Salvation Stories I

[READ ME FIRST]

Alright, so I have no real idea what I'm doing here. This is me just playing around with script writing for a comic or graphic novel. I've looked at a few samples of formatting and I know that my format is off. I don't list out specific pages, just the panels - I'm not sure how the panels would be oriented. The size, number per page, which would be small panels and which would be full page, etc. That is something I'd want to sketch out with my artist first. It might be a little tricky to read, and not as fluid, since its a script form instead of prose.

A few notes on the (sloppy) formatting. (OFF) means the speaker is out of view in the panel. (cont) indicates a second speech bubble on the same panel. "Panel X+" indicates I don't know (or care, particularly) how many panels a scene will require - so the numbering of subsequent panels would change depending on that. And again, I'm just making this up as I go.

Also, this hasn't even gone through a first edit. This is pure, first time through rough draft. Will be through many revisions, edits, and changes, including completely changing the direction of the scene. I also know the pacing a bit rushed.. I just wanted to finish this tonight. And we know how Blogger loves to mess with formatting.

Alright, enough excuses. Here you go.

[Salvation Stories]

[Tales from Heaven and Hell]

[Issue 01]

”Devil Gets His Due”

PANEL 1

Bird's eye view of Washington Road in Augusta, GA, from just beyond Beverly Heights Dr to the west, to Stelling Rd to the east.

CAPTION

Augusta, Georgia

PANEL 2

Closer now, with just Sharon Dr to the west and a driveway entrance to the east. Now the diner is more apparent in the center of the frame.

CAPTION

Very Vera Diner

PANEL 3

Much closer view of diner, taking up most of the panel. View is from street level, or just above.

PANEL 4

INTERIOR: Very Vera diner. LUCIFER enters the diner, scans the room, and heads straight to a booth. LUCIFER's face is not visible, but he is a nondescript human at the moment.

PANEL 5

Angle from behind LUCIFER's legs as he approaches the booth where JOHNNY is sitting. JOHNNY is a middle aged man with a short and rough gray beard and a battered cowboy hat. Leaning against the booth is a worn and beaten up fiddle case.

PANEL 6

LUCIFER sits across from JOHNNY, face still obscured. We can see that he is blond, handsome, with a neatly trimmed goatee.

JOHNNY

Sit down, have a piece of cake.

PANEL 7

Side angle, with LUCIFER and JOHNNY on either side of the table

LUCIFER

You remember me?

JOHNNY

They have the best carrot cake here, you know.

PANEL 8

LUCIFER is not interested. He leans back in the booth.

LUCIFER

You didn't answer me.

PANEL 9

JOHNNY grins while enjoying his carrot cake

JOHNNY

Yeah, I remember, you old devil.

PANEL 10

Shot of the beaten up fiddle case

JOHNNY (OFF)

You know, the last thirty years have been quite kind    
to me, thanks to you.

PANEL 11

Shot of the diner wall, with local news clippings framed on the wall, and blue ribbons and similar awards. Several talk about JOHNNY, who appears to be very famous here.

JOHNNY (OFF)

I don't even play much anymore. I just go around 
showing off the old girl, people like to see it. They 
like to hear our story.

PANEL 12

Side angle on LUCIFER, looking out the window

LUCIFER

Happy to be of service. One lucky stroke for you and 
you get to live in luxury.

PANEL 13

Back to Johnny, finishing his cake

JOHNNY

You and I both know it ain't luck. I'm just a fairer 
hand with a bow is all.

PANEL 14

Shot of LUCIFER, with an Up To No Good look

LUCIFER

No? Then what about another wager? Double or nothing?

PANEL 15

Back to the view of the booth with both men. JOHNNY looks wary

JOHNNY

It's been thirty years, son. These old bones ain't 
what they used to be.

PANEL 16

LUCIFER smiles his devilish smile

LUCIFER

That is not what you said last week at the summer 
fair.

PANEL 17

FLASHBACK - EXTERIOR: Typical country fair, with JOHNNY standing on top of a stack of hay, with a large crowd gathered. His fiddle case is opened at his feet, though the instrument isn't visible from this angle. JOHNNY is shouting to the crowd.

JOHNNY

And I could beat him again if he showed his face 
tomorrow!

The crowd cheers.

PANEL 18

INTERIOR: Very Vera. LUCIFER glances down towards the fiddle case

LUCIFER

If you are defrauding the public, I believe I will 
have my fiddle back.

PANEL 19

JOHNNY, still enjoying his cake, doesn't bother to look up

JOHNNY

I was the best there's ever been, and I could beat you 
again as sure as the sun will rise. But I don't need a 
second fiddle. Why should you get another shot?

LUCIFER

Your wife is ill - I would bet her health to your soul 
that you can't win again.

PANEL 20

JOHNNY stops, setting down his fork, which still has the last bite of cake. Glaring up from under the brim of his hat,

JOHNNY

What do you know about Sarah? Did you do this to her, 
you sonofabitch?

PANEL 21

LUCIFER raises his hands in a sign of innocence, shaking his head

LUCIFER

No, of course not. I have no control over disease.. 
But I know the man who does.

PANEL 22

Close up of LUCIFER's face, focusing on his sinister smile, all teeth and malice.

LUCIFER

What'll it be, boy? Give up your fiddle of gold, or 
play for her life?

PANEL 23

JOHNNY glares at LUCIFER still, lip curled in a sneer. He gets up, grabbing the case and heading towards the door

JOHNNY

Let's dance.

PANEL 24

EXTERIOR: Very Vera Parking Lot. LUCIFER and JOHNNY stand opposite each other. JOHNNY has his golden fiddle at his side, LUCIFER has his hands in his pockets.

LUCIFER

You don't have to do this, you know. You could always 
pray.

PANEL 25

JOHNNY spits on the parking lot pavement.

JOHNNY

You're in for a show son. Now sit down and let me 
remind you how it's done.

PANEL 26+

Through a series of panels, JOHNNY plays a wild and furious tune on his golden fiddle. At first he is confident.

CAPTION

The Golden Fiddle was never out of tune, and it sang 
to his fingers.

Over a few panels, he misses a few notes and plays a few wrong ones

CAPTION

But over the years he relied on the fame and fortune 
his tale and his remarkable fiddle brought him.

Some of the hairs of the bow begin to snap

CAPTION

His fingers were weak and his joints were sore. The 
notes that once came so easily had become harder to 
play, and he struggled to keep up with the melody.

PANEL 27

JOHNNY fumbles and drops the fiddle, which cracks as it hits the ground. LUCIFER stands towering over JOHNNY, who looks suddenly weak.

PANEL 28

Upward angle towards LUCIFER, who is now grinning, and his eyes are completely black

LUCIFER

Now, Johnny boy, it's my turn.

PANEL 29

LUCIFER summons a fiddle with a flare of fire. The fiddle is sleek, with a minimalist frame, and a very long bow appears in his hand.

PANEL 30+

Over a few panels, LUCIFER plays a sinister tune, with notes of sparks and fire arcing from the instrument. The ground beneath the two men blackens as if scorched, radiating from their spot, as the asphalt cracks and splits, with heat radiating up from the fissures.

PANEL 31

LUCIFER, still playing, looks down at JOHNNY with black eyes as the background darkens. LUCIFER is illuminated from below, as if from the light of Hell itself.

LUCIFER

You are right. You were the best there's ever been. 
But you bested me once and your arrogance consumed 
you.

PANEL 32

The ground beneath JOHNNY opens up, and he falls into Hell itself, as a lick of fire shoots up from the hole.

PANEL 33

The ground seals back up, and Lucifer is standing where he was before, looking at the spot where JOHNNY vanished. LUCIFER's fiddle is gone, JOHNNY is nowhere to be seen. The Golden Fiddle lay cracked upon the ground

PANEL 34

Downward angle of LUCIFER looking down at the spot where JOHNNY vanished. There is nothing to suggest a hellhole had been there a moment before.

LUCIFER

You know what they say..

(cont)

contritionem praecedit superbia et ante ruinam.

CAPTION

Pride goeth before a fall. (Prov. 16.18)

END

A Good Soul

-Disclaimer-

Nothing in this post is remotely related to my writing. This is a social post only. If you're looking for any of my stories in this blog, look to the navigation bar to your right. Most everything else here is story related.

***

Every now and then I post a late night stream of consciousness and one social network or another. I could tell this one was going to run long, so I decided a blog might be a better outlet for it.

I struggle with a lot of things. I over think, I analyze, I worry, I reconsider. I go over conversations repeatedly in my head. Conversations I've already had, and I'm considering how I could have said something better, or if something I said might have been misconstrued. I think about conversations I haven't had yet, and structure things I might say so that I can explain my thoughts in a more coherent, articulate manner. I think about how my actions affect those around me, and how I can better present myself. I try to plan the future, I criticize the past, and I try not to forget about the present.

Point is, I tend to think. A lot. Yet one of the things I think I have done well is to simply be genuine. I try to be honest, and I try to be honest with myself. I fail sometimes, sure, but overall I think I've managed it pretty well. I don't pretend to be invincible. My feelings get hurt, and I think about what happened, or I talk to someone about it, and I process it, acknowledge, and try to move on. I'm not good at putting on a mask to save face or seem without fault. My feelings are usually pretty obvious - whether I'm scowling or snapping at someone I dislike, or tripping over myself for someone I'm infatuated over.

I'm a nerd, and I own to it. Someone asked me tonight why I was wearing a Sonic the Hedgehog shirt. My answer - Why not? It's a shirt. I'm not going to wear an outfit approved by TLC's latest fashion show for the benefit of those around me. I wear what I'm comfortable in, and so what if it has Star Wars on it. Yes, I dress up for special occasions, I can wear something nice when a little effort is called or and appreciated. But around my peers, I'll rock the Atari shirt all day long, because why pretend? I'm a geek, and you're going to figure that out sooner or later, so why not sooner? If it would be a problem, we should get that out of the way now. And if I find someone who says, "Nice shirt, I love Sonic", then I've just made a connection, and maybe it could go somewhere.

Similarly, I don't generally feel the pressure to be ripped or buff. I would like to get in better shape, primarily for health reasons and general comfort, but I try not to do it because I think looking thinner would make me any better of a person. I mean, I find that I actually enjoyed running and at some point I need to get back into that, and I would like to lose some weight so I generally feel better. That said, I don't want someone who uses my appearance as their only evaluation. I've been told, flat out, that someone wouldn't date me because they weren't attracted to me - even if we got along brilliantly and could have worked otherwise. And that's fair - there has to be something there, and I respect that.

I have long since lost track of how many times I'll be walking down the street with a friend and someone will pass us going the other way. And my friend looks over, and says something along the lines of, "Man, did you see her? Hot. Like, at least a 10 out of 10. Actually I think she turned it up to 11." More often than not, I didn't even notice. I was only vaguely aware of another body passing me. Someone said it was because of my cerebral nature, which I suppose sounds cool, but basically its just not what I notice about people. I notice certain details - eyes, a smile - but what it isn't what I fall in love with. I have never looked at someone without knowing them and felt a sudden rush of longing or emotion because they were attractive. Instead, I find myself falling for what lies beneath the surface. I have fallen in love with a smile. I have fallen in love with someone's sense of humor, or sharp wit. One in particular, I fell hard for. Sure, the attraction was there - in spades - but when I think back to those days, I don't think about her chest size or how her jeans hugged her hips. I remember the sound of her laugh, and to this day when I hear someone with a similar laugh it always turns my head, even though I know it's not her. She's on the road.

In the end, I just try to be genuine. I try not to waste my time with people I have no interest in being around. And, in the other hand, I will fight tooth and nail for the people I care about. And I will always be there for my friends. I will go to war for them, I will ride a bike to their house at 3 am because I have no other way to get to them, just so that I can let them tell me about their awful night. In the end, no matter how much I might struggle with the eternal cycle of existential crises that parade through my mind, I know I'll be fine as long as I stay true to my friends and true to myself.

Someone I have immense respect for told me tonight that I have a good soul. I may not be many things, but as long as I have a good soul? Well then frankly, to hell with the rest.

Cupid Missed v.2

Love is the most destructive force in the universe.

All great struggles in the world come down to an excess or deficiency of love. Wars have been fought in the name of God’s love, which was especially ironic since God would have loved you anyway if you just asked. Every great story is a love story; love between a father and son, or between star-crossed lovers. And look where it gets them. One love story I’m sure you’ve heard, two teenagers in the middle of a family dispute fall in love, and just like that, six people die. Would have been much simpler today, where they could have just eloped to Vegas. Or what about Camelot? A love triangle broke up the Round Table, a tragic reminder never to covet your boss’s wife.

Of course, love is also the most creative force in the universe. That’s the whole trick of it, and most people, even the divine community, forget this. It is such a powerful force that only one person in all of Creation has been granted authority over its use. This, of course, is Cupid. Cupid isn’t his real name, but when the Romans first heard of his stories (getting all sorts of facts wrong), the moniker stuck among the angels, and since the human mind can’t make sense of his angelic name, for sake of brevity we’ll just stick with the nickname. Cupid alone had authority over dispensing the spark of true love, and today he would bestow that great and terrible gift again.

It was a dreary Tuesday morning, and since it was in the heart of London, it was raining. That didn't deter Cupid from his task, however, as he assembled his silver rifle once again. Any task repeated often enough becomes second nature. The mind forms habits to automate simple mechanical processes, to the point that you don't even need to think about what you're doing. So with practiced ease, Cupid screwed the barrel onto the rifle, unfolded the stock, and checked his sights. This freed up his mind for more press matters, reviewing every facet of his target, going over every minute detail.
Bestowing the gift of true love on a soul was not a thoughtless matter. It was a decision that required extensive research, preparation, and planning. His targets all shared certain parameters, some innate capacity for greatness. Some people just couldn't face the kind of truth Cupid was revealing to them; for in the end, to face love was to face truth, and these truths were not always pleasant. Over the centuries, Cupid had found those few who were willing and worthy of his gift. They might go on to write great stories that will move hearts and change minds, or they could become obsessed with an image or idea, working without rest until they found some medium that could capture that image they loved. The greatest poets, painters and sculptures throughout history were often victims of Cupid's influence, as were some of the bravest soldiers and most important political figures from all corners of the world. No matter what path they found, anyone struck by Cupid would shape the future for generations to come.
The individual that Cupid had chosen today was a simple businessman. A banker named Charles who had worked five days a week, plus Saturdays, for the last six years. A man who had no special training or noticeable skills that he knew of, who went out every Friday to the pub and came home to his golden retriever named Buster. Tomorrow, Charles would wake up and think that perhaps he just might go to the opera this weekend. By this time next year, he would be reinvigorating the genre entirely and bringing it to a modern audience. The media would call him Mozart's Grandson and his work would change the course of music for another generation, and the beauty in his songs would in turn inspire dozens more in their own endeavors. Or, of course, he could end up homeless after putting down all of his money to buy a venue to show his first, and last, failed performance. Cupid could not promise success or prosperity, only opportunity.
Cupid knelt beside the corner of the rooftop, adjusting his double pair of wings. The lower set were held tight to his back, while he held the larger upper wings over his head, giving him some shelter from the rain. His halo hummed a light golden color with long, flat pips that circled all but the front quarter of the ring and was skewed to one side, angled downward like the brim of a hat. He brought his rifle up, pressing the stock against his shoulder, and looking down the sights. He had ditched the bow and arrows decades ago, citing their unreliable accuracy over long distances and taking up a more modern implement for his work. He adjusted his aim by the smallest increment, fierce eyes focused on his minuscule target. There was no scope on the rifle; Cupid’s eyes were sharper than any laser sight. As he focused on his target his eyes changed shape, until they were perfectly round and yellow, reminiscent of an eagle eye. Below, Charles was about to board the morning commuter train. Fixing his aim upon his target, he slowly pulled back on the trigger, paused for a moment, then fired.
There was no bang, no loud report. Cupid’s rifle was silent, and in fact the only sound was that of the dart whizzing past, not that any human was paying close enough attention to hear it. The dart flew through the air weaving through a crowded intersection, diving and spiraling around obstacles as if piloted by some miniature aviator. It narrowly passed by three lawyers, two accountants, and a crowd of nine students before making a beeline for Charles the banker. The dart increased in speed, and just as it reached Charles, it sailed right past him and hit a female journalist in the shoulder. The young woman absentmindedly scratched at an itch just below her shoulder, knocking the tiny dart off her jacket, which dissolved into dust before it reached the ground.
Cupid scratched his chin for a moment, then scratched his head with a pensive expression. Finally after some consideration he grunted, “That’s weird. I’ve never hit the wrong person like that before.”
Suddenly, a voice spoke up from behind Cupid, "Everyone misses once every couple thousand years, I'm sure."
Without hesitation Cupid spun around, wings flaring out and knocking the speaker off their feet as a sudden wave of air sent them sprawling backwards. A flash of silver metal and the barrel of the rifle was mere inches from the nose of the angel spread out on the rooftop. Cupid's face had taken on a different visage, and now the face of a massive lion glared down at the angel as he stretched out all four of his massive wings. The image appeared for only a moment before sinking back into his skin as he recognized the angel, "You're Mordecai, that guardian that let his charge jump. Everyone in the Kingdom is talking about you," Cupid folded his wings back, setting the rifle aside and extending a hand to help him back to his feet, "What are you doing? You're not even supposed to be here."
Mordecai accepted his outstretched hand and lifted himself gracefully to his feet, then proceeded to brush himself off as he looked past Cupid towards the crowd below, "Still a good shot. And I'm sure she'll love being in love."
"And what would you know about it?" Cupid snapped, "It's no blessing I gave her. I just sentenced an innocent woman to the worst of fates."
"The worst of fates? Excuse me, sir, but I don't see the problem, people fall in love every day."

“No, little gosling," Cupid spat, words wrapped in sarcasm, "People fall in lust every day. They become infatuated on a regular basis. They even, on occasion, manage to pair themselves with someone they genuinely care for. And they think they make this person happy, and believe that will make them happy, and they will settle for this facsimile of happiness. But what I do, what I give is genuine divine inspiration. True love, the kind that only comes around a handful of times in a millennia. The kind of love that inspires great works, things that will last for generations.” Cupid rubbed his chin again; it was soft and smooth, betraying his rough demeanor with an unfortunately handsome face. When humans thought of cherubs they imagined flying angel babies, an image that any actual cherub would scoff at. However cherubs were naturally youthful and attractive, even for angels, so even though he talked like a grizzled war veteran, Cupid would never look the part. Not that anyone felt the need to point this out, if they wanted to keep their halo.

“So what will happen to her?” He didn’t know every one of Cupid’s few interventions, but he did know that one of his more recent adventures resulted in some grief-stricken widower building the Taj Mahal. It was apparently a big deal.

“She will fall in love. Maybe she’ll fall in love with sculpting and become the next Michelangelo, or find a fascination with painting and-”

“And become the next Pollock?”
“Don’t be stupid. I was going to say Van Gogh.” Turning his back to the guardian, Cupid picked up his rifle and began unscrewing the barrel.
"That doesn't sound so bad. Van Gogh was a brilliant painter."
"Who died young and diseased with paintings that weren't worth the cost of the canvas until long after he was buried." He folded up the stock of the rifle, and began placing its pieces back into the bag, “Or she might fall in love with her work, forsaking any comfort in order to become one of the best journalists in the world. She could uncover corruption and conspiracies around the world, or could end up destitute and alone. Or maybe she would be so unfortunate as to simply fall in love with another person. To give her life completely to someone else, for hope of something so fragile. It is no blessing to be in love." The heat of his anger had cooled, but in its place were smoldering embers that would not die out.
Mordecai shook his head, still unable to fully understand the problem, “You were going to hit someone one way or another. Why is it so bad if it’s her and not whoever you were supposed to get?”

“Because not everyone can handle true love. Some can, and they do great and terrible things. Others can’t. If you are not prepared for it, that kind of love will destroy you." Finished packing up his rifle, Cupid slung the pack over his shoulder as Mordecai considered everything he said.
“Then why did you shoot at all? Why not spare them the pain if it’s so bad?”

Cupid didn't answer right away. He looked out towards the horizon, where the clouds had begun to break up, revealing the early morning sun still low in the sky. The rain had stopped for a while, and as the sunlight pierced the mantle of gray clouds, the morning rays shined off Cupid, each feather on his wings glinting with a metallic sheen. Looking back over his shoulder, he spoke just loud enough for the guardian to catch what he said, "Because, young angel, if we don't have true love in this world, then what is the point of it all?"
It seemed to Mordecai that there was a lot of point in the world even without True Love, especially if it was as troublesome as he was led to believe. He shook his head with a shrug, but did not argue further.
After a brief silence, Cupid cleared his throat and shifted the bag slung over his shoulder and behind his wings, "So you never told me why you were here."
"I'm here because I need your help."
Cupid threw up both hands and all four wings together, "Woah woah woah, is this about your girl? I can't meddle with Speaker affairs, you know that. Kid, I can't help you. Besides, I can't bring the dead back to life so I don't know what use I'll be to your problem.
Mordecai stepped forward pleading, "Please, you must. I already have passage through Purgatory and I found a backdoor into Hell, but I'll need weapons and I have none. No one else in the Kingdom will deal with me. I am going to go to Hell and get back. You may be the only person who could understand what Rachel has been through."
"I can't interfere, Mordecai."
"Eros, please," Mordecai  lowered to one knee, placed his hand over his heart and lowered his head, "If not for me, do it for her."
There was a pause, then a flurry of feathers and a gust of wind, and the sun that had been behind the cherub fell onto Mordecai. When the guardian angel looked up, he was alone.
Cupid was gone.

[Author's Corner]

I wanted to rewrite this piece, expand on it a bit and explore their interaction. I also incorporated it within the larger Salvation narrative; this now has a specific point in the timeline. Mordecai (previously Alec, I'm playing with names) has been banished from the Kingdom and has began to prepare for his journey to Hell. He has come to Cupid for some tactical support. At this time Cupid turns him down, but there will be another scene between Cupid and another high ranking angel that will change his mind, and Cupid will aid Mordecai and join his quest.

Oddly, I don't think I like this version as much. Even though its longer than the first version, I almost think it was a good length before, a little tidbit of story, enough to get an idea across but not bogged down with too much dialogue or exposition. What do you think? Which version do you like better? Also, do you like Alec or Mordecai for protagonists name? I'd love to hear what you think in the comments section below. Either way, thank you for reading.

Also, if the formatting is off, blame Blogger. It looks fine in Edit mode, then loses all of the paragraph indentation when I publish it.

Cupid Missed

Prompt:

That’s weird, thought Cupid. I’ve never hit the wrong person like that before.

                Love is the most destructive force in the universe.

All great struggles in the world come down to an excess or deficiency of love. Wars have been fought in the name of God’s love, which was especially ironic since God would have loved you anyway if you just asked.      Every great story is a love story; love between a father and son, or between star-crossed lovers. And look where it gets them. One love story I’m sure you’ve heard, two teenagers in the middle of a family dispute fall in love, and six people die. Would have been much simpler today, where they could have just eloped to Vegas. Or what about Camelot? A love triangle broke up the Round Table, proving the superiority of polygons to curves, but also reminding us never to covet your boss’s wife.

Of course, love is also the most creative force in the universe. That’s the whole trick of it, and most people, even the divine community, forget this. It is such a powerful force that only one person in all of Creation has been granted authority over its use. This, of course, is Cupid. Cupid isn’t his real name, but when the Romans first heard of his stories (getting all sorts of facts wrong), the nickname stuck among the angels, and since the human mind can’t make sense of his angelic name, for sake of brevity we’ll just stick with the common vernacular.

So it was that Alec, the guardian angel, came across Cupid one day while in the world. Alec had just descended from the Well, alighting with practiced ease onto a rooftop in London. As a Guardian, he should be watching his charge, but Rachel White was in America, sleeping. He could afford some free time, and Alec jumped at any opportunity to fight for the Kingdom, and something told him that London was the place to be.

That was when he saw Cupid. Cupid was kneeling beside the lip of the roof, double pair of wings held tight to his back, and holding up a long silver rifle. He had ditched the bow and arrows decades ago, citing their unreliable accuracy over long distances and taking up a more modern implement for his work. He adjusted his aim by the smallest increment, fierce eyes focused on some tiny target that Alec couldn’t see. There was no scope on the rifle; Cupid’s eyes were sharper than any eagle’s, more accurate than any laser sight. He slowly pulled back on the trigger, paused for a moment, then fired.

There was no bang, no loud report. Cupid’s rifle was nearly silent, and in fact the only sound was that of the dart whizzing past, not that any human was paying close enough attention to hear it. The dart flew through the air, weaving through a crowded intersection as if piloted by some miniature aviator. It narrowly passed by three lawyers, two accountants, and a crowd of nine students before finally sticking into the shoulder of an ambitious young journalist. The young woman absent mindedly scratched at an itch just below her shoulder, knocking the tiny dart off her jacket, which dissolved into dust before it reached the ground.

A few moments of silence, as Cupid examined his work. Alec was standing a few feet behind him, peering over his shoulder with a look of pure awe.

Cupid scratched his chin for a moment. Then he scratched his head. Finally he grunted, “That’s weird,” Cupid muttered, barely audible to the Guardian standing behind him, “I’ve never hit the wrong person like that before.”

Alec, feeling rather awkward at witnessing this apparent slip-up, cleared his throat and then chimed in, “Well, I’m sure she’ll love being in love.”

Cupid spun around so fast it knocked Alec off his feet, as a sudden sweep of air sent him sprawling backwards. Cupid’s face had taken on a different visage, and now the face of a massive lion glared down at the Guardian. It wasn’t the only thing about him that was intimidating; Cupid stretched out all four of his massive wings, each feather glinting metallic in the morning sun, and as the lion face spoke, Cupid’s voice roared like thunder, “Love being in love?! Are you daft?”

The lion was gone then, but Cupid’s face still bristled with sudden anger, a long mane of hair stretching down the back of his neck. He growled deep in his throat, and the roof beneath Alec shuddered with the vibration, “I just cursed some innocent woman with the total agony of being in love.”

After determining that Cupid did not plan on eating him, Alec slowly rose to his feet, brushing himself off, “Excuse me, Cup – uh, sir, but I don’t see what the problem is. I mean, people fall in love every day.”

“No, little gosling. People fall in lust every day. They become infatuated on a regular basis. They even, on occasion, manage to pair themselves with someone they genuinely care for. And they will think they make this person happy, and that will make them happy, and they will settle for that. But what I do, what I give is genuine divine inspiration. True love, the kind that only comes around a handful of times in a millennia. The kind of love that inspires great works, things that will last for generations.” Cupid rubbed his chin again; it was soft and smooth, betraying his rough demeanor with an unfortunately handsome face. No doubt he felt the part of a jaded, worn out old man and would have liked to look the part, but cherubs were naturally youthful and attractive.

“So what will happen to her?” He didn’t know every one of Cupid’s few interventions, but he did know that one of his more recent adventures resulted in some grief-stricken widower building the Taj Mahal.

“She will fall in love. Maybe she’ll fall in love with art and become the next Da Vinci.” He mused, unscrewing the barrel from his rifle.

“Or the next Pollock?”
“Don’t be stupid,” shooting a glare at Alec, he detached the stock of the rifle as well, “Or she might fall in love with her work, forsaking any comfort in order to become the best journalist in the world. She would uncover corruption and conspiracies around the world. Or maybe she would be so unfortunate as to fall in love with something so simple as another person. To give her life completely to someone else, for hope of something so fragile. It is no blessing to be in love.”

“You were going to hit someone. Why is it so bad if it’s her and not the one you were supposed to get?”

“Because not everyone can handle true love. Some can, and they do great and terrible things. Others can’t. That kind of love… it can destroy you.”

Finished packing up his rifle, Cupid slung the pack over his shoulder as Alec pondered his words. The cherub shouldered past Alec, and the Guardian was nearly knocked off his feet again. Rubbing his now sore shoulder, he called after Cupid, “Then why did you shoot at all? Why not spare them the pain if it’s so bad?”

Without turning back, the cherub threw his answer back over his shoulder, “because if there is no true love in the world, what’s the point of it all?”

[Author's Corner]

It was the prompt that caught my attention. Felt like writing something, but lacked inspiration, so I trawled around until I found something inspiring. I looked at http://writingprompts.tumblr.com, which had a couple of great ideas, even if they began to repeat after a few pages. I'll end up rewriting this, because the pacing is off and I want to expand on the descriptions, and overall I rushed it. I wanted to get this written out in one sitting, and then I'll go back and fix and tweak and edit and revise and polish. I just needed to get something done this morning.

Also, there are a few things about this. This story takes place within the greater Salvation universe. I'm playing with different characters, different rules, figuring out how everything works together. In the end I want Salvation to be a cohesive, divine world that I can explore and play around in, so some known characters will come and go as I see what "fits". Cupid is an angel. Specifically, a Cherub, a high ranking angel. There are only a handful in the world, and I imagine they primarily deal with emotions. Cupid is probably the most "elite" of them, having custody over such a force as Love. Cherubs, as described in the Book of Ezekiel, have four faces - a man, an eagle, a lion, and an ox. So some of these features manifest in smaller ways; eagle eyesight, for example. I was also considering the idea of masks, of a blank face with four masks that rotated to fit whatever the need or emotion. This is all still highly conceptual.

If you have any ideas, suggestions, feedback or comments, I would be happy to hear it! Thank you for reading.

The Last Sunrise v.2

Chairman Corso drank his tea, waited for the sun to rise, and contemplated the end of a world.

It was dawn on November 11th, 2103, a date that would have been otherwise unremarkable were it not to be the last day of Earth. The location was the United Nations headquarters in New Geneva; a large, cavernous room with floor to ceiling windows that faced east, overlooking the glowing, bustling city. Even at this early hour, before the sun had fully risen, the city was already awake and busy. The network of electric monorails darted and dashed between the towering sprawl of buildings. They had not yet made any announcement to the public. They went about their business in ignorance, not knowing what loomed above them.

The Chairman brought his cup up to his lips again, sipping the warm honeyed tea. It was perfect; the most divine cup of tea he could ever remember tasting. Maybe that was just sentiment. Wanting to feel that here, at the end of days, there could be small comforts. His eyes flickered back to the horizon, just starting to lighten with the first rays of the sun. There, just to the right of where the sun would rise, was another tiny speck of light. It might have been a star, though it had an odd, pulsing glow to it.

That tiny mote of light was why the Council room was filled with more than two hundred representatives. The leaders of all the nations in the world, united under a common banner. So many bodies packed together, standing shoulder to shoulder, yelling and shouting to one another as they argued over what should be done. Demands were made, suggestions were given, and nothing was decided. The cacophony of clamoring voices washed over Corso, until one in particular pushed its way through the chorus of voices and asked, very quietly, "Chairman? Sir, shall we give the order?" It was Austin, his personal assistant, who stood a few feet away, but was the only one on the same side of the room as Corso.

The order. The last order he would ever give, and the reason the Council had been summoned. He did not answer immediately, still lost in thought. Austin hesitated, unsure if he should repeat himself. He had decided his employer had not heard him, but before he could repeat himself, Corso finally spoke.

"There is nothing we can do?"

Corso did not turn away from the window, or the scene before him. Austin took a single step closer, glancing down at a series of readouts on the tablet he held in his hands, "Sir. The Neph's technology is far too advanced. We have run the calculations over and over, but the result is always the same. One hundred percent eradication of all life of Earth. We had no indication from first contact or the summit meetings that they possessed this kind of technology."

The Neph were an alien race that they had first encountered several years ago, and it immediately changed the scale that humanity was dealing with. Every nation on Earth went from playing a global game to a galactic one. They had rallied beneath the banner of the UN, forgetting many of their political disputes to face the challenges this new game board would present. Humanity was already behind in terms of population, technology, and presence in the galaxy. They did not have a good start.

A human scouting ship had stumbled upon a Neph mining outpost. Each group had caught the other off-guard. Without a way to communicate it quickly escalated into a terrible, bloody ordeal with both sides suffering heavy losses. The two races had nearly gone to war immediately, but cooler heads managed to prevail, and diplomatic meetings were set up between the two races. The UN had believed they were making progress. Apparently they had failed.

"And the colonies?"

Austin didn't bother pulling up the reports. He knew them by heart, having spent every waking moment reading them over again, "Communication was cut off about a month ago. We considered it might be technical problems, but they would have sent some kind of signal by now. All sources indicate they were most likely disabled or destroyed in preemptive strikes. Even if we could get a few shuttles into deep space, they would have nowhere to go. There is no outcome here in which we can survive."

Weeks of reviewing reports and calculations told him everything else he needed to know. They did not have the time or resources to prevent the sequence of events that the race known as the Neph had set into motion. Earth had literally hours left.

The last course of action they had prepared was a contingency plan. In the event that the Neph launched an aggressive assault against the human forces, they had a weapon they could launch that would, in return, wipe out the Neph forces. The Neph had long since abandoned their home world, and were confined to massive starships capable of housing and supporting generations of their kind. It wouldn't take much to ensure they were utterly destroyed. They had hoped it would suffice as a deterrent, to discourage the Neph from attacking until a peaceful resolution could be found. Clearly, alien politics worked differently than those on Earth.

As leader of the human nations, Corso had been closely involved with the first meetings they had with the Neph. Once they had figured out a way to communicate, they put a stop to the conflicts that had arisen during their initial contact. They had tried to find a non-violent end to the conflicts each side faced. Unfortunately, both sides needed the same resources - land, water, a new home - and these resources were scarce throughout the galaxy. Neither side could agree to the same terms, each side unwilling to compromise the safety of their people for the aliens sitting across from them.

Yet during these encounters, Corso had become acquainted with a new of the Neph. They were a brutish, reptilian race, with thick scaled skin and wide, flat faces. Their facial structure limited their expressive capacity, so lacking the subtle body language that humans could communicate in their faces, the Neph had adopted a complex form of verbal communication. It included deep layers of tone and inflection through pitch and tempo when they spoke. The result, to Corso's ears, was that the Neph sang when they spoke. Despite their unattractive appearance - by Earth standards - Corso maintained that Neph speech was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. Their culture was rich and vast, stretching back centuries with much better documentation and records than humans had ever mustered up.

That was why their attack had been such a shock. There was nothing in their meetings to indicate they were planning this kind of strike, and nothing during their contact indicated the Neph possessed a weapon capable of wiping out the population of an entire planet. It would seem that during their first contacts, the Neph had seen the destruction left behind by the human forces. Not just in battle but on Earth, the Neph had seen the humans destroying their home planet, ruining the Earth until it barely sustained life. The Neph had been forced to abandon their world, but it was due to solar flares, natural disasters that rendered the surface inhospitable. The humans were desperate to establish colonies and seek new planets because they had exhausted the resources of one of the universe's most perfect planets. The Neph must have seen this has a blasphemous waste. The Neph had decided they could not risk further conflict with Earth, that the humans were simply too dangerous to keep around.

No matter how atrocious their decision, how impossible to imagine that the Neph could decide so simply to wipe them out, how could Corso justify a retaliation of the same kind? Earth's fate was decided, with no hope of changing it. How could humanity's last act in this world be to snuff out another civilization, in effect proving the Neph's point? Thousands of years of evolution had led to this moment; would the last act of the greatest race Earth had ever known to be one of spite? To declare that if the humans didn't live, no one did?

The representatives were becoming even more disorderly, shouting and yelling. Someone was slamming their fist upon the table, trying to prove his point through sheer volume. Austin, asked again, "Sir? Shall we give the order?"

How dare he end their song?

Finally, Corso turned to face the crowd. A few of the delegates noticed their Chairman, and straightened up, nudging their closest companions to do the same. When the congregation continued to argue, Corso cleared this throat, once.

Silence was immediate.

"I will see no more blood shed. We are not going to launch."

The crowd immediately erupted, shouts and demands being flung back and forth in futility, unheeded by the Chairman, who had turned back to the window. Let them argue, let them cry for their vengeance against the Neph. Without his authorization codes, they could not launch.

Austin stepped up beside his employer, looking out through the window, as if hoping to find some comfort in the scene his employer was taking in. In fairness, the universe had given them a fine farewell. The sun was rising, and it was beautiful. Even the usual smear of smog that hung above the city was thin, allowing the true colors of the sunrise to paint the clouds, turning the sky into a living painting. His voice shaking slightly, the younger man asked, "Sir. Kevin.. what do we do now?"

"I, for one, am going to finish my tea and watch this radiant sunrise. Then I will make the public announcement. You have the rest of the day off, Austin. I would suggest you spend it wisely."

I've been tagged!

Oh dear, oh dear me.. it seems I have been recently tagged in a post that may be leading good readers to my little corner of the woods.

If you have stumbled onto The Elusive Muse, either through dumb luck or through Avery Tingle's recent shout-out, let me welcome you. This is not a professional portfolio, rather it is a space in which I can think out loud. I throw up concept art, story excerpts, ideological rants and the occasional whimsical anecdote. Not all of the ideas I present are seen through to any kind of completion. Some are forgotten or cast aside, or put on hold pending some decision or further explanation.

I welcome and encourage feedback and criticism - and I can honestly say that I can take honest critique. I have a thick skin, so let me have it. The good (if any), the bad (which is plentiful) and everything in between. It helps guide what I do next; if people respond well to a certain character or story or format, I will be more likely to continue to write in that style. Similarly I would be open to ideas or suggestions of what to write next. Writing prompts, ideas, "what if" scenarios with characters I have presented, or questions about the worlds and personalities I have created.

Due to a demanding work schedule I am not likely to post on a daily basis, but I do check any comments or responses I get regularly and, if there is apparent interest, I will work on updating this more regularly. It was initially merely a space in which I can be creative and get something down on paper, but if people seem to enjoy it I would certainly devote more time to doing it properly.

Also, if you came across here from some other means and were not referred by Avery, be sure to check out his Idea Lounge which is basically what I am doing, only better. He is also published, which means he gets the right to act superior and pretentious because he is, by definition, an Author whereas I am simply an Occasionally-Writes-Now-And-Then until I get this mess in some kind of order.

Anyway, I thought I should throw something up here in case people come across Avery's link, notice the relative lack of updates recently and decide to move on. Stay your mouse-clicking hand, internet traveler! There is hope for me yet!

I'll update this soon as I can - and hopefully with more stories.

-J

The Last Sunrise

Kevin Corso watched the sun rise, drank his tea, and contemplated the end of a world.

The time was the morning of November 11th, 2103, an otherwise unremarkable date except for the fact that it would be the last day of Earth. The location was the United Nations headquarters in New Geneva. It was a large, cavernous room, and Kevin stood before the large floor to ceiling windows that looked east out over the glowing, bustling city. Even at this early hour, before the sun has risen, the city was already awake. The morning commuters were already zipping along the multi-tiered roads that intertwined between the towering buildings.
Kevin brought his cup to his lips, sipping the sweet tea as the sun dragged itself, hand over hand, over the horizon. There, just to the right of the rising sun, was another tiny speck of light. It might have been a star, though all the stars had faded by now. That tiny mote of light was why the Council session had been called, why there were two hundred or more representatives standing behind him, waiting for his decision.

"Chairman, sir, shall we give the order?"

The last order he would ever give. Slowly, every movement precise and measured, he turned to the congregation, who regarded him with an almost religious deference. He scanned the room, meeting each pair of eyes in turn before asking, "You are sure there is nothing we can do?"

The question was not directed to anyone in particular, but among the crowd one man cleared his throat, "Sir. The Neph's technology is far too advanced. We have run the calculations over and over, but the result is always the same. All life on Earth is wiped out. There is no outcome in which we can survive."

The Neph were an alien race that they had first encountered a few years ago. Without a way to communicate, first contact had been a terrible, bloody ordeal with both sides suffering heavy casualties. They had tried to work it out diplomatically since then. They had failed.

"And the colonies?"

Another speaker amongst the crowd, "Communication was cut off a month ago, but all sources indicate they were most likely wiped out in preemptive strikes."

Weeks of reviewing reports and calculations told him everything else he needed to know. They did not have the time or resources to prevent the sequence of events that the race known as the Neph had set into motion. Earth had literally hours left.

The last course of action they had prepared was a contingency plan. In the event that the Neph launched an aggressive assault against the human forces, they had a weapon they could launch that would, in return, wipe out the Neph forces. Without a home world, they were confined to massive starships capable of housing and supporting generations of their kind. It wouldn't take much to ensure they were utterly destroyed. They had hoped it would suffice as a deterrent, to discourage the Neph from attacking. Clearly, alien politics worked differently than those on Earth.

As leader of the human nations, Kevin Corso had been closely involved with the first meetings they had with the Neph. Once they had figured out a way to communicate, they put a stop to the conflicts that had arisen during their initial contact. They had tried to find a peaceful resolution to the conflicts each side faced. Unfortunately, both sides needed the same resources - land, water, a new home - and these resources were scarce throughout the galaxy. Neither side could agree to the same terms, each side unwilling to compromise the safety of their people for the aliens sitting across from them.

Encountering the Neph had changed the size of the playground. Every nation on Earth went from playing a global game to a galactic one. They had rallied beneath the banner of the UN, forgetting many of their political disputes to face the challenges this new game board would present.

Yet during these encounters, Kevin had become acquainted with a new of the Neph. They were a brutish, reptilian race, with thick scaled skin and wide, flat faces. Their facial structure limited their expressive capacity, so lacking the subtle body language that humans could communicate in their faces, the Neph had adopted a complex form of verbal communication. It included deep layers of tone and inflection through pitch and tempo when they spoke. The result, to Kevin's ears, was that the Neph sang when they spoke. Despite their unattractive appearance - by Earth standards - Kevin maintained that Neph speech was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. Their culture was rich and vast, stretching back centuries with much better documentation and records than humans had ever mustered up.

That was why their attack had been such a shock. There was nothing in their meetings to indicate they were planning this kind of strike. It would seem that during their initial contacts, the Neph had seen the destruction left behind by the human forces. Not just in battle but on Earth, the Neph had seen the humans destroying their home planet, ruining the Earth until it barely sustained life. The humans were desperate to establish colonies and seek new planets because they had exhausted the resources of one of the universe's most perfect planets. They had decided they could not risk further conflict with Earth, that the humans were simply too dangerous to keep around. Like the extinct wolves in old stories, the farmers would hunt the predators that killed their livestock, no matter how beautiful the wolves may have been.

No matter how atrocious their decision, how impossible to imagine that the Neph could decide so simply to wipe them out, how could they justify a retaliation of the same kind? Earth's fate was decided, with no hope of changing it. How could humanity's last act in this world be to snuff out another civilization, in effect proving the Neph's concerns were right? Thousands of years of evolution had led to this moment; would the last act of the greatest race Earth has ever known to be one of spite? To declare that if the humans didn't live, no one did?

The representatives were becoming uncomfortable. Kevin's assistant, a quiet young man named Austin, asked again, "Sir? Shall we give the order?"

How dare he end their song?

"...No. No more bloodshed.. No more."

The crowd immediately erupted into arguments, shouts and demands being flung back and forth, unheeded by the Chairman, who had turned back to the window. Even at the morn of their extinction, a big enough group of humans in one room will still find a way to argue.

Austin stepped up beside Kevin, looking out through the window, as if hoping to see something that only Kevin could, "Sir.. What do we do, then?"

"I, for one, am going to drink my tea, and watch my last sunrise. You have a few hours left on this Earth, son. Spend them wisely."

[Author's Corner]

I really don't like how this turned out, it really doesn't have the same feel as when I first came up with it in my head. The idea is the same but the emotional response I got out of it was not what I had hoped. This is a rough first draft - at best - so it would need some serious revision, but somehow writing it out fell a bit flat. I'm not sure if its just because I'm too close to it, I spent too long trying to write it that now it doesn't have any magic for me. Or maybe it just wasn't that compelling of an idea to begin with. I'm not sure.. but at least I'm writing again. So, you know.. go me, I guess.

Concept Art: Mordecai

Mordecai, Guardian Angel

(Work In Progress)

Prologue

Lead me from death to life,
From falsehood to truth,

Mordecai was too late. He ran as fast as his feet and faith would carry him, racing through the Kindgom of Heaven and towards the Gate. The Kingdom flew past him in a blur of clouds and sunlight, the ground rippling beneath his feet with every step. He should have felt something sooner, should have known what was going to happen.

He should never have left her side.

Lead me from despair to hope,
From fear to trust,

He was at the Gate, which was more shaped like a well, a deep pit with light rising from its depths. The angel threw himself over the edge without hesitation. He fell towards a miniature globe of the world which perfectly mirrored Earth right down to every blade of grass. Streamlining his body, he willed himself to fall faster, and just as he was about to collide with the globe he found himself falling through clouds, through the sky and towards the very real World below.

Lead me from hate to love,
From war to peace,

Finally, Mordecai could see her. Rachel Elizabeth White. She was standing on the roof of her apartment building, so perfectly still she could have been a statue, if not for her blond hair whipping in the wind.

Let peace fill our hearts, our world, our universe...

The clouds parted above Mordecai, and a shaft of light slanted down and illuminated Rachel. The young girl, only fifteen, felt the warmth of the sunlight and turned around, lifting her gaze to the sky. The angel's body was almost transparent, glowing with light. She smiled, and their eyes met.

That moment stretched out to the end of time. Mordecai could see her smile, and knew she saw him. They have known each other for all of her fifteen years, but it was the first time he had fully revealed himself. His translucent, white skin and feathery hair of the same hue. His eyes, which saw more than any human could see, two blank porcelain spheres. As clear as he was to her, so too could he see every feature of her face, burned forever in his memory. Her rough, chapped lips, the wet streaks of tears that ran down her face, washing away the dirt and grime on her face. He could see the dark bruise on the side of her face, spreading down her neck, and could imagine the hand that caused it. It was her smile, though, that would stay with him. As if seeing him was the only thing she ever wanted from this world.

Peace...

Then she fell.

Time suddenly snapped back into place, and Rachel was falling backwards off the building. He was over the roof, over the edge, his arm oustretched to catch her. There is no measurement of space precise enough to accurately depict how close his hand was to hers. He could feel the warmth of her skin so close to his, but it was too late.

It had always been too late.

She fell without a scream, without a sound at all. No sound except the rushing wind, and the impact of a body against the ground. Then, only then would the screams start, as the people below reacted to the sight of a broken girl. No mortal ear would hear the sound of her soul, rent from her body, which would continue to fall through the earth. Only Mordecai would bear witness to that feeling. Not a sound so much that you heard, but a vibration that you felt, radiating from your very core until it permeated every fiber of your being. He would never, in the centuries to come, forget that feeling. He had failed her. He had abandoned her when she most needed him.

He was her Guardian Angel.

Concept Art: Hell Hound (Work In Progress)

Not finished yet, but I'm trying to update as regularly as possible.

Hell hounds. Blind, these fearsome creatures stalk by sniffing out the souls of their prey. The more pure or wholesome the soul, the more dedicated their hunt becomes. An almost reptilian body, with a rippling underbelly and rough, jagged protrusions running down their back, there is nothing cuddly about these pups.

Concept Art: The Speaker

You didn't have to fear many things in the Kingdom. However, The Speaker was undoubtedly one of them.

The Speaker, also known as the Voice of God, also known as The King's Hand, also known as The Grand General of the Kingdom's Armies, is as you can tell, a powerful figure in the afterlife. He (or she) bears a crown of flames, that is said will instantly incinerate any demon or fallen Angel that comes near her (or him). The face has no specific features. The eyes are empty pockets of skin stretched taut over his sockets. His (or hers) face bears no mouth, where they would be one there is the same skin stretched over the faint outlines of teeth and jaw. It is rather more a skull than a proper head, with a film of snow covering it.

When the Speaker speaks, it does not speak with one voice, but with two. A male and a female voice, speaking in perfect unison. The Speaker's body is androgynous, representative of the fact that the Speaker encompasses the entire Kingdom and the will of the King itself, which does not associate with one gender or the other. In the World (that is, the mortal world, as opposed to the immortal Kingdom), it is common to refer to God as "he" or "her" depending upon the speaker, matching God's pronoun with your own. A man would refer to God as "he" and a woman would refer to God as "she".

The Speaker is the conduit through which God's will is passed down to the Kingdom, and from there to the World. The Speaker adheres strictly to the God's commandments, which the Speaker originally transcribed and passed on to the denizens of the World, and the slightest variation is met with punishment. At times of war, the Speaker leads the armies into battle.

Concept Art: Sky Sentinel

Finished bit of concept art for an upcoming project. The project features Angels & Demons in grand abundance, and I've been working on my own concept of heaven, angels, and what lies above. This is an example of a Sentinel. They have wings (not all angels too, only the higher ranking ones) and most sentinels have their halo around their eyes as seen above. Halos are a measure of status, rank and power in the Kingdom (my version of Heaven). The diamond-like shapes adorning this halo also indicate a kind of rank. 

Its obviously still very rough, but its just meant to get some ideas established. How the halo looks, the fact that most Angels are porcelain skinned, etc. More will be coming, and further details of this project should arrive soon.

Concept Art: Upcoming Project [Working Title]

Just some work in progress concept art for an upcoming project.

Defying Destiny, Part I

Prompt

 You had planned to attend a friend’s birthday party and plugged her address into your GPS system, but the system guided you to somewhere else. Oddly enough, there was a man waiting for you at this mysterious place. “Sorry I had to rig your GPS, but this is urgent,” said the person.

Now, write.

 I was already running late, typing a text message with one hand (On my way! Sorry I'm late!) and trying to put on my second shoe with the other while hopping down the hallway on one foot. I burst out the door with such force that it hits the wall, rebounds, and slams itself shut. I take the stairs two at a time and dash to the car. I'm already at the entrance to my apartment complex before I have my seat belt buckled, and I'm turning on the GPS system in my car.

Eighteen seconds later I'm flying down the road as fast as I dare; its pretty late, which means less traffic, but it will be harder to see a cop car waiting to give me a ticket. Normally I wouldn't be so worried about being on time to a social event, but things have been tense between Anna and I lately. This is not the first event I've been late to recently, in fact even arriving there today will be a miracle. I can't explain why I keep missing these engagements, I leave with enough time, but somewhere along the way hours will pass inexplicably. I think it must have to do with my insomnia lately, because what else could it be? When I think about it too hard, I start to get a migraine, and my head feels funny.

Flying down the highway, listening to the GPS system. In three miles, take exit 21 onto E 32nd Avenue. I try to remember which exit goes to Anna's new house. Her husband recently got promoted, and he celebrated by upgrading to a four bedroom house with enough square feet and extra rooms to house a small third world village. Four bedrooms? The man has ambition, I'll give him that. I try not to feel bitter about it, and usually I don't. What happened between Michael and I is in the past, and it does no one any good to dwell on it. I'm happy for Anna. Really. I try to think about something else, and check the GPS again. In two and a half miles, take exit 21 onto E 32nd Avenue.

For now, I just drive with the windows down. One thing about insomnia, is you're never fully awake. You may not be able to sleep but that doesn't mean you are running on all cylinders. The more I need to be awake, the more tired I feel, but if I try to sleep I find myself unable to keep my eyes closed. So I lean back, slouch down a bit in the seat, and just drive. I feel my eyes getting heavy, but there is no danger of sleeping at the wheel if I can't sleep at all, now is there? The road is a straight stretch of asphalt, and I have the cruise control on so I don't get caught speeding. I blink, then just for a second, I close my eyes and keep them closed.

Tires hit the fog line, and my eyes snap open. My hand jerks to the inside of the lane, pulling me off the fog line and close to the car next to me. It also swerves, and the driver communicates his surprise by leaning on his horn for a solid five or six seconds. A quick glance around and everything is intact, and I seem to still be on the highway. Right as I think about checking the GPS, I hear it respond, "Take the next exit, exit 19 onto E 26th Avenue." That doesn't sound right, wasn't the exit further down?

"Stupid computers." I don't like technology, to be honest. It needlessly complicates life, it moves too quickly to keep up with, and most of it all serves redundant purposes anyway. Between email, a phone call, text messages, Facebook, in-office messages and, heaven forbid, an actual face to face conversation, how many ways do you need to talk to someone?

Grumbling further about the decline of humanity, I pull off the exit and take the next set of directions, trying not to choke on the irony of a small electronic device dictating my every vehicular action. I don't recognize the route at all, but its probably shorter this way. I tend to take the longer, roundabout paths because I like sticking to the main roads and I know where I'm going that way.

The shortcut takes me through an industrial part of town, and turns me down a side street between a row of manufacturing warehouses. It tells me to keep driving straight, keep going... then it just stops. Looking around, I see nothing. I check the GPS again, tapping its screen and knowing its a waste of time. Batteries must have died or something. I let out a gruff sigh and lean back in my seat, debating if I should call Anna and admit I'm a little lost, or try to find it myself and get hopelessly lost.

That's when I see the man.

He's standing not ten feet away from my vehicle in the middle of the street. No one was there a moment ago, so I don't know how he got there so fast. This is definitely not normal behavior, and this is not the part of town where you buy lemonade from the neighbor kid's stand. I make sure the doors are locked and start rolling up the windows. They get halfway up, then stop. Now just the windows, the whole car turned off. Somehow the engine died without warning. I turn the key in the ignition, and nothing happens. Doesn't even turn over. I'm unarmed, and without power the windows won't roll all the way up. That wouldn't be a problem if I had manual windows, stupid technology.

I debate if I should run or start calling the police, when I hear something that pauses my heartbeat.

"Good evening, Alexis. Sorry I had to rig your GPS, but this is urgent," said the person.

The voice is familiar, but I can't place it. Now I'm really worried. I don't have any friends who would think this is funny, so it can't be a joke. Did I make someone mad at the office?

"Nice to see you again. You don't remember me yet, it takes a few minutes. Don't worry, over time it will come back to you faster. And I didn't mean to startle you. Things moved faster than I anticipated. I had no choice but to intervene."

He was standing directly outside my car now. I have no where to run. Maybe if I slam the door open hard enough it will knock him over and I can-

Wait.

"How do you know my name?" The weight of his words just started to dawn on me. I was only half-listening through the pounding of blood in my ears, and initially dismissed whatever he said as the ravings of a psychopathic serial killer who lures his victims to warehouses where he probably stores the bodies. Listening to what he said, though, it causes me pause, "What do you mean by intervene? What are you intervening in?"

The man simply shakes his head, and his shoulders slump a bit. He takes a deep breath, holding it for a moment. Waiting to make a decision. All I can hear is my heart beating a bruise into my ribs, and I'm not entirely sure he can't hear it, too. Then he made whatever choice he was mulling over.

"You were destined to die tonight."

~To Be Continued... ?

[Reflections]

So, I decided I need to write more. Even if its not Origins, I need to write something with some regularity. I've always looked down a bit on writing exercises and prompts. I'm not sure what exactly I had against them, it just seemed silly to write what someone else told me to, instead of writing my own ideas. Obviously, that's stupid. A prompt is meant to open up your ideas, give you a launching pad from which you can leap into a story. I can't promise this will be a daily occurrence, my work schedule can be too taxing to promise that right now, but I will try to keep on it more. If you leave comments, ask questions about the story, say where you would like to see it go, or provide new prompts/ideas, it will spur me on further and the updates will likely quicken in pace. Otherwise, its just whenever I can bring myself to sit long enough to write. I may continue this story, I may not. I haven't decided yet. What do you think?