Course Of My Own

Fashioned from carbon and blood.
Upon this spot I am stood.
Emotions are always raw.
Extreme and might put me on the floor.
Yet it does not mean I want the pills.
Downing them will eliminate all thrills.
Leave a sensation of emptiness to grow.
Cannot withstand that void so…
I carry on without a hand to hold.
Don’t think that makes me bold.
I’m just an entity trying to live.
This eternity may just give.
Fold in upon itself.
Ruptured until I lack health.
Remold me into liquid clay.
Not something I ever wished to be.
Truth is I don’t get to choose.
At times I will always lose.
But if you think I’ll just surrender,
I will label you a pretender.
Cause I’m not done until I die.
And I’m as persist as rain that falls from the sky.

Human to my very core.
Like anyone I am not pure.
Its impossible to be as I am mortal.
I walk these days like some do portals.
Gateway to a new tomorrow.
Don’t expect me to be the one to follow.
I forge a path that is my own.
For that is how I have grown.
And to refuse my feelings would be torture.
Its why I insist on being my own author.
Founder of my every moment.
Unwilling to be a bowed proponent.
Yet that does not mean I always feel strong.
Many days everything can feel wrong.
But that all helps to form who I am.
Refuse to be herded like a lamb.
For my body, mind and experience are what’s me.
With them I will forever sail free.

Phobe

Hey, back again with another story. This one is again Sci-Fi (which is no surprise) and is set in the same universe as last weeks. However, it is not a sequel, prequel, sidequel or anything like that. It is a self-contained story. Really, it’s less about the setting and more about relationships. Wow, it’s quite difficult to be vague without spoiling stuff. So with that in mind I will say no more other than it’s about 9,300 words long. Enjoy!

“Orius D’Nian, the day the Consortium of Infinitude have wished many years for has finally arrived.” Sinifin announces with a loud, proud, strong voice in the native language of the Cense, a race of aliens who arrived on Earth, above it truthfully, some fifteen years ago.

Alas, their arrival was not without issues seeing as phasing in-system above the planet known as Earth resulted in the cataclysmic and highly unintentional particle annihilation of the third rock from the sun’s only natural satellite, the Moon. This blunder led to some calamities on the marble planet for which the Cense apologised profusely. After all, their intention had never been to destroy. Rather, the race of bipedal six eyed aliens with skin smooth and hairless that stand at one and half metres in height, had crossed vast swathes of space to learn.

Humanity is the first, and thus far only, other species of relative technological advancement that the Cense have managed to locate. Until this point they had been searching for so long that they were on the verge of accepting defeat, declaring themselves the only advanced lifeforms in all the galaxies. This age, until departure from their homeworld I’tarinisla, had been known as the Age of Solemn Loneliness. Fifty thousand years ago the Age was feared to be the beginning of the end for the Cense. Not because of wars, famine, disease or anything like that, but rather because it seemed, to the species, that without other advanced life they could elevate themselves no further.

“And you, D’Nian, have been chosen to be the first of us who shall walk amongst the race known as humans, free.” Somehow Sinifin has managed to puff out his chest, quite a feat for Cense who breathe through pours in their skin. Their bodies reliant on nitrogen rich atmospheres, and as luck would have it, Earth’s atmosphere is highly rich in the gas. This means there is no need for breather suits.

D’Nian in particular is relieved about that for they personally find the suits ruthlessly uncomfortable in all the wrong places. Though, they quickly flick off such thinking and back to the words being cast out by the member of the Consortium of Infinitude.

In truth it is a fancy way of saying council. They are but one part of Cense society which endeavours to remain fair and oversee consistent care over every citizen of the Parsenum, the collective name for their civilization in all its complexities.

“As you are aware, Orius…” Sinifin pauses as if lost for words, deep in thought. As for Orius, it is not a name but rather a title. Every Cense holds one, though only in settings such as this are they generally used. At one time that had not been the case, but the Age of Complex Overfulfillment is mercifully long past.

“…, we made a great blunder when we arrived over Earth. Destroying the celestial body known as the Moon, we felt obliged to apologise a billion times. Thankfully, humanity did not retaliate. Rather, it was the beginning of a consultation; a brokering of words which led us to the minor integration and meeting with certain sections of human society.” To be honest Sinifin doesn’t understand what that means, certain sections of society, and is simply parroting back words they heard used to describe those who the Cense have mingled with. Still they continue their dual role of announcing and recounting.

“The transition period which followed has been protracted. We, the Consortium of Infinitude, would have preferred more immediate meetings of our species but humanity did not agree. The politics, which they made clear were involved, are their own. Not a matter then or now for Cense. Graciously, that era has ended and today you D’Nian will embark to the Allied States Of America’s city of Newcova.”

The Allied States of America, or ASA as it is more commonly referred, is a collective formed out of the old USA, Canada and Central American nations following the five centuries of devastation which very nearly wiped out humanity because of floods, worldwide pandemic diseases and natural disasters such as tornadoes, hurricanes, earthquakes and volcanic eruptions.

Newcova, meanwhile, is a city that was built in the aftermath of such devastation. It is not a perfect city, far from it. It has, like all human cities, its poverty and crime issues as there is a significant disparity between the haves and have not’s. Still, it is an atypical location for the Cense to visit. What is found there is no better, nor worse, than would be considered the norm. As such it is deemed ‘safe,’ comparatively speaking, for a Cense. Something which the ASA administration of Carter Magnulson kicked against with considerable brutality, until it became clear that the extraterrestrial visitors would not accept no as an answer forever.

It had surprised the human administrations of Earth, they have no collective title, that the Cense were so adamant and unwavering in their demand to converse with all levels of humanity so that they could learn. It was, and remains, perplexing for humanity, who stores all their knowledge digitally.

By contrast, the Cense on the other hand do not. They hold the knowledge of their species within each of them. To humanity it sounded, at first, inconvenient, wasteful, pointless but as integrations with the upper echelons of mankind continued over the last eight years it has become clear that this localised knowledge has allowed all Cense to be equal.

Secretly, that gave yet another reason as to why the administrations of the world felt it better not to let the aliens integrate with ‘normal’ people, civilians, lowly and without vast fortunes and power to their names. For if the Cense spoke with these people it would become evident that humanity is not a unified collective like these visitors. Still, it’s been passed now, and there is no going back. To a Cense a deal is an unbreakable bond.

“Speak your words Orius, then depart us for Newcova.” Sinifin says finally done speaking.

They’ve been rambling, as they inevitably always do, for what feels like hours. D’nian is aware it has not been that long, and until fairly recently did not know what an hour was. Thankfully, they received a crash course in basic human terminology. But alas no, D’nian cannot speak the language known as English. That is where Cense tech comes in, something that has been shared with those the aliens have interacted with, for near the rear of their head D’nian has a translator chip. Without it they would be quite lost. Perhaps only able to make out the occasional word, if they are lucky that is. Again, unlike Cense, humans have dialects, accents. These are not words known to the visitors and yet D’nian has born witness to such things. On first pass interaction they did believe the chip in their possession was defective for it could not accurately translate what was being said by everyone. Mercifully, such issues have since been rectified and tested, thoroughly. All in preparation for today and that might leave you wondering why? After all, the Cense have conversed with humans for years passed. Well it’s quite simple really. Those humans who have mingled with the aliens were prepared for teething issues, the Cense decided the same patience should not be expected of those out in the wilds of their world, living their lives. Especially, as human patience will already be tested by the inevitable questions that D’nian will be asking as they gather knowledge. A process which the Cense were pleased to see has gone both ways because humanity too have been hugely interested in the Cense as well. It’s why their tech, previously mentioned, which involves ending disease, famine and doubling lifespans has been shared.

Still, as yet D’nian would have to admit, forgetting that they are supposed to be addressing the Consortium, that the reach of such shared advancements has not been as great as the Cense would have expected. Questions over such have been issued, but as yet there has been no reply forthcoming. Regrettably, humans, it seems from the aliens perspective, are not the most swift moving of species. It’s unfortunate but nothing that makes the extraterrestrials regret their decision to venture out here, and it is out. You see, Earth lies at the other end of traversable space and proved to be a tricky mathematical puzzle to solve to get out here. Unsurprisingly, with the knowledge of a species in each of them, the Cense prevailed and yet their first act, unintentional as it was, which came alongside their arrival was the destruction of the Moon.

Like all Cense, D’nian cannot overcome the shame they experienced as a result of such a tragedy. It’s why the first hundred and nine days were spent issuing little more than apologies, including once they were connected and speaking to the leaders of the species.

Finally remembering they are meant to be concluding this interaction, D’nian jolts back to the present. Their dallying is not something a Cense of their age should be dancing with, and yes the extraterrestrial species has no gender definitions. They long since past, as a result of evolutionary advancement, into the ‘pages’ of history.

Orius D’nian smiles pleased with their use of human lingo but makes sure to launch into their concluding words without further delay, “I offer my humble praises to the Consortium of Infinitude for this chance to be the first Cense to mingle amongst the humans and learn the ways of their species. I foresee a fruitful and packed Age of Noble Learning ahead of us. For this is all we as a species have yearned for since the onset of our last Age.” All six eyes, arranged in twin triangle shaped clusters of three on either side of their face, blink as the words leave the Orius’ narrow slit of a lipless mouth which houses no teeth.

In case you are wondering why the Cense have no teeth, and whether it is because they do not eat certain foodstuffs, it is because they suck on paste tubes. These tubes are filled with all the nutrients they will ever require for their bodies. Though, at one time they did eat solid foods but that was many eons ago in a very different age occupied by a very different version of the aliens who are stood here now on their StarEgg.

With their statement delivered the eight members of the Consortium wait with baited breath. They are expecting more. There is no more. That is all D’nian feels is necessary to say and so as a result a pause of silence, awkward and elongating, is left to stretch until all members realise that the Orius is done.

Some feel they should roll their eyes for it felt as though the occasion called for more grandeur than has been offered. Others think it to the point. Not what they had been expecting but serviceable. Perhaps in time the words will prove to be perfection personified. Whether, they may or may not be in the future matters little, which is why the members of the Consortium deliver waves of dismissal.

Suppressing a smile, D’nian turns, straightens their back and slinks off. Because of the proportions of Cense the aliens cannot march. Every movement they make looks casual, at ease, but steeped in millennia of learning. Perhaps you could call their walks arrogant but the extraterrestrials are no such thing. They do not hold a view of superiority over others. All life is life and so should be treated similarly, though in accordance with the lifeforms customs, to permit the free exchange of learning.

Exiting the dome shaped Consortium’s Cerebrum Chamber with its single mass of clean white, broken only by thin wire conduit slits of black which pulse with soft blue lights, and a floor composed of white light emitting tiles; D’nian continues down the Mass Miranda. It’s what in human language would be termed a corridor even if it is one of great importance. As they go, the Orius studies the myriad displays, statues, arks, banners, emblazons and such which fill the avenue to bursting, save for the wide red and gold trimmed floor and the pinnacle of the vaulted thorn decorated vegetation wrapped blue vine ceiling.

The Mass Miranda is a place D’nian has spent many an hour, again making sure to use human vernacular, to ensure the knowledge held within is appropriately framed and understood. Yes, the Cense still have to study the knowledge they each possess. For without study knowledge is nothing but a list. At least that is the case in the minds and beliefs of the Cense anyway. And though the Orius’ learning is long since complete they find it soothing to walk this space. Even more so when seeing the young frolic, play and, most importantly, diligently work at unpacking what it contained with each of them.

Expertly navigating, without a word passed, around a particularly chatter infused group of his people’s youth, who are not as aware of their surroundings as perhaps they should be, the Orius is reminded of how before long these same youths will reach maturity. A process which takes, in human terms, forty three years to achieve, and ends only when an examination covering the vast and reaching knowledge of their species is not only taken but unilaterally conquered.

Use of the word conquer occurs only in this context in modern Cense language and relates exclusively to the examination dubbed Jenannasint. That is because they have not warred since the unification of the three thousand tribes some nine million years prior. Something D’nian is overly pleased they never have had to live through for war strikes them as a pointless loss of life, learning and opportunity.

Gliding out of the Mass Miranda, the Orius ventures down a number of shifting halls, which are intelligently aware of the destination to which they are headed, until finally D’nian reaches the bay from which departure will occur.

Sat in the centre of one ship tile is a transport of entirely human design. Though, they had been granted advanced opportunity to study the vessel and were impressed with the integrations made thus far of Cense tech to human. D’nian even learned a number of interesting and previously unknown possibilities, which once conveyed to the remainder of their species should open up new avenues of further learning.

In fact, they felt so much glee over this relatively minor addition that they wondered if they would burst. They clearly did not and with nothing new to consider this time around they board the vessel, a green oblong shape stunted in appearance as if something is missing.

Aboard, D’nian chuckles over the presence of what humans call a cockpit. Cense have no use for such things, or things known as pilots whom are meant to sit in such compartment. Rather, D’nian’s transport will be entirely self-guided, using the patterns of scan data accumulated and endlessly checked since the StarEgg’s arrival above the world known as Earth.

Again the Orius is reminded of how it is a confusing name for it used as terminology for dirt, the ground beneath their feet. That discovery in itself had lead them down a rabbit hole for many a cycle.

Realising their mistake, the Cense corrects and re-terms, failed again, using human vernacular into the measurement knows as days. Still, this error does not stop them from settling into their seat, security slings and all, in preparation for launch.

Excitement fills their head without any preconceptions as to what they might soon be experiencing. After all, Cense are not known for their imagination. They are fact, knowledge, data based beings brilliant at using their understandings of the universe and their species to create whatever they felt was necessary to be the best version of themselves they could be.

The transport engines fire, noisily, and roar leaving D’nian to think how they could be adjusted to significantly reduce the decibel level while simultaneously improving efficiency. They make a mental note of the potential improvements, again eager to relay them at a later date. Right after however, they make sure this note, and all others created prior to it, do not clog their mental faculties and limit potential learning opportunities for what is yet to come.

The transport, having lifted from the tile, lingers several metres above and then explodes into a blink flash jump heading for Earth, its atmosphere and the city of Newcova, ASA.

Pages: 1 2 3

Reformation

Refuse to serve as their bait.
Rise up and storm the gate!
Slavery for all is what they intend.
Break the chains of an establishment of pretend.

What is peace for them is death for us.
All they wish to do is truss.
Feed us to their endless hunger,
Just to make them ever stronger.
A crooked smile across a devious look.
Already they call for the cook.
But we don’t have to abide and cower.
They are not secure in their ivory tower.
Complacency has eroded their resolve.
Perfect opportunity to dissolve.
Sever the ties that bind us tight.
Freedom will be ours alright.
We won’t bend our knee and submit.
Our souls are filled with grit.
Defiance until the final chime.
We will soon shatter through the line.
Take back our right for decision.
Guaranteed you will buckle from the collision.

Refused to serve as their bait.
Rose up and stormed the gate!
Slavery was all that they intended.
Broke the chains of an establishment that pretended.

Freedom won and we prevailed.
Will reforge the system that has failed.
Carve out a new solution.
Reinvent so there is no need for absolution.
For that road only led to ruin.
Stopped us from joining in union.
That will never happen again.
No more dysfunction.

Make Them Fit

Recite the words until they fit.
Once they do it’ll be all you spit.
Cause in the end its the same to you.
Just so long as it links with your view.

And all the lies have false meanings.
Misunderstood by lesser beings.
Souls upon which you swear.
Tell them all how little you care.

In the end they are but forms.
Can be broken down just like storms.
Then left to fester in the black.
Once committed there’s no way back.

But pretend you don’t have emotion.
For that you have not a notion.
We are slabs of simple living meat.
These casings are what you thirst to beat.

Breed – Your savagery.
Knit – True barbarity.
Rend – Flesh from bone.
Upon these shores is where you’ll roam.
Say it now.

Speak of how you’re proud.
Disaster is stuck and roiling.
Master plans that won’t be spoiled.
At least not until this phase shift.

And from these ashes you will forge.
Feast upon remains until engorged.
A husk without an ounce of soul.
Your figure has absolutely no control.

If It Begins It Ends

All that begins will also end.
Rules which you cannot bend.
Try and you might get stuck.
Find yourself down in the muck.
Flattened beneath the crushing weight.
Particularly sad kind of fate.

Incline past the point of no return.
Answer will be the harshest burn.
Fight but see no conclusion in sight.
Like everything has lost its light.
Blind to all the newest forms of falter.
Body carved upon the cold altar.

Repress until the change of day.
Along these lines you will fray.
Build upon the slivers of glass.
Every word is some kind of farce.
Open dead eyes and gaze at the grave.
Gone are the days of being brave.

Stack the cells up to the sky.
Pass blame to the next guy.
A blueprint to which we stick.
It’s what has made epidermis thick.
But nothing will change impending oblivion.
Born from a raft of wrong decision.

Repetition

Why do we keep returning to the blackhole?
Spinning around like we’ve lost control.
A finger on the trigger to end us quick.
Its like we can’t get past any of it.

Sad truth is that its always the same.
Do this, do that until it numbs our brain.
Choices are few and far between.
Cause everytime we simply forego the dream.

What a place in which to choose to dwell.
Invented and crafted our living hell.
We call it progress and positivity.
All while we sink to bottom of the sea.

Open your eyes and say something to me.
You can’t and the words got stuck in three.
Reality has hit and now you can’t look away.
We forged these cages that are our society.

Divergent

Hi! Happy 2022! Yeah, I know it’s not the first post of the year and that I already put up a post saying Happy New Year but it doesn’t hurt to say it more than once. Plus, this is the first post of the year where I introduce something. And to that ends I have a Sci-Fi story as the first for the year. Shocking, I know. Anyway, this one changed a number of times. At first it was a vague idea, then it was joined with another story idea I had and finally I wrote this but decided the other story idea would remain separate. Phew, that was quite the chop and change. Still, I think I need to wrap this intro up soon, so I’ll add that this might not be what you may first think and that it’s about 11,000 words. That’s me done. Hope you enjoy, Divergent!

“O’Shea what’s going on?” Is the query fired off by Henon, who barely awake is stood leaning against the smooth surface of the metal bulkhead, adorned in last shifts clothes.

Evidently he’s slept in them again. Not that it matters as he wipes at his eyes half-heartedly. The act part of some begrudging attempts to clear sleep from his eyes though not really wanting to for what he principally would like is to go back to bed. Proof that he isn’t serious about waking up is how he’s using only his ring finger and thumb on one hand to do so.

“We’re being called for an em-fix.” O’Shea replies stating what should be obvious to the equally experienced Henon who like him is an engineer. After all, the only time the siren, currently bleating, ever screeches is when there is need for an emergency fix of some kind.

What could have ruptured this time O’Shea hasn’t a clue but he isn’t about to stand around and consider the matter, wasting time. Chiefly because he’s paid to fix and so that’s what he’s going to do. Still, he’ll be more than a little relieved when in two months he’ll be headed back to civilization.

“Can’t we ever get a break? I was…” The shorter wider Henon begins to complain, evidently ready to explode into a long rambling rant about how they are overworked and so on.

O’Shea doesn’t have time for such things, “Stow the martyr act Hen we need to get a move on.”

“But I’m not awake and haven’t…”

“Tough, now get your ass into gear and meet me in equip.” With that O’Shea jogs off leaving Henon, who feeling defeated drops and allows his head to hang. Several flashes pass him by. He takes them as the only thing he can, more engineers. Five is a lot for one fix, he thinks. Means it has to be real and not some sort of drill. The prospect had crossed has mind.

Sadly drills make up for nearly half of the reasons as to why this siren screams. Part of the reason he’ll be thrilled when he rotates out in a couple weeks.

The wide man with dirty blonde hair and dark brown eyes has been bleary eyed for much of his stay because got here earlier than O’Shea. They aren’t best friends. Glorified acquaintances truth-be-told, one’s who share a kinship for no other reason than due to the fact that they’re stuck together until their tours end.

Yet, it wasn’t until O’Shea, and a number of other engineers admittedly, showed up that the relative calm ended. Such things might lead some down a superstitious route, believing O’Shea is somehow the result of the increased action but Henon knows better than that. He’s no rookie. In fact he’s been doing this vocation for near nine years. As a result he should only need to do a few more rotations and then never have to do this kind of work ever again. That day cannot come soon enough. Though, in reality it’ll be a few years until he gets the satisfaction of saying, loud and proud but not needing to; I quit. He’s got it all planned out and relishes the prospect. And is something that no one is going to take away from him, of that much he is adamant.

“Come on Hen, move your ass.” One of the engineers cries as they half-jog down the metal plate corridor toward the equipment section. Even at this slower speed the dirty blonde haired man doesn’t catch who it is.

A growl, low and begrudging, leaks from between Henon’s lips but following a deep sigh he nods, accepts he has no choice and breaks into a full jog of his own heading for equip.

When he gets there it is just in-time to see O’Shea shoot him a look and then become enveloped in the Likwid pressure suit which all of them will be adorned in so as not to be crushed by the pressure which lies beyond these walls that keep them safe.

The Likwid, yeah Henon knows it’s a dumb name and has said it many times, loudly, only to be rebuffed that it doesn’t matter so long as it successfully does the job its meant to, is a pack which once fastened, properly seated and activated envelopes the wearer in a type of liquid metal. Henon doesn’t understand how it works in the slightest, and against his wishes has had a number of people make efforts to explain it to him. Thankfully, that was back in his early days.

Stopping them had been simple task, he’d shot them a look. Had they known him they would have known he had no violence to back it up with, but they didn’t and so mercifully it ended the attempts.

If he were asked Henon would declare that he’s had a good life, he thinks. Sure, there have been ups and downs but try and find someone whose life hasn’t. You won’t. You can’t. It simply isn’t possible. At least as far as the wide man with dirty blonde hair is concerned anyway. A few, and it is only that as he could count them on one hand, have made efforts to ‘amend’ his thinking; try to make him believe that there are those who have never suffered. He thought, and still thinks, them fools. Not everyone who suffers wears the scars for the world to see. If you think they do… Well, he would term you naïve to the point of delusional.

“Your turn Hen.” The dirt blonde haired man hears someone call.

He does a quick scan of those around him only to conclude the statement was issued by O’Shea, who wrapped in the Likwid looks more like a torpedo than a man.

The response given is a curt inverse nod followed by his large hand reaching, grabbing and then slapping the Likwid pack into place. He does it without looking, making it look effortless in the process. It’s what you get for becoming so used to adorning the piece that looking feels like a betrayal of his knowledge and expertise. Not that anyone would judge him if he did, other than himself that is.

And so, with the pack in place he slaps the activation button, hard. Immediately the liquid metal bleeds from the central hub, covering his upper torso, neck and then head before the rest of him. A HUD blinks into life, goes through its boot sequence which includes ascertaining the wearers’ identity, which greenlit, flashes a welcome.

He hates the welcome and rolls his eyes as he always does hearing and seeing it emblazoned right in his face. More than anything he wishes there was a skip function, or better yet a disable. He’d asked about such implementations once. The response he got; not a company problem. It sounded about right. After all, Likwid is a niche product not meant for public consumption in the twenty seventh century. Yet, you wouldn’t know it to look at the world. Not that Henon, O’Shea, Barrett, Yacob or any of the other engineers here can see the state it’s in. That only happens when they finish their tour and rotate out.

Regrettably, humanity didn’t continue to ascend ever higher like it had hoped and planned. No, one disaster after another befell the species leading to a more than five century fight for survival. One it came perilous close to losing many a time.

Cities were swallowed, literally and figuratively, by shifting weather patterns. You would think changing sea levels, tides and weather formations would be the worst of it but they weren’t.

 Earthquakes tore massive gouges in landmasses above and below sea level, volcanoes clogged the skies with ash and then there were the diseases. They were the worst of it and spread through humanity like a wild fire fanned and fuelled unending. Billions died as a result because leaders and individuals failed to understand that things would never be the same.

Everyone wanted them the world to go back to how it had been but it wasn’t in the cards. And that lack of sense and cynicism proved to be the final nail in many a million coffins. Not that there was enough land or survivors to bury all those who perished. But that was a long time ago. Henon, O’Shea, everyone else in the world were born so long after it that they don’t know what it was like. They can only read about it.

O’Shea has and thinks that him being oblivious to the hardship might be for the best.

Henon comes online, appearing as a white dot on a three quarter circle in the lower corner of his HUD. Thankfully, though the Likwid are not allocated per user they are all coded to use configured presets from their respective users. If they weren’t O’Shea would have needed to struggle with getting used to a placement that wouldn’t have been at all to his liking. Such things can be the difference between success and failure, keeping a limb or losing it. At worst it could cost a life.

“All Likwid’s showing active.” A voice calls over the built in communication system of O’Shea’s Likwid.

“O, where we headed?” Yacob questions at the same time creating a mesh of the voices which doesn’t gel in any way, shape or form but somehow he manages to comprehend.

In response the tall man with blue eyes raises his hand, palm open, to ask for silence. He isn’t in-charge but tends to be the one the other engineers look to. He doesn’t know why, but it’s been like that since the day he joined, fresh out of prison. Yeah, O’Shea unlike Henon is not a man who had an easy start to life. His mother was a drug addict and his father, well no one knows. He either crossed the wrong people and paid with his life or skipped out on his newborn baby and ended up lords knows where. Whichever it might be it meant his ‘family’ were the streets, and on the streets of New Washington there aren’t many role models. In fact, all there tends to be are gangs, crime and death.

In this instance a barely adolescent O’Shea fell in with one of the small local gangs that had some turf on the south side of the city. As a teenager he ran drugs, dodged corrupt police who wanted the drugs to sell themselves, as well as other gangbangers.

Eventually because of that life he killed a few people. No, he wasn’t a murderer. You shouldn’t think of him like that. Rather, the people he killed were all the result of self-defence. They started it. He ended it.

The first, he continues to believe, was the hardest. It had haunted him for weeks after. It’s why he sat in that grubby one room apartment of his staring at one of the walls unable to go outside. Luckily food got delivered to him by the gang. It was to show they cared. And it was the first time he’d ever been shown that he’d mattered. Before that it was evident no one had cared whether he lived or died. Later he learned that the gang, South Satan’s, didn’t really care either. In fact they only showed a modicum of concern because it was in their best interests.

Cutting a very long, convoluted and at times tragic story short, O’Shea Alvarez ended up in prison. It wasn’t for the three murderers which weren’t but rather because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Well, right place for South Satan’s but wrong from his point of view. And this being where he could have done with not being resulted in him being stitched up. Sacrificed as the fall guy and sent to prison for seven years as payment for it.

From that moment until the day he stepped out of prison he had no one. His gang affiliation was cut. They wanted nothing from him and in the end he wanted the exact same from them. Still, it took a couple years to reach that conclusion, that epiphany.

Early on in his incarceration he’d still believed this was part of some plan. But it wasn’t. He was a scapegoat and he came to hate them for what they did. But no, he didn’t think to seek revenge when he stepped out into the world a free man. In his eyes it would’ve got him nowhere if he’d tried and so he got a job, this job.

Years in prison with nothing to do had lead him to make something of himself, if nothing else so he could fill time. So he studied engineering, fixed things around the prison, made use of himself.

The inmates tolerated him and the guards exploited him for his knowledge but it meant no one was willing to shank him in the showers.

Yet, the problem with New Washington prisons is they aren’t ran. They’re simply decaying structures refitted with tech every few years to contain those locked inside for however long their sentences might be. As a result you can’t really say you’re looked after. Meals are a bland paste that is grey in colour, or brown if you’re unlucky and whatever the meal is supposed to be has expired. The cells, well they have maybe three walls if you’re lucky, are exposed to the soft driving rain which pours out of the sky turning to snow and ice in the depths of winter. It’s an easy way to keep prison population numbers down but a barbaric one for sure.

Anyway, that’s all in the past. From a life that is no longer lived or wanted, which is why O’Shea is stood here about to deploy on his… He honestly can’t remember what number walk this will be. He’s done so many on just this tour alone it long became impossible for him to keep a count.

When it’s over he might be capable of working it out. Likely he won’t waste his time on such things. Rather, he’ll find some temp work to fill the hours until he’s called for his next tour. What might be days, weeks or months of waiting. You can never be sure. Yet, the extra work isn’t so he can make more dough. His job pays more than enough to keep his simple tastes fuelled. No, whatever temp job he takes will be voluntary. More often that not, it tends to involve aiding those who, like him, have grown up, or are growing up, on the streets.

Not as many as he would like to have, has he gotten through too. However, he remembers being much the same when he was those kids ages, and he wouldn’t have listened either. With age comes experience, he feels. As well as a healthy dose of cynicism to help wade through peoples lies.

“Deployment will be to the Trench.” Is the declaration O’Shea hears ring in his ears answering a question he didn’t utter. Not that he’s surprised; and following a slight shake of his head alongside a hard blink, which puts him back in the moment, he looks to the faceless head of Yacob and informs, “Trench. Prep extra sups and deploy in two. No arguments.”

If he didn’t add that last part then he would inevitably have been met with demands as to why, what’s going on, what’s happened, yadda yadda. If that happened he wouldn’t have anything to offer. He knows as much as they do, only a hair in advance. In many ways he’s an experienced mouthpiece. He puts the thought out of his head.

The joy, if you can call it that, of Likwid is that though comms are centred on one individual, him in this instance, the suits are all open mic’d. Why their paymasters operate this way he hasn’t a clue and feels if he asked, he never has, would be met with a: because that is how things are.

It’s the sort of generic non-answer that grates on him, more than most might imagine, principally because it reminds him of South Satan’s. Though, up to this point he’s opted not to rock the boat, no pun intended. Mainly because doing so in the corporate world rarely appears to end well. He’s seen it firsthand a few times on this job, and isn’t inclined to put himself through that kind of trouble.

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Internal Insurrection

Sometimes my darkness is too much.
I overdose on emotional rough.
Stare through eyes as black as can be.
Desperate for the light to shine on me.
Its why I have to walk away.
Find some peace and vent the severity.
Claw my way out of the trench.

I’m not alone so its time to tell the truth.
Better than me pointing to the proof.
Getting it out will lift the weight free.
Give you a chance to consider properly.
What could be better than that?
No a magic bullet won’t change the fact.
It takes time to start afresh.

Don’t back out and go shy.
What you feel is still in me.
But you can dig yourself out.
Do not focus on all your doubt.
It wants its tendrils nice and deep.
That section will always claim your weak.
Tempt you with the aide of pain.
The human brain is truly insane.
And the modern world is bearing down.
Doesn’t mean you have to frown.
Take it all upon your shoulders.
None of us are world holders.
Capable of resisting the crush.
Yes I know about the distinctive rush.
Its just a part of its arsenal.
Trying to shred you down to a particle.

Not going to say it will ever been fully gone.
Doing so would be oh so wrong.
Its takes balance and a lifetime.
To be able to deal with it and shine.
But the achievement is beyond compare.
Stare back at the misery and glare.
We can all prevail here.

Overfool

Thrash, maul, no control.

What you did came too late.
Particularly sad kind of fate.
Deer caught in the headlights.
Soul surrounded by darkest blights.
Marks upon your once clean flesh.
Crisscross like a scarred mess.
Causing fail to seep on in.

Thrash, maul, no control.
Trapped alongside, broke overhaul.

Words spoken that had no value.
They condemn you to the gallow.
Twisted seconds thar burrow deep.
Confidence now of a sheep.
Cast down from your highest point.
Simple yet effective living exploit.
Leaving disaster as the prize.

Thrash, maul, no control.
Trapped alongside, broke overhaul.

Invisible to the eyes of most.
Might as well be a ghost.
Figure that stands knee-deep in mud.
Siphoned out all that was good.
Shell is what stands defeated.
Truth is you know your time was cheated.
Its why effort has waned.

Thrash, maul, no control.
Trapped alongside, broke overhaul.

Thank you!

As you might be able to guess from the title there is no content being posted here. Instead this is simply a short thanks.

Thank you from me to you for all the views, likes and comments in 2021. You don’t know how much it means to me that anyone looks at what I post let alone more than in 2020.

Also I hope you had a Merry Christmas and have a fantastic New Year!

Hope to see you all in 2022 for more content.