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I am saying because a second ago I was eating spaghetti in my house alone while standing up. I don't know why, either.
Recorded another song with Adam. I like it. Not posting it on forums, though. Seems pointless in retrospect because it's not an anime song.
I'm sorry about not emailing you back, OM. They pretty much hired someone the next day.
Speaking of the new hire, his name is Nacho for some reason. He seems pretty nice, really goofy. I worked a lot this week and the amount of sleep I did not get took a bit of a toll on me. Felt sick for most of the week, but I played it off well.
I don't know what else to write about. Sad a lot. Happy other times. Bored mostly.
I hope you are all not dead. :)
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I'm posting this if only for posterity. Also, I type completely different depending on who I talk to. I suppose I don't care if Ray respects me or not.
( Doug Funnie's Blogspot )
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So I guess Adam and I have been writing songs together for awhile now. We finally get together some decent equipment and recorded one of them, hopefully the first of many.
Matt Cruea and the Adam Combs Band - Puppy Love
I'd really like to know what you all think. You can find lyrics and explanations and whatnot on various forums and Facebooks and after the cut. Reply wherever you wish! :)
( The Cut )
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- Had a dream where Adam and I were on a quest to find Georgia's Largest Krystal. We were supposed to meet someone there, but I can't remember whom. Got to Krystal, it was connected to a Kroger and was cleared out, with a sign on the front that said "Wendy's! Coming Soon!" Luckily there is a clerk putting that sign on the door. We ask him where the second-biggest one is and he says "right down the street." And it is.
- Two cops have a fender bender. Confused as to whether or not to call the cops about the incident.
- Man goes into lawyer's office. High, riding bike, hits telephone poll, breaks collarbone. Successfully wins lawsuit against government, bike manufacturer, telephone company, and doctor. Hilarious glaucoma jokes.
- It is 5:30 AM and I am at work. Joy.
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So remember that fella who worked the morning shift at my office? The one who was using his under-the-table checks on prostitutes?
He got fired for embezzling money today.
I should write a book, but I guess a journal is okay, too.
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Work has been grueling as of late. It has been either an assault on my intelligence or an assault on my ability to handle stress. Mostly it's just been a lot more work, yet for some reason time did not seem to pass faster. Obviously my boss is an evil wizard.
Hung out yesterday with ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) jerry_kun and sapphira, and it was pretty awesome getting to finally meet them. I think I was a little more tired than I normally am, so apologies if I was more boring or lame than expected! Thank you for driving everywhere. Let's hang out again!
Also met their friend Adam, who is cool, like my friend Adam. I am very jealous that he is sorta living out my childhood dreams.
Speaking of online people in Georgia, odangoatama and I need to chill soon, as well.
As I have mentioned in previous posts, my little brothers are in town and I like to fight them. That is all I have to say about this.
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Saturday, June 27th, 2009
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So Marc's going to Japan for a few weeks after years of talking about it, and asked if I wanted a birthday present from there as he would be returning the day before my birthday.
But what, really, does Japan have to offer me?
According to Wikipedia: "archaeological research indicates that people were living on the islands of Japan as early as the Upper Paleolithic period. The first written mention of Japan begins with brief appearances in Chinese history texts from the first century A.D. Influence from the outside world followed by long periods of isolation has characterized Japan's history. Since adopting its constitution in 1947, Japan has maintained a unitary constitutional monarchy with an emperor and an elected parliament, the Diet.
So perhaps I should ask for some ancient relic. Have Marc raid a tomb in Shibuya for me. They have tombs there, I think.
Wikipedia continues: "A major economic power, Japan has the world's second largest economy by nominal GDP and the third largest in purchasing power parity. It is also the world's fourth largest exporter and sixth largest importer. It is a developed country with high living standards (8th highest HDI). Japan has the highest life expectancy of any country in the world (according to both UN and WHO estimates)."
A major economic power, and further research indicates that their top exports are automobiles. So perhaps, Marc, I could use a sweet new ride.
Other than that, I dunno what they have to offer me. Anyone reading have any suggestions? I promise to take them seriously.
And yes, the first thing I asked for was for him to stop anime. Probably can't be done.
And yes, I have already thought about a pure Nihon prostitute, but she would probably suffocate in the box on the flight over.
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Wednesday, June 24th, 2009
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- I bought a "Wind Tunnel 3300" and it is exactly what you think it is.
- I have wondered if the fact that I never drank or smoked or partook of drugs or subscribed to any sort of religion has been the major cause of my very small friend circle. Perhaps if I'd been a drunk Buddhist I'd have a wife!
- I hope I can switch jobs soon. I wonder if this job will be the death of me? More on that in another entry, perhaps.
- Why am I listening to Sean Hannity? He is insane.
- The best flavor of VitaminWater is "tropical citrus." The best flavor of water is "plain."
- Who invented popsicles? What a wonderful human being.
- If I hadn't gotten my financial aid back, I was going to liquidate all my assets and backpack across Europe. No, I am not kidding. In an alternate universe, I am more awesome than I am now.
- Speaking of, I realize I took a few years off college and whatnot, but I'm looking over OKCupid profiles (shaddap) and some people are graduating from college at, like, 19 and 20. How can I measure up to that?
- Wikipedia says an eleven year old boy invented the popsicle. Ah, the mind of a child.
- Browsing Facebook, I've noticed they list names alphabetically by their first name. This is an outrage.
- I want to go see Transformers 2. I hear it's fun.
- I hope Mystery Team gets a theater run in Atlanta. I really want to see that movie.
- I hope, when I'm able to move out yet again, I have a suitable roommate available. It would suck to have a lot of money and nowhere to spend it!
- Oh, Adam just messaged me over Facebook. Yes, let's go see Transformers 2. You are a good friend.
- This is getting too long. Don't die. I love you.
- Wait, scratch that. Do die if you use Twitter. I still love you, though.
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So my brothers are down here watching wrestling and they're all "Matt, you should take us to see a live wrestling show." So me, being the good brother that I am, I decided to look it up. Turns out there's a show in Georgia in July. So I ask my mom if it'd be cool.
Well, they're supposed to leave that weekend, but they could stay and extra two weeks so I could take them. That's lame, but at least I'd get to go take 'em out for a fun night.
...but the event's in Macon, two hours away, and my car couldn't make such a drive. So oh well!
But now the boys are gonna stay down two more weeks anyway. I lose! I LOSE! ARGH!
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"You're just gonna leave while Ike Clanton and his boys are out there runnin' their mouths about you?" Mary Horony asked her man, her hands firmly placed on her hips, "you don't seriously believe what Harvey said, do you?"
"I don't know what I believe, darlin'," Doc Holliday replied, smiling back at Mary, "but Clanton and Claiborne can wait just a few more days. Wyatt wants to look into what's goin' on in Dead Acres and he wants us to come with. Simple as that."
"Why do you cling to that man? He and his family are nothing but trouble."
"Same could be said for me. Or you. And besides, darlin', Wyatt and I are family."
At noon, Doc joined the party as they gathered at the city limits of Tombstone, Arizona. Wyatt Earp, famed lawman, had gathered the group together to finally look into the disappearances surrounding the town of Dead Acres. Wyatt and Doc were joined by Wyatt's brothers, James, Virgil, Morgan, and Warren.
"We've got to make this quick," Warren said, directing his horse next to Wyatt's, "I mean to meet with father in Colton 'fore the week is over."
"We'll be there one night, Warren," Wyatt replied, smiling under his hat, "and then we're gone like ghosts."
The trek to Dead Acres was a long one, and the sun seemed to be higher and hotter than it had been in the Summer months before. The brothers Earp and their companion Doc absorbed the heat, but did not let their spirits falter. They had heard the tales of Dead Acres and their Sheriff, from both Harvey and other travelers. A visit had been long since due.
Virgil was the US Marshall for the entire Arizona territory, so the horror stories of those who had lost people in Dead Acres or barely escaped from the town with their lives had all passed over his desk. If Virgil were to be honest, as he normally was, he would tell you that Dead Acres didn't even exist on his map of the territory, and no official Sheriff was appointed in that area.
So as the posse rode into the town, with the sun setting behind them, none of them knew what they were truly in for. James Earp, the only member of the family not working as a lawman at that time, walked into the inn of the town, the door swinging behind him. The innkeeper looked up at him through glassy eyes.
"You'll be wantin' a room, eh?" the innkeeper asked, "sun's settin' quick these days. Don't wanna be out after dark, I reckon."
"We aim to beat the night, sir," James replied, "now, where might we find your local law enforcement?"
The innkeeper rolled his eyes.
"Ahgh, another troupe o' fellas wantin' t' take on Sheriff Ed," the innkeeper sighed, "ain't gonna end well for ya, that's for sure. We all found that out pretty quicklike after he rolled into th' settlement."
"What happened?" Wyatt asked, walking into the inn. He had apparently been eavesdropping on the entire conversation.
"Ten men settled here, myself and my brothers," the innkeeper replied, smiling devilishly, "we built a town from the ground up we did. Took a year, but we did it. No more time had passed and a man walks in all tattered and smelly. Says he needs a place to stay, to find 'imself or somefin'.
"One mornin', we wake up, man's eatin' my brother Bubber. Bubber never hurt no one and yet the man hurt him. So we chase after the man, Ed, an' he says 'sorry! Sorry! Ain't who I am! Can't control it sometimes!" he says. But what we seen, we ain't seen before. Makes some of my brothers go a little off, follow? Not me, though. Not me.
"He ain't no man, Sheriff Ed. An' he ain't no one to be trifled with. You boys'd best get to sleep and leave for the mornin'."
The Earps looked at the innkeeper. He was a disgusting shell of a man, and he was by no means the sane man he claimed to be. What he'd seen, perhaps, had been enough to drive him to what he had become. Yet, for some reason, they believed his story.
James, Virgil, Warren, Wyatt, and Doc gathered in the center of town.
"We mean to see the Sheriff," Wyatt cried into the night, "we mean to call him out on the atrocities committed at Dead Acres!"
Wyatt's voice called back to him as it echoed throughout the ghost town. However, it wasn't very long before they saw four men creep out of the shadows of a nearby alleyway.
"You wanted to see me, Mr. Earp?" Ed replied, holding his hands in the air, "been expectin' you."
"Aren't those the Vansen Boys?" Warren asked of Virgil, pointing to the three deputies who staggered behind Sheriff Ed, "Hade, an' Billy, an' Tex. Harvey said they was dead, but there they are, clear as day."
"Don't like this," Virgil replied under his mustache, "not at all."
Wyatt, meanwhile, was a bit more confident than his brother. He and Doc strode forward to see the Sheriff and his boys in a better light.
"We hear stories of you killin' folks without reason here, 'Sheriff'," Wyatt spoke, his voice booming, "any truth?"
"Not without reason," Ed replied, "well, rarely without reason."
"And your boys there?"
"Well, they're the guiltier type. But I've been tryin'-"
Before Ed could finish his sentence, the two quickest draws in the territory had struck. Doc and Wyatt placed bullets into the heads of the three deputies, and they fell to the ground without a scream. Doc had placed a bullet into Ed's left kneecap as well, and he crumpled before them. Doc and Wyatt advanced, but Ed struggled to his feet.
"Now that weren't nice, gentlemen," Ed replied, readjusting his hat, "now I'm gonna need some new deputies."
Ed began running towards Doc and Wyatt, but it was at that moment that their trap was sprung. Morgan came rolling out of the alleyway in front of them on his horse, hitting the Sheriff full-on. Ed flew through the air, his spine cracking against the side of the saloon. It only took a few moments for Doc and Wyatt to tie Ed's hands and feet together with a length of rope.
Wyatt grabbed Ed and shoved his slightly decayed head into a nearby water trough.
"What are you?" he asked.
"I'm a lawman, same as you," Ed replied, smiling.
"Tell me what you are," Wyatt barked, shoving Ed's head into the water trough once again, "TELL ME!"
"I'm just a man who had a rough night, Mr. Earp," Ed replied, the water flowing from the opened flesh in his cheeks, "but let me give you the details, since you're askin' so nicely."
Ed revealed to the men his story and Wyatt shoved the beaten creature to the ground.
"Stories are true, then?" Virgil asked, "of the dead walking in New Orleans?"
"Some kinda virus," Ed replied, spitting out horse hair that had accumulated in that water that had filled his mouth, "and then, of course, the voodoo. Don't ask me to explain it."
"So you hunger for flesh? For blood?" Warren asked, trembling.
"Yeah, I guess," Ed answered, "I can control it, most times. Don't make me evil. Don't make me a monster. It's just what I am. Like I said, I had one rough night."
"Well," Wyatt replied, "you're about to have a lot more."
The Earps, minus Wyatt and Doc, covered Ed in a burlap sack. He struggled and squirmed as they kicked him inside the bag, but eventually he just gave in. Wyatt, meanwhile, gave one last cautionary glance to his brother, Virgil. Virgil merely nodded solemnly.
Dead Acres was cursed, and they couldn't let it stand.
Wyatt and Doc made sure every building was ready before the lit the fires. They had gone back for the innkeeper, but he had vanished. Finally, the matches were struck and the posse rode back towards Tombstone. Behind them, the lost town of Dead Acres burned to the ground. They had immolated an entire city, these riders of the West, just to take out a man who didn't have a choice as to what he had become.
For a long time after that night, they would wonder if they'd done the right thing. Warren had met with his brother Newton in New Mexico, where they'd buried Sheriff Ed under a mountain of dirt. Only they and the other members of the posse knew where Ed was located. Virgil, ever the boyscout, had reported the incident to his superiors, and word eventually made its way to President Arthur's desk.
"You expect me to believe this?" Chester wrote in a telegram to Virgil Earp, "to think that my administration is so weak as to do so after President Garfield's assassination is quite rude, sir. However, it is also my policy to respect my agents in all areas of this nation. We will look into the area where the body was buried. We have been looking for a new area to create an outpost in the New Mexico territory, so perhaps the area will be suitable. Keep up the good work, Marshall Earp."
As a new installation was erected just one territory over, the winds scattered the ashes of Dead Acres. The nine men who had founded it had perished with it, their shattered minds refusing to leave the town even as it was swallowed by flame. A lone figure strode towards the pile of ashes and smiled, her hands on her hips.
"Dis de legacy o' Ed Dead," she smiled, "a town of ash and cinder. Or perhaps, dis jus' de legacy o' man in de times we live in. A shame, Ed Dead, dat you buried now, so far away."
Marie smiled as she knelt down and sifted some ashes into an urn.
"A shame Miss Marie not live to see you crawl out de ground an' live again."
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"Tell me what you are," Wyatt barked, shoving Ed's head into the water trough once again, "TELL ME!"
"I'm just a man who had a rough night, Mr. Earp," Ed replied, the water flowing from the opened flesh in his cheeks, "but let me give you the details, since you're askin' so nicely."
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"We march towards New Orleans and take out the forces marching towards us from there," General Anderson said, running his finger along the map. His bushy red beard gave away his heritage, but even for an Irishman the soldiers knew he was the best leader they could ask for in this humid hellhole.
"How you feelin', Ed?" Anderson asked his second-in-command.
"Tired, but I'll pull through," Ed replied with a sigh, "they say Sherman's marching to Atlanta right now. They say he's burning what he's marching over."
"And he's a damned smart man for doing so," Anderson replied, "damned smart. You can't be a leader of men just by being an inspiration. You have to show them that you can be something more, that you can instill fear in the hearts of your enemy. They need to see you coming and cower. They can't run at you full-speed if their knees are tremblin'."
Ed smiled at General Anderson. The war, one he didn't even necessarily believe in, had gone on long enough for both of them at this point. They didn't talk more about it, but they knew Sherman would succeed in his campaign - there wasn't another General like him. They also knew that the Union forces to the West were just as strong as their crew.
It was a suicide mission, but Ed was nothing if not suicidal.
As the sun set, the Confederate battalion marched towards the main city of Louisiana, their muskets held firmly to their chests. They were no more than three miles from the city itself, which was just a mile from the Union garrison their scouts had spotted.
"Ed, I want you and Samuel to scout ahead. The rest of us will wait for your signal and then we rush them as they sleep."
Ed nodded and he and Private Samuel Downs crept through the night towards the Union camp. Private Downs hadn't been with the group long, and Ed feared he didn't have the heart or the nerves for a sneaking mission. The two men made their way to a set of bushes outside their goal.
"So what do we do, Sarge?" asked Sam.
"Well, I don't see any guards in the usual posts," Ed replied, "a bit strange. We need to move closer to find out where they are."
Sam and Ed moved to another vantage point, and then another, and then another. Still, they saw nothing. The camp seemed to be abandoned. Had the Yankees already marched? Had they left their group just in time to miss a full assault from the enemy?
"Um, Sarge?" Sam muttered, looking through a hole in the wooden gate at the front of the camp, "you're gonna wanna take a look at this."
Ed walked forward cautiously and peeped through the hole. He did not like what he saw.
"Blood..." he whispered, "torn pieces of clothing... no, people. The whole places is covered in death, Sam. Someone got here first."
Suddenly, from the East, came gunfire.
"General Anderson!" Ed cried, "C'mon, Sam! We gotta get back!"
The two Confederate soldiers ran back through the woods, not stopping to even catch their breaths or contemplate what they could do to help if, indeed, the Union forces had attacked. They did wonder, however, what they could do if whatever had attacked the Union base was attacking their fellow soldiers.
As they closed in on their encampment, the gunfire seemed to slow to a halt. It was deathly quiet as Ed and Sam arrived. Tents were on fire, but no man seemed to be around, nor on the ground. Ed ran to General Anderson's tent and found his commanding officer's corpse lying on the ground, eviscerated.
"Goddammit," Ed growled, "what the hell happened here?"
At that moment, Sam let out a loud scream. Ed ran outside to find Sam backing up to the tent with him. Around them, without warning, was a wall of shambling bodies. Union soldiers and their own greycoated fellows, standing together and covered in all kinds of blood and viscera. Their eyes were a cloudy white and many were letting out slight growls.
As one began to advance, Ed pulled out his rifle and let a ball fly into the skull of the creature. It fell, but the others began to advance themselves. Sam and Ed backed into one another, ready to go down fighting.
Sam, however, let out a loud shriek as General Anderson's pale corpse bit into his ankle. He fell over with a cry and within moments a horde was on top of him. Ed's eyes widened in horror and, without a second thought, he ran as fast as his legs could take him. He ran past a group of enemies who scratched and clawed at him, breaking the flesh, but still he ran.
As he got into the heart of the city, he could feel himself getting more and more tired. Ed felt himself getting sick, like he'd gotten a bad case of the flu. His vision became hazy as he entered the French Quarter and stumbled around the lobby. Finally he instinctively crashed through a door in the back of the hotel and collapsed on the floor.
When Ed awoke, he felt a lot better, but not necessarily great. The woman in front of him seemed none too pleased, however.
"You comin' in here wit de bad sickness," she grumbled, fumbling beakers in her chubby hands, "you wan' make Madame Leveau get dead, eh? You wan' make me de stridin' corpse, do ya?"
"Dunno whatcher sayin'..." Ed mumbled, still trying to get his bearings.
"You gotcherself de bad mojo, Eddie-boy," Madame Leveau laughed, "de sickness dat make de dead walk. It's not whaddeye usually work wit, chasee."
"I see," Ed mumbled.
"You gone an' done yerself good though, Eddie-boy. Marie gonna fix you up nice. Give you de blessin' o' de Loa. You be de zombi, boy, twice over. Den you pay back Madame Marie for her kindness, yah?"
"Yah," Ed groaned. He was starting to get hungry.
Marie smiled and shook the beaker in her hand. She waved her hand above it for a moment and chanted in a tongue Ed didn't understand. Her eyes seemed to roll back in her head. Finally, she took a powder from her pouch and blew it in Ed's face before feeding him the contents of the vial.
"What did you... do...?" asked Ed. The hunger was quickly fading. His vision was returning.
"You dyin' twice today, Eddie-boy," Marie laughed, "you de vodou zombi and de sickness zombie rolled into one now. And now you pay back Madame Marie before she set you free."
"What do you need?" Ed growled.
When she asked, Ed flashed her a toothy grin. For some reason, it seemed so right. Like he could do it. Like he could take on the world.
Ed marched to the outskirts of New Orleans and held a pistol in each hand. Knives were at Ed's side, but he didn't care if he ran out of bullets. The Civil War zombies walked slowly towards New Orleans and Ed stared them down, unwavering.
He could see that, even though the virus had clouded their minds, they still knew fear. They feared him, and how he was their better.
And rightly so.
Within an hour, the man who would be called Ed Dead stood alone outside the city of New Orleans. As he disappeared in the mists to the West, he looked back just once and saw Marie Leveau, crossing her arms and staring back at him.
Ed turned towards the West and never looked back.
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"Dead Acres," the man in the brown hat spoke solemnly to the coach driver, "and I'd like to be there before sundown, if I could."
"Dead Acres is a bit out yonder for you, isn't it, Mr. Vansen?" the driver replied in his slight British accent, "who'll be mindin' the farm while you're gone?"
"Susan and the boys can handle it. We're in the off-season, so t'aint much to grow. We've got enough saved so I could take this trip."
"And why Dead Acres, Mr. Vansen?"
"Because," Dodd Vansen replied from beneath his wide brim, "the Sheriff killed my brother, so I'm gonna kill him."
After a five hour ride across the Arizona desert, they found themselves outside the town of Dead Acres. It had been a little over a year since the mysterious package had arrived with his brother Hade's belongings. Their father, Julius Vansen, had given birth to three boys. Of the three, Hade was the black sheep, that was certain. While Dodd and Ray had made poppa proud and made their way legit, Hade had fallen into cattle rustling and small-time crime.
Dodd had not seen his brother for almost a decade and though there was disappointment behind every photo he kept of Hade, there was also love and hope for forgiveness and redemption. Dodd loved his brother, and when he'd found out he'd died, he wasn't very happy. He wasn't surprised, either.
Ray didn't even get word of Hade's death for eight months. He was a lawyer in Philadelphia, and he took care of old Julius who was in his final years. Dodd, meanwhile, had moved out West after they won the war so as to make his fortune. He'd dreamed big, of gold and prosperity, but when he met Susan, she gave him all the fortune he'd ever need.
All that was behind Dodd now, however, as the he stepped out of the stagecoach and into the inn.
"You can room with me for the night, Harvey," Dodd said to the driver, "after I take care of my business, I mean to leave in the morning."
Harvey nodded and went to tie his horses to the trough outside the inn. Dodd walked ahead of him and asked the innkeeper for a room.
"Sure, I gots a room fer ye," the innkeeper replied, "what brings ye t' Dead Acres, an' so late n'less?"
"I mean to have words with your Sheriff," Dodd replied boldly, "where might I find the man, anyway?"
"Normally sleeps durin' th'day, patrols at night, but you won't want t'seeim at night, reckon. Ah c'n set yup a meetin' with a deputy, if'n ya please?"
"No, I'd rather see the Sheriff," Dodd replied, "I'll go take a walk after sundown and look for him. Thank you kindly."
The innkeeper merely smiled and walked to the back of his room, leaving the rusted key sitting on the counter. At the same moment, Harvey walked into the room and smiled at the man who was employing him for the next few days. The two men walked up to their room to await the setting sun.
"So," Harvey began sheepishly, "how'd ya find out the Sheriff was the one who ended your brother?"
"Package came from this town," Dodd replied, shining his gun, "wasn't hard to gather what had happened from travelers who'd heard tales of Sheriff Ed. What've you heard, Harvey?"
"Different things, I suppose. They say he's the best shot in the whole territory. Say he's never lost a fight. Others say he's a weirdo, a deviant. Like he runs the town like a tyrant, and rapes the women as he pleases. Others say he's a kind man who uses his gifts to protect his town. Lots say he was a greycoat, who had a dealing with Marie Laveau that went sour."
"The Witch-Woman of New Orleans," Dodd interjected, not taking his eyes from the gun.
"The very same," Harvey continued, "Never heard anything concrete about it. Never even heard his last name."
"Then he better tell someone soon," Dodd smiled, admiring his gun in the last few moments of sunlight, "'cause they're gonna need to put it on his headstone."
Dodd prepared himself a bit more and left Harvey alone in the room. He walked outside the inn and walked around the deserted streets. The only living things were Harvey's black horses, and even they seemed to have a ghostly palor underneath the light of the full moon. He walked for almost an hour, seeing no sign of anyone, before he finally stopped in his tracks.
"I'm lookin' for Sheriff Ed," Dodd called out, pulling his hat down tighter to his skull, "I mean to speak with him!"
The wind seemed to rustle at that very moment and Dodd turned around with a start. Nothing. Just empty street. When he turned back, a man in a long coat with black hat pulled down around his thin face stood twenty feet from him.
"You're him?" Dodd asked.
"Yessir," Sheriff Ed replied, "you wouldn't be lookin' for trouble now, would you? We don't take too kindly to it in Dead Acres."
"Hade Vansen. You've heard the name?"
"Passed through here once."
"Word is you killed him."
"Is that the word?"
"Is it true?"
"If that's how you want to think of it."
Dodd could stand no more. He'd grown angry, weary of the Sheriff's gruff voice and words like riddles. He pulled out his gun and aimed squarely at Ed's forehead.
"You don't want to do this, Dodd," Ed replied, holding his hands up in the air, "from that range, and from the way you're holding that thing, I reckon you'd miss with all your bullets."
"What do you know?!" Dodd exclaimed, "how do you know my name?!"
"Put the gun down, go back to bed, and in the morning, go home. You don't belong here, Dodd. You're a good man."
"And you murdered my brother!"
The words echoed throughout the night. Dodd aimed the gun and it shook in his hands. He wondered if the Sheriff was right, if he was too nervous to hit. He had a wife and two sons to go home to. Two boys who would get a package from Dead Acres with their daddy's belongings inside and grow up with hate and vengeance in their hearts.
Then the dirt behind Dodd shifted.
He turned to see the big man in the red button-up shirt with the deputy's star glinting in the moonlight. He seemed to be giving off a low growl, but at the same time pushing forth no breath. Dodd looked at the deputy and immediately knew what he was seeing.
"Hade?" Dodd asked, his voice cracking as he spoke.
Hade replied with a low gurgle.
"He's a deputy now, Mr. Vansen," Sheriff Ed called from behind him, "he's on the side of the angels now. Such a wanted man, such a low-down criminal, now works as a lawman himself. It's really a story that defines the time we live in, doesn't it, Dodd?"
Dodd didn't know how to react. He looked at Ed and then at Hade. He couldn't tell, but Hade seemed almost... happy. Perhaps he had finally, truly, been redeemed. Dodd placed his gun back in his holster.
"I'll be leaving now, Sheriff," Dodd sighed, "I'm sorry to have bothered you this late at night. Thanks for making my brother into a good man."
Sheriff Ed merely nodded as Dodd began to turn and walk back towards the inn. He then quickly held out his right hand, whispering quietly, "no, Hade, don't!"
It was too late, though. Hade had brought his massive arm down on the back of his brother's neck. Within seconds, Hade was upon him, ripping into his flesh with his powerful, yet decayed jaws. Sheriff Ed sighed.
"He didn't have to die, Hade," Ed muttered before a faint smile crawled across his lips, "but there ain't much we can do now."
Ed advanced on the body of Dodd Vansen and pulled at his arm for a moment. Finally, with a sickening pop, he pulled it free of Dodd's torso and began munching on it happily. Two other men came from the shadows and descended upon the body. The limbs were quickly removed, and it took less than an hour for them to devour him whole.
The three lawmen, if such a term were appropriate, vanished once more into the shadows.
From his bedroom window, Harvey Schiller had watched the entire ordeal in absolute horror. He covered himself tightly throughout the night, sweating profusely. When the sun came, he rode out immediately, not stopping to look behind even once. The horses were tired, but Harvey didn't let them stop until Dead Acres had disappeared over the horizon.
Harvey arrived at his stable in Tombstone and left the horses there. He immediately made his way to the saloon and ordered a drink, heavier than he'd ever had.
"You look a bit worked up, Harvey," said the bar manager, cautiously leaning on the counter, "you okay?"
"Ain't never gonna be okay, Mister Earp," Harvey replied, shaking as the barkeep poured the glass, "Dead Acres... damned place is cursed. The Sheriff there, Mister Earp... the Sheriff there ripped an innocent man apart, I swear it. The place is Hell on Earth."
James Earp hadn't been in Tombstone too long and already trouble had been dropped in his lap. He'd heard the stories about Dead Acres, the town a hundred miles away. He'd heard the stories of their Sheriff. Harvey was a good man, though, and hardly a liar.
Perhaps it was time for the real lawmen of Arizona to pay a visit to Dead Acres.
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Comments: Add Your Own.
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Thursday, June 11th, 2009
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Hade Vansen was known as a tough guy in the Northern tip of the Arizona territory. His gang of roughnecks, "Young" Billy Wade and Tex Slazenger, ran a rustling racket in the region, spreading from what we'd know as Phoenix all the way to Las Vegas. It was in that area that Vansen and his crew found themselves in the town of Dead Acres.
"Hear tell the Sheriff here ain't never lost a fight," Billy said over his hand of cards, "hear tell he ain't never let a hood get through his town."
"That what you hear?" Vansen laughed, chomping down on his cigar and slamming his straight flush on the table, "well, then we oughta be scared, huh?"
Tex smiled and pulled his hat down. Tex was a man of few words, and tonight was no different than any other, so the rest of the group thought. Billy and Tex folded in quick succession and Hade greedily poured their chips into his vest pocket.
The saloon owner leaned over the counter and spoke softly.
"'scuse me, fellas," he said, "sun's goin' down. We're closin'. Might do yourself a favor and get to your inn, eh?"
"Might do yourself a favor and not talk to me like yer my paw," Vansen replied, his cohorts laughing, "if only 'cause I cut my paw's throat. Ain't got no curfew, don't need one. Now more cervesa, barkeep!"
"No can d-do, sir," the barkeep replied, quivering, "if you ain't gonna get to yer room, that's your head, not mine. I'll be goin'.
Hade smiled to his friend and then quickly drew his pistol, shooting the barkeep through the palm.
"Another round, I said," Vansen laughed, "or else you ain't gonna be able to lift our glasses no more, follow me?"
The barkeep looked at the three ruffians and then outside his saloon. The sun had set. The wooden doors to the saloon swung open and three men walked in, the light seeming to miss their faces, like it was afraid.
"Someone troublin' you, Dan?" the man in the center of the group of newcomers growled. His voice was gruff, like an old man who'd seen groups of troublemakers roll into his town like this a million times before.
"You gonna tell on us?" Billy laughed. Tex smiled and put his cards down so he could wrap his thick fingers around his gun. Vansen just stared.
"I'm tryin' t' go t' bed, Sheriff Ed," Dan the barkeep stammered, "an' these fellas won't let me close up shop. Sir."
"Is that so?" Sheriff Ed smiled, turning towards the three criminals, "now, boys, when the man says he's closed, he's closed. You're trespassin'. That's a night in the brig in most towns."
"You gonna lock us up? For trespassin'?" Hade laughed, "you an' yer dep-yoo-tees?"
The three criminals laughed. Then Hade got deadly serious.
"Well, yer about t' have more than one reason to come after us, lawman."
Hade and his boys quickly fired, just one bullet a piece. The two deputies and the barkeep each fell down, fresh holes in their heads. Hade and his boys turned towards the Sheriff, but in the split second they'd looked away, he'd vanished.
"Little man ran away," Hade laughed, "well then I think that means we got us a new clubhouse, boys! We can change Dead Acres to Vansenville!"
"Vansenville?" Billy laughed, "I always thought Wadeton would be a better name!"
"Slazenger City," Tex muttered. The other two laughed at the silent man's comment.
With that, the lights went out.
"He cut the power," Hade growled, "get around the back, Billy. He's runnin' scared."
Billy didn't respond.
"Fine, I'll do it myself. Stay here, Billy. Tex, with me."
Vansen walked out the swinging doors of the saloon onto the darkened streets. He drew his gun and slowly walked to the back of the building, searching for the generator.
"Tex, you with me?"
He looked behind himself. No Tex. No Billy. Nobody.
"Ain't heard no gunshots," Hade whispered to himself, "and ain't a man alive could take Tex Slazenger in a bare fight... the hell's goin' on?"
Hade wandered behind the building and found what he was looking for. He searched around the generator for a way to fix it, looking over his shoulder all the while, but found, strangely, that it didn't seem to be turned off. In fact, it was running fine.
"Sheriff," Hade yelled out, not taking his eyes off the generator, "Sheriff Ed, you wanna do this, let's do it! I'm callin' you out!"
Vansen walked back to the dusty street and stood steadfast, holding his gun in his hand.
"Fine, to three and then we draw," Sheriff Ed called out from behind Hade. The criminal turned around quickly and saw the lawman in the distance.
"T' three then, you sonuvabitch," Hade coughed.
"One!" Sheriff Ed laughed. Hade gripped his gun.
"Two!" Hade spit the tobacco he'd had in his mouth. Had to be clean, focused.
"Thr-"
Hade shot the Sheriff through the heart. The lawman crumpled and fell, defeated. Laughing, the criminal waltzed towards his fallen opponent. He laughed and spun around, cursing the Sheriff as he went. Finally, he stood over the Sheriff's body and fired four more rounds into his spine.
"Shouldn't have messed with me, Sherrif," Hade laughed, "now to wake up my men an' burn this shithole to the ground."
As Hade turned to leave, he suddenly cried out in agony. A biting, sharp pain shot throughout his ankle. Sheriff Ed pulled Hade to the ground and crawled over his shaking body. Vansen had only a moment to move, but was too late.
Sheriff Ed bit deeply and ripped Hade Vansen's face off.
"You're gonna need a hat, boy," Sheriff Ed laughed, chewing on the flesh through yellow, rotted teeth, "since now you've officially been deputized. Wouldn't do to have a buncha Marshalls seein' your mangled face, reckon?"
Hade responded with a gurgle, blood pouring onto the dirty streets.
"Oh, don't be such a crybaby," Sheriff Ed laughed, swallowing Hade's face, "it don't hurt for too long. And when it's over, it's all over. You sealed your own fate, Mr. Vansen, by bringin' your crime into Dead Acres."
"Grrgle..." Hade replied again.
"Man up, fella. Your boys are deputies now, too. Gotta replace my two best men thanks to you three. Luckily, Billy and Tex weren't too opposed to me draftin' 'em, were ya boys?"
"Urrgh..." Billy replied, shambling out of the shadows. The top of his skull was ripped off, and his brains were freshly exposed and partly eaten.
Tex was in similar shape, but said nothing, as was his way, even in death.
"Welcome to the side of the angels, fellas" Sheriff Ed laughed, pulling off a piece of Hade's cheek and shoving it into his throat.
"Ain't it poetic?"
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Comments: Read 1 or Add Your Own.
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So let's see. Had Memorial Day off. Was told Wednesday not to come in because it was too slow (despite Stuart coming in for a split shift to finish the day). Was told not to come in until 2 PM yesterday... and then again, today. I'm making around 44 hours... for two weeks.
I've already stormed out of the office over this before. I want to quit, but I can't afford to quit when I need the money. I've had jobs that have had parts I dislike, but never one I've slowly grown to hate. How do people stand it? I feel like they're picking on me for no reason, because it's not like they're bleeding money or anything. Business is slower, but if they couldn't afford to pay me what they were paying me at first (and I even took a five hour a week cut back in, what, December?) then they shouldn't have hired me in the first place.
I want to punch my boss in the face. Would that be a bad idea?
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Comments: Read 2 or Add Your Own.
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Terrible Dream: Joe had gotten Erin pregnant. Thomas was there, too, though, so there's no way it could happen.
Terrible Reality: This thread. Please watch one man's dissent into madness.
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Comments: Read 6 or Add Your Own.
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Lame Day: Boss called me at 10:30 this morning to say "we do not have enough work, do not come into work" so I don't get to make any money.
Happy Day: Slept through my alarm and didn't even get the message until 1:30!
Lame Day: Wanted a slushy. Every place I went was out of slushies.
Happy Day: Mom bought crunchy peanut butter. I LOVE crunch peanut butter!
Lame Day: I went to go get dressed to put out applications during my forced day off and there was a SPIDER in my clothes basket!
Happy Day: Dear Matthew,
The Financial Aid Satisfactory Academic Progress (SAP) Appeals Committee has reviewed your appeal of the loss of your financial aid eligibility. Your SAP Appeal was approved by this committee of KSU administrators. Therefore, effective with the Summer 2008 semester, you are eligible to receive Financial Aid at Kennesaw State University.
Special thanks to Danae's advice for that last one. It totally worked. :)
Edit: Summer 2008? What? Hahaha.
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Comments: Read 5 or Add Your Own.
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Wednesday, May 27th, 2009
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1. Where do you think you'll be this time next year?
Hopefully somewhere fun. But not here.
2. Vanilla, Chocolate or Strawberry Ice Cream. Which do you prefer?
Vanilla, for sure. If you want to make it chocolate, they sell delicious sauces for that. Strawberry sucks, though.
3. If you could eliminate one stupid internet term from existence which would it be. This can be anything from stuff like (lol), to anime faces like (^_^).
Well that's an easy one. The term is "4chan."
4. When you go to the movies do you order concessions? If so, what do you usually get!? SPECIFICS.
I don't always, but I like to. I normally will get a medium popcorn and, since AMC brought it in, I've been getting a Coke Zero.
5. What would you rather play RIGHT NOW? Street Fighter 2, Resident Evil 4, OR Chrono Trigger?
Street Fighter 2. Why? Tiger uppercut. That is why.
I will not be interviewing others. This session is over.
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Comments: Read 3 or Add Your Own.
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I want to play Scrabble. Obviously this would require players.
I will set up a table and four spaces. The first three to show up at my house are in. You have one year to complete your move. Let's go!
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Comments: Read 2 or Add Your Own.
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I think, if we continue at the going rate, we'll make it to a week. Got a call this morning that I don't have to go to work today OR Monday! That's, like, the opposite of awesome! Nonetheless, I plan to use my time to its fullest capacity. I will probably write a novel.
Last night my sister seemed to be stressing out. She had finals today, plus some after-school club business to attend to. She also had a project to do that she hadn't even started on for some reason. So I did what any normal older brother with a mind for academia that didn't want his sister to fail and, while she was sleeping (she had given up), I did her project for her. I was there when she woke up to ask her to help edit the work I did.
When I eventually become a teacher and some student uses such insane amounts of BSing on me, I hope I'll be able to spot it due to apparently being an expert in it. Then I will give them a silent nod of approval before stamping "F" on their paper.
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So essentially, I'm possibly boned on school forever (quick turn around from super GPA expansion, right?).
I get an email yesterday saying that I am on Satifactory Academic Progress Failure, which means I can no longer receive financial aid. There are two factors for deciding this, GPA and hours attended. My GPA is obviously fine. This is because I have not passed their required amount (67%) of all my credit hours attended. I have passed 61%. This is because of the blunder that was my 2005 school year and how I withdrew from my classes in lieu of owning a car.
So basically I was screwed before I even decided to come back to school. I had no way to avoid this.
I can appeal (and oh, I will), but the appeal meeting is not until after the payment deadline for summer semester, which means I lose yet another block of school-time. There is also no guarantee that my appeal will go through (you can look at the appeals form yourself here), as I'm not sure I have the "unusual circumstances" they require (what do I put, I was poor and lazy but now I'm trying to not be lazy while still being poor?).
This is just ridiculous. There is ALWAYS something, I swear to God.
On the plus side, this pizza is pretty good.
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Comments: Read 4 or Add Your Own.
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