The Dark – 3 – Cipher

It is not often that you get to tell people what the poison does to you as it courses through every part of you.

It was raining, it always seemed like it was raining though. It was okay though, it matched the mood that she was in and she could wrap herself in the distant flashes of lightning and the rumbles of thunder that made everything in the world stop for a moment and take notice of the magnificence above them. Not even trying to avoid getting wet, Desiree walked to her car and relished as each drop of rain hitting her, the image of them exploding into steam as they came into contact with her white-hot rage was the only thing that made her smile that entire day in truth.

Now that she was in the car, she pulled her laptop out of the bag on the passenger seat and put it in her lap. She whistled a little as it took it’s sweet time to boot up, the rain getting heavier as it did, coming down in dancing sheets that criss-crossed one another as they did. The puddles growing and then combining until at last they formed a little river of water that sought the most direct way down as they could, their nature programming them to do the one and only thing that was right to do in this situation. Desiree smiled at that thought, taking strength in the knowledge that she was not alone in simply doing what was programmed into her very being.

The computer finally had gone through all of the damnable things she had programmed it to do before she was able to use it for what she needed it to do, Desiree smiled at the little kitten that was her wallpaper and opened up the program and began to type in a very methodical way, making sure each word was precisely what it needed to be lest the meaning of them be muddled by those that read them after she put them where she would.


I know you are all so very confused about why I would do this, so I thought I would try to explain the best I can. After all, you are all so fucking entitled you will obviously think that you are owed this. Who am I to deny the powerful their satisfaction after all?

I am doing this, well, at this point I suppose I should say that I have done this because all of you disgust me. So yes, simply put, that is why.

No though, no there is more.

I hate you and your pretentiousness, your delusions of importance, your absolute denial of reality when things do not go your way. No, no I do not want your money or the tin empire you have built over a boiling lake of fire. I do not want anything of yours, except that which I am taking, well, allow me to correct myself, that I have taken.

I will not hurt you, goodness no I am not a sociopath after all. I admit I was surprised and a little disappointed when they told me I wasn’t, but hey, we can’t all have everything we want right?

To get to that point. I am sure you noticed that when you got home today there was a letter to each of you that had been slipped in some way in a place that I knew you would get it. There is no poison, no death threats. No. No, NO.

All it is a 4096 character block of text and numbers. It will look like a computer crashed and printed it, and, well in a way I suppose that is right in a way.

See while all of you punched and kicked me, teased and hated me, lorded your wealth and power over me, I gained access to each and every one of your lives in the most intimate ways. See, that block of text there, different for each of you as I am sure you will find out when you show them to one another, which of course you will, is the entirety of who and what you are. It is your money, your credentials, your ownerships of houses and cars, and boats. It is every credit card, bought GPA score, Social Security Numbers, Passport Numbers, all of it.

No, not blackmail, hush now.

I don’t want your money. I never did. I simply wanted kindness. You were disinclined, and, as such, so am I.

Twelve hours from now every single piece of you will be forever deleted in ways that you will be surprised at the impossibility of recovery. I did leave an out though. I am not a monster.

Decipher it.

After that, the instructions are truly so simple that you can do them with your eyes shut in a dark room.

Take Care Now Kids,


Sent was hit to the 382 email addresses. It was done now.

No, of course, there wasn’t a way to fix it. Desiree wasn’t a sociopath, but a compulsively selective truth-teller, that she had that in spades.

The Dark – 2 – Business

Darkness also allows the mind to say what has been trapped behind walls of decency and layers of self-censorship.

The cigar, a moment before clutched twixt the never quite shut jaws of Timothy, dropped with an audible hiss as the cherry of the wrapped delight hit the puddle it fell into. Timothy, his eyes wider than his jaws, dropped shortly thereafter, his eyes wide as whatever eternity greeted him, hopefully with as much avarice and sloth as he had shown the world he had just departed. The cause of the demise of the aforementioned worshiper of avaricious behaviors and slothful contentment hit the wall behind him less than a second later, having transected the skull of the greedy, lazy bastard with some ease.

There was no alarm raised, not shouts of “Murder!” “Police!” or any other sound that would indicate this human would be missed or people were upset by his demise. There were a lot of people there as well, they had gathered in fact to watch this very event and while some were upset by the brevity of it, all were pleased by the final result.

A genderless and distorted voice, faceless even now, raised above the din the crowd had begun to make as they inched closer to the parts of bone, brain, blood, and viscera that used to be a man or at least male of the species.

“Ladies and gentlemen, now that we have concluded the show and tell portion of the evening, I will have my assistant Jessica take your orders and I will surely see each and every one of you very, very, soon. With that, they assumed that their mysterious assassin had disappeared and having proven themselves true, in that they could make the most inaccessible of people come forward for justice, they rushed towards Jessica in a calm, yet twitchy, chaos so that they could indeed make sure their names were on the list to enlist of this magnificent stranger who could make go away that which was undesired by all.


Not too far away, a smile crossed the face of the assassin. The high-powered rifle nearly is broken down and put back into its case. It was a beautiful thing and they made sure it was as cared for as people looked after their young. Actually better, as she wanted this and not that.

Jessica was dutifully taking order after order and they were coming across their phone nearly two a second. Some of them were even special orders. Poison? Ooh, that one would be fun indeed.

Walking over to the lamp, their hand turned it on and the smooth and eyeless head smiled just before the phone went off again.

Business was Good.

There is a certain delight in writing a thing like this and knowing if the right person reads it, it will make their blood fucking freeze.

The Dark – 1 – The Twilight Zone

When your mind is in a dark place, it makes writing dark things so much easier…

The blood dripped from the end of the barrel with an annoying quick beat. it was hitting the puddle in the middle of the floor and the noise was nearly deafening in the emptiness of the room. With a sigh, he dropped the gun and winced as it hit the floor, the metal making a screech as it hit the concrete. Shaking his head, which was an experience and a half now that it had ventilation, Jake stood up and walked to the door, the blood already cleaning itself up so very tidily from the now non-existent entry and exit wounds in his skull. As he turned the doorknob he made sure to turn and make sure all was tidy and, as always, it was as clean as a nasty room in a basement of an abandoned milk factory was ever going to get. The blood was gone, the chunks of skull, skin, brain, and viscera all taken care of. Hell, his shirt was even stained.

There exists a man with whom exists a singular desire. To die. For dozens and dozens of years, he has been trying to accomplish this with no success whatsoever. Why he wants this only to him, seeming immortality would be a gift for some, then again, those men are not like our friend here with the newly formed skull and cortex. Those men do not have the memories of so many horrible moments from history, so many guilt clogged thoughts, so much survivors guilt as to bring the world to its very knees. Then again, this isn’t the world, this, for all of its miracles and menacing moments, is The Twilight Zone.

Walking back and forth above the room he had just again failed in, the man, Jakob Rousalov, tried to think of a thing he had yet to try. Tried to think of a trick he had not thought of. Tried to think, think at all.

He had been in this building for almost fifteen years now. He never ate, he never slept. His only mission was to quiet his mind forever. The thousands and thousands of voices in his head tried to dissuade him, tried to tell him he had a gift, tried to insist he was chosen of God.

No, no God would not have done this to anyone. God would not have brought a boy that fell into the Nyamiha river the year Charlemagne was crowned by Poe Leo III back to life only to then allow him to spend the next twelve centuries going more and more mad by the second. His first voices were his parents. They were comforting at first, telling him that he was loved, missed. Then, then they came. So many, so many who simply wanted to know what happened. Where they were. Why they could not see the glory of God, or even the Infernal One if that was to be their destination.

He tried, Jakob who was not then Jakob tried. There were always more, every moment there were more of them trying to ask him, to beg him for guidance. They prayed he would help, they begged him for mercy and leniency for things he had no control over. All he could do was lay down and scream his sobs into the pillows of the ground, long since having left anywhere where people were located lest they lock him up, an odd irony in the end.

All those years, all those faces and deaths, and names, he knew each name and could read them in order to anyone who would have asked and had the decades and centuries it would take to speak them. It mattered not their tongue, their faith, their anything. He knew all of them and they all seemed to know him.

Ignoring the urge to smoke a moment he returned to the room downstairs with a pair of extra-large and long hedge clippers that would snip the head off in a few moments of agony.

He would be able to free from the voices.

At least until the new head fully grew back in an hour or so.

Then, then he would have a smoke.

Jakob who was not born Jakob. A Man? An Angel? Maybe even God Himself. There will never be answers for him, no. Questions never get resolved, in The Twilight Zone.

It Had To Be On Memorial Day, Didn’t It? Goddamn It.

I have what I believe is called a conundrum on my hands today. I had a very specific thing I was going to write about today and yet, as I sit down to write about it it seems callous to write about such a thing on a day set aside to honor the fallen. I will not say I found a way to squash the two together, for I have not, I will instead be honest and say that the honored dead will be honored in my mind and heart every day of the year, today’s event occurs but a singular time a year. It isn’t a fair thing, what I am doing, but I felt the need to express it in some way before I plunge into the myriad of shit that will be what I write about today.

So, today is my dad’s birthday.

I will go ahead and tell you he was born in ’45 in Calaveras Big Trees State Park, a few miles outside of Arnold, California. Family lore says he was born nearly nine months to the day after my grandfather returned from serving in Iran during the Second World War. After the war, and possibly before as I do not know exactly, my grandfather was the ranger for the park and was for at least a decade or so after my father was born. They moved down to Los Angeles sometime in the mid-’50s and, well, that is all the autobiographical shit I am going to include because fuck him is why.

I am not writing about James Nealon the person today, I am drilling a little deeper and talking about James Nealon, the father.

He wasn’t good at it.

That may sound childish in its form, but why not use Occam’s Razor? He was a shitty dad not because of the booze, sadistic wife, PTSD, and his parental issues, but because some people should simply not have children, and he was one of those people. It doesn’t say a lot of good about the potentiality for future generations I know, but if I could have put it another way, you know I would have.

See, dad was in the Army, a Beret in ‘Nam and the whole hero thing. Never once have I spoken ill of his service and I will not now. I cannot fathom the choices and obstacles he had to face on a daily basis and if there are people who are equipped to do it, it is not his pacifist, hippie, crystal loving, oldest son. The Army changed him, as it did so many thousands of people before and since, and it was not for the better. He became, at least according to the stories I would hear from my grandad and grandmother, a harder and different person. I will not speak on the horrors of a thing I have never experienced, I will speak on the horrors I did.

He was terrified a great deal of the time, loud sounds, helicopters, gunfire. Mind you, we lived in the barrio outside of Los Angeles, to say that these were common noises in the area is putting so lightly as to be invisible. When he got scared, he got mad, when he got mad, well, I’ll let you go ahead and draw the rest of that logic branch.

My mother was the downfall of him I think, they were married in ’76, my sister came along in ’78, me in ’80, Andy in ’83. My mother was an evil thing, anger and violence were here bailiwicks and she was so very, very good at them. She would be in the same room as him and you could see him change into her in this terrifying process that involved immense amounts of Jack Daniels and irrational anger at the smallest thing.

There is no point. I know a few of you are looking for it. There isn’t one. Every year I have to say something about him, today it just happens to fall on Memorial Day.

I can tell you that he beat us and abandoned us and knew the darkness that was my mother and did nothing. I can tell you he taught us all how to lie and had this chaotic desire to move every so often that got pretty annoying by the time we go to New York when I was 10.

He died in ’98, on the bed he shared with my mother, weighing less than my Elder Duck does now. He asked me, and I gave, the Last Rites to him the night before. I knew he wasn’t seeing me when he asked, he was talking to someone long dead in a river thousands of miles away from where the apartment in Hamlin, NY was. It was the last thing I did for him. Of all his sins and evils and faults, I sat with him in the middle of the night on a Friday morning and I forgave him the things I could, and I buried the rest so deep I had to get married and have children of my own before I realized how wrong some of his transgressions were.

Again, there is no point in it, all is senselessness and chaos.

The War Is Waged As It Must Be, At Least I Tell Myself That Every Time I Feel The Knife Slip Deeper In

So I lied, I’ll write another one today.

It’s a little bit before four in the afternoon and it is deceptively warmer than you think it would be outside. Mind you, I would say that and have said that, when the temperature dares to go past 55, but I mean, we all have our likes after all. I am working into what I want to say, so this is the small talk/foreplay section of the writing for those of you unfamiliar with the rambling, half-assed way I make a point I want to make and don’t want to just call someone a cunt or something.

There are things in this world I will never understand because they are not mine to get. There are other things that I will never understand because I think what I am trying to understand is broken somehow and I am never going to get the gist of the thing because it is not presented as it should be.

I love pretty much everyone at first blush. Not quite bromance/sismance/theymance kind of love, but the deep, respectful love I feel that you should have for your fellow human beings kind of love. I love you until you give me a reason not to love you, and even then I will forgive you eleven times out of every three. I hate not having that feeling towards people so, sadly, I have a massively developed White Knight syndrome wherein I feel the need to save people from being in the least bit unhappy in any way. It doesn’t matter most times if they don’t want me to “save” them from the situation, my mind is very task-oriented at a certain point and the only thing left is The Goal. The Answer. The Fix. The Thing.

Yeah, it is that bad.

I know, logically, that there are simple problems, even those that I can, do, and am asked to help with, that simply don’t have answers as easy as the scantron during standardized tests would have you believe. However, logic is often the first thing I cast aside so that I can feel my way to the root of the problem and rip the poison from the source.

This isn’t based on gender, age, or any other kind of descriptor that people like to apply to themselves and others, this is something that I do for anyone and everyone.

Therein, of course, layeth the rub.

You know the old saw about pouring from an empty cup, right? I am more of a fill everyone up with what is my cup first, you know, to tide them until *I* find the tea that goes into their cup. I never think of myself because, well, no. I don’t do that thing, except of course for the glaringly humiliating examples of me doing only that scattered throughout my lifetime. I want everyone to be happy, through this, you betcha, I get my happy.

So, as I sit here desperately trying to find a way to do precisely what I should not be doing for a person I love more than family, I am trying to balance loyalty over sanity, friendship over needs I do not want to acknowledge, and of course, love for myself over love for others.

It is not going to end well, no matter what, but sometimes you have to burn the motherfucker down and see if you can pull some phoenix action out of your ass after the fact to see if there is anything left, or them or I, to salvage for the next day, the next thing, the next battle of the Internal Fear and the External Gifting.