so small and vulnerable. He sighed as he shouldered his door open, hands full of leftover wood and string. He set them on the little table where he kept his keys by the door, then unbuckled his toolbelt and hung it on the coat rack, lost in thought.

He’d been puzzling over what caused Luther to shrink for a while now. Was it just at random? Was it like an allergic reaction, and some kind of food or environmental thing kicked it off? He had a brief vision of Luther sneezing and instantly shrinking down to bug size. No, knock it off, he chastised himself, not funny. A little funny. But don’t laugh at it.

Anyway, he hadn’t seen Luther ever sneeze when he shrank, so that probably wasn’t it. What were the symptoms? He’d make a list, that would help him narrow it down.

Cam slipped an apron over his head - one of the novelty ones his sister kept getting him, he didn’t bother to read the witty joke about buns printed on the front - and started on the dough for his spaghetti. Whenever possible, he liked to make things from scratch. Besides, having something to do with his hands let his mind work better. He worked the problem around in his mind just like he worked the dough in front of him, kneading it, pushing it around, looking at it from different angles.

So. What were the warning signs? Luther tended to get awkward and shy just before he shrank. He’d blush, stammer or trip over his words, either avoid eye contact or stare like he couldn’t look away, and of course the final sign was that signature shiver right before a loss of height. A lot of those symptoms could be attributed to anxiety as well - was that what triggered the shrinking, just whenever he was anxious? But that couldn’t be it, Luther had been anxious plenty of times without shrinking. Not to mention he worked a high-stress job, waiting tables at a local diner, and wouldn’t be able to make it through the day if anxiety made him shrink. So that wasn’t it.

Cam rolled the dough out flat and cut it into strips. He hung the fresh noodles up to dry and put water on to boil, then opened the fridge and pulled out the meatballs he’d shaped that morning.

His brain kept chugging along on the issue as he worked, hands going on automatic. He came back to the present long enough to taste the sauce he’d made, hem and haw, and add a little more garlic, then went right back to it. There was something tugging at the back of his mind, trying to get his attention, but he couldn’t quite grasp it.

A sound startled him out of his thoughts - the ringing of a bell.

“Shoot,” Cam hissed, dropping the sauce spoon. It clattered onto the stove and left little pools of sauce cooling on the glass surface. He’d deal with that later though, Luther needed him now. He switched the burners to low and headed for the door.

Luther’s door was locked, so he had to duck back inside his apartment to grab the spare key. He opened the door slowly and called out.

“Luther? Was that just the cat, or do you need me?” Cam scanned the room, looking for that distinctive neon green jumpsuit. It clashed horribly with everything, but it was useful for spotting him when he ended up tiny. Sure enough, there he was by the strings for the bell, waving an arm to get Cam’s attention. He was easy to spot, as far as things went, standing about a foot tall. Cam hurried over.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt? Do you need help?” Cam took a knee in front of Luther and leaned in close, inspecting him for injuries. Luther took a step back, startled by the sudden rush of worry, and Cam made himself pull back as well. It had to be scary to have someone looming over you like that, he told himself, give him a little space.

“I-I’m fine,” Luther said. “I just… well, this happened, and now I can’t really open my door, so I was hoping you could give me a lift over for dinner? Sorry, I shouldn’t’ve used the bell. I could’ve texted you.”

The tension flooded out of Cam and he laughed in relief. “No, that’s fine, I just jumped to conclusions. I can give you a lift, sure.” He cupped his hands and held them out to Luther, who climbed on and settled in, sitting down with his legs crossed. Cam rose slowly, being careful not to jostle Luther, and began to amble back towards the door. A thought occurred to him.

“What did it?” Cam asked.

Luther looked up, startled. “What did what?”

‘“What made you shrink this time? I’ve been trying to work it out on my own and I’m just not getting it. There’s gotta be a common thread, right, you’re not just shrinking at random?”

Luther stared at him in open-mouthed shock, face growing steadily redder.

“I mean,” Cam continued, “if you were just shrinking at random, it’d be hard to hold down a job, y’know? Do you ever shrink at work? And anyway, didn’t you say - ” His eyes widened as that thing that had been nagging at him finally became clear. “You said you don’t shrink all the time! But you shrink pretty often whenever I’m around. Am I doing it, somehow?”

“No, no, no,” Luther said hurriedly, but Cam could feel him getting smaller.

“Oh, liar!” Cam chortled. “Nice try, Pinnochio, but I’m literally holding you right now. Is it actually me?”

“It’s - it’s not - not always?” Luther was practically cowering away from him now, and Cam realized he’d been a little harsh.

“Oh shoot, I’m sorry. Look, we don’t have to talk about it, okay? It’s your business, I shouldn’t’ve pried.”

“No, I… I’ve been meaning to tell you for a while, it’s just… hard to say out loud, um…” Luther fidgeted with the collar of his jumpsuit, avoiding Cam’s eyes. He was red as a tomato, mouth drawn up in an adorable little pout, and so small and cute that Cam’s heart ached. Then it clicked.

“Oh. Is it me, like… because you like me?” Cam asked. “Like, you have a crush on me, is that it?”

Luther let out a sound like a tea kettle whistling, shrinking down at an alarming rate to only five inches tall. Cam couldn’t help himself. He laughed so hard he snorted. When he finally got a hold on himself again, the wounded look on Luther’s face sobered him instantly.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, but you don’t know how long I’ve been trying to work this out, and the answer’s been right in front of my face the whole time! I swear I’m laughing at myself, not at you. Anyway, you wanna go out sometime?”

Luther gaped up at him for a long moment. His mouth opened and closed a few times, but nothing came out. Finally he shut his mouth and nodded furiously. Cam grinned.

“Or this could be like our first date, right? I’ll get some candles and dim the lights. We could even 'Lady and the Tramp' it with the spaghetti! Or - okay, okay, sorry, I’ll stop.” Luther had started to shrink again, and Cam didn’t want his cooking to go to waste just because his guest was too small to eat it. “Hey, I joke a lot, but I want you to know I’m being serious here,” he said gently. “I’d like to go out with you, if you’re alright with it. Is it going to cause problems, though? Like are you going to shrink every time we’re together?”

Luther shifted and looked away, finally finding his voice. “I - I don’t know. The doctor said if I told you about how I felt, it would get easier. But he didn’t say it would go away entirely… if that’s not something you want to put up with, we don’t have to - ”

“No, no, that’s fine, I don’t mind it. Just if it was a problem for you, is all. I like you a lot, Luther. I’d love to be your partner, if you’ll have me.”

Luther looked back up at Cam with a huge, genuine, relieved smile on his teeny tiny face. Cam’s heart melted.

“I’d like that.”

Pirate Chara: Ruins Chapter 1

“Come on mates, we can talk about this can’t we?” Chara pleaded as several swords were guiding them down the plank of the large ship. “Am I not a valued member of the crew?” 

“You are without a doubt the worst pirate I’ve ever seen.” One of the crew said moving their sword closer to Chara’s stomach threatening to disembowel them if they didn’t step off the plank into the ocean.

“Or am I the best pirate you’ve ever seen?”  

The crew all looked at each other as if mentally debating Chara’s counter argument. “No.” They all agreed in unison and gave Chara’s stomach a light prod knocking them off the wooden plank into the watery depths below.

Chara resurfaced and spat out some swallowed salt water, they rubbed their eyes to look for the ship. “Wait! I can still help you find the lost city of treasures!” They yelled out to the ship sailing away.

They didn’t care, or maybe didn’t believe them as Chara watched the ship sail on without them onboard. Chara had to find somewhere to go, they couldn’t wade in the open ocean forever, they’d either lose consciousness and drown or freeze to- Wait, was this water warm?

Chara wasn’t sure whether to be worried or thankful as the water was unusually warm for ocean water, possibly an underwater thermal vent was nearby. They weren’t sure whether to swim towards or away from the warmer water, could find some life near it or an active underwater volcano.

“Shite.” Chara realized there wasn’t really an alternative between icy cold waters at night or warm waters possibly attracting fish they could eat. They swam in the direction that the water got warmer every few feet, it was slowly starting to become kind of hot.

“I wonder how much farther before-” *Whoosh*

Chara suddenly found themselves being sucked underwater at incredible speed, they must have swam directly over a thermal vent and doomed themselves to be sucked to the bottom of the ocean where they’d burn up or drown trying to swim back up. It was over for the young pirate. 

Chara slowly opened their eyes, blinking them a few times to adjust to the light above them. “Am I not dead?” They questioned trying to get a look of their surroundings. At the very least they weren’t in the water anymore they could tell.

The young pirate got up and tried to get their bearings back, something they were normally quite good at and could always tell what direction they were facing, but something about this place had their sense of direction all upside down.

“Anyone around here?” Chara called out into the emptiness. 

It wasn’t truly empty, Chara noted some ruined architecture that must have been great statues, buildings, and even a massive ruined archway. Why would someone drag them out of the water and leave them in this place? They pondered heading further in searching for signs of life.

“Hoiiii!” A voice called out from a dark corner of the room.

“Huh?” Chara turned their head to the voice, a strange cat like creature wearing human clothes for whatever reason. 

“I’m Temmie, Temmie the…. Tem.” The strange creature introduced itself.

“Oh great, the animal life talks here.” Chara silently cursed their luck.

“Oh my, you look famiiiiished” Temmie said sounding concerned. “Have Tem flakes!” They said loudly throwing up many colorful flakes of some kind.

Pirate Chara wasn’t sure whether to trust a talking cat thing, but they’d have to try the local food at some point. Chara reached out and tried to catch one of the colorful flakes of food. 

The young pirate let out a loud yelp in pain as the flake of food burned their hand and left a painful prolonged stinging. “What the bloody hell!”

“YOU IDIIIIOT!!!!!” Temmie now spoke with a menacing voice that echoed in the chamber. “IN THIS WORLD TEM FLAKES ARE POISON!!!!! Imma eat your soul now.”

Chara could do nothing as Temmie’s mouth opened large and wide and started vacuuming in everything in front of it. It wasn’t open enough to swallow up Chara themself, but it didn’t need to. Chara watched their soul start to leave their body and float towards the mouth of the creature.

Chara seemed doomed before Temmie stopped and started swelling up in the face. “hOIVES” They said in alarm and shock at their sudden allergic reaction to Chara. “Temmie is allergic!” 

The creature ran off further into the ruins leaving Chara to recover from the attack, but not soon enough before a much bigger monster approached them. This one stood at least a head taller than the young pirate if not more. Two goat like horns were visible and a great mane of golden hair giving them an almost satan like appearance. 

“Oh my, that poor creature.” A surprisingly soft voice came from the giant. “You really must be more careful with the little ones.” He told Chara.

Chara blinked a few times in disbelief of the whole scene. First a strange talking cat like monster tries to literally eat their soul, saved only be sheer dumb luck, and now a giant of a monster is telling them to be more careful not to hurt others.

“It tried to kill me!” Chara responded harshly to the monster.

“I know Temmie has a tendency to play too rough, but they would never try to cause permanent harm to another living being.” The monster claimed, clearly not as familiar with Temmie’s goals and motivations. “Oh but where are my manners. I’m Asgore of the monster kingdom.”

“Monster kingdom?” The pirate repeated with emphasis on the kingdom part, now more than ever wondering where in the seven seas that whirlpool took them.

Stand Still Stay Silent Liveblog #44

UPDATE 44: Change of Plan

Last time Mikkel’s Solo Adventure had two unexpected guests, so he had to play babysitter while they looked for the possible origin of the vaccines that may have been given to those skeletons in the royal residences. They found it, and they also found ghosts – Reynir saw them. Let’s continue.

I just started the update and the first thing I see is that evil is leaking from the fortress. I thought the ghosts were generally confined to the place they were at, but it seems that was mistaken. I hope they’ll just...cover the walls of that medical building and stay there, instead of following the crew.

While Tuuri teases Mikkel by saying it wasn’t so bad to take two inexperienced, non-immune, non-combatant, less-focused, and many other less-than-desirable qualities that require hyphens, he says he knows she was the one with the idea. She was using her manipulative younger sibling wiles – he’s not wrong, Tuuri does have a certain manipulative vein in her. Harmless, and kind of amusing. This brings her to ask questions about Mikkel’s family.

I remember I was once shown the chart that showed who descended from who, back in an early update. If I recall correctly, it did show the Madsens tended to be numerous in that farm. Mikkel here is the oldest, or so he says. He was going to go into detail as to what he means when Sigrun and Emil are seen by the reader but not by them. The bounty will get ignored in favor of she wondering why the rest of the crew are gallivanting out of the tank for seemingly no reason, I bet.

After the staring in disbelief, Sigrun’s first reaction is to accuse Mikkel of mutiny. Oh, he’s totally guilty! Lock him away, captain! Make him walk the plank! He argues all he did was save her a day’s worth of work, she says she wants to fire her. I don’t really recommend that, because it’s not like Mikkel can go walk all the way back to Scandinavia. She would have two stowaways instead of one. Also the day she leaves Mikkel behind in some ditch is the day the crew starts eating melted candles for real.

The crew returns to the tank, where they find the radio trying to make contact and Lalli sleeping. I hope those in mission control don’t chew them out for the wait. Tuuri answers, hopes someone is there, and there is! Trond and Onni are there, one is eating pasta and the other is sleeping while the cat eats his pasta. It must have been a rough couple hours of waiting.

Tuuri didn’t expect to hear Onni, and she praises him for daring to leave the military settlement.

She knows him so well. She’s not going to believe him not even for a second when he unavoidably says he’s allergic to the entirety of Sweden. She even says she thought he’d be way more broken up about having to leave and see new places. Onni valiantly denies all that, telling her she doesn’t need to worry about him. That’s kind of sweet, kind of.

I assume the complications Onni is talking about re: communicating through Lalli is Lalli being deeply asleep. If Onni says there’s nothing to worry about, then it can’t be too bad. I trust Onni’s experience as a mage. When the rest of the crew comes forth to communicate their findings, Mikkel takes the seat and says they may have a new location to explore.

Onni...Onni, you’re just as bad as Lalli when it’s about being diplomatic. At least he said ‘this tastes like cat spit’ in a language Siv didn’t understand, she already has such a rough time she deserves a break too.

Onni says not to be worried. Guess you’re the only one who will, Emil.

According to the label on these samples, the hospital is in Odense.  Hm...Wikipedia says it’s the third-largest city in Denmark. I can see why it would have been once a center of research and development before this part of the world fell victim to the plague. There may be something useful there. Odense is not in the itinerary, and by the sound of what Torbjorn is saying, it’s kind of far away, given how it’s merely potentially reachable. It’ll be a detour. Sigrun seethes with envy at how Mikkel is praised because she’s still sore about his mutiny.

Torbjorn already has Swedish krona symbols in his eyes – not literally – and gets his hopes up, so Mikkel makes sure to temper them by pointing out the vaccines weren’t effective. It’s worth going just so they retrieve something that could be used in the development of a workable cure.

Siv’s life is gray and full of shattered hopes. That’s what working for so long in a place where your work ends leading nowhere and having to been thrown out all the time does to you. Honestly I feel bad for her, it must be rather unfulfilling.

Torbjorn likes the idea of going to Odense, and offers overtime pay to the crew to go there. Let’s see reactions here...Tuuri is excited! Whether it’s at the thought of exploring more of the world or because she loves overtime pay is unclear. Mikkel is pleased, Sigrun looks away. Mission Control is divided. Torbjorn likes the idea, Taru and Siv don’t.

I find it hard to disagree with Taru when she puts it that way. Initially I liked the thought of maybe going there, finding something useful and bringing it to be handsomely rewarded, but Taru’s argument is sound. Guess they shouldn’t go, then. The decision is up to Sigrun, because she’s the captain of the ragtag team. She wants to go, to get the most out of the expedition. Alright! Looks like that will be the next big plot of SSSS, then!

Now that the plan of action has been decided, Mikkel stands up to go make some inedible sludge, and gets stopped by Sigrun on the way out, to settle once and for all the matter of his flagrant insubordination. Since a new plan came out of it – one Sigrun had the last word on – her authority wasn’t violated, so she seems willing to let bygones be bygones, and forgives him, warning that he still is on his mutinist risk list. She has a list?

That list needs Tuuri’s name on it. She committed insubordination towards Mikkel. Clearly she’ll try to subvert Sigrun soon and take control of the mission! Hah! Okay, but seriously, I’m glad things are friendly between Sigrun and Mikkel. The problem has been buried everything is okay, and other than Lalli’s constant sleep, everything is fine in the tank for the time being.

A peaceful lovely evening was had by all (Except Emil), but it might turn out to be not as peaceful and lovely in the end.

I’m not surprised at all things are going to go south. It’s a peaceful page, non-peace is bound to arrive pretty soon. That’s how fiction goes.

I’ll stop in preparation for hard times incoming in SSSS.

Next time: in six updates

A day

I woke up to the first box truck rumbling down the road to the commercial cleaners--tourists gotta have clean linen. The plank walls and floor of this 19203 sugar plantation workers cottage Makes me think of my grand mamam’s house  down in southern Louisians--single wall construction, raised above the ground, and with roosters always crowing. She didn’t have ceiling fans though--everyone in Hawai’i has ceiling fans. It’s getting light outside, sunrise is soon so I get out of bed. It’s a funny feeling that you never have to put anything on in the morning. The running shorts I sleep in are fine. 

It has become my habit to pour myself a cup of coffee and sit out on the lanai as day comes. Dogs are barking, and the neighbors are going to work. The clouds piled up in the west take on pink light as the sun comes up. There are birds, lots of birds singing and flying. It looks like they are off to work too and I guess they are. Mynahs, sparrows, Japanese white eyes, zebra doves, all on the wires or in the trees. Overhead are several cattle egrets. There are also flocks and flocks of parakeets, rose ringed parakeets, a nuisance bird that Kaua’i is trying to limit the reproduction of. The coffee is gone and I go in to get breakfast, a lilikoi (passion fruit) and banana (apple bananas, small and slightly tart. I prefer them to cavendish bananas). 

There is a beautiful and fascinating cave on Kaua’i; the Makauwahi cave. It is not just beautiful but also geologically interesting (the only limestone cave in Hawai’i), biologically interesting (endemic species grow there), and anthropologically interesting (it is a place of importance to Hawai’ian culture). I sent them an email last night asking if they had volunteer positions open. I got a text from them asking if I could come out tomorrow, Wednesday. I was invited to do some weeding and I am happy to do that. I mentioned that I would like to eventually become a docent. Jerry got very excited, “We need a docent”. Well! I am pretty happy and excited about that. 

Our yard has been neglected for many years and I am determined, not to just clean it up, but to turn it into an edible garden with raised beds and fruit trees. To begin with though I need to tame it. It gets into the 80s by about 11am here so I get out into the garden until 10 or 11 every morning. Right now it’s all weeding, trimming, and cutting back. The ground is hard and the lawn is bermuda grass which grows in long stringers under and over the ground. It’s nasty stuff and I am allergic to it. I enjoy the work and it is one of those jobs that the more you do it the more you see that needs doing. Today I discovered that I have a large bank of bird of paradise plants: very pretty. I also discovered that bird of paradise are aggressive growers and spread on rhizomes. As I cut them away I discovered that I have other plants buried by them. 

A lot of cutting happened there and my pile of green waste is growing. There are lots of bush cuttings, palm fronds, and now, bird of paradise cuttings. The pile is getting taller than I am (ha, ha, I know, not very tall). The good news is that it doesn’t cost anything to throw away green waste. The bad news is that it is hard to find someone to come pick it up. A solution will appear--it always does, you just have to keep talking to people who talk to people. I am very fortunate that my next door neighbor is local, handy, and extremely friendly. We patched together our mutual fence and have plans to replace it together. 

As I was working on the garden right up against my wall Lynn started running a bath and I heard running water under the house and not in pipes either. I looked and, sure enough, there was a lot of water running out of the house directly onto the ground. I had just discovered this when Andy came by and asked how I was doing and I said, ‘not well’. He looked at the problem with me and we found that there is no connection between the bath drain and the rest of the gray water system. All of the water from the bath falls directly onto the ground and we have no idea how long this has been going on. 

Andy thinks he knows a guy who knows a plumber who can fix it for us. 

I finished cleaning up from my morning’s cutting and digging and went in to shower and have lunch. I put a bucket under the house and watered some plants after my shower. Lunch is a time to relax and read--I read a New Yorker article about a theory that our energy levels are determined by the health of our mitochondria. Well, who knew? 

I worked on a painting idea I had and worked on it and it didn’t go well which is all right because I was working on a painting. Lynn, who got out early to play pickleball, then talked on the phone and worked, read and took a nap. 

Lynn has become a great pickleball enthusiast and we went out at 4:00 to play pickleball which is surprisingly complicated to learn and pretty fun once you learn it. Lynn has a pickleball buddy for a while, a woman who is out to visit her new grandchild. She is very sweet, kind, engaging and fun. She is also modest, we learned today that she was a major casting director in Hollywood. She’s here for another week so we will get to see what new friendships grow around pickleball. 

4:00 in the afternoon is a hot time of day. We came off the court and went right down to the beach to cool off. It was 5:30 and the sun was headed for the horizon. I do confess that swimming in warm ocean water, bobbing over waves, and watching the sun set, is a pretty special thing. 

Home, to dinner and cleanup. Lynn has been reading and watching things on her computer while I have been writing this all up. The waning gibbous moon is in the sky with stars, planets, and clouds. For some reason the roosters are all quiet and all I can hear is the hum of the ceiling fan. 

The King of the Wasps

There are some days in the heart of summer that seem to almost stop, stuck like a tire in mud, stalled out and sweltering while the world ceases its spinning, and everything just is.  The sun beats down and everything is still and quiet except for the insects in their frenzy to live their short lives. Even the shade is oppressive, and the breeze doesn’t dare to blow.

On a day like this, you could find the love of your life as you share a glance.  On a day like this you could walk a hundred miles and just lose yourself in your own thoughts.  On a day like this you could die screaming and not a soul will hear it.

Billy Baumgartner is a man who’s going places. True, he’s only seventeen, but he has plans.  Big plans. Plans you don’t even know, man.  Billy is saving up his money from his job stocking shelves at the Kroger.  He’s already got over one thousand dollars. And this time next summer, he’s going to be in Los Angeles.  Screw this town.  Screw this town and everyone in it with their boring lives that go nowhere and do nothing. How can 6,000 people agree to get together and just rot in place for the rest of their lives?  

Billy Baumgartneris not going to rot here with everyone else.  Once he’s done school, he’ll hit the west coast and start his band.  Everyone agrees he’s the best guitar player in town, and probably as good as anyone you hear on the radio.  It’s true, he’s been playing since he was six years old.  He could drop a riff right now and you’d swear Hendrix had just entered the room.  Billy Baumgartner is that good.  

For too long nothing has gone on in this town. A Wal Mart opening three towns over a decade ago was the biggest thing that happened here in Billy’s entire life. Yesterday, the front page of the local paper had a story about the library changing its hours, so it closed at six instead of seven. This town has been on life support since the first house was built.

It’s not that Billy hates this place and everyone in it, he just doesn’t get it.  Why is everyone just settling?  Maybe 100 years ago this made sense, but good God, doesn’t everyone have cable TV and the internet?  Can’t they see the world they’re missing?  It just doesn’t make sense.

Billy Baumgartner has argued with his parents about leaving about a million times.  They don’t understand why he’d want to leave.  It’s quiet and safe here.  It’s a great place to raise a family.  He has a job, and he has friends.  LA is big and dangerous and expensive.  What could possibly happen in LA that’s worth leaving.  Billy just shakes his head.  What couldn’t happen in LA?

Billy Baumgartner wipes the sweat from his brow. It’s got to be at least 110 degrees out here today.  Because he’s been saving so much money, Billy never bothered getting a car like his friends. The Kroger is literally a 20-minute walk from his house.  Why not get the exercise?  Better to be in good shape when he gets to LA anyway.  Lots of ladies to impress. Lots of beaches to hit. Lots of photoshoots to do.

The field past Welch street is like an outdoor sauna.  The tall grass and weeds are just standing still, crunching in Billy’s wake as he passes, swatting gnats and mosquitos and black flies away from his face.  He should have invested in some bug repellant.

Welch field is one of those spots the world forgot about. It's just empty land. Who owns it? The government? The bank? No one really knows. Overgrown for acres. That grass that scratches and cuts your bare legs if you brush against it the wrong way. The skeletal frames of rickety, gnarled old crab apple trees all abuzz with hungry insects eating the mealy fruit.

The sound of a lone cicada is all that dares break the silence here.  Not for the first time, Billy finds himself stopping to look around.  The world feels so damn big sometimes.  This vastness that just needs to be explored.  Why does everyone want to sit still all the time?

On a cloudless day the sky is a blank slate. But some days, when the clouds are just right, you get that depth and the sky looks so big. The world looks so goddamn big, it practically begs you to spread your wings and experience it. Why can't Billy Baumgartner be a part of that?

The cicada’s trilling dies off.  Silence rolls in like the tide. That crushing sense of nothing that has been the bane of Billy's existence for years. Across the field, the old Marsh barn catches his eye.  The rickety, faded red structure has been here much longer than Billy has. As far as he knows, the Marsh family have been gone for at least 20 years.  It’s just no one bothered to use the land for anything.  As a kid, he used to play in the old barn, until his parents found out and had a fit.  It’s dangerous, you know.  What if the roof caved in?  What if he got trapped and no one knew where he was?  What if what if what if.  

Billy Baumgartner thinks “screw it” and changes direction, heading through weeds that haven't seen a human in years.  The cans at work will survive without him for a half hour.  If he has to be stuck here on a day like today, may as well have some fun. The world is built on the promise of adventures. He needs this. A nostalgic trip to something almost dreamlike. Something from a time when he still felt hopeful and alive.

Thick grasses grip at his bare legs as he trudges across the uneven field.  That rough, sandpapery feel scraps against his shins and he curses to himself. Still, better than having all of this mowed under and turned into more housing for boring, do-nothing people to fester in.  In a weird way, this field of nothing was the most alive thing in town.

A tangle of roots snare his foot and Billy stumbles.  He swears out loud as his hands hit dry, rough earth and some flesh scrapes off. As he tries to regain his footing, a sudden pain under his palm causes him to pull away sharply.  The sting is like a tiny stab of fire, digging into his nerves.  He cradles his hand instinctively and lurches backwards as a wasp twists in a frenzy before righting itself and turning a circle on the ground.  

“Goddamn it,” Billy mutters, looking at the insect. It paces, facing him a moment, before testing out its wings, seemingly as annoyed with Billy as he is with it. The insect flies off, no worse for the wear after its run in with Billy Baumgartner.  As for Billy, he checks the fiery sting on his palm.  It throbs, and is already turning red.  He doesn’t think he’s allergic, but he also can barely remember the last time he was stung by a wasp. When was it? Doesn't matter.

Billy gets to his feet, dusts himself off.  He heads out again after a quick look around to make sure no one else saw his misfortune.  Just the grass and the bugs, and the barn.  No harm, no foul.

The old Marsh barn looks like it was made from driftwood that someone sent adrift about four or five times.  Planks aren’t flush, the little paint remaining is flaking, and the roof sags at the far end.  Inside, the support beams look like they’re made of solidified dust, and the loft has caved in.  There are small relics of a bygone era; a rake with no handle, some rusted chains, an old barrel, trash from years of kids making it their clubhouse, but not much else.  Billy and his friends used to hang out here and play, read comic books and eat candy. It seemed fun at the time.

In the corner is a flaccid and filthy mattress and some dusty bottles, the remnants of a party spot from some teens, or maybe a drifter who set up shop for a time. The heat in the barn is no different than the heat outside the barn.  The only difference is the air seems more stagnant.  The smell is like a guinea pig cage in need of cleaning. Dust and rotten hay, the smell of old earth and a hint of mold. It is the smell of a yesterday no one can remember anymore. A storybook kingdom that has lost its magic.

Billy Baumgartner enters with confidence. There are piles of refuse in the corners here and there.  On the far side, below the sagging roof, is an old tarp.  His face lights up when he sees it.  He and the guys had found a rundown old motorcycle in the field and brought it back here with plan to fix it up.  None of them had the first clue how to fix it, and it was missing any number of parts, but when you’re 10 you think anything is possible. They’d hidden it under the tarp.  There was no way it was still here.

Striding over o the mildew-encrusted and rotting tarp, another wasp makes a beeline for Billy’s face.  He feels the hard, little body hit like a pea shot from a straw, and latch onto his cheek. He swats it away, more panicked than he’d like to admit, and curses again.  In the dimness of the barn he can’t see where it went or where it came from.

The throb in his hand keeps him rooted in the moment. The last time he was stung by a wasp was when he was a boy. He had gone into the old shed at the back of their yard and seen what looked like a ball of paper stuck to the corner of the ceiling. A single wasp paced back and forth around a hole near the base of it and, being a stupid kid, he did what stupid kids do. He took a stick and broke it open.

There must have been a thousand wasps in that nest. They rushed I a swarm, furious at little Billy Baumgartner for destroying their home, for declaring war o the hive. The stings were like fire on his arms, his face, his neck. He ran screaming and they gave chase. How could he have forgotten that?

A quick circle on his heels in the barn, looking for his winged attacked, and Billy Baumgartner sees nothing.  The pain in his hand has lessened, but there’s a definite lump there now.  Last thing he needs is one of those on his face, people will think he has crazy acne.

Another wasp buzzes past his ear and Billy flinches, ducking dramatically.  He moves forward quickly, wary now, and grabs the tarp.  The old material feels crusty in his hand, flakes of ancient blue plastic come away in his grip.  He yanks quickly.  For the briefest of moments, he is unsure of how to react.  

The barn erupts. The buzzing is a chorus, a symphony of angry activity.  A thousand wasps, a thousand thousand, burst from the darkness beyond the tarp.  Billy screams and recoils.  The handleless rake catches his heel and he falls back.  The insects swarm and Billy tries to cover his face crawling backwards in a panic.  And as he tries to protect himself, as the swarm of insects detect their target and dive to attack, Billy Baumgartner sees it.  

In the center of the storm, writhing with the bodies of countless wasps, a massive thing. Black, hollow eyes regard Billy Baumgartner, wasps crawling in and out of the papery coating.  A slit below, lips made of mud-brown parchment, slowly expands, widens.  A mouth. It returns Billy’s scream and the wasps pour outward.  The sound, a buzzing, hollow roar of rage.

Billy Baumgartner screams as he has never screamed before.  As each wasp deposits its venom into his exposed flesh, a pinpoint of fire burns inside of him.  And it happens over and over, under the unflinching, hollow gaze of the hive king.

Paper flesh rustles.  The vague shape of a man pulls away from the wall of the barn. Flaky remnants like phyllo dough cling to the wood.  The wasps still pour from its face, even as Billy Baumgartner’s vain attempts to beat away the assault grow weaker. His screams are muffled by writhing little bodies as they fill his mouth, stinging his gums, his lips, his tongue.  In moments, he can no longer even hold his arms up to protect himself. He lays on the floor, his body seizing as his eyes roll back in his head, the toxin overloading his system, the pain engulfing him. His flesh swells and bloats, angry and red.

Billy Baumgartner does not even register the presence of the hive.  He does not see as it lowers itself to a crawl, straddling his body.  He does not feel the paper of its dry, dead lips on his own.  Does not feel the army of wasps as they crawl down his throat.  He senses nothing as they begin their work, mixing saliva and wood fibers, covering his body, entombing him and the hive man together. There is no life left in Billy Baumgartner as he joins the hive.

Planks........

This morning I was really rude to a poor taxi driver. To be fair to me I had problems with them before, and that didn’t help. And my son, who is Autistic and is just about to start college, and that’s his taxi firm, so I is a little protective. ( Sorry, Loooooooong sentence there…) But still. I got the day wrong. Rang up and was, as my son said; exasperated and annoyed. Poor man. I did say sorry and admit the fault was totally mine. Got off the phone and felt awful. I later tried to ring up and say I was sorry I had been such an arsehole and ruined their morning, but they didn’t pick up….. And it got me thinking. I was, as a Paul said, doing want I did not want to do…acting out of my shit, not out of Christ. Then it got worse. I thought ‘How would you feel if somebody did that to you?’ Especially at 8.30 in the morning. And I remembered a post I did recently called ‘ Bartemaus’ where I talked about the Pharisees having huge planks in their eyes. And it got me thinking. What actually ARE planks? It’s easier to see them as Jesus talked about them with the Pharisees, but in modern day? How do I avoid getting lost in the forest of my own planks and stabbing someone else’s eyes out with them?

Well, here are my thoughts. Planks are blindness in an area of our life. We often see them in other people, because we have them ourselves, but either don’t know it, or will not admit it. And by doing so, we attack them out of our crap. Because it is done out of our crap, it hurts and stops correction in the right way. So the person is left either more damaged and closed down in the area, or, like the Pharisees, because we did it this way, we have ‘Gone half way around the world and made them a worse convert than you.’ It’s not about the distance bit. It’s about how we froth at the mouth in unrighteousness indignation at something somebody does we don’t like and feel the need to ‘correct them’ there are hundreds of examples on the internet. Somebody does a post and before you know it, hate, arrogant, vile and dangerous, mouth frothing, fills the comments box. Does that help? Hell no! It causes more damage than the original article, even though the original article could be harmless, but we haven’t seen it that way!! And as for the poor person who wrote it…..we could have permanently damaged them. For example, I hate it if I think somebody is not honouring me. So when I rang that taxi driver up the first time, and I couldn’t get through and I kept trying and still no go, I was very cross and concerned. It was only after I contacted the council who organised my sons transport that the taxi firm rang me. So, as far as I was concerned they had already started off on the wrong footing. So when I thought they had not turned up today, I got angry, and rang up with a ‘Don’t piss me off or your fucked, attitude.’ My plank, of refusing to stop and think, to breathe and wait hurt, somebody. Had I stopped. Breathed and thought about it, before a knee jerk reaction of, ‘The fuckers at it AGAIN ‘ I would have thought to have checked my calendar. And realised it was ME who got it wrong. So my plank is knee jerk reactions. And because of this, if anybody does something that I think starts one of those, in stead of being able to point out maybe they might have got it wrong, I bulldoze in, crush the person and get it wrong myself! No matter what the situation is. It is my ATTITUDE. That was what was so wrong with the Pharisees. Their attitude. The refusing to Stop. Breathe, and think it though, rather than knee jerk, and in mouth frothing indignation point the finger and judge. Rather than, if they really felt it wrong, doing it in love. Meeting up, being open and being honest. Because that way so much more can be achieved. For everyone involved. The bible teaches us a soft answer turns away anger. My anger mearly fuels somebody else’s. Why? Because I have already put their back up! Whether right OR wrong. MY attitude is partially or nearly totally responsible for their response! So nothing is resolved. Two people are pissed off. Possibly BOTH of them then tell other people about ‘that shitty cow’ or ‘that late take the piss driver’ so everyone else learns not to trust, hear or help the other person! Also it could be somebody, I have spoken poison about the matter too, rather than Check or stop and breather, actually becomes ‘ A worse convert that me..’ And so is less merciful to the person, should they meet them.

So planks are areas in our life that we have not, or do not want, to deal with. It could be anything. Complaining, hate, gossip, fear filling, being pushy, controlling, manipulation, just to name a few. And you know what? We all have multiple planks! Every area we condemn or judge others for, we need to check if we have it ourselves. That way, when and if we actually DO need to say something to them, it will be done in kindness, gentles, humility and understanding. And by doing that, we may have the speck, but the plank blindness will not be there for us, or them, to get hurt by. But we can also have planks about the totally OPPOSITE thing the person has done! This is a bit controversial, so don’t read any further, if you are easily upset or offended…… I love animals. I hate cruelty of any kind on an animal. It is defenceless and relies on us for everything. Food, love, a home, protection. But some people take it to far when trying to educate others about cruelty. I have seen it. I have seen people openly lie and give out false information to stop a cruelty happen, that they disagree with. I have seen them act and speak in hate. Just one animal that suffers is terrible, course this is cruel! Of course it should be banned! But we do not need mouth frothing, judgemental people trying to lie and terrify people to force the issue. This changes nothing, but makes a mockery out of any possible change because it hardens people and makes them shut down and shut it out! Another kind of example of this, although it is not cruel at all, but DOES need to be said, and strongly, is about animals as Christmas presents. There is nothing wrong with getting or giving an animal for Christmas. But there IS something very wrong with getting rid of it because you are bored, lazy or no longer want it. So the slogan ‘A pet is for life, not just for Christmas,’ Came into being. From a very righteous and beautiful perspective. BUT, some people judge and give hate and condemnation just because any animal they see gets rehomed! They state ‘There is NO excuse!’ Yes, sometimes there is a very, very good and valid excuse. The death or terminal illness of a person. When a baby or young child is in danger. When two pets do not get on, and one becomes vulnerable. If ŷou move to an area, say a flat, and it is not what is best for your animal. When a marriage breaks up, and the poor pet can no longer be looked after with love and protection. Then for that animals best interest and health, that IS the best thing to do! I adopted a cat from somebody recently. They were heartbroken to let him go. But the person they lived with was allergic to cats. So they put him first, took great care, and chose him a home he would be loved and cared for. And he is. We love him so much. And he is happy and content. So we also need to be sure, that when we disagree with what somebody else is doing, we are very careful not to condemn. That will NOT make them change! It will make them hide. It could inflame the situation and make it much worse. What does that do? Nothing!!

Ultimately planks signify a problem with the heart, in one area or another. A hardness, or a blindness that we either refuse to see, or do not know it is there. But if we watch how we react to situations we find ourselves in, we will begin to see which are the ‘specks’ things we might see in others that we are gentle and loving in our correction, if necessary. Or planks, where we first, need to look at ourselves; to see why we react like that, sort it out and learn a new, kind, gentle, loving way of intervening or pointing out a problem, if we need too. PLANKS! How dangerous. No wonder Jesus told that story. I think I need to find a carpenter…..preferably with an axe…..

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I don’t traffic in anything have to do with dark magic. Black stuff, the sort that requires blood rituals and deals with demons. Beyond my own, staunch morality, I’m rather allergic to it.White magic, fae charms, and everything between doesn’t even make me itch, but dark magic? My eyes water, my sinuses fill, and my throat feels like sandpaper.This is exactly what happened to me not five minutes after calling Iris. I sneezed in rapid succession and scrambled for a hanky. This would be a long day, I could already tell. Turning the dial of my radio, I picked up a police scanner and listened to all the words fit to broadcast. There had been an attack at Enoch’s store. A struggle, and a man dead matching Enoch’s description from two bullet holes in the back of the head. Very nice. Very professional. I felt my blood boil. I am not, by practice, a man prone to rages. But when someone not only kills a valuable sort of magical goods. Someone I’ve known for a very long time, well I can’t say it doesn’t get my dander up.Blowing my nose, I struggled to pull on my parka, beanie hat, and gloves. I had to do some thinking, and doing it holed up in my pack was not the most productive. I needed fresh air. Salt air.About two hours later I was at the docks. It’s my favorite place to mull things over. Also, like most ‘rough places’ in any city or town, it’s where you’re more likely to find some magical inhabitants.Glamours are expensive you see. Oh sure it’s easy for a thousand year old vampire to pay to keep themselves looking and seeming human. But when you’re a down on your luck Troll trying to feed a brood of kids, a halfhearted masque is the best you can manage.One being in particular, a Hill Giant named Larry, was the one I was after. He ran a seedy little bar at the docks, which catered to the lost and found of magical beings. Especially those who could afford no manner of glamour. And thus had  to keep out of the eyes of ‘normies’ lest the MPD (Mystical Police Department) swoop down and lock them up.Larry was massive, and likely eight feet tall when he stood upright, which he never did. He hunched like most of his kind, and was cleaning massive iron mugs when I entered. He snorted his greeting, and I slipped onto a barstool.“You ain’t wanted here, bub,” “Now now Larry. You know quite well I paid my tab last we-” “Ain’t about the tab. You got yerself a price on yer head.” I blinked once. Twice even. A price? How was that even possible? What could I have done to warrant such an over-exaggeration of a reaction.“Come again?” Another snort. “-y’heard me short-stack. Some.. high end lawyer wit’ a bit of dark power behind him put it our on th’magic radar a half ‘n hour ago. Says anyone who brings y’in gets a hefty price. Gotta be alive tho’, so there’s a comfort,” A half an hour? I had been safe and snug in my little abode a half hour ago. This was ridiculous. But I felt the proverbial weight of a target being draw on my back. I scratched my beard and pondered.“Any chance you won’t tell anyone I’ve been here, Larry?” There was a long pause. He of course was waiting for the reason to not be telling anyone. Digging into one of the many pockets of my parka, I slid him two gold coins, which he took. “-Course not, we’re friends ain’t we?” I didn’t stay much longer at Larry’s place. When you’re prey, you move. As I stepped onto the docks once more, I was spotted. Men in suits... same as the sort that had shouldered me outside of Enoch’s shop appeared on either ends of the long shore. “Ah... feck,” I muttered to myself. I myself, am not one for fighting. In a one-on-one brawl, I can handle myself alright. I’ve watched countless hours of professional wrestling. I know that a good thumb in the eye, or kick in the jewels halts most any fights. But four buff men in suits? No thank you.I weighed my options. I doubt I could run. I didn’t have time to dig into my pack for anything proper. I only kept simple things in my accessible pockets, anything heavy got cataloged away. That’s when I thought of it.A month ago, a mermaid had needed some help getting her children out of debt with a rather disgusting goblin. He was using their songs to get people into his establishment of ill-repute. Abused them rather severely. Normally I’d have taken such a task without charge, but she insisted I take something. So she had given me a pearl. One time-use. Apparently it would allow me to ‘Swim like fish. Fast and true. Much fast’ (she was in fact, a Russian mermaid.)I had never had a chance to test it, do to it’s single use, so I couldn’t organize it in my collection. But now seemed as good a time as any. In a flash, I sunk my hand into one of the pockets of my pack, and heard the splintering of wood. Those bastards were throwing hexes at me!I made a mad dash towards the edge of the dock. Popping the pearl into my mouth, I swallowed and jumped into the icy waves below.My muscles screamed in agony. My chest pounded at the shock. I knew I wouldn’t be able to stay under for long. Not a chance. That’s when it happened.I felt my clothes loosen. My arms shrank... my legs seemed to.. melt together. For fuck’s sake. Swim like fish. Swim as a fish. I’m a fucking fish!A marlin to be precise. Thankfully a large enough animal to where I could still carry my jacket and pack. The only two items that mattered and swam as rapidly as I could towards salvation. My pack hanging off a fin, and coat perched on my spear-like snout.I had no idea how to get where I needed to go, I was never a boating sort of person. But the further I got away from those goons, the better I’d be. I kept to the coastline, until I was able to pop up to recognize the lower half of the city. That’d work. I didn’t know how long it’d take to revert back to myself. So I huddled under a dock near the city, and tossed my pack and jacket onto shore. Both hidden by shadow and planks. Then swam aimlessly until I felt the change take place.Once I had the appropriate amount of appendages I scrambled out of the water. I shook the beaded water off my parka and pulled it on . Both my pack and coat had been jinxed to be VERY weatherproof. I thanked that leprechaun, wherever he was.I popped into my bag long enough to dry off. Change into warm dry clothes, a sturdy pair of boots, and a few more layers to keep the hypothermia out. I also grabbed a flask of Orcish Spirits, and after a gulp I felt the feeling rush back to my fingers and toes.Once I was back into the real world, I slung my pack onto my back, and started on foot. I had no idea where I was going. I was very sure that I couldn’t go to any of my usual haunts. They’d likely be watched. And I refused to put anyone in danger recklessly. I did text Iris. Not because I was concerned. She is definitely a woman who could take care of herself. But because I told her I’d be off the grid for a while, and gave her some vague details about why.I received a reply of “Right”. Which was clearly a disguised statement of love, concern, and admiration. I decided then and there that I would in fact be safest among the normies.Magic is a very well kept secret. And the people who enforce that secret are some of the strongest and scariest people you’d never hope to meet. No matter how much power this strange, Warlock... Lawyer.. Lawyerlock had, he wouldn’t dare risk exposure en mass. I went to a mall, for I love the mall as it’s filled to the brim with people determined not to pay attention to you. There I spent a useful hour doing research on my now third cellphone of the day. Devouring a side of “Left Side Moon’s” lovely orange chicken. Iris had installed an app that let me read the “Magical RSS Feed”. Which apparently announced all the goings-on in our world. And true to his word, Larry was right.“Bounty - Packrat Moe - Vast Gold Reward - Alive - Any Information Paid - Contact 555-8392″ “Well Well... this is interesting,” I whispered to myself, the only council worth a flick in times of crisis. I forwarded it to Iris, and asked her politely, if a little vaguely to see if she could find out who had posted it. Her answer came not twenty minutes later.-Someone trying to keep hidden. Lots of magic loopholes. Burnt out computer tracking it down. Bought new one, sending you invoice.- I rolled my eyes, but continued reading.-Law Firm, Ghul & Associates. Nothing on the man who runs it. Doesn’t exist.-I thanked her. It wasn’t much, but it was more than I had had before. I at least had a starting point. I stocked up on supplies, food, odds and ends, and once more set out. I had an appointment with a lawyer to keep.