wa-hey!

So, here I am, yet again. I think I mentioned before that I am writing a story. I think I will post the first 'lil bit of it here. Its not done (by a long shot) but its around 75-ish double spaced pages. I'm not going to put all of that up becuase there is too much of it for anyone to want to actually read. But If I put it in small installments people may think "oh, this is shorter than it could be." as I have no idea of how to "use the internet" (or how to capitolize, reference start of sentence) I will simply 'cut and paste' this wordy garbage here....unless I ever learn how computers work. This is the first chapter

-Chapter One-
The Old Farm House
Garret pulled the long rope that ran down into the well. The sun was hot overhead and his small frame struggled to pull up the bucket of water. His forehead was beaded with sweat as he finally pulled it over the top of the stacked up stones. He poured its content into the tall wooden pail next to he roughly constructed well and wrapped both of his small arms around the pail as he picked it up. He turned and slowly ambled back towards the small farmhouse he called home.
He was a young boy, only eight years old; though he would tell you he was closer to nine than eight by now. Looking at Garret would not have caused anyone to take a second glance at him. He wore peasant clothes, roughly sewn together and often patched; he was no taller than any other boy of his age, and certainly no cleaner than anyone of his age would want to be. He wore his sandy blonde hair like most of the other boys he knew, a little long and cut as rarely as he could manage, which often involved trying to distract his mother from such business. All in all, Garret was a very normal boy.
The sun was shining brightly today. The clear blue sky was spotted by the puffy white clouds that people see in paintings. In the distance Garret could see the green rolling hills meet up with the perfect azure sky. In front of Garret stood the farm house that he had known for so long as home. It had a thickly thatched roof, and the sides were of built up stone with rough mortar holding it together.
It was just him, his mother, and father. Some other families lived a few miles off, and the city was just ten miles off. There was only one room inside, but it was all he had ever known. Nicer, even, that some of the other families that lived in the area. Just behind the house was the small barn that they used to store grain and keep their old mule in. It was a two story building, all wood, that his father had made only this past year. On the other side of the barn stood the old woods that Garret had always played in, they stood beckoning him from his duties. Garret knew, however that leaving would be much worse for him later than doing his chores now.
He looked across the fields and could see his father whipping the mule to keep moving as it dragged the plow behind. It had gotten unexpectedly warm very early this year, and now Garret’s father had to work twice as hard to get the fields seeded. Garret continued to move slowly, so as not to lose any water, the last thing he wanted to do was to make an extra trip to the well, especially when he was almost done with his chores for the day.
As he came up to the house he stopped by the large clay pot that they kept their water in and began to dump the contents of his pail into it. Garret shook the pail to ensure that no stray drops of water escaped the pot in front of him. Gently he placed the lid back on the pot and nodded, knowing that he had filled it as much was possible. He deposited the wooden pail next to the pot and moved towards the doorway of their home.
“Not so fast son,” the voice of Garrets mother sounded behind him in a rather serious tone. He winced as he heard her and knew that another chore had just been added to the continuously growing list. He turned to look at her as she spoke.
“There’s something I need you to go and do for me right now.” She was a rather pretty woman, though in very plain clothes. Her skin was tan and the wrinkles she had were from smiling too much, rather than from frowning and scowling like so many other adults did. Her hair was the same dark blondish hair that Garret had, though she wore hers long and pulled back. Her eyes, like his, were hazel. She always seemed to have a smile ready; even now she looked very sweet as she smiled down at him.
She held a small basket in her hands, which she was now offering to Garret. “I need you to take this basket and go into the woods. Do you remember those berries we saw the other day? Well, they’ve ripened now, so I need you to go and pick as many as you can and come back here. I expect to see you here and washed up before dark.” She beamed at him as she handed him the basket.
Garret took the basket with a grin on his face; this was not one of his usual chores. Both he and his mother knew it wouldn’t take that long to pick those berries. The bushes were over by the stream and he could spend most of the afternoon finding rocks ideal for skipping and perfecting his technique. He couldn’t think of anything that was much better than trekking through the woods, picking berries-several of which would be eaten before the got into the basket- and playing by the stream. He had half a mind to grab his fishing pole, but knew that would be pressing his already good fortune, and decided it was best left here. With a wide smile on his face he tore off towards those same beckoning woods, very pleased with himself
“Be careful on those rocks Garret,” his mother called after him, “and make sure you’re back here before dark!” The last was said as he was sprinting off into the woods behind there barn.
He was running through the woods now, darting over the fallen timbers and ducking through the thistles and low branches. It was a little over a mile to the stream, and Garret had practically worn a path back and forth from his house. All he could think about now was the adventures that would have when he got to the clearing. As he got closer he could hear the water trickling over the rocks and sped up so he could see the bushes that grew on the other side of the bank. He burst from the woods and looked over the clearing.
Garret continued on his path and splashed noisily to the other side of the stream, getting as wet as possible on the journey. This part of the stream that was in the clearing, the low rolling hills lifted over either side of it placing it in a neat little valley. It was an ideal setting for someone with a little imagination and some time on their hands. Garret had fought dozens of battles here, been the admiral of fleets and had even been knighted on a few occasions. This was his favorite spot to go to, when he had the chance. And while he was here he knew he should make the most of it.
He began to inspect the bushes and could clearly see that the berries had grown bright and plump since the last time he had been here. It was a good thing that his mother had spotted these when she had or any number of things could have gotten there before him, either the animals that stopped to drink at the cool water here, or one of the other boys from near-by farms.
His first order of business was to collect as many berries as he could, that way he knew he would plenty of time for playing afterwards. He began pulling berries off of the bush popping one in his mouth for every two that made it into the basket. He told himself it was to ensure that they were fully ripe, because who would want over or under ripe berries? Once he had collected as many as the basket could hold he took the cloth that sat in the basket and tied it off at the top, then set the entire thing in the clear, cool water. His mother had shown him this trick before, this way they would stay fresh while he went about his business.
The day was moving on and Garret had managed to keep himself quite well amused. He had gotten himself quite a collection of skipping rocks and had eaten far more berries than he had really intended too. He could tell by the sun that he had several hours still before it was even close to being dark. If he went home, there would always be more work to do. So he decided to find a comfortable patch of grass under the tall tree that bent over this part of the stream and to laid down for a while. Very soon, Garret felt himself nodding of to sleep.

* * * * *
Garret woke with a start. There was something very strange was in the air. Immediately he began to panic. It was well past when he should have left to go home, as it was already fairly dark, and he was not even ready to move. He hopped up from under the tree and picked up the basket that was still in the river. As he lifted it he began to cross the stream. He stared down at the water, and could barely see the rocks through the dark water; he normally was very deft at crossing them but now was left uncertain.
He knew any waiting was just going to make him more late and hurried to make it to the other side. The last thing he wanted were his parents mad after giving him the afternoon off. He had nearly crossed when his foot caught on one of the looser rocks and caused him to lose his balance. As he fell the basket slipped from his fingers and spilled half its contents into the dark cold stream. Once again Garret was soaked, but this time it was very different. Being wet in the middle of a hot day is a very different thing than finding oneself wet, alone, cold, and in the dark with half a basket of berries.
He swore under his breath some words his parents were probably unaware he even knew. He glanced back at the bush and shook his head. There was no time now to go back and pick more of them, he was already late, but he would rather show up with half a basket than to try and cross the stream twice more and risk losing everything. He got back to his feet and felt a sharp burning pain course up his leg. He knew right away that the fall had done more than simply gotten him wet. He took another step but his left ankle was feeling very sore and that same fiery burn surged up his leg when he put pressure on it.
This night was going from bad to worse, he thought to himself as he trudged along towards the woods, limping, wet, and shivering. Once he was in the woods he understood why his mother had always wanted him back earlier. It was much darker than it was out in the clearing, and growing darker by the second. He had never been aware quite how frightening these woods were at night, and now everything seemed to reach out and snag him as he moved past. As he plodded along he could tell it was going to take even longer than he had wanted to get back. Now he had to take his time and search out where the logs, branches, and thistles were in the path. During the day he knew were each one lay and had no trouble, it was very different in the dark. His heart was racing now; thinking not only of the fear of the unknown in these woods, but of what he knew was waiting for him back home.
As he meandered his way back to the farm house he began to notice again that something very strange was hanging in the air. It was thick, like smoke but different than any smoke that he had ever experienced. It had a dark oily smell to it that made his nose wrinkle up as it blew past, and there was something else, something nauseating that made his stomach churn as he got closer and closer to his home.
He was now very close to the farmhouse and the smell hung in his nose thick and putrid, his nose was burning from the thick odor. Garret was coughing, his hand drawn close to his mouth the other groping for support from near-by trees as he moved closer towards the edge of the woods. He looked over to where his house was and saw orange and yellow light dancing against the trees. His eyes strained to adjust to the new light in front of him and he squinted to see what was going on. Slowly, and as quietly as he could manage he was sneaking his way closer to the house. The smell in the flames was making him feel as though he would retch, but held it in as he limped closer.
He peered out at the farmhouse from behind a tree to see what happening. It was very plain now what was occurring; his house was a blazing effigy in the night sky. The shock of this realization caused Garret to stop breathing, and he stood stock still staring at what was in front of him now. Figures moved about the farm, in the fire he could barely make out a silhouette, but he knew that something sinister was going on. He looked across the field and could see that their small barn had been set ablaze too.
Then in the middle of the clearing he saw something, a figure whose features were lit up brilliantly. He had a pale face, and cold hard features, his black hair billowing in the wind behind him. Some might say that he was beautiful, but he was too evil for Garret to think of him as anything other than horrible. Something about that face froze Garret’s being to its very core. The figures whose features he could not make out seemed to shamble over to the lone man; it looked like they were carrying something.
The figures dropped the thing at the mans feet. As they shambled back away Garret struggled to see what was in front of him. The evil figure reached down to pick up this dark tangled mass, and as he lifted it Garret could now plainly make out what he was holding. His mother’s neck was being held tight in the evil man’s vice-like grip, her finger clawed at him trying to pry his hand off of her. Garret wanted to scream, to rush over and help her, to do something but his feet would not move and his mouth wouldn’t make any noise. The man smiled at her as she vainly struggled to get away. She turned her head briefly and in that second they caught each others eyes. She looked at him pleadingly hoping he would stay put. That moment seemed to stretch on for hours, every detail of her soot stained face and clear hazel eyes were burned into his brain. Then, only a moment later, their gaze broke.
It looked as though he was saying something to her, but Garret couldn’t hear anything over the crackling of the fire. The Man’s face turned into an ugly sneer and with a flick of his wrist he snapped her neck. He dumped her body on the ground, leaving her crumpled lifelessly on a patch of grass, not far from the field. Garret’s breathing came in hiccupping gasps as he stared at the scene that was unfolding in front of him.
Then, desperately his eyes searched for any sign of his father, where was he? Why hadn’t he done something to help his mom? It was then he saw those things again, a group of them was huddled together, and it looked as though they were tearing into something. He could hear the crack of bone and the sickening sound of flesh being rent by teeth. He turned his head before his eyes could fully adjust to what he had seen. He lurched his way back into the woods and began to vomit. Once, then twice, eventually he was finished but his body kept trying to push out of his system whatever it was that was making him see this.
Garret curled up on the ground and began to cry. This had to be a dream. He shook his head as if to rid himself of what he had seen. He knew that he was really just still under the shade tree by the stream and that when he woke up he would pick up his basket and head home and everything would be fine. He pinched himself to wake up, but he was still there. He pulled his knees up to his chest and began to sob as he rocked back and forth. His parents had never done anything to deserve this. Why had they come here? Why couldn’t they just leave his family alone?
Time passed and Garret could not manage to make himself move from his spot on the ground. He knew that if he moved they would find him, and he would suffer the same horrible fate his parents had. Eventually the fires died down and the night faded into pre-dawn light, and crept over the ruins that had once been Garrets home. He lay in the dark woods, no longer scared of what they held, nothing would compare to what he had just seen, and nothing as simple as the woods would scare him again. It grew lighter and the woods were once again brightening. Although the usual sounds that went with dawn were not there, there were no birds chirping and no small animals rushing about as was normal.
After some time there was the sound of voices. Then some footsteps as they came closer. Garret lay right where he had been all morning long, hoping not to be found, but daring not to move. He could hear something come to a stop and men began to move about.
“What happened here?” A somber voice said in the distance. The sounds of more movement could be heard now. The foot steps came ever closer, the sound of burned and brittle grass crunching under foot. Then Garret heard a gasp from behind him, and he knew that who ever it was saw the mangled remains that had once been his family, and he began to sob once more, but his face was dry, he had run out of tears during the night.
“What’s that noise?” A different voice spoke this time, more sorrowful than the last, “Do you hear that, I think someone is crying!” after he spoke footsteps could be heard all around. Whoever had stumbled onto the burnt out remains of an old farmhouse began to search about for the location of those soft, practically whispered, cries.
A figure in a long brown robe came into Garret’s view now, he was a small man, his head shaved and he wore sandals on his feet. He stooped down low to take a closer look at Garret. He had a gentle face, like his mothers had been, and worry was evident on his face. Garret could not tolerate the thought of his parents right now. He could feel his heart race as the robed man was looking at him, his eyes screwed up tight so that he wouldn’t have to look at the man, part of him hoping that he would be killed and they would send him on with the rest of his family.
Softly, and very gently, Garret was picked up and cradled in the arms of the robed man. “I’ve found him!” He called to the other men who cast about looking for where the sounds were coming from. “It’s alright lad, don’t worry we won’t hurt you. My name is Micah; we’ll get you on to safety.” When Micah picked him up the smell of oily smoke clung about the boys clothing and soot covered him from head to foot. As Micah held him, Garret began to softly whimper.
Now was the first time that Garret had a chance to fully see what had happened to his home. The blackened remains of his house stood about in a crumbled fashion. Nothing remained of the roof, it had been thatched and dried out and then packed tightly to keep out the weather. But if a flame took to it, it would certainly have lit up like tinder. The stone walls now were bent over as though they had grown lazy. He could see that the mortar had been burnt out of the walls, and only the stones remained loosely stacked up on each other.
Micah carried Garret over to a small wagon on the far side of the farmhouse. A lone grey horse pawed at the ground impatiently, the smell of smoke and death making it nervous. Garret could see now that the other men standing around him were dressed in the same fashion as Micah. All of them in long, rough, brown robes, their heads shaven save one, and with rope sandals on their feet. All of them wore worried looks on their faces as Micah came near them. Thoughtfully they looked over Garret, softly speaking to each other as they reached the wagon.
One of the men, the only one with hair, pulled a pack from the horse and removed a drab brown blanket, and placed it neatly in the back of the empty wagon. “Set him down over here,” the man said. He was older than any of the others, with wrinkles creasing his forehead and his once dark hair was now grey. Crows feet lining his eyes become more evident as he inspected him, while he reached out to take the boy from Micah.
“Do you have him Father Caldren?” Micah asked concern thick in his voice. Father Caldren nodded as he took the boy into his arms and placed him very gently on the blanket. The older man wrapped him up in the blanket before he closed the tail gate of the wagon gently, to not disturb the young man.
“He’ll be fine, Brother.” Caldren said as he latched the gate shut firmly. “Now don’t worry son,” he said brushing the soot stains left from tears out of Garrets eyes. “We’ll keep you safe son. Now go to sleep, you’ve had a rough night.” With that the older man turned and walked towards the horse, tapping it lightly with a stick to get it to move.
The wagon began to lurch forward, every bump in the ground clearly felt in the back. The swaying movement began to take effect on Garret. And though he willed himself to keep his eyes open, he was starting to feel safer. He did not know who these men were, but they had been kind. The reassurance the older man had given him and being given permission to sleep began to take its toll. His breathing became deep and slowly his eyes shut.
The wagon continued to sway and tumble down the rough dirt road. The half dozen men there were walking slowly with it. Garret did not know where he would be when he woke up, but he could only pray to Sol that it would be better than where he had come from. He woke up every now and again due to the occasional bump, but for the most part he slept the entire journey. Though his sleep was rife with nightmares, a few times he saw his mother’s smiling face and he felt happy.. This is the first chapter, though there is a prologue.

If you read all of this you need a new hobby.

They say that in the Army the chow is mighty fine...

I've been in the Army now working on two years. for the most part I can't really find space to complain. I know that my wife has had solme issues that she has had to deal with and that it has caused a little difficulty for her, but for the most part its not too terrible. A friend of mine, same job as me, different unit, just back from Iraq the day before yesterday. He seems to be doing pretty well. No problems (after all he IS a Mental Health Super-Star (thats what they told us when we were in training (I didn't believe them then either))). I cannot bring myself to have any desire to stay in the military after my enlistment is up. When you break it down to dollars and cents I make pretty close to 25,000 a year...hmmm.... and I'm getting a Masters in Business Administration so it's possible, though hard to imagine (read as sarcasm (if you missed it the first time just read it again)), that I could make more money outside of the military.

In tha Army we have this stuff called "Cadence". Thats the stuff we march to in the movies. You that whole "Left right, left right, left...left..." and so forth. The idea is to get everyone moving at the same time and speed together. Well just left right left gets boring. so at some point people came up with little ditty's to get people "motivated". Motivation is the corner stone of the military. One of these is "they say that in the Army the buscuits are mighty fine, well one rolled off a table and killed a friend of mine....o lord I wanna go, but they won't let me go, ho-o-o-home".
My Favorite is "My girls a vegetable, she lives in a hospital, I would do anything to keep her alove, to keep her in smiles..." I like it because its stupid. The cadence goes on to tell about her terribel breath, bear-like hair, and that occassionally he jokes around with her by pulling the chord on life supprt. Anyway, the military is a unique organization to be part of. While I do not want to make a career out of it, I am glad I had this experience. Peace out Profiles

-as a side note a profile is something the military gives out to soldiers who are hurt or injured so they have an excuse to not do PT (physical Training). "Peace out Profiles" is a term from my training days that was said to the profiles, who could not march and run with us, as we left.

Here we go

I don't know exactly what to say. I guess I accidentally started this because I was going to post on my sisters blog and I thought I had to make one of these things. As it turns out I'm not very bright and so now I have this page that I don't exactly know what to do with. You see in this hospital I work at we have what is known as a Code: Silver- which tells people who are in the know that there is Violence going on in the workplace. On the back of our ID badges they have a clever little code identification system. Code Silver was the first one to catch my eye, so that is what I named this black hole of reason that I call a "blog(g)". I am, and most always have been, rather cynical of the whole computer culture phenomenom. What I mean is that I hate things like wikipedia, myspace, and quite possibly blog(g)s. Mostly because they are new and popular, as if I of all people like poular things. However, I find myself hard-pressed not to do somehting with this mistake that is a web-page. So I may one day update this a second time. Lord only knows if I will ever do anything else with it. Who knows maybe I will use it as a format for "posting" (another term I hate, as I am sticking some kind of adhesive paper to the internet) this story/book I've been attempting to write. At any rate I've already typed more than anyone will read. I guess if you got this far you should probably get back to work, slacker.