You see this poster? It never happens in the movie.

“The Happening” has just been added to my list of the worst movies ever. Horrible script, horrible acting, horrible cinematography, and a horrible plot combine to form the worst movie I’ve seen since “The DaVinci Code.”

Part of what made the movie so bad was all the potential it had. Mark Wahlberg is a great actor, Zooey Deschanel is pretty good, and John Leguizamo is decent as well, but Shyamalan seems to have brought out the worst in all of them. I seriously wonder if any of the actors argued with Shyamalan about how unrealistic the script was. Or at least thought about it in their heads.

And what disappoints me is that Roger Ebert gave it a fairly positive review. I’ve lost a lot of respect for that man.

Just a quick post to let all of my wonderful readers know about my new blog. A few friends and I started a music blog, and I’d be delighted if you checked it out. We call it Sailor Town.

Here’s the finished story in all of its glory. Let me know what you think.

===========

T H E  N O R N S

by: I S A A C  H A L V O R S O N

Murder was easier than he had expected. Blood and puss oozed from the two small wounds near Raul’s ankle, forming a puddle on the hard wood floor. The smell mixed with the fresh fabric softener from the bed spread to create a sickening contrast.

After the bite, Raul had stumbled and fallen. He ended up sitting in the corner made where his bed met the wall behind it. The snake had slithered out of sight underneath the dresser in the corner.

The sun was setting outside, and the yellow light streamed in, creating a beam through the dusty air. The room was fancily decorated. The bed was against the wall farthest from the door, and there was a large dresser with a mirror on top to the right of the bed. Next to that was a large leather easy chair. Everything in the room was antique, except for the chair which looked almost new.

Raul began to look around the room. His breathing became heavy. He looked up at Jack, “I knew you were coming you know. I didn’t know when exactly, but I knew you were coming.”

Jack stared emotionlessly down at Raul. Jack’s eyes squinted slightly as Raul stammered on.

“I don’t blame you. I don’t. I’ve been in this business long enough to know. You’re just doing your job.” It was becoming harder for Raul to breath. He had to force each breath in and out . “I don’t blame you. I don’t bla…. Who hired you?”

Jack turned toward the bed. He closed his briefcase, picked it up and let it rest at his side. “I’m not allowed to tell you that.”

“I’m dying! I’m…” He swallowed, “I’m dying… There’s no harm in telling a dying man who killed him.”
Jack knew the rules, but Raul was right, there was no harm in telling him. He let out a long sigh, “Francis Templeton.”

Raul let out a soft chuckle, “Templeton eh? He never did like me much. How much did he pay you?”

“Twenty five.”

“I didn’t know I was worth that much to him,” He coughed into his fist. “I don’t have much time. I can feel my mind going.” He looked off into the distance, letting his eyes relax out of focus.

Jack cleared his throat. He tried to think of something appropriate to say, but nothing came to mind. He walked to the large leather chair near the dresser. He sat down and waited. The chair was less comfortable than it appeared, but he had to stay and make sure Raul died. Jack crossed his legs at the ankles and moved his foot to an imaginary rhythm.

Raul began to sweat profusely. His breathing became manic and came in short bursts. He jerked his head upward to face the ceiling, “Tell Templeton… Tell Templeton I’m not sorry.” He let out his dying breath and his entire body relaxed. His head still looked upward with his mouth completely open.

Jack looked at the body for some time, thinking. “That was disturbing.”

He put his hands on the arms of the chair to stand up when he felt a sharp pain in his foot. He looked down to see the snake’s mouth wrapped around his shoe. The fangs had punctured the leather and gone deep into the top of his foot. He let out a grunt and relaxed back into the chair.

He looked at Raul’s body. His head had relaxed into a forward facing position, eyes looking directly at Jack. Raul’s body slowly tilted to the side and slumped onto the ground. His head made a thud as it hit the ground.

- = -

“Captain. Enemies off the starboard bow. We can’t out run them at our current power levels.” First officer Poole tried to clear the smoke from the cockpit with his hand, waving it side to side in front of his face. “What are we going to do?”

Captain Frank Bowman’s eyes were fixated on the situation outside. Only small portions of open space were visible between the asteroids that filled the viewer.

“Don’t you worry Poole, I’ve got a little trick up my sleeve. Something the Klornon’s don’t even know about. Remember that-” Frank’s speech was cut off as he jerked the controls to the right to dodge a particularly large asteroid. “That was close…”

“Remember that Lorvian artifact we picked up back on Setil-6?”

“Yes captain, but we still don’t know what it does.”

“You’re wrong there. Activate it.”

“But captain… we don’t know what will happen…”

“Poole, punch it.”

Poole paused and looked at Frank. Frank’s gaze never left the asteroids in front of him. Poole cringed as he pressed the yellow button, and…

The conclusion to Blast! vol. 9 will appear in next months episode. Will Captain Bowman and First Officer Poole make it out of their adventure alive? Or will the evil Klornon’s triumph? You’ll have to wait and see…

Bobby got up from the park bench and slipped last months issue of Blast! into the plastic sleeve. He unzipped his back pack, and slipped the comic carefully inside. Bobby looked down the sidewalk to see Shane riding toward him on his new bicycle.

The sun had just risen minutes ago, and there was still a slight mist in the air. In the park where Bobby waited, the fresh smell of dew was heavy, and the crickets were just finishing the night’s symphony.

Bobby took a deep breath through his nose and exhaled. “This is going to be sweet.”

Shane rode up to Bobby and skidded to a stop less than a foot from his feet. “This bike is so awesome.” The bike was entirely black, no chrome to be seen. The parts all seemed to blend together to create one uniform object. It had a hard racing style seat, and pegs on all four wheels.

Bobby looked at his watch, “Right on time Shane, great job,” He looked down the sidewalk, the opposite way Shane had come from, “Let’s go.”

Bobby climbed onto the back pegs of the bicycle, and put his hands on Shane’s shoulders. “Hold on a sec.” Bobby said. He slid his back pack around his side, and zipped it back up. “That could’ve been bad. You ready now?”

“Yep.”

They rode in silence for most of the journey. Past River Rock high school, past old man Kritel’s house, past the alley where Jimmy got beat up last month. Once they got within three blocks, Shane spoke up. ”Almost there. I’m so pumped.”

“Me too. I’ve been waiting a whole month for this.” Bobby tilted his body to the right, hoping to see if there was a line.

Shane swerved to the right, correcting for Bobby’s weight shifting, “Hey, stop that. You gotta balance with me or we’ll tip over.”

“Do you think Poole and Bowman make it out of that asteroid field?” Bobby said.

“Well yeah, it wouldn’t be a very good comic strip if the main characters died. What I’m wondering is what that alien artifact thing is going to do.”

“I’ll bet it’s like a reverse tractor beam. It’ll shove all the asteroids and the Klormon ships away from their ship. And then they’ll just speed off at light speed!”

“That’d be sweet.”

They rounded the last corner.

Bobby looked up. His eyes widened as his mouth dropped in shock. “Shane, stop.”

“Why? We’re almost there.”

“Look.” Bobby pointed ahead. There was a dark pillar of smoke rising from the store on the corner. Shane stopped the bicycle, and Bobby stepped off.

A red circle of fire trucks surrounded the building, spewing water in a vain attempt to stem the flames. The building was nearly gone already, and the firemen were attempting to stop the fire from spreading to the neighboring structures.

“Wha… we…. is that…” Shane stammered.

“C’mon, let’s get closer.”

They ran up and joined the crowd that was slowly forming around the blaze. The acrid smell of burning paper and ink filled the air. Bobby looked at the dark green sign, Parker’s Comics and Collectables it read. Just then, it fell off the supporting beams holding it high above the store, and crashed onto the sidewalk making a loud thud. The metal on cement made a high pitched squeal as it slid away from the building.
Bobby stood emotionless as Shane stammered on.

“Come on Shane. Let’s go home.”

- = -

“I start to walk back to the car, probably to call my dad or something, when I notice a little hole start to form in the ground about five feet from me. I stop walking and look at the hole. Then this… thing starts rising from the hole. It’s… It’s like the top of periscope, like on a submarine, but it has a speaker on it where normally you would look through it. It rises out of the ground, and stops about four feet high. Then it turns towards me so the speaker is facing directly at me.

“The periscope speaker starts speaking. It’s calm, a woman’s voice. It starts saying the ABC’s. A, B, C, D, you know. I just stand there and listen. Then, when it gets to about L or so, it starts getting angry. I don’t know why, but it’s mad. By the time it gets to Q, it’s screaming the letters at me. It’s furious. I turn and run in the other direction as fast as I can.

“Then it gets to the end, it says Z, and I wake up. I’ve never made it past Z before.”

After Frank finished his story, Dr. Parkins wrapped his hand around his chin and squinted his eyes. He sat in a leather chair with his legs crossed. He was holding a clip board with a notebook in it in his right hand. He looked down at his notes, then at the patient sitting across from him, then back at his notes again. He breathed in and let out a sigh.

“Just so I’m sure Frank, you’ve been having all three of these dreams? Repeatedly?”

“Yes. I don’t have them all every night, but I always have at least one of them. It’s really disturbing. They all end so horribly.”

Frank sat on a leather couch directly opposite the doctor. He was leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, his left hand closed around his right. He tapped his right foot repeatedly on the detailed rug beneath them, creating a low thumping noise. Like a metronome, it kept the session moving right along.

“Doctor Parkins, I need to know if this is something to worry about. I wake up every morning confused and disturbed. I’m constantly worried about it, and I don’t know why. I’ll take medication, more sessions, whatever. I just need some peace of mind.”

Dr. Parkins glanced at the clock behind Frank. 5:48. He uncrossed his leg to replace it with the other, shifting his weight to make up for the change in body position. He grabbed a pen out of his shirt pocket. It was green, meant to look like marble, with a golden clip. He pretended to write something on the paper, and then looked right at Frank.

“Frank, our dreams only mean as much to us as we want them to. Dreams are a mental phenomenon, and our minds and the world around us can only be affected by them if we let them. My suggestion is that you try to forget about them. I know that can be hard, but it is possible. Take a couple days off of work and just relax. I’m sure it will help.”

“You want me to just forget about them? It’s not that easy doc, I can’t just forget them. And if I relax and fall asleep, I’ll just have them again.” He extended his hands, palms up, toward the doctor, “Please, you’ve got to do something.”

Dr. Parkins sighed once again, and looked directly at Frank, “Frank, I’m telling you. You’re going to be fine.”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. But if you do still have problems, give me a call and we can set up another meeting.”

Frank leaned back in the sofa and let out a long sigh. He looked behind Dr. Parkins at the many plaques and framed certificates on the wall. Pushing against his knees with his hands, he stood up. ”I hope you’re right.”

He turned and walked toward the door. Seeing a bowl of chocolates, he turned back around, “Can I have one of these?”

Dr. Parkins looked up from his notebook, “Oh yes, of course.”

“Thanks,” Frank grabbed a chocolate, and walked out the door.

Dr. Parkins twisted his pen open and crossed out Frank Salta.

Dr. Parkins arrived at his apartment at 7:26. The smell of new leather greeted him as he walked inside. He closed the door, and hung his jacket on the coat hanger to the left. After slipping off his shoes, he walked directly to the stereo system. He turned the dial to 95.7, the local jazz station.

From the speakers came the sound of a man’s voice, “…tuning into 95.7. We play jazz all day, every day, so you can feel cooler than you really, are all the time. Coming up next, we’ve got…”

Dr. Parkins sighed and turned off the radio. He looked down and shook his head slightly.

He walked to the nearby couch, and sat with a crunch on the premium leather. He looked around his living room. The blinds were closed and the only light came from the kitchen behind him. In the dim light, there was almost no definition between the brown carpet and the like colored walls. The lighter brown furniture and end tables made large shadows on the wall.

He grabbed the remote that was next to him on the couch, and turned on the television. He pressed 2 and 6. The local news was on with a special report.

“…you, live from Pendleton Groves shopping mall where seven people have been shot. Current reports say they are two children and five adults,”

Dr. Parkins shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He reached for the remote to turn off the television, but stopped as an image appeared on the screen.

“…word that police say this man, Frank Salta, is the shooter. He is 37, approximately five foot nine inches tall, and 200 pounds. We’ve also just been told that… this is just horrible, he shot and killed his family before coming to the shopping mall,”

Dr. Parkins sat frozen with the remote still in his hand.

“…know any information about Frank Salta, please call 911 and tell the operator what you know.”

Dr. Parkins turned to look at his phone on the end table to his right. He turned back toward the television, and stared at the wall behind it. He set the remote back down where it had been. He stood up, walked over to his balcony, and opened both doors. A gust of air blew into the room, pushing back his hair. He closed his eyes and smiled as he breathed in the crisp fall air.

“Yep.”

He walked onto the balcony, and continued to the sidewalk below, landing with a wet thud.

E N D

And now another episode of The Coolest Thing I’ve Seen Today!

Well thank you Facebook Team.

I had a funny dream last night. I went to a bar with my friend Amanda. When we sat at the bar, a girl next to Amanda asked if we wanted to drink some tequila. I declined, but Amanda took part. They took their shots, and Amanda instantly turned into a brain dead vegetable. So I picked her up, and carried her to her car. I assumed she could drive home for some reason, but obviously she could not, so I decided to carry her to my apartment until she sobered up. On our way, a group of guys surrounded us, and wanted to beat us up. I grabbed one guy by the feet, swung him around, and hit his head into another guys head. This made a very sickening noise, and the rest of them ran off.

The End

*This dream has nothing to do with any actual events.

This is a short paper Josh Brorby and I wrote for our creative writing course. In it, we were required to start each sentence with the next letter of the alphabet, starting - surprisingly - with ‘a’.

Enjoy.

-=-=-

“All along the watchtower,”Jimi screamed into the microphone. Bob stared from the audience, watching in disgust. Crowds thronged around the stage as Jimi performed, but Bob remained unmoved.

“Damn,” Bob muttered, “that was my song.” Everyone in his vicinity glanced in his direction.

“Fuckin’ a dude, that’s not your song.”

Gathering his wits, Bob turned to the hippie who dared question him. ”How many roads must a man walk down,” Bob snarled as he punched the flower child right in his drug-induced face. Ironically, this hippie was actually Kenny Loggins of the super-duo Loggins & Messina, and this event would inspire him to form the band.

Jimi removed his acid-soaked headband and threw it into the audience as he walked off stage. Kool cigarette in hand, Bob made his way through the crowd. Leather-clad security guards approached Bob as he moved backstage.

“Move it or lose it buddy; who do you think you are?”

“Name’s Dylan,” a drag from the cigarette, “Bob Dylan.”

“Oh…” the two guards stumbled over their words and their feet as they backed away.

“People got barely enough skin to cover their bones.” Quick as a whip, Bob was inside Jimi’s dressing room.

“Realize just what I did hear; didn’t realize how young you were,” Bob said.

Smiling, Jimi looked up, blowing smoke from his mouth and coughing out, “the clouds are really low, and they overflow.”

“They say that you’re planning to put me down.”

“Ugh, I won’t do you no harm.” Very faintly, Bob heard the crowd chanting Jimi’s name.

“Wind’s beginning to howl Bob, all along the watchtower.”

“‘Xactly what I was thinking.” Yanking out his harmonica, Bob shoved it down Jimi’s throat, and Jimi choked on his own vomit as he fell to the floor.

Zimmerman, Robert A.: don’t forget that name.

-=-=-

If we hadn’t been constrained by the alphabet rule, we planned a different ending. In it, the tones produced by Jimi’s gurgling and puking flowing through the harmonica inspired Bob to write Like a Rolling Stone. We liked that ending much better.

YouTorrent, my preferred torrent search engine, has recently decided to only aggregate search results from legal torrent search engines. It is a sad day.

I guess I’ll have to start using ScrapeTorrent again…

This is part of a short story I’m writing for for my creative writing course. I had four different ideas for stories, and I couldn’t decide on which one to use so I’m going to use them all. This is the first part, and I plan on connecting the other ideas to it… somehow…

Please leave comments. This is a first draft, so there will be things that need to be changed.

*Any struck through words are edits I have made since posting the story.

-=-=-=-

Murder was easier than he had expected. Blood and puss oozed from the two small wounds near Raul’s ankle, forming a puddle on the hard wood floor. The smell mixed with the fresh fabric softener from the bed spread to create a sickening contrast.

After the bite, Raul had stumbled and fallen. He ended up sitting in the corner made where his bed met the wall behind it. The snake had slithered out of site sight underneath the dresser in the corner.

Raul’s eyes began to dart around the room. His breathing became heavy. He looked up at Jack, “I knew you were coming you know. I didn’t know when exactly, but I knew you would come soon were coming.”

Jack stared emotionlessly down at Raul. Jack’s eyes squinted slightly as Raul stammered on.

“I don’t blame you. I don’t. I’ve been in this business long enough to know, you’re just doing your job.” It was becoming harder for Raul to breath. He had to force each breath in and out purposefully. “I don’t blame you. I don’t bla…. Who hired you?”

Jack turned toward the bed. He closed his briefcase, picked it up and let it rest at his side. “I’m not allowed to tell you that.”

“I’m dying! I’m…” He swallowed, “I’m dying… There’s no harm in telling a dying man who killed him.”

Jack knew the rules, but Raul was right, there was no harm in telling him. He let out a long sigh, “Francis Templeton.”

Raul let out a soft chuckle, “Templeton eh? He never did like me much. How much did he pay you?”

“Twenty five.”

“I didn’t know I was worth that much to him,” He coughed into his fist. “I don’t have much time. I can feel my mind going.” He looked off into the distance, letting his eyes relax out of focus.

Jack cleared his throat. He tried to think of something appropriate to say, but nothing came to mind. He walked to the large leather chair near the dresser. He sat down and waited. The chair was less comfortable than it appeared, but he had to stay and make sure Raul died. Jack crossed his legs at the ankles and moved his foot to an imaginary rhythm.

Raul began to sweat profusely. His breathing became manic and came in short bursts. He jerked his head upward to face the ceiling, “O Fortuna, status malus!”  ”Tell Templeton… Tell Templeton I’m not sorry.” With that, He let out his dying breath and his entire body relaxed. His head still faced upward with his mouth completely open.

Jack looked at the body for some time. Thinking , thinking. “That was disturbing.”

He put his hands on the arms of the chair to stand up when he felt a sharp pain in his foot. He looked down to see the snake’s mouth wrapped around his shoe. The fangs had punctured the leather and gone deep into the top of his foot. He let out a grunt and relaxed back into the chair.

He looked at Raul’s body. His head had relaxed into a forward facing position, eyes looking directly at Jack. Raul’s body slowly tilted to the side and slumped onto the ground. His head made a thump as it hit the ground.

I just did a major facebook friend purge. I deleted 210 friends. Now I’m down to a measly 330…

Sorry if you didn’t make the cut.