Take My Hand

Each beat of her heart gave the lights one last chance of life before they permanently died. The light betrayed me as soon as her heart gave out. Her physical beauty remained in tact as her ghost persevered through the windpipe of her being. A new journey had begun for her, leaving me all by my lonesome. I walk away from her figure only to discover that new life had been given to the darkened house. Its pulse synchronized with mine, and I grew curious as a symphony of creaking noises began to populate the nearest room. An unknown evil was stroking its bones, filling the house with inevitable dread.

My eyes adjusted to the darkness within minutes. Overcoming temporary blindness, I approach the door and turn the handle to reveal the contents of the room. It is darker than the one before, rendering my sense of vision useless and unable to adapt. With caution I proceeded into the room and stuck close to its walls. The tips of my fingers traced the cold walls as I submerged myself deeper into the darkness. The pulse of the room grew louder as mine worked into overdrive, causing an unwelcome fear.  My fingertips pulled flakes of paint from the wall that collected underneath my fingernails. Splinters punctured the tissue underneath the nail, allowing specks of blood to paint the wall as my fingers continued to follow the boundary. I could hear her crying as I progressed further into the room, yet could still see nothing.

My progress halts as her crying ceases. I am met by a hand that securely wraps around mine. It was cold, yet the darkness would not let me confirm whose hand it was. Her fingers traveled along the bones of my hand and followed the extent of each vein. She would not tell me who she was, only that Heaven and Hell were at full capacity.

“Take my hand.”

 

 

How To Beat An 8 Year-Old In A Friendly Game of Basketball

March Madness has empowered you to put down the jar of Nutella, get off the couch, and suit up for the local basketball court because 1) Your bracket has gone straight to hell and 2) You have scores to settle with yourself. Maybe you’ve racked up some poundage over the years and want to slim down and be athletic again. Maybe you want to prove to a pretty lady on the sidelines that you’ve got game, signified by glistening sweat and a jump-shot that would make wolves howl as the ball glides through the sky.

Maybe there’s an 8 year-old neighborhood menace named Dennis, and he’s been balling since he was sperm in his father’s testicles. This little hobbit with a goofy name has not lost a one-on-one match in his very short career and it’s getting very annoying. It’s time to put a stop to his reign before he discovers the intricate workings of his genitals and threatens to go after your mother when he turns 16. Follow these guidelines to defeat Dennis, or live with shame when he gives you a little brother or sister.

Assess Your Opponent

Your unwillingness to drink milk and eat vegetables as a child has stunted your growth significantly, making you look like the offspring of a love affair between Muggsy Bogues and a Neanderthal. Dennis has followed his mother’s strict nutritional guidelines as she packs his lunch everyday and, as a result, is on track to reach his full growth potential. You’ve still got him by a few inches and possess enough stomach fat to fend off an oncoming cannonball, so it would be wise to assert your dominance with your God-given stature.

Compare Strengths and Weaknesses

You’ve exchanged your past athletic ability for an Xbox and every installment of the NBA 2k series. Dennis has practiced with his  father on a daily basis and knows the fundamentals of basketball. However, he is a child and, therefore, comically stupid. His attention will be diverted away from the game the second an ice cream truck drives down the street. Take advantage of his attention deficit disorder and score a basket while he’s busy ordering a fudgsicle. Hire local school girls to open up a bake sale or a lemonade stand to cause further distraction. Be sure to also not wear any deodorant for several days before the match; body odor has been known to ward off females and make children believe there’s a serial kidnapper in a van nearby. Dennis will be paralyzed out of fear for the duration play and be unable to get back on defense.

Trash-Talking Strategies

An 8 year-old will most likely not understand what you meant when you described what you did to his mother last night. Instead of having to explain it to him several times, make it known that he has a big head and that there are invisible child-eating crocodiles absolutely everywhere. Let him know that they’re going to eat his family, and then inform him that Thomas the Tank Engine just got in a fatal accident when he drunkenly rammed into a freight train full of methylamine. Lecture him thereafter about the dangers of drinking and driving, then discretely have your way with his mother.

Posting Up

Dennis hasn’t had much time for his muscles to develop, so make use of your musculature to make him back down on the asphalt like Rodney King. Intimidate him by flopping around Vlade Divac-style on a near-lethal amount of cocaine, then throw elbows like the elderly at a Bingo match. There are numerous ways to going about posting up down low, and you can always recruit the basketball pole to set a pick if Dennis proves to be wily on defense.

Shooting the J

Ferociously roar like the mighty grizzly if Dennis inches up to contest your shot. Lay an abundance of needles and thumbtacks you got from your mother’s sewing desk on the ground where Dennis is bound to land when he attempts to block your shot. This should blow his tires out, making him immobile and unable to follow up on defense yet again. If you happen to miss your jump shot, he will still be stationary as he tends to his unfortunate wounds. This sets you up to get your own rebound and put it back up for an easy basket.

Defense Mechanisms

It’s always suggested that you protect your nether region if you’re going for the charging call, but grabbing your junk in the presence of a minor may prove suspicious to the sheriff hanging out in his squad car out in the parking lot. Instead, present him any complicated calculus or statistics formula that you learned in college and ask him to solve a word problem involving those equations. Children are notoriously poor at solving word problems, and Dennis has been struggling in math class recently. Make him feel inadequate by not being able to solve the problem, causing any electrical current in his brain to cease entirely and rendering him a vegetable. Steal the ball away from him and hit the game-winning basket.

I hope this helps you to eliminate Dennis, allowing yourself and the neighborhood residents to elect you as King of the court.

Time To Feed the Monster

There’s been a string of missing child cases that have inexplicably occurred in the little boy’s town. His elementary school, along with neighboring institutions, has been on lock down twice since the first disappearance. The parents, along with other townspeople, have expressed outrage that the perpetrator has not been found. A slew of suspects have been questioned by authorities, but no progress has been made. A police officer has been teamed up with another member of security at all of the schools within radius to monitor daily activities.

The little boy returned safe and sound one February afternoon to his loving parents. His rosy cheeks from the cold outdoors eventually diminished and he spent the evening with his parents. At 9:30 p.m. he is tucked into bed by his mother. As she walks out the door, she flicks the light switch. The little boy’s eyes cannot register a sight besides darkness. Instead, his other senses are employed while his eyes adjust to the environment. This night is different, however. The darkness overstays its welcome, and the little boy’s sense of dread will not dissipate.

A symphony of heavy breaths are heard. The little boy peers over the side of his bed and sees a faint, yellow light. It’s stretching a few inches beyond the bed frame. A blackened, scarred hand begins to inch out from underneath the bed. It’s crooked fingernails feature bits of skin lodged underneath. Blood trickles down from severely damaged cuticles, streaming from one wound and dumping into another. The monstrous hand retreats back under the bed. The little boy reaches down to greet his most frequent visitor. His eyes peek underneath the bed and are met by a pair of glowing, yellow eyes. He feels the monster breathing into his face. It’s time to feed the monster.

The next day, the little boy invites his friend to come over to his house after school. The bus drops them off at the corner of the street, and the two of them walk to his house. The little boy lures his friend up to his bedroom, telling him that they’re going to play a game. They walk into his room, and the little boy shuts the door behind him as well as closing all of the curtains. He tells his friend to stand in the middle of the room, close to where his bed is. He stares at his friend while he stands and tells him, “It’s time to feed the monster.”

The little boy flicks the light switch and the whole room is submerged in darkness. A yellow glow emits from underneath the bed and reveals the outline of the little boy’s friend. The monster’s destroyed hands reach out and grab the little boy’s friend, digging his filthy nails into his foot and tearing the Achilles tendon. A collection of screams penetrate the darkness as the friend falls onto the ground. Not being able to get up, the monster is able to pull him underneath the bed. The sounds of bones snapping and flesh tearing are the only sounds being heard in the room. Minutes later, the little boy turns the light on. Not a trace of his friend is left behind. Not even the monster can be seen under the bed. The crime scene is clean.

This was his sixth victim.

Harlequin

Her iris swelled with sapphire,

Giving vibrant, colorful life to the oceans and the skies.

Her eyes retreated to a peaceful slumber at night,

Hiding from some poisoned memories.

The world became ill as she slept,

Causing the paint to melt from the canvas.

The sun may shine,

But the darkness will remain until she awakens.

Dawn approaches, awakening her from her slumber.

Tears cascaded from the crevice of her eyes,

Painting the sickly, gray world once again.

Beauty pervaded every corner of the canvas,

Giving the world another day of vibrant life.

Inner Peace

The face of the world is a beauty to behold,

Yet its personality is vile.

I seek inner peace to escape her cruelty.

A surge of glee tickles my blood as I

Remove my eyes from their sockets.

I devour them and let them travel through

The dark tunnel that is populated by oxygen.

It’s a gateway to inner peace,

One that I am familiar with,

One that is not infected by the poison that is the world.

The darkness will come.

Saudade

This day is one that will never have a chance at life again as a new day is born. It lived its final minutes knowing that it will dissipate at the darkest hour of the night, never to return again. However, like a lost loved one, its soul will pervade through the cracks of its lifeless body and exist in the chambers of your memory, forever leaving its physical body to rest.

A blissful memory has been formed on this very day. It’s a memory destined to rule your psychology until your dying day; one that can be retrieved from a collection of other memories that have poisoned your mind. It’s a memory that will exist as a reminder for a time of euphoria, yet the feeling cannot be relived. This is a feeling that can only be retrieved, yet this feeling is just an imitation. It will never replace the real thing.

The person you loved most became a blissful memory on that very day. Their warming presence sent waves of feeling through your spine, eventually making its way into your heart to capture the moment. This feeling would last beyond the day of its initial occurrence. Every kiss thereafter completed the significance of that very day.

The person you loved most was a blissful memory on that very day until they became a poison: a poison that has occupied your mind with a memory that will never subside. The poison has manipulated your thinking and the memory will reappear time and time again. They’re a monster, yet the memory reminds you of a time when they weren’t.

You long to relive that moment. It’s never coming back.

So I Went On This Date (Date #2)

Ah, American cinema. It’s ideal for a second date with Regina. Our chatterboxes have been worn thin over conversation at the Red Lobster last week, so it’s time to give it a rest and enjoy a feature film together in peaceful silence. I’m inclined to believe that she’s going to enjoy this film, the overpriced snack bar goodies, and my in-depth critical analysis of the film once it concludes. Roger Ebert has passed and I’ve elected myself to carry on his legacy of educating the masses on film expertise. Sex ahoy!

Regina: I honestly have no idea how you managed to convince me to go out with you again.

Me: I too like to live dangerously.

Regina: Let’s just get this over with.

Me: You look lovely, my dear. Did you just get out of an oven though? Your face looks burnt.

Regina: You know I’m Jewish, right?

Me: Nein.

Regina: Well, I am!

Me: Looks like I’ll be eating Kosher tonight. I hope you bathe.

Regina: For God’s sakes; where are you taking me?

Me: I’m glad you asked, Basterd!

Regina: What did you just say to me!?

Me: Basterd! They’re re-releasing Quentin Tarantino’s film Inglourious Basterds this weekend. It tells the tale of Brad Pitt, the guy who directed Hostel, and Ryan from The Office who go an adventure to collect Nazi scalps. It’s quite poetic and will add IQ points to your score as if you were bumping Mozart.

Regina: What makes you think that I want to go see that?

Me:  1. Tarantino is a master of his craft and 2. It’ll get you in the right mood to scalp one of my heads. I’ll let you decide which head I’m referring to when we get back to my place! Sex ahoy!

Regina: I’m so confused. Are we going to see Teeth or something? That movie’s terrible.

Me: Sex ahoy!

We arrived at the theater about half an hour before the film’s previews were supposed to begin. If I so much as miss a second of any preview, I cannot sit in the movie out of fear that I’m missing out on the premiere of a masterclass film. I explained this to Regina, however she seemed upset that we were there so early. I think she was just eager to go back to my place. I don’t blame her, but we can’t miss out on 20+ minutes of previews and a nearly 3 hour film! Silly Regina.

We approached the box office to purchase our tickets. An employee, named Richie according to his nametag, manned the register we were lined up behind. It was quite busy, so he was pitching in to ensure we didn’t miss the previews. What a good man!

Richie: Welcome to South Park theaters, folks! How can I help you today?

Me: Good evening, Richie Rich. The lady and I would like tickets to Inglourious Basterds, please.

Richie: Ah, an excellent choice. That’ll be $20.

Me: No problemo! Here you go!

Richie: Um, sir, this is Monopoly money.

Me: That’s not just Monopoly money, Macaulay, that’s Monopoly Jr. Dig ‘n Dinos money!

Richie: It’s Richie, and I can’t accept this, sir. Only real American currency or a credit card can be accepted.

Me: Macaulay, you’ve got it all wrong. This is prehistoric dinosaur money right here! Did I mention this is the Dig n’ Dinos edition? Dinosaurs saw the very bills that I’m bestowing upon you when they roamed this Earth yesterday.

Richie: Dinosaurs lived millions of years ago.

Me: Well I bought this game yesterday, so I’d have to disagree. Dr. Grant stored those fossilized mosquitoes that were trapped in amber into the box, and the dino DNA they withheld were given to the consumer, which would be me because I’m a loyal customer at Toys “R” Us. As a gift, they gave me the currency that dinosaurs used way back in the day! This is worth more than your entire life!

Richie: Ugh. You know what, just so go inside. It’s free, just get out of here. Take your stupid dino money, too.

Me: I’m glad you see it my way, Macaulay. Please tell Michael Jackson I said hello.

After the misunderstanding at the box office, Regina and I made our way to the snack bar. I had a hankering for a bucket of popcorn and an Icee because I always wanted to be a polar bear when I was younger.

Me: Hello, my man. A large bucket of popcorn and a mixed Icee for me. I know my date here wants something, but I have to ensure that you mix my Icee perfectly. I want cherry mixed with the blue raspberry. It’s one of God’s greatest gifts to Man.

Employee: I understand, sir. How about for you, ma’am?

Regina: Is that entire bucket of popcorn for you?

Me: My doctor says I’m a big boy, so I need to eat like a big boy.

Regina: Why can’t we share!?

Me: You leave the eating to me, dearest. I need my stomach to inflate a little so you can bounce on it like a trampoline tonight.

Regina: I’m not having sex with y-

Me: I like my corn just like how I like my cherries: popped!

Regina: Oh, hell n-

Me: Sex ahoy!

We made way to the theater in order to watch our movie. Regina was all buckled in and ready to take in the glory that is the Inglourious Basterds. I should’ve asked ol’ Macaulay for a discount since Regina said she is Jewish. It would’ve made perfect economical sense. I’ll remember that the next time they play Schindler’s List.

Regina: This movie is horrible, can you please just take me home? This is way too violent.

Me: Are you crazy? I’ve had episodes in the bathroom that were more violent than this. You’re missing history here!

Regina: This isn’t history; this is Brad Pitt speaking in a terrible Italian accent. And who the hell is that?

Me: The African Jew wearing a hoodie?

Regina: Wrong movie, dumbass. Besides, he’s white and clearly wearing a Nazi uniform.

Me: Why, that is the infamous Jew Hunter aka who I’ll be role-playing tonight when we go to bed. If Christoph Waltz won an Academy Award for this role, just wait until I get busy with you tonight!

Regina: Nein nein nein nein nein nein nein!

Me: Oh yes yes yes yes yes!

 

A Letter to the Girl Who Caught Me Staring

Dear Nameless Beauty,

Please don’t alert the authorities, for they need to know nothing of the love I have bestowed upon thee with my very own two eyes. You currently look like a frightened horse whose owner tried to stick his finger into her anus to assess internal temperature, so please allow me to explain my ogling shenanigans.

Here I was in the dining hall occupying a vacant table, munching on waffle fries as sexily as I could in order to win your attention. I learned when I laid my eyes upon thee that it was YOU whom I wanted to dip into my ranch packet, not my french fries. Your golden locks and piercing blue eyes would have been admired by Hitler according to my rarely-opened textbook, but to hell with him because I saw you first. These waffle fries are really good.

Where are my manners? My name is Evan and I’m inherently creepy, but for good reason! If it weren’t for my wondering eyes, I would’ve never discovered that you existed. Scientists say that Pluto is no longer a planet, but they can’t deny your buttocks are a planet that I’d love to land on someday. This is not me calling you grossly overweight; I really mean that I want to go on a space expedition on your rump. I could make discoveries on it just like astronauts find rocks on the moon, except in this case it could be pimples in need of a squeeze or a birthmark, blessed upon you by the kiss of an angel. Oh yeah, please forgive me for accidentally burning you. There was a white spot on your face that was inconsistent with the tan you sport on the rest of your face, so I summoned my magnifying glass to correct the problem. When you respond to this letter, please inform me whether your health insurance will cover your visit to the doctor’s office.

Rats. Love is not all about physical attraction; personality is just as important if not more so. I’m too nervous to approach you in my turtleneck, so I’ll just have to assess your personality given the food that you’re currently swallowing. I’m incredibly mature for my age, so I will not comment on the phallic-shaped foods on your plate that await to be in your mouth. Is that water or Sprite that you’re guzzling? The first is a big reason why my urine matches the toilet water on a regular basis; the latter is employed to calm my tummy. If it’s a Sprite, toss it aside and let me rub your tummy if it’s in serious pain. Maybe you’re pregnant and the baby is kicking, which I hope isn’t the case because the fetus wouldn’t contain an ounce of my DNA. Can I name your little bundle of joy if you are indeed pregnant? I’m thinking Ghost, the name of Jon Snow’s Direwolf in Game of Thrones. We can train him to guard our future humble abode and tear the throats of any oncoming Whitewalkers.

Well, it’s time for me to go to class, so I’ll drop this letter off to you on my way over to the trashcan to dispose of my ranch packets. I hope you write back, because I sincerely believe you’re the most beautiful Goddess that has fallen from Mount Olympus. Those waffle fries were really good.

From my heart to yours,

Evan