The Daley News

Yeah

2011-11-08T20:33:00.002+11:00

Finally being able to envisage someone in a boyfriend capacity again is a bloody good feeling:

Realising that you would happily share your bed with them and it would feel completely comfortable.
Imagining even the small things in life becoming enriched because of their company.
Having the faith restored not only in yourself, but in the belief that there are people out there who get you.

Yeah.

:)

Chilled

2011-04-03T14:14:00.009+10:00

Cold. Dead. Seeping red. Just how he liked them. The branches stripped bare of foliage threatened to snap overhead. Reduced to pathetic fragile twigs by the season. The wind knifed also at his clothes and face but the down of his jacket and the oversized ski mask he wore made a mockery of its efforts. White as anything, the thick snow made for the perfect canvas - what lay before him was art simple and pure. He smiled down at the beauty of it in its entirety. The vibrant colour, the delightful carnage. He wet his lips and took one last lingering look at the scene.

It began to snow heavily as he trudged away, inspired.

///

"He's got no conscience. He's got none. None." the elderly woman turned her face to gaze out of through the window. She was seated in her rocking chair in her cabin in the woods. Visitors didn't come often. She'd lost her social grace.

"Mrs Matthews... Mrs Matthews?" A concerned voice tried in vain to capture her attention.

Her hands started working on the embroidery in her lap but still she looked off into the distance.

"When did you last see your son?"

"...he was such a clever boy. So good at pretending. But he never... he didn't really feel things." Vapour trailed after each word.

Her visitor sighed. "Thank you for your time, Mrs Matthews."

After a short while he threw some wood in the hearth and got it going. Then left.

He wet his lips and smiled as he walked out the door of his senile mother's lonely cabin; she would be no threat to him.

Yet the cabin filled with smoke as flames licked the walls.

///

Anxious types milled around outside the shopfront of an electronics store, watching the numerous televisions on display in the window. They were all tuned to the same channel. Below the reporter a title read: "Sixth victim in as many days".

'...police are still on the hunt for a serial killer wreaking havoc upon the small town of Kemp, situated 20 miles east of Balmain in the state's north. The tiny population of 200 are living in constant fear, terrorised by what police describe as a meticulous and bloodthirsty killer. Each of the victims have been found on mountaintops throughout the region, which is known for its snowy peaks and idyllic views. Police are advising the residents of Kemp to avoid travelling alone and in the dark, and to ensure doors and windows are kept locked at all times. Many have already made the decision to leave town until the killer has been caught--'

The televisions flickered off, as did the streetlights.

///

He quivered with satisfaction, an irrepressible happiness surged through his veins. The last month had been ecstasy. The town had dwindled down to less than a quarter of its original population. And he'd made such beautiful, terrifying art.

He sipped at the caramel latte he'd made and looked out into the deserted main street. The road was barely visible beneath the snow; maybe one car had driven down it this morning. He was the only person in the cafe. Packets of coffee beans were piled up beside him. He gathered them in his arms and nodded to a portrait that hung on the wall beside the window. It was a photo of a smiling Asian woman with grey hair and her grown son. He closed his eyes and flicked back through his recent collection of memories...

Mrs Kim lay on her back near the peak of Mount Edison, her eye-catching powder blue shawl stained with blood. Ribbons of red paint flung forth from his paint can, lashing at her body and the snow around her.

///

2:43AM - Nightmare

2011-03-08T11:45:00.000+11:00

That haunting dream of being cooed to sleep by death. His hand gently stroking the back of your hair as your attempts to call out are muffled by the steadily increasing warmth and blankness. The feeble attempts to call out are soon replaced by a pressing desire to wake up in reality. How much of this is a dream. What if death really is stroking my hair and coaxing me away from life through the disguise of a dream? After the fight is won, the thoughts and the fear of the dream remains like a residue on my mind. And the hair on the back of my head feels unnaturally smoothed. I hear the stairs creak. My curtains ruffle without the sound of much wind being present outside. I sit shaken. The peripheries of my vision narrow, sleep beckons me still. Despite the adrenaline its urging me back. But I know if I return this quickly the scenario will repeat, the narrative will play out again. And who's to say I'll be the victor of round two...? So I sit and busy myself. And say aloud to my sleeping family I love them, in spite of their inability to hear me. Then I write this down and it comes across a paranoid musing. How manic. This feeling, this fear. It stems from somewhere. It was started by something. Doesn't it? Wasn't it? I feel irrational and disturbed, but I haven't written so freely in months. Don't let this malevolent night be something final...

good

2011-02-21T14:25:00.001+11:00

One experience can change a person very much.

My latest such experience was on Saturday night at about midnight, when I had my first ride in a police car. I was in the passenger seat, with an off duty police officer. A new friend.

We went into the city for a late night snack, and policy dictated that he have his police radio on. I'd seen on the news the violence that happens in the CBD, but had convinced myself such incidences were infrequent and played up by the media. I'd never seen anyone bleeding on the streets, I'd never seen a gang fight, or a rape.

I was ignorant to all of these things.

Listening to dispatch reporting glassing after glassing, a brawl, a sexual assault, an attacked taxi driver and people passed out on sidewalks all over the city opened my eyes.

It prompted me to ask him a lot of questions, the most pressing however, "do you still have faith in people?"

After a while he shook his head and said, "I spend my time dealing with bad people, or the bad situations. It's uncommon for a policeman to see good."

It made me realise that there are jobs, and then there are jobs with responsibility. There are people, and there are extraordinary people. It shook me up. Jolted me awake from whatever coma it was I'd been in.

I want to be good. I want to do good.

Trains

2010-12-13T08:09:00.001+11:00

So many bubbles of sound. Furtive glances. Collective swaying. Collective dread.

The suits. The bags. The window seats. Ever-present sniffles and splutters.

An understanding of position, an acknowledgement of time, a hope for change of circumstance.

Amongst the many, a pretentious boy blogging on his phone.

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Title

2010-12-10T09:15:00.001+11:00

Content.

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Tweaked

2010-12-09T09:33:00.001+11:00

The sun warms me, even through my windshield. As I sit back and close my eyes I feel it even more; softly blanketting my skin. I melt a little. The mellow sounds of triple j waft through my car. They permeate the air, and perfectly alter the frequency of the space around me. In this moment I feel life is fine tuned. However fleeting it may be, I've had this moment, and countless others before it. I'm lucky. And grateful. I just don't know to who, or to what.

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The kid

2010-12-07T10:02:00.001+11:00

I'm sitting next to a quiet boy on the train. He's going to imax with his classmates. It's hard to tell how old they are, maybe grade 6? He reminds me of myself. They call him Dimitri but his name is really James. He makes a joke about having been overseas - to Tasmania. I appreciate it more than his friends seem to. They tease him a lot and he tries to laugh it off. He sits slouched, arms crossed. He has a goofy smile, which I'm happy to see he manages every so often. In the spirit of things; James, it gets better!! I wish I could tell him he's a cool kid without being creepy...

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Testing

2010-12-06T23:49:00.001+11:00

1, 2, 3...

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'Shelter' (2007)

2010-07-26T21:31:00.004+10:00

Loved this movie. I will watch it with all of you. ALL OF YOU!

Refreshing story of a regular guy burdened with a lot of responsibilities and stuck in a life that's not moving forward until he takes the wheel and forces it in the right direction, inspired by a new experience and a new love. The two gay characters are NOT flamboyant, and don't fall into stereotypes! (Not that there's anything wrong with flamboyancy, it's just good to finally feel like I'm being represented.)

Made a video about how it inspired me - watch at your own peril. Editing is terrible...

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Ah8oJGieR8

Dale.

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Blogging/Vlogging

2010-06-29T18:47:00.000+10:00

I sometimes wonder if I’d make a good vlogger. I reckon I watch enough YouTube to make a decent fist of it if I wanted to try. But why would I try? I don’t really have a reason to vlog. My life isn’t interesting enough to entertain people at the moment. Plus I figure I’d probably just come up with a few excitable videos then let the whole thing go by the wayside. And that would be if I could ever bring myself to be satisfied with how ‘natural’ I come across on screen.

What would be sort of fun though, would be writing (and making) short video sketches. With my friends! Yay! Who doesn’t secretly think they might have an undiscovered talent when it comes to acting? Or wouldn’t at least humour me just once?

…You? You wouldn’t spoil my fun would you? Dash my creativity and slash my self-confidence?

So I’ll write a short sketch and I’ll share it around and approach some budding, unknowing actors. Then we’ll collaborate and come up with what we come up with and decide what we want to do with it!

Sounds fun to me!

Poetry Corner

2010-06-18T16:04:00.006+10:00

Some poems from my 'Making It Strange' poetry class.

The branches.

The branches here

Don’t sway too much.

The mud is thick and everywhere

You can only dance for so long

Until the children-minded close in

With their tiny jars like mini-chasms

Or the staid contradict their great fight

With their division of freedom.

There are no pass-outs

You can’t shake them

You just have to wait;

Wait and hope for the sway.

Heather

You craft drawings of foreign inspiration

A few deft lines and a person is there,

Emoting

Do they speak to you?

I see you with your chickens

The ones you couldn’t part with from science

Do they nuzzle into you?

You ice skate but I’ve never seen you do it

Can you double axle?

You don’t drive.

You’re just over the fence

But there’s more than just one between us.

Is it of your creation or mine?

I think you’re lonely.

Is that ok?

Title

Italic in style

Bold in spirit

Entitled to your attention

~~A bad idea~~

I’m over here…

Distanced.

Something I started to write, once.

2010-05-13T12:05:00.007+10:00

There was a rat, once. He had a name but it became forgotten. You see this rat, he worried about things all the time, until his worries were all he had. His ambitions and friends, like his name, faded away into the background, lost somewhere in the sewers beneath the road, or between the dry-wall of a stranger's house. But it wasn't always this way...

"Fanger! Paws! Come check these gems out," our young, nameless rat exclaimed.
One replied with disdain, "They're just stupid rocks, ****. Get a life."
The other added, "Yeah grow up, get your mind out of the gutter."

Our nameless rat picked up a pebble and turned it over and over in his tiny hands, looking at it in awe. Quietly he said to himself (and the pebble), "I wonder where you've come from, little gem. What stories could you tell me if you could speak?"

With a resolute look on his face, our young rat carefully deposited his pebble into his knapsack, lugged the bulging knapsack over his shoulder, and walked away from those who didn't understand him in search of a place that did.

A Description of a Place

2010-03-16T00:16:00.001+11:00

As the light slowly died, all of the sounds around me steadily grew in volume – the murmur of restaurant chatter, the clinking of glasses and crockery, the cracking of peanut shells – but it was the waves washing into shore and the buzzing of tropical insects that most cultivated the feel of the atmosphere. When I closed my eyes it was easy to believe I was lost in paradise, which wasn’t too far from the truth.

In reality I was sitting at a friendly open-air restaurant up the hill from a resort, my appetite recently sated by one of the less spicy traditional dishes on offer, trying to soak everything in. This would be the last time I’d ever experience these sights, sounds and feelings, so I attempted to imprint them all into my memory.

The small beach that the restaurant overlooked was like a virtual postcard – waves lapped gently against the shore, a light breeze fluttered the fronds of palm trees, and the sun left no shadow unstretched as it sank out at sea. It was a beautifully deceptive beach. When the tide withdrew during the day a swim became somewhat less appealing. To get to the water you’d have to navigate across fifty or so metres of slippery rocks, sharp rocks, and broken shells. Of course if you just wanted to bask in the sun, then there was no problem!

It seemed about thirty or forty steep metres down to the beach from the wooden table where I sat. I leant back on my chair and peered over the edge of the concrete foundation. The steps that snaked up the side of the hill led down to the thatch-work rooves of the beachside massage and hair braiding huts. A bit farther down I could just make out where the steps reached the sand of the private beach, and the narrow river that I’d jumped over to get here.

Raising my sightline I was once again struck by the wonderment of the mountains of tropical rainforest. The trees were impossibly tall and stood in an ocean of green; the rainforest was so dense and always looked so fresh, as if every leaf of every tree had a perpetual source of morning dew. I wondered about the wildlife that the forests protected from human touch.

A small lantern flickered on next to the table. The sun was still painting the clouds orange and pink, but was on its final legs. I took a deep breath and savoured the humidity I now knew well.

I finished the last of my unusual looking can of coke and stood, inspired by the beauty of the world and wanting to see so much more. It was then that I saw the Schwarzenegger of mosquitoes begin hovering laboriously in my direction, and I had to commit another sound to memory – the loud clopping of my thongs as they pounded down the stairs to safety.

an exercise in second person

2010-01-19T23:06:00.008+11:00

Come, take a walk with me. A walk down an uncertain path along which anything could, and may, happen. My hand is outstretched, the path ahead of you seems ever-changing and impossible to make out. Are you walking up to me? Are you trying to take my hand? Or haven't you moved?

The path is flickering and grey and inconceivable. Indeterminable sounds can be heard. A feeling of panic is likely settling in. Is your vision narrowing to a tunnel? Are you starting to feel things are happening at your peripherals? Things you can no longer see? Come, quick. Hurry.

* * *

You fall, back into your body, and wake up. You were dreaming, think it was just a normal dream. You don't think this for long.

Frisky Friday

2009-11-07T13:34:00.005+11:00

12:15am Friday night after some farewell drinks at the Lucky Coq, and I am walking down Chapel Street in my favourite jeans to my awaiting ride home. Walking, not falling over myself, but I did have a few drinks in me. I see two men with a very sniffy dog coming from the other direction. The dog goes over to my left to sniff some people on a bench, and I put two and two together as I notice that the men are wearing police lanyards and light blue shirts under their jackets - drug-sniffer dog! I marvel as it was the first time I've seen one, and continue along past the people of the bench (bench people).

As my intoxicated mind began to wander on to another thought I notice, and feel, the dog sniffing rather purposefully up and down my leg. My first reaction is a smile and a mental "hey doggie!", but this doesn't last long. I was suddenly thinking "WHAT THE HELL?" as the two men come over to me and start asking me whether I've been using narcotics of any kind this evening. Or if I've ever had any problems with the police before. I respond coherently (thankfully) and tell them (truthfully!) that I've never touched any illicit drugs in my life.

They then ask me to empty my pockets of everything and put it on the ground, as well as hand over some ID. One of the men tells me to turn around and promptly frisks me! I wasn't really aware of anyone else around me, but if I'd have been sober it would have been pretty humiliating. While I'm being frisked the man with my license asks me to recite my details as he writes them into a notepad.

"Have any of your friends been using drugs tonight?""No, no, I don't have friends like that." I reply as one of them looks through my wallet."Where have you been tonight?""The Lucky Coq, just on the corner of High Street back there.""And where are you going now?""I'm on my way home, my friend's waiting to give me a lift."
Seeming somewhat satisfied now that they'd intimidated me and felt me up, one of them suggests that it was most likely that I'd sat down somewhere on/unknowingly come into contact with some drug residue. And they let me go on my way, confused and shocked...

So now the police have my name on their books, through no fault of my own! I'm definitely washing those jeans! If I don't blog again for a while, I may well be incarcerated...

But no, afterwards I was in such shock that I thought maybe I was being conned. Identity fraud or something. I even rang up the Prahran police station to ask if what happened to me was common procedure. Which it turned out, was the case.

"To be frisked by police" wasn't exactly on my list of things to do in my life... But now I have, and I have a story to repetitively retell every time someone mentions law enforcement or drugs or even dogs. :)

Dale.

Unreliable Narrator

2009-07-27T18:18:00.003+10:00

My name is Harry today. I chose it because it's boring. Boring and plain. Like toast. She never says it but I can tell she always wants me to be more like toast. Let's see what a name can do...

"Harry" didn't go so well. If I were toast like she wanted, then the toaster caught fire and exploded all over everything. Things just happen to me, no matter what my name is or how many times a day I say a curse word. It wasn't my fault that she sent me into one of those fits!

Sometimes I talk so much that I think my mouth might fall off and get all dusty when it hits the carpet. I wish I didn't talk so much... Especially to her.

There's nothing more in this world that I want than to just not be with her... I'd give anything to NOT be with her... She's so ugly and-- and-- undesirable.

(incomplete)

Inspired by Poe's "Tell-tale Heart".

Dale.

Duplicity

2009-07-23T12:40:00.006+10:00

I watched Duplicity (Julia Roberts, Clive Owen) on dvd last night and it was really good! I appreciated it as a viewer and from a writing standpoint as well. The dialogue was snappy and intelligent and so was the story. The ending really impressed me as well because it was different, but the perfect way to conclude everything at the same time.*

*The above positive review may have been affected by the conditions in which I watched the movie; with insanely delicious chocolate chip cookies, milk, and unbeatable company. ;)

I'm reading The Crucible because it's one of the Year 12 VCE English texts for this year, and I decided it would be fun to go back to high school and pretend to be a Year 12 student again. Or maybe I'm just reading it because I'm tutoring a girl who's doing Year 12 English this year. Or maybe I am a figment of your imaginorium... Regardless, it is different reading a play again. Quite different.

In fiction-writing (at uni) we've been discussing unreliable narrators, such as the murderer in Poe's 'Tell Tale Heart'. I quite like the idea of the narrator telling you one story, when in actuality something entirely different is happening, and the reader has to piece that together for him/herself. We did an exercise in class in which we had to write a short piece told by an unreliable narrator that was slightly kookoo. I handed it in at the end of class but should get it back on Monday, and if I do I will post it up on here. It's only very short - had barely 15 minutes to write it. Nevertheless I was quite happy with it. It started with, "Today my name is Harry." Which was inspired by someone stealing my name badge at Coles, and me being 'Justin' for the last few days.

Well, that's about it for things on my mind at the moment. Yes, it's an exciting place my headspace. Very echoey. :)

Sorry for the break in posts. And thanks for your research into the Latin language Luke. Maybe you could find out what the words for 'Nag', 'Pester' and 'Bother' are. I might need an array of Latin words to describe someone's behaviour of late. :P

Dale.

MC = V

2009-06-03T12:07:00.004+10:00

Now I ask that you keep an open mind, kind readers. My theory is not the most outlandish in the theory-sphere, but nor is it easy to come to accept. It is something that I have been considering for a while now, and I have yet to come across any evidence to disprove it:

Mariah Carey is a vampire.

My research at this stage is somewhat limited, nevertheless I feel it is grounded in enough semi-logical fun facts that I can pose it to you all without ramifications.

First of all, why is it that Mariah seems to never age? Plastic surgery is what everyone automatically assumes, but it is just too convenient an alibi. I would pose that it is the lifeblood of her victims that gives her the flawless complexion and curvy sexiness for which she is famous.

Secondly, Mariah has that ridiculously high vocal range. It doesn't just verge on sonar-like levels, I believe she is capable of communicating with bats - because she can transform into one! I am yet to enter a bat-filled cave armed with garlic and crosses and a recording of "Butterfly" to test this theory, but I'm betting that when I do... Well, I might just end up needing a tetanus shot or something.

And the nail in the coffin - so to speak - lies within the very lyrics of one of her own songs. She thought she could slip it in there without anyone noticing, but she didn't count on the likes of me! The song, "We Belong Together". The line, 'who's gonna talk to me until the sun comes up.'

Aha! She doesn't sleep at night, which means she must sleep during the day because she can't go out in the sunlight!

I reckon that if you have a close look at some of her other songs you will find more hints. Her "wanting a little taste" of people and stuff.

Now if something should happen to me, or if a post comes up on here dismissing this theory, then they will have gotten to me and it is up to you all to get the truth out there. If this is the case, I'd be wary of any invitations from me wanting to "catch up" in the evening time...

Compelling, yes?

Dale. :)

3 days

2009-05-12T22:42:00.017+10:00

Wanted to keep track of everything we did in Thailand but my resolve only lasted three days.

Thursday, April 9.

Dale had haircut and packed.

Mum and Dad drive us to airport.

Check-in, customs, duty-free (cameras, booze).

Board at 11:00pm, play with tvs, take off!

Friday, April 10.

Hard to sleep on plane!

Long, long flight.

Brenton beats (a sleep deprived) Dale at trivia.

Arrive Bangkok 5:30am, (8:30am AEST)

Buildings/signs confusing.

Strange smoking rooms.

Dale's bag soaked by exploding Jim Beam bottle.

Dale's bag abandoned, Brenton not impressed.

Ellie constantly hiccuping.

Dale smelling like an alco.

Board Phuket flight 7:00am.

Crazy lady gets her boob out.

Arrive Phuket, Dale buys more Beam.

Transfer to hotel scary, driver got close to things.

No seatbelts, beautiful scenery, poverty.

Arrive Merlin Beach 10:30am.

First impressions, fancy, humid.

Big bug on floor.

Sat down by Thai lady, cold towels to refresh.

Ogled pool, greenery, prospect of sleep.

Dinner on hill restaurant, overlooking beach

Food awesome! (seafood especially)

Retired to rooms and slept deeply.

Saturday, April 11.

Wake at 9:00.

Buffet breakfast from heaven - gorged on everything.

Collected pool towels and swam.

Pool bar - wedges and drinks.

Caught shuttle to Patong, people everywhere.

Dale hugged by nice-smelling Thai massage lady.

Shops!

Different beach restaurant for dinner, waves lapping, peaceful.

Massive swing, Dale tripped over a rope in the dark.

Started a crossword.

Hung out in sports bar.

Read and slept.

Those are the things I chose to write down at the time. It really was my favourite holiday ever! And we did do lots more stuff over the remainder of our time there.

This is more of a "so I don't forget" blog, sorry if it was boring.

Stay tuned for my MC=V theory, up next.

Dale.

Coincidence or a Sign?

2009-05-07T14:38:00.003+10:00

The Brand New song "Welcome to Bangkok" comes on my ipod (which is on shuffle) as our plane starts its descent to Bangkok airport.

The Other Stuff...

2009-04-28T22:32:00.014+10:00

Culture, scenery, adventures, weather, food, hotels. I could prattle on about all of these things from the time I spent in Thailand as they amounted to an incredible experience. But instead I want to share some of the more unexpected sights and sounds that have stuck with me.

First, the serious.

There was a young elephant in Phuket, named "Mr Phuket", who could dance and play the harmonica at the same time. It was cute but somewhat disconcerting as well; not that an

elephant was showing me up, but in terms of my presence contributing to his way of life and familiarity with being chained to a post. Never really been an animal welfare advocate, but I don't know. Guess I was kind of marvelling at the freedom I had in my life (to be able to go to an exotic place like Thailand), and it made me wonder if Mr Phuket would have been happier journeying through life in a herd of elephants, and without a name.

Thailand's population is something like 90% Buddhist. (As far as religion goes, Buddhism seems like a very noble one. At the Grand Palace in Bangkok, which is also the home of the Emerald Buddha, we learned that Buddhists follow six principles that preach things like acceptance, honesty, and offering. So it's not surprising that it is one of the most peaceful and responsible religions humanity has seen.) Anyway, I saw a boy wearing a santa hat. He was playing in the street with other children in one of the poorer areas that we were driving past. It was just unexpected. I guess he might have known about Santa Claus, the people in Phuket have become quite wise to Western culture - necessarily so, I guess, as tourism drives their economy and there's so much competition amongst themselves to sell similar goods that anything that gives one merchant an edge could make all the difference. The image of this young Thai child in the santa hat who seemed to be living in near-poverty just shook me. Another experience that made me appreciate my circumstances more.

And now, the not so serious.

I noted several amusing translations from Thai to English that didn't quite work. One that was on the funnier side was the name and description of a fairly nice beachfront group of apartments.

"SLEEPWITHME"

Flashy Serviced Apartments

It was definitely eye-catching. I think there might have even been a smiley face after the 'ME'. I guess the fact that an apartment complex could have such carnal desires amused me most, followed by the word 'Flashy'. It seemed like an unusual choice of adjective, and perpetuated that the apartments were all show. :)

While wandering the streets of Patong you become accustomed to hearing incomprehensible Thai and lots of broken English (adopting which I found to be a really fun way to aggravate my fellow-holidayers). You don't expect to hear a full on British accent. Let alone one that was addressing you. Let alone from an older man with grey hair. Let alone one that is asking you:

"'av you 'eard about the part-ee at Rock Cit-ee t'night?"

I think I just looked at him, "huh?" written on my face. I didn't stop walking though. Later I wondered if he really was English or the accent was just a gimmick. Then I wondered why he'd be spruiking like that. Then I realised I was thinking about it too much - which I'm still doing apparently. Who would respond to an old Englishman's request to come party with him? Sure a few people might but... come on! I've decided that it would be cool if he'd actually been a once-very-famous rock star in his youth who was now trying to recapture his glory days.

Well, that's "The Other Stuff" from my trip to Thailand.

Thank you for listen to me. You my friend. See later ok!

T-shirt for you sir?

Dale. :)

Looking without looking

2009-03-31T10:43:00.005+11:00

The second glance - the one you take when when you think you've just seen something out of the corner of your eye - is too dismissive. You see nothing is there, or it's just a tree/bird/commonplace event, and think nothing of it. What made you think you saw something? What made you think you saw what you saw? And why does it always warrant a second glance?

Why does it happen when it does?

There's something there...

The figure that just dashed across the window or door behind you. The familiar face you recognise in a complete stranger. The unusual thing that seems not to exist when you look properly.

What if there was something truthful to the images you saw before you looked again? Something that kicks the second glance filter into gear and eradicates plausibility. Maybe there are lessons to be learned about oneself...

Or maybe something's being hidden.

But how can you search for answers when the only way to find them is looking without looking?

Dale.

'The Rules of Attraction' & Me

2009-03-24T22:43:00.007+11:00

I watched Roger Avery's screenplay of a novel by Bret Easton Ellis, "The Rules of Attraction" today. Released in 2002, it stars a very recognisable cast, including James van der Beek, Jessica Biel, Kate Bosworth and "Boone" from Lost (Ian Somerhalder - who plays the gay character pretty well) to name a few. I enjoyed its unconventional style and reflexive technique. It didn't have a beginning/middle/end as such, or a linear story progression, it just unfolded and refolded onto itself, and it worked. It seemed to me Avery was really trying to subvert the structure of the traditional plot, and by doing so he achieved something very interesting.

A snapshot of a time in one character's life can be an interesting stand-alone story, but when you add snapshots from the other interconnected characters as well, it provides for a lot of resonance. Duh, right? Well this film made me look at the omniescent perspective in a different way (hehe). There really wasn't a narrator, essentially the film was a series of independant stories from each of the characters that, put together, made an overall story. Again, duh, yeah? There was just something about this film's techniques that mixed up the conventional... You might have to watch to see what I mean.

Sure, it's chock-full of sex and drugs and college-ness, but Avery uses each of these devices expertly to intimate a tone or a mood or realisation for a particular scene. The film (I haven't read the book) brings up some interesting points about how anyone can truly know another person; sounds depressing but is quite thought-provoking. Especially when wanting to know/love a certain someone is all that you really desire.

The film starts mid-sentence and it ends mid-sentence. I've never felt how I did after watching a movie than after this one.

The film summed up in 3 words? Unique/Confronting/Raw
The themes summed up in 5? Desire/False Hope/Rejection/Despondency.
Dale's rating? 4 out of 5 - for how much it got me thinking.

Would like to know if anyone else has seen it and whether reactions were similar... or very opposite!

Dale.

Imagination

2009-03-18T20:01:00.000+11:00

So I haven’t blogged for a while now. I’ve been trying to channel my creative efforts into seriously doing some writing (in between uni shit). The sad thing is I haven’t actually written a lot. I’ve made a start on two projects, but I’m not very far in. I have ideas for both that excite me, but I’m having issues with form/structure. The pieces are raining down all mixed up and not falling into place, and I’m wondering if I need to approach the stories from another direction. Although as long as I’m still stimulated by my ideas I’m not worried.

I’m doing poetry this semester. And I don’t want this to alter my writing style. I’m an imitator. I tend to adopt elements of the style of writing I’m reading into my own writing. There’s this exercise that I have to do for my scriptwriting unit that’s designed to help me get some idea of who I am as a writer and why I write about the things I do; why I’m drawn to write about certain characters or ideas. So hopefully it will help me create a barrier against my writing turning all flowery and eloquent and grandiose. Notice I said the ‘S’ word in my first sentence? That might have been for this very purpose!

United States of Tara is just awesome. Thanks again, Luke! It’s not really like any other show you’ll see. It’s honest. I’m drawn to it. Sucks that the episodes only go for half an hour and that there are only twelve per season but what can I do? Use my imitation skills to write my own episodes? Not quite! To have that talent would be nothing other than extremely magnificent.

Brenton got me thinking yesterday, about how the world might be different if humans had super-vivid imaginations; the ability to imagine yourself in any kind of situation in your own mind. To create personalisable movies to live out fantasies or simply experience things you’ve always wanted to do. Would being able to envisage the otherwise unimaginable be a good or a bad thing for relationships or goals and ambitions, for example? Or would it lead to more depression and delusion? I guess it depends on how such imaginative powers were used. I wonder where I’d stop? And what would it mean for the film, tv, and book industries? And tourism? It would be very interesting to explore a world like that.

Hope everyone’s cool.

Dale.

Remember the Mexican Hijinks?

2009-02-24T10:49:00.001+11:00

"That was some stunt you pulled Gabe, look at the papers!"

He glanced casually at the picture on the front page and thought again that he photographed well. He'd gone for "deer in the headlights" (flashlights as it had eventuated) and he'd owned it.

"What are you smiling about? The repercussions for your uncle have been massive. This does not reflect well on him, let alone us. Darn it Gabe, I can't deal with this right now. Go away, I've got a function to organise. Only God knows how I'll think of an appropriate flower arrangement now..."

That was it. No: "what in tarnation were you doing in Mexico?” No: "how in tarnation did you get to Mexico?" Nothing. He thanked whoever was responsible for giving him such self-involved parents as his mother started muttering to herself about petunias and he became invisible. Things would have been much harder without them.

The way Gabe saw things, he was born into such an influential family for a reason, and he'd be a fool to put such an opportunity to waste. Had America been a monarchy he'd have loved it; Shakespeare had given him a taste for the “in line to the thrown” stuff, but the way things were probably suited him better. He headed to his war-room. The border-crossing had been a last minute gem of inspiration. It was like a taste for his uncle, an entree of the pressure that Gabe would be putting him under. That and it was pretty fun.

He came to the door and cursed Blu-tack. “Gabez funplayland!” was enthusiastically etched into the middle of the door. He picked up the Cameron Diaz poster from the floor and pressed firmly against its corners.

The war-room could only be accessed from within Gabe’s bedroom and that suited him fine. He’d long ago told the cleaners and maids it didn’t need any attention, despite that not being entirely true... The carpet was barely visible beneath scattered pages of notes, documents, manuals and blueprints; there were chip packets, glasses and cans – some empty, some not so empty – and an apple core place strategically on top of a Jim Beam can on top of an upturned glass on top of an empty packet of Doritos. There was also dust. He had tried dusting once but it just kept resettling after a while and he saw no point in dusting all his life. But he was happy for it, it was his, and it had a mini-fridge. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he took in his messy freedom.

He felt compelled to take all his clothes off.

“...Dude, what are you doing?”

An Old Fun One (OFO)

2009-02-15T22:14:00.004+11:00

http://lifeofdale.blogspot.com/2007/01/unexplainable.html

Sometimes I look through my old blog posts and cringe. But most of the time I smile. This is one of those smile-making ones. My writing style sure has changed!

I'm off to Lakes Entrance with Kiel & Co again (like last year) tomorrow. Get back on Wednesday. I sure will miss you guys... *misty eyes* :P

If you haven't already done so, read Luke's new "Stog"! (word borrowed from Jimzip). It's wicked funny http://creepylamingtons.blogspot.com. Click the link or scary towels will possess you and inhabit your mind. :)

Dale.

Pluto Prison - Short Story

2009-02-09T23:00:00.005+11:00

One.

Stars, blackness, stars, a falling sensation.
Before I opened my eyes I knew I was lying down, and I knew I wasn’t on a bed. There was a scratchy, scrabbly-ness to the surface beneath me. How the hell did I get here? Where was here? Why was I afraid to open my eyes?
Flash! A court. Flash! A verdict. Flash! A... space machine?
I sat up and wiped something off the side of my face. The images felt familiar. I cracked a lid.
Black sky, red dusty earth with holes, a building, something approaching.
And closed it again. Three seconds of sight told me something wasn’t right. Maybe my other senses would be more helpful.
Faint banging noises, no wind, comfortable temperature, headache, dust in my nose, about to sneeze!
A boot crashed into my chest and my head and shoulders bounced off the ground. My headache got a zillion throbby times worse, but I didn’t need to sneeze anymore.
‘Ow.’
Pain was good. Pain meant I was still alive.
‘Get up, criminal filth.’
I braved sight again. He looked like Bowser. He almost didn’t look human.
‘Take this one to barracks then put it to work.’
Bowser had minions. He nodded to them and they took my arms. He gave me a final look of contempt and retreated back to his castle, probably. Was I in real-life Mario? And would that make me Mario or Toad? Or Princess Peach?

Two.

The barracks are weird. They’re futuristic, there’s a lot of white. I have a bunkmate. She keeps looking at me intently then looking away. The beds aren’t traditional bunks, they’re V’s – one bunk angling out to the left and one to the right. They meet at the head end. I’m lying down again.
‘So I guess we’re bunkmates.’
‘In what world do these constitute bunks?’
Heh. She got me there.
‘Dunno. Sounds cooler than V-shape bed buddies though.’
‘Both versions make it sound like we have intercourse. The latter, weird kinky style.’
Heh. She got me again.
Some time passed. I thought about stuff. The terrain of this place looked alien. Dusty, craters, aridness. But a lot of stuff wasn’t right.
‘A lot of stuff isn’t right.’
She was looking at me intently again. She watched each of the words come out of my mouth.
‘Like, something is telling me I’m supposed to think I’m on Pluto. But what? And how? What is that something?’
She squinted her eyes a little. She was waiting for me to go on.
‘We’re not on Pluto. Why can we breathe? How did this building get here? How did we get here?’
‘Why do mobile phones still work?’ she added with a smile. ‘Your brain is trying to short circuit reasoning, it’s telling you that everything here just makes sense, when there are no logical associations to tell you why or answer how.’
I smile. She understands me! But she’s not smiling anymore.
‘What?’
‘Try thinking about how your thinking got screwed up.’
I couldn’t.

Three.

I was peering over the edge of a mine shaft that went straight down. I could see a guy on a harness with a pick. He was tapping away at the walls. Not surprisingly, that didn’t make much sense.
That’s what they did here, mined. There were possibly a hundred mine shafts littering the plain. I closed my eyes and opened them again. The plain suddenly wasn’t so expansive. There were boundaries, there had to be. I’m not on Pluto, I reminded myself again.
I was wearing a hard hat and had a pick of my own. I knew what to do and how to do it as if it were instinct. I think it was supposed to have been my sole instinct. There were no guards anywhere. No enforcing, no commanding. Weird.
The air got warmer and I thought fondly of sunlight. But it was breath, Bowser breath. I crashed forwards into the ground. What was with this guy and pushing?
‘Work, prisoner scum.’
I wasn’t prepared for this interaction, my brain had only just remembered the sun. I didn’t know what to say in case I wasn’t supposed to be thinking freely or at all. So I didn’t say anything. Something possessed me to bow. Of course my hard hat fell off and landed at his feet. There was an agonising moment of indecision. Bowser’s hip started to ring and he turned away, making it easier for me to pick up my stupidly necessary hat.
‘R.F.6.’ I heard Bowser confirm into the phone that was dwarfed by his hands.
‘ARE YOU STILL HERE?’ I was being roared at.
Not for much longer, I thought, as I scampered away.

Four.

A guy freakin’ died! He was working in his mine when a fireball came from nowhere and engulfed him. It was like I’d seen it happen. But I hadn’t.
They’re not big on names in this place, just initials. He was R.... Holy shit! He was R.F.! This was no accident. Pluto’s the coldest planet in the solar system for crying out loud.
‘You’re not on Pluto,’ she said.
Shit...

Five.

I don’t know how long I’ve been here. Did I arrive when I woke up out on the plain? Or have I been here all my life? It’s like there is no “before”. But I know things like Mario and planets and normal bunks.
‘How long have you been here?’
She just looked at me.
‘So you’ll help me then, tonight?’
She started shaking her head violently from side to side and blurted, ‘YES!!!’

Six.

‘I don’t dream in this place.’
‘I don’t eat or drink.’
‘I don’t pee.’
‘I don’t get sick.’
We were heading away from the barracks, trying to travel in a straight direction. We had our hard hats and picks. We had each other’s minds to stave away the fogginess.
‘What do you think the deal is with Bowser?’
‘Bowser?’
‘You know, big guy, affinity for pushing?’
I looked back and she was gone. After a complete 360 I started to stress. How? Dammit! How? I needed her mind...
Clink clink clink! The sound of hammer on stone. It led me to the edge of a mine shaft. I peered down into the darkness and she was there. I pulled on the pulley to raise her up again.
‘Yo, bed buddy! Clarity please!’
She looked up at me apologetically.
As I helped her up and over the edge her hammer fell. We both watched as it plunged downwards. Clunk. It landed. There was a bottom to these things... Of course there was! I watched her have the same thoughts and start to speak.
‘I’ll go down. You just sprint for all you’re worth. If there are no walls then maybe there are tunnels. It’s our best option.’
‘But the fire...’
‘...Might not be real.’
We were still holding hands. She was right. We looked at each other for a short while.
‘I don’t not get horny in this place.’
‘I don’t not have standards,’ she returned with her tongue out.

Seven.

The wind was rushing past me as I ran hard. For some reason I wanted her to see me with wind in my hair. How was she going in the mine? I started to notice the ones near me. They started pulling. No! I had to go on.
Flash! Arms reaching. Flash! Tears. Flash! A needle.
My mind couldn’t make sense of the images. I pushed on. There was a black wall ahead and I was so close.
Thwack. I collided with the wall. As I sat dazed I imagined the sounds of movement and beeping. I got up. What now? She had my pick. I looked up. It was too hard to determine how high it was or if it connected with a roof. I put my hand to it. Cool-warm-impenetrable-weak, all at once.
I pounded my fist against it but it was like brick. I kicked it – concrete. This was pointless. I sat facing it, head between my knees. Behind me I could hear heavy paw-like feet pounding the earth.
I got to my feet, but remained facing the wall. The steps stopped.
‘You.’
‘Name’s Mario.’
‘Pah! I choose your name, vermin.’
I collided with the wall again. I turned for confrontation, back against the wall. I had to stay defiant.
‘They all do this you know, you’re not special. You will soon succumb. Free will won’t even be a distant memory.’
I shook my head violently. ‘No!’
‘Oh yes,’ it smirked.
Quickly! I needed to do something quickly.
‘You know it’s funny, that you should talk about free will. What’s a day in the life for you? Push a few incapacitated souls around, answer your phone, do what you’re told. I had a life before this, I was somewhere else, and I will get back there. I had importance, purpose. You, well let’s face it, you’re nothing in the scheme of things. You can’t even shoot fireballs out of your mouth.’
He charged. All of his weight was going to crash into me and smoosh me against the wall. I tried to move at the last second but my leg buckled. It happened.
But he wasn’t heavy.

Eight.

Winded, a bad leg, and with a serious case of confusion, I tried to comprehend what had just happened and assess the situation all at once. I shook my head vigorously again. Bowser was a normal man. His outline was fuzzy, flickering. He was normal sized... And punching me.
I swung back, and got a few good ones in. He oooff’d after I connected with his stomach and I got clear. I started hobbling away from him, the wall beside me.
If my sense of size, strength, and perception weren’t right, then the wall was conquerable too.
Flash! I was blowing out candles. Flash! I was graduating high school. Flash! I was sobbing in a shower.
Each image stirred powerful emotions within me. I was feeling.
I dug my fingers into the wall, they went into it! I tore away a chunk. And then another. Then I used one to smack into non-Bowser’s head as he charged at me again. He fell to the side.
I could see through. There were desks and computers and stunned labcoats.
A hand grabbed my shoulder. I spun. And met her smile and glowing eyes. I allowed myself a beaming smile, too.
Together we climbed through the wall and ran through corridors and burst out into sunlight.
We weren't safe.
We didn't know who we were.
But we definitely weren’t on Pluto.

The End.*

Display Home Adventures

2009-02-02T15:14:00.005+11:00

"Do you have land?"
We should have been in character.
She looked from Brenton to me.
"No not yet," I responded suppressing laughter.

I guess it was a compliment that she thought we looked like we could be land-owners - that we were of some wealth. Perhaps we had trust funds, or were former child actors, or won big at the casino, in her mind. She was pretty.

"Well then we have some great house & land package deals." She underlined a name in the display home brochure that she wouldn't let us have until she was finished talking. "Larry's the one to talk to about house & land if you have any questions."
I was getting kind of tired of nodding and feigning interest. I wanted to get to the part where I got to imagine myself living in a pretty house all of my own. Cloud bubbles from my mind sprouted a few unlikely scenarios.
One, me trying to snatch the brochure with the pretty pictures but the lady retaining a freakishly strong grip on her end, all the while I'm shouting "give it to me!" and she's snarling back "I haven't told you about the special offers of luxury inclusions yet."
Two, me leaning in close to her and pulling a 20 out of my shirt pocket, being very hush-hush and bribey, only to be slapped because she thought I propositioning her.

Neither of those situations played out because I somehow mustered another "ah, how interesting" nod and she ran out of things to point to/underline in the brochure.
It was an arduous quest but Brenton and I had finally collected all three Porter Davis Collections Catalogues! It was most satisfying.

For what it's worth the houses that had to wait for us because of blonde pretty lady were awesome. The Brampton and... my favourite which I've forgotten the name of but will consult the brochure about later. There was the most ridiculously impractical pool, but it just looked so cool! I foolishly didn't take a picture of it and my describing skills aren't up to scratch right now, but it was pretty much square, above ground with glass walls, too deep to stand up in, but not wide or long enough for anyone to swim in. It was "silly cool", maybe it's the new "shabby chic".

Next time we'll do characters. I wonder how the pretty blonde lady would react if a person in a pink bunny suit hopped along behind Brenton into her little office?
["Do you have land?"
"Nah, but he's got a nice burrow."]

Or if we were wearing "We Steal Stuff From Display Homes If We Get Hassled By Sales Agents" t-shirts. :)

Dale.

Merry Boxing Day!

2008-12-26T22:55:00.002+11:00

I'm leaving! I'm off to Mildura for a holiday!! Woot! :) So if you're not seeing any posts from me until the 2nd or 3rd of January (ish), that is why. I'm attempting to water-ski for the first time which should prove to be an interesting exercise... Pictures of me falling and making ugly faces in the process will most likely eventuate.

Have to get up at 5am. Not so woot.

Had a dream last night that I thought was interesting (although I don't remember all of it now obviously) - I dreamt that I became very excited about writing a story about... *drum roll* a Ghost Worm. My dream mind was absolutely racing with the endless possible storylines and opportunities for character development. Maybe I'll have a think about it while I'm away and see what I can come up with. :)

As for my last post, that was just the gist of a story that I've been thinking about writing for a while now. And I agree Luke, it sounds very, very blurb-like. Didn't realise that until you pointed it out though. Hmm.

Time to rest my weary eyes.

Happy New Year to you all, and I hope your Christmas/Boxing Day activities were grand. By the way, if anyone could leave a comment explaining why Boxing Day is called Boxing Day for me to read when I get back and "ahhh" over, that would also be grand! Thanks. :)

Dale.

*Imagine...

2008-12-21T15:51:00.005+11:00

Imagine that the world was ending and you were the only one who knew. No one would listen to you no matter how convincing you tried to be. No matter how much you cried, yelled, screamed. The more people you told, the more people you alienated yourself from. At what point would you stop trying to help everyone? At what point would you convince yourself that you’d done all you could? When would you start believing that the end of the world wouldn’t be so bad?

For Albert it was fifteen years.

For Annie it was two.

Then they met.

Last Day at School shirts

2008-12-20T10:48:00.003+11:00

Off my door handle in my bedroom hang three shirts. One is from primary school, one from my first high school, one from my second. They're the ones signed by my friends with wishes for the future etc. Decided I'd look at them today to see if anyone was incredibly insightful or prophetic or funny. (I'm not going to write everything 'cause that would be boring).

Primary School - Most of these were just "good luck in 2000", but here are a couple of others:

"To Dale, Good Luck xxx Ryan" - the 'xxx' should have been a giveaway.
"Sex on 2000, Kila" - Pretty sure he meant "in" and left out "for himself". :)
"Good luck, go out with babes, Nicole" - another message to do with dating and stuff.
"To Dale, thax for dancing, [heart] Chrissy" - I vaguely remember a square dance...
"To Dale, Thanks for being such a good friend, Kyzar." - Still friends with Kiel today.
"Bart" - Simple, elegant, effective. Although maybe he just wanted my shirt (so he put his name on it).

High School #1 (end of year 9, and only one penis on it!!):

"Hey Dale, Wish you didn't have 2 go to knox but I guess u do! :( Well, I'm gonna miss u HEAPS! No one can giggle like u do! lol! [heart] always, Sahithi!" - That's right, I giggle with the best of them!
"Dale! ...I'll make a deal dun forget me & I'll neva forget chu! Bubbye casper! [heart] always, Stef" - I used to be pale (hence casper). Still haven't forgotten her, but haven't talked for ages either.
"...Don't forget me or our pact... Luv Savita" - a group of us left the school grounds one lunch time to Savita's house, which was just across the road, and wrote letters about what we were thinking and stuff at the time, and then sealed them and vowed not to open them for five years or something.
"Hey Dale, u don't know me much but have fun whereva ya go! [heart] Laurena" - *sigh* My Year 7 crush who crushed me with her rejection.
"...I'm writing here cuz this is where ur heart is! I luv u heaps and I'll miss you... (personable) Jesstacular xxox" - my girlfriend for the majority of year 9.
"Daeel - have good knox - Alan. P.S.....Yea." - still see Alan and my main circle of highvale friends every so often. :)

High School #2:

"Fatty" - I have no idea who wrote this and it's kinda doing my head in! (Just asked my bro and he says that it says "Tubby" and that he wrote it. Makes sense!)
"Dale, All the best mate. Thanks for Year 11. You'll do very well. David." - My legal studies teacher! He was really cool now that I think about it...
"Dale, Your a fantastic friend. Remember pizza day, lol :). Good luck for everything, I no you'll be brilliant, Karen." - planned a pizza day with Karen in my spares every Wednesday. Not exactly sure what it entailed besides eating pizza. Maybe pizza fights.
"It's ok we will be in America soon.... At the top [heart] Jim." & "cya in Cali when we are famous [heart] C8lin." - Was planning a Drake & Josh style tv show with Jamie and Caitlin. We were big dreamers, and I had the biggest crush on him that I almost believed it would happen. We were gonna meet all the actors from the OC and live in Californian mansions with nice cars.
"Hey sweeti, you'r real smart + if i dnt see you inventing sumthin 1 day i'll b angry! [heart] Sam xxx" - arguably the year's hottest girl. We had PE together. Yeah. :)
"get your P's so your misses don't have to drive u around. Jarryd." - I did get my Ps, but only after I'd broken up with Hayley. Oh well.
"Dear Dale, you made year 12 so much better, your such a great person, stay in touch. Paul" - still my favourite message.
"Dale, hit me up when you want to get beat at poker. Jase."
"Dale, when you become the next Bill Gates, I will be your assistant. Yui Chung." Either chung had a lot of faith in me or REALLY didn't want to be my assistant!
"Dear Doile, have enjoyed discussing our mothers together. Eat more beaver. Love Claire." - One of the most fascinating/out there girls I've met. She was really fun. :)
"Hey Dale, You've been my inspiration in English this year. You can do anything you set out to achieve. [heart] Cooper." - School captain, great girl.
"It's been great teaching you 'Rowdy'. Cozza." PE teacher. He made learning fun. And yes I was a little bit of a teacher's pet. Albeit a quiet teacher's pet.

There's a lot more but I would just be indulging in giving my ego even more of a boost by writing their kind words. It's sad that I only see a handful of these people any more. You should check if you have your last day at school shirts still. It's a good trip down memory lane. (And nice to read flattering things about yourself!)

As far as insights go... Not a lot. Just that people get sentimental looking back at things and tend to remember them differently than to how they felt at the time.

Dale.

Dale.

Taste Genes

2008-12-06T18:22:00.004+11:00

I wish I blogged more. I really do! But I don't want to force it.

I had a really nice hot chocolate this morning, at the Coffee Club. Hot chocolate as I still haven't taken the step that normally comes by - if not before - adulthood: I haven't started drinking coffee. Or tea. Also beer. I was SURE that beer would grow on me, I really was. Dad likes it so much that I assumed a partialness to beer would be in my genes somewhere. Guess not. Oh and Dad's not an alcoholic, didn't mean for it to come across that way. Hi Mum! (If you're reading this.) Speaking of Mum, she drinks a decent quantity of coffee. In many forms. So much so that some of her friends have given her the nickname "Latte Liz". (Sorry Mum :)). Although maybe the caffiene quota that my genes crave is satisfied by Coke. As for the mystery of the beer, though, maybe it's a case for someone who has the time to do some research. My brother drinks a lot of it... and I look too much like both my parents to be adopted!

Beverages to food seems like a natural progression so let's do that!

I ate at a Mexican grill food place the other day. Yes, I forgot the name. :) It just opened up at Knox. My verdict: yum but could be cheaper. Food was well presented, although not a sombrero was to be seen. I'm still not sold on how authentically Mexican 'mexican chips' are, no matter how much peri-peri-like salt you put on them. The burrito I had itself was very nice though. My tastebuds were awakened to some new tastes. Mainly 'cause I get too embarrassed to ask for food "without this, this, this, oh and that too". Lime rice and coriander were what my tongue responded positively to I think.

As for dinner tonight, Dad was going to do a good old barbeque but it's raining now so I think that plan's been scratched.

Oh how forgetful of me! Luke cooked me a souvlaki kind of thing at his house the other night, and I didn't suffer any ill-effects. To the contrary I was very satisfied with it. All of the people who were waiting for a test-bunny kind of person to try Luke's cooking before they did, you can now not be afraid! Thanks Luke. (And you're welcome guys :P).

That's it from me. Gotta make my bed. Bed-making and general room upkeep also must have skipped my generation I think.

Dale.

Mind Piracy

2008-11-29T12:05:00.004+11:00

Yay! On Thursday I bought the only CD that's release I've been excited about in recent times. Yeah, I paid money for it, and I physically bought it from an actual store (I use iTunes but don't buy iThings yet), because I'm not a pirate! It felt like the right thing to do since I was given this band's two previous CDs for free from my friends, and listened to each of them on high rotation. I'm listening it in right now. I had such high expectations that I think I was bound to be a little disappointed initially. Hoping it'll be a grower.

I was going to tell you the name but I suddenly feel playful and don't think I will just yet. Perhaps I'll hide some clues in here... No doubt I'll probably just reveal it in the comments because my clues are always way too subtle. Life Is Not A Waiting Room, you know? And Senses Fail sometimes... :)

Luke showed me a doco called Jesus Camp last night. And it's just too difficult not to blog about it. I'm not sure if you have secret blog-inspiring motives Luke, but I always seem to watch something interesting at your place that makes me feel like writing... Anyway, I'm not going to speak ill of religion because that's not my place. I will say that Jesus Camp, about evangelical Christians in the US imposing their beliefs onto their children, made me feel very thankful for the childhood I had. For having the opportunity to form my own opinions about the world and what I would stand for as being moral or right.

These kids were preached to over and over about giving their lives to Jesus Christ and creating an America that was consistent with their faith. It looked a lot like brainwashing, or mind piracy. From their speech patterns it was clear that they were just regurgitating what their heads had been filled with. Childhood should be carefree. Not filled with attending masses where without fail they'd cry for the sins of the world.

Perhaps the most scary thing that I learned from Jesus Camp was that some evangelical Christians' beliefs clash with democracy.

Driving home last night, listening to my new CD and contemplating freedom, I enjoyed thinking for myself. I don't know what I believe in really, when it comes to religion. I've always had a thing about re-incarnation, but that's another story. I guess I believe in free will and living in a way that you can be proud of yourself. And if you choose to believe in Big Foot, aliens, ghosts or... Peter Pan (shhh!) that's totally fine with me. :)

Dale.

They giveth and they taketh away...

2008-11-10T22:30:00.006+11:00

I feel a little lost some days. My world has been changed, my routines interrupted. So far I am surviving, but it’s only day three. The unthinkable has happened: I am without Foxtel.

This means that I’m also without...

Kyle XY and the incredibly ignorant Treger family
“Dinosaur George” Blasing and the other imaginative palaeontologists of Jurassic Fight Club
The pretty and scandalous youths of Gossip Girl
Heidi Klum and the interesting fashion designers battling it out on Project Runway
The deliciously competitive chefs of Top Chef
The occasionally interest-piquing documentaries of the channels starting with 6
A few other programs which I’m too ashamed to admit watching!

My parents decided to suspend our subscription for two months. So we still have the box and the remote, but it doesn’t work. Even if you try tricking it into working... The timing of their decision was interesting; my final university commitment for the year had been handed in just two days prior. I’m yet to ascertain whether this is a blessing in disguise, but I have a hunch that it may be.

So far the short-term side effects include an increase in aimless confused wandering about the house, increased internet use, increased novel reading, and increased addiction to Warhammer. Hopefully the long-term side effects will include less aimless confused wandering and more activation of my imagination. A chance to do some serious reading, write that spec script or pilot, or continue Mehico. Not to mention increased exercising and socialising!

So goodbye, Foxtel. Please stop beckoning to me alluringly from beneath the TV...

Dale.

A woman has won my heart

2008-11-08T13:44:00.006+11:00

She is blonde.
She is lithe.
And she is Elvish...

She is Valeina, my character on Warhammer Online.
Ain't she just the prettiest?

Lara Croft can go polish her lame guns somewhere else as far as I'm concerned!

You should totally check out the cinematic trailer for the game to see the character Valeina's based on. She has the most awesomest fight scene I reckon. This sentence will take you there.

The trailer explains it, but basically there are three races and each are in the midst of war. The good guys from each race have united under Order, and the baddies under Destruction. The races are men, dwarves and elves.

Valeina is a Shadow Warrior (and of course fighting for Order). She'll shoot you with her arrows from afar or slash you with her sword up close. So don't mess with her!

The game really feels more like a very long interactive movie.

The only computer game I've ever really come close to being nerdily obsessed over before is The Sims (1 and 2), so this has taken me by surprise. Warhammer is an MMO - see, I'm already talking the lingo - but it is much more than that too. A lot of the time you're completing missions by yourself in more traditonal RPG style. The aim is to go around each of the maps, or tiers, completing missions to advance the hopes of Order, while gaining all the experience you can. Because with experience comes new abilities and tactics. Each ability is really, really cool and not just a simple "Pikachu - Thunderbolt!" kind of effect. There are abilities that damage over time, restrict movement, decrease stats, regenerate action points, etc etc. I think the main thing is that they look really cool when you do them. :)

The multiplayer side of the game comes into play primarily for RvR (Realm vs Realm) scenarios. You fight alongside people playing as elves, dwarves and humans, against other people the dark elves, greenskins and chaos marauders. A lot of the time it's a "capture the flag" kind of deal. But each of the scenarios are really well-crafted. They're just cool!
Public Quests are also multiplayer situations. You work together with a Party of other players to acheive feats that are way too hard to do by yourself. For these you gain influence points... and I've just realised how boring this might be sounding to the "unobsessed". Sorry, I'll stop!

I just thought that since I hadn't blogged for a while, partly due to playing/watching Warhammer at Brenton's, it would be a good way to get started again. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting, and for this!

I'm happy to be back though.

Dale.

The End of Voyeur

2008-10-29T22:25:00.004+11:00

Part One - Brian

I clung, I dug in my nails, but that just drove him away. I tried to be normal, to act cool, but it was too late. I couldn’t act in the face of losing what my whole life revolved around. It was too hard. Desperation conquered me.

It was all that whore Debra’s fault. She was the wedge. She should have just stayed away. I warned her plenty. She didn’t listen, so she paid for it.

Then Tommy, the betrayer, gets in my face and hits me. Why couldn’t he see that I needed him more than Debra ever could? That what we had was important. It all got too much. I hit him back. We bled. He could have killed me, he stood over me with a baseball bat. He should have. It would have been an act of mercy. I couldn’t live alone.

I had a... a bro–...

He was important, you know? Everything... Lost. Fuck!

I’d lived with no guilt. Just his bloody clock to remind me–

Now I can’t even look at it. He’d be so ashamed. I didn’t...

I just didn’t.

And I’m not going to. Ever.

Cos this is it.

Hollywood

2008-10-20T21:41:00.009+11:00

Out of fear of not posting for a month, here's a scence from my short script that has many a lacklustre working title.

The video CUTS TO:

INT. KYLE'S BEDROOM, DAY.

Kyle is sitting on his desk chair and leaning forward. He tenses his biceps for a second and laughs.

KYLE (to camera)

So those are two of my exercise tips. I feel like I could lift a horse. Well maybe not a horse. Perhaps a pony. A small baby pony... Good luck to you all in your exercising endeavours. And remember to tell your friends ‘bout me. Catch.

As the video ends the camera zooms into the computer screen and EMERGES WITHIN:

INT. KYLE'S BEDROOM, DAY.

Kyle is sitting silently, staring into space. He shuts down his computer and looks at a photo frame also on his desk. It shows a picture of Kyle with his arm around the shoulder of a younger teenager boy. He sighs.

Kyle gets up and walks over to his wall calendar, where he puts a tick next to “99^th video blog” within the 10^th square of March. Within the 12^th square of March is simply written “One Year”.

His name might be Kyle...

2008-09-21T21:25:00.005+10:00

He wears knee high socks (sometimes).
He's lanky.
He likes dried apricots.
His elbows crack.
His best friend was a fish.
He has a vast collection of hoodies.
He can play piano but can't listen to classical music.
He volunteers at the local hospital.
His eyes are usually blue, green or brown.
He moves with the grace of a baby giraffe.
He wants to control the way people see him.
He wants you to subscribe.

He might be dying.
He might be supressing.
He might be falling.

I can't decide...

***

Just figuring out which characteristics I like for the main character of my short script assignment. If there are one or two that you respond to more than others it would be helpful if you could let me know. At the moment I can't figure out what predominant flaw to give to him.

Sorry for the not very post-like post. Soon people, soon.

Thanks,

Dale.

Dale's Prophecy

2008-09-16T15:13:00.003+10:00

I was thinking the other day (kind of inspired by Heroes and Kyle XY), about why humans only use about 10% of their brains. Now I'm no neurosurgeon, and could probably look this information up, but at the moment I prefer my own, unanswered ponderings...

Does everyone use the exact same parts of their brain to constitute the 10%? Have there been medically documented exceptions? Are there variations within the 10% between different people? If so, are there correlations between occupation and areas of brain activity? Or even culture or class?

I guess I've also been thinking about free will versus determinism lately too (and wondering if the process of which is something I've been genetically programmed to do). See, this is what happens when I only go to a handful of psychology lectures and pick up a mish-mash of information!

The very unscientific conclusion I came to was that if we had too much brain activity our circuits would overload on an excess of information. Maybe with evolution we'll use more and more of our brains. But at the rate humans are evolving, we'll have to wait many thousands of years to see if that eventuates. You can call it my prophecy if you'd like. Note how hard it is to disprove. :)

No doubt I shall be mulling this over as I prowl the aisles at Coles tonight. If I come up with any more thoughts on this I'll put them in the comments section. Am thinking I'll question the whole superpowers/increased brain activity idea.

Thanks for hearing my thoughts... I'll invite you back into my brain soon, but for now please leave my head.

Dale.

A flashback...

2008-08-31T22:11:00.004+10:00

On New Year’s Eve 1999 my blonde hair was streaked with blue and I was dripping. I was also somewhat anxious. I didn’t completely understand it, but I could pick up on the building anxiety of my parents and their friends as midnight beckoned ever closer. There was a hint of it behind their eyes when they smiled. It became harder to detect as empty wine bottles began to spring up all over the place, but it was still there. I wasn’t watching them all night, though. For most of the Eve I was busy trying to impress Amanda and Kelly by bagging/wrestling/competing with my younger brother Mark. It was fun and at the time it was all that really mattered to me. Next year I’d start school, become a teenager and get a Nintendo 64 – I knew these things, Y2K didn’t factor. Still, that night, for the first time in my life, I didn’t sleep.

We got to the Reed’s house at 6.30 for dinner. I probably ate some sausages and picked at my salad in a picky way. Mark probably did so in a lamer way. Kelly always made sure our drinks were refreshed. She was a really good host like that. In terms of monitoring our sugar intake on the other hand... Maybe not as good. Mark and I drank a fair amount of coke at the Reed’s place.

Upstairs the TV was always on. The four of us sat infront of it for a while, either playing car racing games or watching DVDs. We caught an erotic scene of an SBS movie late one night which was incredibly awkward. Mark probably didn’t get it though. The box helped pass the time somewhat, it must’ve been about 10.30 by the time we’d become sick of it (for the second time). We tried our hand at pool – Mark and Amanda v Kelly and I – but I don’t think we finished the game. Probably fluked three balls in over half an hour.

A tall person approached with blue hairspray so we grabbed towels and raced outside. Moments later I was looking at myself in a reflective window, thinking that blue really was more becoming on me than it was on Mark. Next we jumped in the spa. We played a game where one person hid two small discs somewhere in the spa and the person who didn’t find one lost. That person had to grab a nearby saucepan and wooden spoon (I’m not sure why they were nearby) and bang the two together as they walked a lap around the decking proclaiming that they were a loser.

We jumped out of the spa as adults approached with sparklers and party poppers.

FIVE! (Gee it’s cold...)

FOUR! (Hey Mark’s making a cool pattern with his sparkler. I should do a better one...)

THREE! (Dad looks really drunk...)

TWO! (I wonder if a plane will fall on us?)

ONE! (Is Amanda looking at me? Ooh, she is! Better smile)

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

A couple of party poppers hesitantly popped and everyone paused. Nothing. Then: clonk! clonk! clonk! “Daaaaale’s a loserrrr, he smells baaaad”. Mark had gotten the saucepan and wooden spoon and was marching about like a drummer boy. And he was outplaying me. Touche Mark, touche, I probably thought. Amongst other things.

Eventually everyone got tired and found places to sleep. I’m not sure why I didn’t. I could put it down to deep contemplation about what might have happened, or I could put it down to drinking too much coke. Either way, I thought a lot that night. A lot of it was “this sucks, why am I not sleeping?”, but that wasn’t all. I think it was the first time that I took stock of where my life was at.

I’m glad it happened after the activity and general fun-ness of the night though. Kids that age shouldn’t have to think like that, they’d miss out on too much if they did.

Anyway, that was the night of December 31, 1999. When the world waited with baited breath and I was a kid with blue hair.

On January 1, 2000, I did a fair bit of sleeping.

Dale.

The Troupe

2008-08-07T11:16:00.000+10:00

I’m trying to remember my dreams (see two posts ago) for my scriptwriting subject at uni. Well, I haven’t been writing them down but one has stuck with me for its sheer oddness. You know how that happens every now and then? You get that one dream that makes you go “huh?” and consider the possibility that your subconscious could somehow be experimenting with recreational drugs? I had one of those.

In my mind’s eye (sidenote – why do minds only have one eye? Why can’t they have two like us? What if the circumstances arose that they would require depth perception? Our minds would be screwed!) I’m walking down a downward sloping alley in a metropolitan area with a group of about twelve to fifteen people. These people are a mish-mash of people from school and a handful of friends. I’m not sure what we’re doing in the city or where we’re headed, but for whatever reason everyone seems enthusiastic and energetic. I can’t rule out that there wasn’t high five-ing and that playful kind of gentle shoving. It all seemed very slow motion and music video-ish (with no music).

I’m at the head of the group as we approach the end of the alley of friendly pushing when something catches my eye and I get an idea. What I see is a big empty room that would normally be closed off by a really wide roller door. The room is bare but for what looks like a row of changing room stalls along the back wall. The heights of each door vary, but dream Dale doesn’t notice that. He’s too busy enjoying slinking into the room, kind of dancing his way towards one of the stalls. The others watch for a second before cottoning on to his fantastic idea and dancing their way into the room too. Before long each of the stalls contain people flailing their arms around, jumping up and down, making dancing facial expressions and having the times of their lives. There are a throng of people, who couldn’t fit in the now crowded stalls, dancing in front of them too. By this stage music has mysteriously filled the air, as if brought on by the impromptu dancing.

That continued for a while before eventually the music died out and people started to make their way out of the strange room. High five-ing and chest bumping etc definitely happened as everyone was exiting, and I turned to the nearest group of people with a sudden revelation:

“We can be called the Parma Dancers!”

It made sense to those people, but I’m now stupefied about where it came from. I don’t think we in any way were dancing like parmigianas or in tribute to them. Because how and why would you do that? I’m pretty sure it’s not possible (but I would love for someone to prove otherwise!).

Anyway, that was my dream. Any psychoanalysts feel free to go to town on it. :)

Dale.

You’re only turn 21 once, but you can have your party whenever you want.

2008-07-30T14:51:00.003+10:00

The air had energy that day, I could sense it as I peered out the drive thru window at McDonalds, before hurriedly closing it as the rain figured out a way to slant diagonally under the eaves of the roof and wet me. So energy-full was the air that the rain was cunning and in cahoots with the wind. It was a good thing though; the day had a feeling about it. The stresses of my poorly organised 21^st celebration were fading and I began to look forward to the evening ahead.

I raced home after my shift and remembered that people like food. So I drove to the shops and picked up various bags of chips. Then I remembered that people also like alcohol. So I chose what I thought was enough of the most commonly favoured type of alcohol (other than beer) from the land of liquor called Liquorland. I knew I shouldn’t have looked at my watch but I did, and it was less than an hour until people would start arriving at my house. My stress hadn’t completely subsided after all, either that or it just got tired for a little and had mustered up some more energy – it was just my luck that my stress had regenerative capabilities . I drove home wishing I had Dad’s Enya CD with me.

Got home, got organised, had my brother straighten my hair (because I thought it was customary...), received my guests, and felt a conquering wave of relaxation as drink slid down throats and those who didn’t know each other mingled fantastically. I could almost see the vibrations of energy in the air around us. Or there was some imbalance of chemicals in my brain... Nevertheless I soaked up the atmosphere; it wasn’t often that I had large groups of people at my house. I had been kind of paranoid that if I ever did everyone would get bored, leave and never want to come back. Not sure where that stemmed from.

The maxi-taxi arrived and we clambered in. The driver was an enthusiastic Asian (I think Thai) man with good English and knowledge of the city. We did sit at the first set of traffic lights we got to for a few cycles (he made a late decision to turn and wasn’t triggering the sensor to let the traffic lights know we were there) but after that there were no problems. He was nice enough to stop the meter upon getting hasty instructions to pull over as some of us relieved ourselves.

The Elephant & Wheelbarrow was written across the side of a pub-looking building so we de-taxied. It was 9.30, and it was relatively busy. There were no other familiar faces awaiting us, and I was glad that I hadn’t forced anyone to wait around. I’d never been to the place before, so I quickly sussed it out. Typical pub: booths, stools, bar, TV’s, music. Stairs... The stairs went up to a fairly large dancefloor, stage, and second bar (I think – didn’t spend that much time up there. Well, that and my memory is a little fuzzy!) The second floor added that element that I was after. It was there for the people who didn’t feel like listening to traditional pub music.

As the other people who had been invited started to arrive, the crowd thankfully began to get a bit younger. The inter-group mingling amongst my friends continued and I was very happy to see it. I never ran out of drinks and was very thankful to see that. I felt a warmth (no not from the alcohol) of being surrounded by all the people who gift me with their friendship. That they made the effort to be there and celebrate with me, that they were doing their utmost to make sure I was having a great time... It was just an incredible feeling. I hope each of them know how grateful I am.

I remember a woman, probably 30, coming over to a group of three of us sitting at a table proffering her success and the business opportunities at her company. I wondered how stupid/drunk we looked if she even thought she had a chance of getting us to jump at her “opportunity”. To her credit she quoted a website, and I thought that was quite a clever little detail. Who knows, maybe she was legit. Maybe right now I could be pretentiously nibbling on caviar and then turning away so no one would see me cringe with disgust. Somehow I doubt it.

More importantly I remember someone’s behaviour being an attraction within itself, I remember being so happy that someone in particular was there with me, I remember smiles, I remember abandoning a kindly-bought beer, I remember some really interesting grammar stories, I remember someone being a saviour, I remember laughing, and I remember not having a care in the world.

Eventually, people began to have their fill of dancing/drinking/talking and started heading home. I endeavoured to say a decent goodbye to all of them. When the time came that I left, I couldn’t have been more content with the evening. It took two months and one day longer than expected for my 21^st party to happen, but it couldn’t have turned out any better.

Dale.

Boo :P

2008-07-28T12:38:00.002+10:00

It's time for a post I think. Read through some of my older ones and was happy to be amused by them. I like when I like my writing, even after time transpires and I learn new techniques and stuff. It's probably the posts about me and my various activities that I like the most - well, the tone and tangents within them. That kind of stream of conciousness writing is probably the most fun for me. And if that means I have to write about myself for the rest of my life then so be it! :) No, I'm not for serious. But I do think that writing about things close to home helps in other writing endeavours, and therefore, well, I'm sorry but you poor people who (kindly) read this may have to put up with some more for a little.

Does anyone keep a dream journal? It's one of the things I'm supposed to do for my course this semester. I have very zany dreams sometimes, and manage to dream up very random stories, why I haven't used them as a source of inspiration is beyond me. They certainly are emotive enough every now and then. I've been trying to have a "falling" dream for a while now. Used to have them when I was in primary school and I remember the feeling of falling from a cliff - there was very little fear as I plunged down into the unknown. A release, sort of. If I ever made it all the way to the bottom of my fall before waking there would always be a trampoline, which I would bounce exhilaratingly high off of, and then come down and wake up. I'd never get hurt or be scared.

I'm doing scriptwriting this semester (a dedicated unit this time) and I'm very interested to see where it takes me - what I learn about my writing from how I go in it. I've always thought that novels and short stories in print would be my strength, but love the idea that I could become adept at writing scripts too (screen or theatre - but most likely screen. :) plays/musicals would be a tad hard for me to envisage I think). We also learn about pitching and stuff, so if I pick up any handy hints I shall let those talented scripty people who might be interested know.

I'm REALLY interested in that piece I wrote a little while back about the two school kids in Mexico with those wonderfully enigmatic plans for destruction at the moment. My mind keeps going back to it. I think maybe that might have been a wiser choice of story to explore. I'm not giving up though.

Yikes, gotta get ready for uni! I'm supposed to be having the "best parma in Melbourne" tonight with Kiel. I shall be forthcoming with information about whether I tastebud-gasmed or similar. :)

Oh and I MUST write about my 21st next time.

Til then, everyone keep writing!

Dale.

Oh the serenity.

2008-06-29T18:08:00.000+10:00

I do bid you to forgive me... But my lack of posting has been due to the fact that I... I... I’ve been away! Not ‘away’ like ‘in the slammer’ but ‘away’ like ‘on a holiday, man’. Went to Waratah Bay near Wilson’s Prom with Brenton and it was a really great trip. Stayed in an A-frame house and managed to walk into the roof a couple of times (because technically the walls and the roof are the same thing right? Unless you’d only call the top point of the A the roof but that would silly and make it less possible to say things like “I managed to walk into the roof a couple times”). Got there with the help of Karen (my GPS device who mispronounces words and gets a little confused on the more rural highways – either that or she really doesn’t like us and would have us plunge headfirst down the sides of mountains where she “thought” there were roads... I think she just has a sense of humour though).

Wilson’s Prom was really beautiful. We took the track to the top of Mount Oberon and the views were really stunning – I even managed to take my eyes off Brenton for a couple of seconds. :) Anyway, we took lots of photos (of which he’s not allowed to delete any...) and I won’t be forgetting any of it at least until dementia sets in.

This coming Sunday I’m going to Queensland with my family, and get back on Thursday. So there may be a lapse in blogging again. Although I will be taking my laptop so it could be a good time for some writing to take place. And theme-parking. :) We’ll see!

Oh and this Friday (a mere two months and one day since my birthday) is my 21^st. Reports on this celebration may be vague... So be there if you want more accurate details. :)

Dale.

My Story-Blog (Official Announcement)

2008-06-17T22:01:00.002+10:00

It's pretty much been splashed across the headlines of every newspaper in Victoria, but the project entitled "Creepy Lamingtons" is, in fact, a story-blog a la Ashton X. It's called Voyeur.

I wanted to get a few entries done before I went public lol. I hope you all give it a go - any feedback would be awesome.

http://thevoyeurstory.blogspot.com

In other news, the title 'Creepy Lamingtons' has inspired a short story by Luke (the very author of Ashton X). It has a killer twist and I highly recommend it.

http://creepylamingtons.blogspot.com

"Normal" entries will resume on here shortly, but until then - check out dem links ya'll! [Which reminds me - I actually heard someone say "youse", as in the plural version of you, lately. It was... an experience. Maybe more on this issue later].

Thanks,

Dale.

Creepy Lamingtons

2008-06-03T21:31:00.003+10:00

The something's been started...
And soon it will be linked to...
I couldn't resist not keeping it secret!

Dale.

Condition

2008-05-27T21:10:00.001+10:00

I am the President of the United States. My influence is limited. My position is an incredible burden. Am I more than figurehead? I am the Pope. My life is structure. I am a vehicle for the faith of countless believers. Do I have a voice? I am a celebrity. I am lampooned, scrutinised. Image is my life. Actions determine my ascension and downfall. People want me to falter. Am I living for me? I am a war hero; a hero for killing people. My patriotism is never questioned. How will I be remembered?

Thank you, Jamaica Kincaid

2008-04-13T16:30:00.006+10:00

When Nobody's Watching
by Me.

"Have you seen anything like this before?"
"No... I can't, I can't say I have."
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"What now?"
"How am I supposed to know?"
"You're... I delegated, it's proactive."
"Well I re-delegate it back to you!"
"You can't."
"Says who?"
"Says... Just says, ok? Where's your sense of urgency?"
"I deal with this sort of stuff all the time."
"You've watched three episodes of X Files and Men in Black 2."
"It's enough. Do you see projectile vomit?"
"Touch it then. Go on."
"And get my DNA on it? Nice try."
"Paranoid. Just take the picture so we can go. I try playing with you but you're no fun."
"I still don't know why you want this."
"There are a lot of things you don't know."
"You really think this'll change everything?"
"Anarchy, my compadre. And it shall be our hombre. I'm being proactive."
"Alright, got it. Zip it up and let's go."
"It'll be years from now but it'll be worth it."
"I know, I know, 'The face of the world changed by a young visionary'."
"They don't make Grand Plans like they used to. And this one's been broiling for years."
"Wait... Did you...? Your uncle... Broiling?"
"Come on, let's kick this place."
"How could you have possibly...?"
"It's not exactly Airforce One. Yet. Here, put this on."
"A sombrero?"
"Figured we'd try to re-enter our great nation the fun way."
"By donkey?"
"How much Spanish do you know?"
"Mi amo es... Should I ask how you knew about these tunnels?"
"There should be one of those trucks around here somewhere. Just look for the one exuding fear and anxiousness."
"I'd say you were completely off your nut but... No, you are completely off your nut."
"'President's nephew caught riding with illegals' - nice ring to it don't you think?"
"Part of the plan?"
"Nah, just fun. Now put your sombrero on. We've got a great big ignorant country to deceive."
"I better make it to school tomorrow..."

Two Objects and the Space Between Them

2008-03-22T12:29:00.002+11:00

It was too hot to wear on my wrist so I detached it and put it on the table before me. It left an imprint on my skin, I noticed, which was now cooling off. I look at it; silver and blue, mostly, with luminescent glow-in-the-dark indicators. It didn't seem like three o'clock, but it rarely lied to me. And it wouldn't surprise me if time had escaped under its watch. My watch's watch.
It was a little smudged - surely not by my fingers though - and there were tiny specks of white clustered toward the basin side of it; escapee spittle from tooth-brushing. I ponder why I take pictures of myself in front of it. The sight I see is never the same as what my camera produces; never as pleasing anyway.
I stop watching my watch and I'm 21. I stop looking at myself in the mirror and my hair grows, or I have a pimple somewhere new, or I need to shave again. I can't be doing both at the same time; I shouldn't be hung up on doing either. They are different ways of blinding myself. Time is infinite, just not for me. I will have a physical form, just not forever, or one I will always be conscious of...

Inspired by "The Monkey's Mask"

2008-03-12T18:19:00.002+11:00

Wrote it last year at uni, for no particular reason. Was just bored, and I should have posted it on here then, but meh. This is something only one other person has seen. Let's see if he remembers... :P

Untitled

It's tearing at my innards
A rake's sharpened prongs clawing every surface
The rash worsens with every dig into my skin
Conscience
Get off! Go away!

Like a vampire - without a soul
No guilt, no remorse
Nothing to fear from oneself
A life without looming consequences
Or nagging thoughts
Or doubt

It used to be fuzzy
Just cold now
Coldness in every face
All seem to know - to chastise with eyes of scorn
Revert, revert, revert!
It's flimsy

A mental voyage completely
To the depths, the recesses
Probing down narrow
Peripherals disregarded
Blind to chasing light from above
Selectively unselectively blind

There is not a real me
Core values?
Faithful disintegration?
It will all go undocumented by the world
Tragedy spurns

Because quietly I'll fall -
You didn't see that coming
Neither did my old I's
Get some perspective!
Gosh.
Awaken from ignorance
Breathe

Dale.

Some stuff I had to write for Uni.

2008-03-10T22:18:00.003+11:00

These are two examples of "free writing" which we're being encouraged to do in my fiction writing class. The first one was associated with a text message from someone else's phone, the second was inspired by a drawing by a Japanese artist whose name I can't recall. It wasn't Yoshi or anything though - I would have remembered that. It depicted a relatively small wooden boat in the midst of great, over-arching waves (with a mountain in the background which I didn't have time to work in to my story...)
Anyway, here's the first one.

"Ah, the bane of my highschool existence..."

It haunts me still. The days that dragged on longer than any elastic band could stretch; the all-consuming boredom of learning about chlorafil; the politics and ridiculous pecking orders that left many the aspiring bird wingless and completely without inventive metaphors*. Yes, it was not long ago, but it seems like a fuzzy blur of mundane somethingness. It was a time before now, but after before... It was highschool.

That's where I was when I ran out of time.
Here's the next one.

He was lucky to have survived this long anyway. The years of scouring the ocean for his fishy livelihood had been pockmarked by hints of his good fortunate coming to an end. He looked across at his friends, tugging desperately at the oars, oblivious to the hopelessness of it all. The waves towered over them and each blow against the stern of their insignificant vessel knocked them about with increasing veracity. Even clinging on wouldn't save them now. He knew that the death of his boat was imminent too. Already there were cracks in the hull; it wouldn't hold together much longer before it was smashed apart entirely. He looked to the sky and there he saw an angel. He knew he would be alright.

And that's when I ran out of time for that one...
The angel** in the sky was because there was a cloud that looked person-shaped. Actually, I'll try and find the picture... *google image search* I found it... But it looks a bit different. Think it was reversed too. Ah well, here it is.

And that's it for now. Just thought I'd share a little. :)

Thanks for letting me,

Dale.

* "completely without inventive metaphors" inspired by something Luke wrote once... Don't get your lawyers on me!
** not sure if angels are prominent in Japanese culture, but it's free writing so it can't be completely error free!

"And we've got everybody singing..."

2008-03-09T18:29:00.006+11:00

I may not be a music aficionado (thank you spellcheck) or have any musical talent (I tried learning guitar once... It didn't take), but music is really important to me. A song or album comes along every now and then that kind of elevates my mood and makes me feel more in touch with stuff. Some music gives me confidence, it inspires me. Other music I associate with a time or an event and I'm jolted back to my emotional state at that time. Music helps me study, helps fill in time, and even helps me write. A lot of what I have written has been the result of a clever lyric or an infectious sounding chorus drawing words out of me. Who needs therapy! If I feel like I need to have a healthy cry (who doesn't?) I'll put on "Iris" by the Goo Goo Dolls, "Silence" by Sarah McLachlan, or "Hide and Seek" by Imogen Heap. Other music I just get excited about listening to. If I'm not at home/don't have access to my ipod or computer or CD player or car stereo I seriously look forward to hearing a song or series of songs that I'm growing to really like.

*interrupted by dinner and socialising*

So that ends that. Could probably have been summed up by a simple statement such as: "Music is profoundly important to me". But where's the fun in that?

Dale.

Listening to:

The Audition - "Dance Halls Turn to Ghost Towns"

Who is it tonight, Doctor Jekyll or Mr. Hyde?

The bookshelf spins,
when I pull the Websters from the third row,
second from the right,
and this is where the chemicals grow,
this is where reactions flow,
the dictionary chemical cookbook was meant to hook you into me.

Would you please take off your lab coat, kiss me as we roll through every chemical.
Would you please put on your dance shoes? 'Cause I'm sick of dancin' alone.

Who is it tonight, Doctor Jekyll or Mr. Hyde?

Two hints lust, then I mix some charm with a dash of wits.
Add some good looks and then, close the door and dim the lights.
(This will finally be the night)
where the dictionary chemical cookbook will finally hook you into me.
...

i am aware they're only birds

2008-03-06T18:12:00.003+11:00

We've had them for seven years. Buddy & Holly. Lovebirds. Quite charismatic little winged-things. They grew, we watched. They did stuff, we loved them for it. They woke us up in the mornings, but we didn't care. They conducted a cage-break, and for three minutes they were wild. They decided their little home was more for them, we rejoiced. They laid eggs, but had no luck - between you and me I think they were both male. They got sick, we worried. They recovered, we saluted their combined strength. They loved each other, and we were touched. Then Buddy died. I got teary. Mum got teary. Mark went quiet.

He had a good life. But I still wonder whether he'd have like to be set free so he could fly distances and heights and just go where he wanted. See more of the world. Fly with other birds. I know he wouldn't last long by himself. Perhaps it was knowing his cruel fate (death by predator) that stopped me. There's always Holly... I wonder how long she'll last without her life partner. I wonder if she feels the loneliness. She must...

RIP Buddy, thanks for being such a cool bird (you were always my favourite).

Dale.

Popping Pills and Wavering Confidence

2008-02-23T12:43:00.003+11:00

I'm on medication. It's for a skin disease kind of thing. Doesn't seem to be helping much, I don't quite trust my doctor anymore. I find out on Monday what the lab has to say about the sample the doctor sent away. I got proactive (with the help of my second mum), but not the Vanessa Williams infomercial acne cream. I bought something topical and stuff for what I thought the problem was. It's early days but I think it's helping. The rash is in most places. Predominantly on my face and neck, but semi-large scabby things have formed on my arms and legs too. It makes me insecure. On my cheeks I struggle to feel normal skin, my forehead's almost the same. I wear collared shirts and hooded jumpers to conceal my neck as best as possible, and shorts are pretty much out of the question. It makes me angry.

I'm not sure how it started and I hate that it's just come from nowhere. I've had to work the last three days in a row and I see the way people look at me when I serve them and don't like it much. But that's when I'm in a negative mood about it. Now I'm learning to be positive about the situation. Putting it into perspective, it's not such a big deal. So what if I get looks, what does it really matter? I'm not gonna let something small like this stop me from living and doing the things I normally do. I think this is going to be good for me. Whilst it's going away slowly, I think I'll have it for a little while yet, and it might teach me a lesson about appearance and confidence. For me the two may have been a little too closely related. So I'll end this now on a high note before my volatile mood makes me slightly depressed about it again... Good can come from this. As long as I'm smiling it doesn't matter what I look like.

Until you see me next, you've been warned so don't recoil upon the visage of my face and stuff. :P

Dale.

"Only you can't drink photos."

2008-02-19T18:29:00.003+11:00

The last thing I wrote began with a description of a resilient ant. It was happening before me and it helped me get started. It loosed my mind and the words flowed out onto the page. The immediate external environment inspired me. It never used to be so. I used to be able to call to mind an issue that was in the news, or (more frequently) something that had happened to me or affected me in some way. More of a mental thing. I’ve written this before, just in other words. I need to focus because my writing mind seems thick with a dense, foggy-like fog. I need to “re-ignite the passion” (said with South American accent). I need to stop thinking in clichés!

I wrote in my little black book while I was away at Rye. And no, my little black book doesn’t contain any dirty secrets, it just so happens that my notebook is smallish and the complete opposite of white. So there’s no point in trying to steal it for purposes like blackmail or popularity-inducing gossip. Because I know that’s what you were thinking. Besides, I keep it in a wooden box with a padlock on it, so you’d need bolt-cutters to get into that box. And procuring those would require effort and planning and we both know it’s not worth it. Unless I’m just pretending to keep my little black book containing no secrets in the aforementioned wooden box with padlock.

Game, set, and match. :)

Dale.

"I'm just going through and doing them all."

2008-01-29T10:07:00.000+11:00

Thanks kindly commenteers for all your... encouragement. Like the Mouseketeers you have stirred me into action. Albeit a slightly different kind of action, with fewer embarrassing aspirations... Here's the stock-standard silly excuse for not posting:
"I was really waiting until my last post had 10 interesting comments but I figure Luke's one makes up for at least three. :P
And Luke's imagining of my day was actually eerily close to the truth. Except for the part about Brenton and I looking for defenseless animals to beat up. Although we did see a cat with a tumor whose appearance was kind of comical. But I didn't laugh. I was too focussed on how I was going to win our race.

Okay, I guess I should explain that one. It was late, we'd been eating Party Mix, and were feeling particularly spritely. One thing led to another and the outcome was a 100m dash at the park right near his house. Had I been wearing the right footwear and concentrated on my technique I would have won. Or alternatively, if Brenton hadn't had a ginormous head-start I would have won also. :P

So what have I been doing? A lot of small-ish things really. Aside from still working at McDonalds (which goes 24 hours this week. Interestingly I think I've finally earned enough respect not to be given the more unfavourable shifts, so that's good.) and being completely head over heels I have...

Ice skated at NewQuay (the Docklands), which was really fun. It was my first time and I didn't fall over!! There's even video footage of my grace and poise and general goodness at being a pro ice-skater. [Thank you to all my friends who had countless birthday parties at Rollerama in Primary School. :)] I want to go again soon. I think there's an ice-rink in Oakleigh? Anyway, that was part of a spectacular evening involving impressive attire, revisited beginnings, fine food, a flower, a note, and unbeatable company.

Been doing the 1000 steps about two times a week, and playing tennis with my brother (I'm up 2-1, suck on it Mark :P), as well as with Brenton, and Ian & Luke R. Sorry for the name dropping Paul. It's in my nature. *helpless shrug* And that sums up my physical activity of late. The steps are really good. I'd recommend them to anyone, at any level of fitness. Hmm, who would I have in mind when I say that? :P (have you all thinking now don't I? haha).

I've been reading. Robin Hobb primarily, and the enthralling "The Last Man" graphic novels that Luke has been lending me. I'm hooked-er than a fish that's addicted to fishing hooks. And Robin seems like a good writer too...

I've been to Gold Class to see Juno where I enjoyed playing with the electric button reclining chairs a little too much. I ate with chopsticks, somewhat proficiently. :P I've jointly procured an investment property. I'm not saying where or what, but it's in the "pipe"-line *overthetop wink*.

I received a somewhat inspiring message from a girl from school, Sam, just yesterday. I hadn't heard from her for a long, long time - probably over a year - so it made the message all the more... significant/meaningful. We had English and Methods together at school, and she became school captain (whereas I was just a lowly prefect :P). Anyway, this is what she said:

"I know I'm slow to catch onto things, but I only just found out u swapped from commerce to writing and i am SO PROUD of u for doing so. I actually shed some tears of joy. I can't wait to read something by dale stephens, you're going to be great xox."

So yeah, that was strangely motivating and... just nice. Kind of reaffirmed some self-belief in my writing abilities that may have been lacking recently. Thanks, Sam, your chance to read something by Dale Stephens could come sooner than you think. [I might tell her about this blog :P].

That's all for now, Paul's gonna be here any second, and I've still got to admire Luke's latest text message to me for another 45 minutes, as well as scout for poor anim... I mean, scout for talent... -ed authors to read. :)

Thanks again for the comments,

Dale.

none of my cousins read my blog... yet

2007-12-24T22:07:00.000+11:00

Mark is in the driver’s seat, Dad’s next to him. Mum and I sit in the back; trying to calm Mark and negate Dad’s unintentional pressuring at the same time. We all look and smell nice. Well, I don’t know how nervous/sweaty Mark became whilst driving us there (L-plates shouting “yellow” and “watch me”, the Renault insignia screaming “I’m supposed to be driven by someone sophisticated and European… or by a man having a mid-life crisis”), but he wasn’t overly odourous later on. It’s the 23^rd of December and a Sunday early evening. We pull up at the White House and de-car. Mark hands the keys to the valet…

Okay so there wasn’t actually a valet service, although that would have been really cool. And it’s not the actual White House… that would have been quite a long drive. We’re at my Aunty and Uncle’s house in Balwyn (think the next Toorak). It’s massive and grand and white, therefore I have coined it the White House. Anyway, we’re there for a Christmas dinner… two days before Christmas. Unconventional, but I’m not going to complain about getting presents early! Scored a new shaver and Will & Grace Season 4 on dvd. Not because I haven’t made a big enough deal about it already, but just because I enjoy mentioning it, my brother got a hair straightener. :) Sorry Mark, but maybe if you read this more often you’d be spared from me revealing embarrassing tidbits about your life. Wait, why am I addressing him if he doesn’t read this?? I suppose there are ways in which he can be forced to read…

To be continued.....

Merry Christmas to you all. Have a great day with lots of presents and good cheer. :)

* * *

Part 2

Since my last post Mark has now generously straightened my hair twicely, and I must say I have grown quite fond of the device. Any mockery implied previously is withdrawn immediately. So we're at my aunt and uncle's house for the Stephens side of the family Christmas shindig. In attendance are:

Cousin Lauren, 19, and her boyfriend of some time Lachie, 20.
Cousin Sean, 17, and his leggy friend Katie, 17.
My aunt and uncle. :P
Mum, Dad, Mark, Me, Grandma.
My aunt's mum, June, and June's twin sister Elaine.

So now you know who was there. And I'm realising how hard this is going to be to explain because no one really knows my family very well... Hmm.
Long story short-ish, Lauren, Sean, Lachie & Katie are like characters straight out of the new hit show on Fox8, Gossip Girl (kinda like the OC except in New York). "So and so said this...", "I'm going to such and such to see ...", "Can you believe that Celine...?!"

Pretty much you're no one until you're talked about. Mark and I just sit back listening in trying to glib information [is glib the right word?]. Occasionally the conversation will halt and we'll be asked a question. But whatever we say always magically spurns another stream of name-dropping and big talking. I'm mystified as to how they do it. Maybe I need more friends... No, they're just freaks. When I think about the amount of networking that must be necessary to keep them in their world of gossip and whatnot, I groan at the effort. Almost everyone I know complains about my lack of swiftness replying to SMSs and the like. I'd stand no chance. So I'll just sit here with my little blog, blogging away like a good little blogger, singing happy blogging songs as I type. (PS I got an ipod for Christmas. It's cool :D Although I suppose it was kind of a slowish acquisition... They've been around how long now?)

We ate salmon and chicken and potatoes and salad and Christmas Pudding and fruit mince pies and I had egg nog and it was yum! A little too yum. I found myself feeling a little extra festive for some reason... I can't quite place it. :)

I shouldn't really say all this stuff about my cousins without mentioning that I went through a period in about year 7-8 when I was really close to Lauren and I really enjoyed her and her friend Harriet (who I dated :P)'s company. And I've been going to the football with Sean with Dad and my uncle for years, and we had some good times/talks and stuff. So yeah, I like em, they're just different. But different isn't something to be afraid of or to unwarrantedly dislike.

Wrote a poem today. ...Felt like I should make it known that I am writing some things in my holidays. Story is kind of stuck again. Although I keep having ideas which is encouraging, should really write them down...

That shall do.

Happy New Years to you!

Dale.

Confrontation

2007-12-12T11:40:00.000+11:00

There we were, Brenton and I, in the leafy, ferny, creek-y, mountainous Dandenongs. We'd reached the top of the 1000 steps and wandered along Tyson's Track. Through the unsettling sap-bleeding trees is a spectacular view that stretches further than any elastic band ever could. Water bottles in hand, and air once again in our lungs, we were almost back at the summit of the arduous steps (which seem a lot less evil on the way down), ready to descend.

"Is that a kookaburra?"

A small brown bird-looking creature was standing motionless in the middle of the path ahead of us. Little did we know, it would be the most fearsome kookaburra that ever lived. As we approached it, getting closer and closer, it didn't move an inch. It just stood there staring us down. We stopped about 3 or 4 metres from it. A stand-off of epic proportions ensued, a la Gandalf's "You shall not pass!", the kookaburra being Gandalf. In an act of sheer courage, I threw my water bottle just next to it, hoping it would fly away. The Gandalfburra didn't blink an eye. Resilient, fearless, it continued to block our path. Brenton, realising that my water bottle was now probably lost for all eternity, tried splashing it with the water from his. His efforts, too, were futile. We were beginning to lose hope. Turning back was not an option, we had travelled too far on weary legs.

Somehow, heroically, Brenton scooted past (thanks largely I think to a diversion created by me). He retrieved a dead branch from the ground and used it to roll my water bottle towards him. Then I mustered up the courage to confront the gallant bird-wizard and in a mental power-struggle/battle involving concentration and squinting, I passed through the forcefield and onto the other side.

But in all seriousness, we became quite worried for the poor bird. It was clearly in a severe case of shock, and looked as if it were quite young. I wasn't sure if it was blind, couldn't fly, or had been abandoned by its mother or something. There really wasn't much we could do for it though. At least it got some water when Brenton splashed it. I hoped that the wrong kind of people wouldn't come across it and well... You can imagine the rest. It was just such an odd sight/experience. We looked back at little Gandalf as we walked away, but it didn't move whilst it was within our sight.

Dale.

Hehe

2007-12-07T12:59:00.000+11:00

A little bit of Family Guy can brighten up any day.

How well do You know You?

2007-12-05T19:43:00.000+11:00

I have this perception of myself - of how I like to think that I am. My attributes, qualities, quirks, etc. But how reliable is that view? Isn't it inherently biased? Because if you think of yourself positively, you'll be happier right? Am I ignorant to the real Dale? Do I have glaringly obvious flaws that everyone can see except myself? Or am I somewhat conscious of them but in some kind of beneficial denial? A lot questions, but I think questioning is what could shed some light on the answer.

I'd say I'm a pretty positive person 95% of the time, believing the best about myself and others. But when I learn that I've been hurting the people closest to me, and not even realising it, it shakes me up! It's made me try to step outside of myself and suss out what's going wrong; I've taken off my rose-coloured glasses so to speak. It'll make life less fun in the short run, but however difficult it is, I hope it's ultimately for the best. So far I haven't found anything that I would be able to change, and it may be that I end up not changing anything at all at this point in my life. It might just need to happen by itself.

Whatever.

Bleh.

"Dale"

PS. It's me with my mum's glasses on for those who couldn't see through my brilliant disguise. :)

Prammed Down

2007-11-29T18:24:00.000+11:00

There I was minding my own business at Knox food court with Kiel (whilst talking to Kate, Chris & Luke from work/work/school&work) who we'd just bumped into, when SCREECH! CRASH! BANG! A man with a pram runs over my foot! My thong is dislodged and comes to settle in its place on the ground in slow motion. A look of anguish appears on my face and...

Okay maybe that's a little dramatic and a smidge exaggerated. And I may or may not have been sticking my foot back out behind me kinda wildly as a precursor to the event. BUT, the point remains: I was run over by a pram. This is quite an accomplishment I think. Not quite sure that it will serve to help me in any bragging rights but it might be a good one for that "I never..." drinking game. Yeah, I'm set. :)

I wonder if the little baby who was inside will develop a taste for running things down now? Probably not. Although I am thankful the baby didn't rocket out of the pram because of the impact, resulting in someone having to do a desperate lunge-save-catch.

And it was all cool, the man quickly apologised to me and I did the same. At least he didn't pram-hit and run. :P When I turned back to my friends it was a little embarrassing, but hey, what are ya gonna do? Besides stand like a normal person, that is.

Dale... has learned his lesson.

DISCovery

2007-11-25T16:51:00.000+11:00

As far as clever titles go I think I’ve truly out-done myself with this one…

Thursday morning I awake at 4.40am in preparation for my 5.30 start at maccas. I was going to write a post “How to do an ‘open’ shift at McDonalds” but thought better of it. So here’s the abridged version! :p

Turn on fry vats, affix the drink nozzles to the drink machines, start up the espresso machine, fill milk of espresso machine, make up berrynice yoghurts & bases for real fruit smoothies & garden salads, brew filter coffee, bring up hash browns from freezer and get them ready for cooking, retrieve breakfast stuffs like jam, hotcake syrup, knives/forks etc, fill ice, make a fresh cloth bucket, check there’s enough stock to last for a couple of hours, make a stock list, get changed, count a cash draw, put on a headset, and be ready to start taking orders at 6.00! Thirty minutes is not a lot of time to get that achieved. I can tell you!

I finish working at 2.00.

I go home and eat something.

I head to JB at Knox with Mum and we buy a really cool Pioneer MP3/CD tuner unit (with a sleek blue display) and two speakers for my car. Set a date for installation a week or two before December 25^th and there we have my main Christmas present.

I take it out of the box and look at it when I get home, skimming through the instructions and reading about the features and everything. I’m suitably impressed.

I pick up Paul at 8.30 – we’re going to Next. He tries to adjust his seat.

“I think I just found your CD player…”

He gets out and peers into the space below the passenger seat.

He discovers a 6 stacker Pioneer CD player.

I guffaw.

Had the car for three weeks and didn’t know.

Am now waiting until I find an in-car DVD player/GPS navigator/mini-fridge.

Pick up Kate and drive into the city listening to the new Jimmy Eat World on my sneaky CD player. Having a good night at Next with friends from my first highschool. Alan tackles Sean to the ground spilling a drink all over someone I didn’t know. But it is cool. There is a bit of jostling for the affections of a young girl. I’m entertained. Paul wears freaky contact lenses and tells everyone he has cancer. :)

Drive home with original people plus Kaitelyn. She explains the spelling but I forget. My car loses its drive-thru virginity whilst under my ownership – I’m back at a McDonalds again. The silly drive thru boy forgets to give us Sweet & Sour sauce. Drive past my old house and all of the schools I’ve ever been too. I become nostalgic but not so much so that I drift into the other lane and collide with another car. No, all my passengers remain unsquished. I deliver them home safely.

I excitedly write a note to Mum when I get home at about 3.00am for her to read in the morning.

I sleep.

Jury

2007-11-20T17:25:00.000+11:00

So I've had hundreds of little thoughts over my period of non-blogging which have made me go "Ooh I should really blog about that," in an 'Honestly I do have a life' kind of way. However lists have never really done much for me, and therefore a lot has been forgotten. I would try to rectify this situation by making a list of things to improve on (ie. writing more lists) but nah mate... Nah. :)

The holidays are upon me! Not like straddling my chest / physically on me holding me down and... Okay where was I going with that? I have a car and it still goes and assists me in getting places. Not with getting the lay-dees though.... Yet. I've been working and earning money so I can do things. I worked on Monday night when it was hot city, with a capital city (hahaha, sorry sorry sorry). There were hundreds of bugs swarming outside my drive-thru window having mid-air orgies or getting high on light fixture. Every time I opened the window I would be assaulted and end up spluttering and being all pffft pffft pffft-like. Got well acquainted with the cheeses, assorted vegetables and ice cream syrup in the walk-in fridge.

Jury duty is on my mind. I don't think I have an issue with the actual process or what it involves, but the fact that it could coincide with my trip to Rye is a niggling annoyance. I thought being selected at 20 was pretty bad, but one of my brother's friends who turned 18 in September got called up too. Perhaps if I act all angry and disagreeable when the jurors are being selected I'll be... whatchamacalled... challenged, and sent home. Now, to practice my angry face. Grrr!

So far these hols... Had a visit from Elliott, my friend from Queensland. Went up Eureka Tower, 88 levels, and was tempted to msg everyone I knew and say "I bet I'm higher than you right now." Good thing I don't really have any druggy friends. Also went to the casino a couple of times. Was tempted by blackjack and texas hold em on the virtual tables again but refrained. Not even one poker machine did I insert my coin into. So good. *readjusts halo* :P [yeah so what if I stole it Brenton, I saw no copyright!]

Beached on Sunday, burnt back but it's faded quickly into a splotchy uneven tan. Not sure what's worse! Why did no one lotion my back?? Grr at Dave & Jayme and etc.

Saw a bizarre movie with Paul yesterday entitled 'Gabriel'. Purgatory. Angels in human form. Guns. Loss. Loyalty. Love. Good triumphing over evil through numerous murders. Perplexing I must say. Dialogue was almost laughable, but some scenes were shot really well. Especially one where gun shots illuminate the otherwise darkened room and you only see flashes and yeah I can't explain very well but it was cool. Inspired me in a weird way.

Today I saw Kiel for lunch, then went round to Jess' place for a swim/barbeque/wii. There were super-soakers and inflatable dolphins. An undeniable recipe for fun. Poor Rach took a lot of it in the face. Oh the trauma.

So yes, keeping busy and enjoying my days. Even if my nights are uncomfortable because of back burnage.

This has been a live Daley News update from the recesses of Dale's mind.

Until next time, I'm Dale Stephens, and don't you forget it!

Chapter 16 – The Aftermath

2007-11-14T18:13:00.001+11:00

Cindy watches Heath lie peacefully in the hospital’s bed. His white sheets and hospital gown make him look so angelic. She hears the systematic beep of a machine that does so every five seconds and stays in her seat. She looks at her watch; it’s been three hours now. Three hours that she’s been waiting by his side. But she would wait forever for him if she had to; it was because of him that she was still alive. “He’s so brave,” Cindy thought to herself, again.

She thought of the statue, which she had destroyed. She didn’t know how she never lost that ring. She’d forgotten about it when she’d first met Heath, that day he’d been the only thing on her mind. She didn’t know if destroying the statue was a great idea, but if there was a possibility that evil could be done, she supposed it was for the best. And of course, now that the statue had been destroyed, her power was gone. Just like Callie’s, Chelley’s, Amy’s, and Heath’s. She didn’t mind all that much. There was something not right about her power anyway, that rage was unnatural.

She thought of Mr. Hartono. He was probably in a jail cell somewhere, waiting for his court trial. Amy told her that he’d been denied bail. The world was now a better place, and it was thanks to her. She’d never imagined that something so extraordinary and amazing could happen to her. But it didn’t come without it's down sides. Her Mum gone, Heath seriously injured, and all the attention she’d been getting.

Things weren’t so bad for her though. She'd decided to move in with Callie, Chelley and Amy and she got on well with them. They are her family now and they’re the best family because they understand. They understand why she feels the way she does, does the things she does and most importantly, who she really is.

Callie recovered well from her injury, Amy told her so about twenty minutes ago. Cindy was glad to hear that. She was probably closer to Amy than the others, after a shaky start with her, they’d become really good friends, almost like sisters. But Heath was the one she was closest to.

Cindy looked at her watch again; it read 3/5/02 across the top. It was her birthday. She’d forgotten all about it. She’d lost track of time all together in the past few days.

How could her life take such a dramatic turn in so little time? It would make a good story to tell. Heath was stirring…

He opened his eyes a fraction; Cindy could tell that that was a huge effort for him. “Heath,” she called out his name.

“Cindy,” he was breathing heavily.

“Heath don’t talk if it hurts,” she advised him, caringly.

He smiled at her and she could see what he wanted to say in his wonderful eyes, “I love you too, Heath.”

“Heath you’re gonna be just fine. The doctor said so and…” she paused. “You don’t need to hear this, I’ll stop.”

“Go on,” he voiced fatigued.

“It’s my birthday today,” she informed him.

He looked at her so lovingly just then, and Cindy could tell he was about to do something, he was moving. “Heath, what are you doing? You don’t have enough energy.”

“Yes I do,” he told her. Cindy leant closer to him and he put an arm around her neck and pulled her slowly towards him. Their lips met and Cindy and Heath felt an unbelievable feeling of joy burst inside of them for those couple of seconds. Heath’s arm dropped back down again. He’d used up all of his strength. Cindy put it back underneath his blanket and ran her hand across his cheek.

After a few moments she whispered, “That was the best birthday present ever,” in his ear. She leant her head on his chest. It went up and down with its gentle rising and falling.

THE END

Chapter 15 - Inspiration

2007-11-12T18:30:00.000+11:00

Time stopped in front of Cindy's eyes. She saw Heath freeze, rain stop falling and bullets stop in mid-air. “Cindy, it’s me,” she heard her mum’s voice say.

“Mum, where are you?” she stood up and started looking around.

“You can’t see me Cindy, but that doesn’t matter. All that matters is I’m here and I’m helping you.” Her mum said.

“Mum, I miss you so much!” Cindy called out.

“I miss you too honey, but I’ve been watching over you, and I’m very proud of you.”

“You are?”

“Yes Cindy, your father and I couldn’t be any prouder. We believe in you Cindy, and all you have to do is believe in yourself. If you believe in yourself, you’ll be able to use your power and save everyone here. Look at Heath. Look at Callie, Brant, Chelley and Amy. They need you.”

Cindy looked at Heath, who was still holding his arm and grimacing in pain. She looked at Callie and Chelley, who had rolled down the bank, unconscious and also in pain. It looked like Callie had broken her leg. Amy and Brant were huddled together on the ground amidst the shooters. “Okay mum,” she replied, determined.

“Honey, we love you, enjoy the rest of your life,” her mum farewelled her.

“Yes mum, I will. Love you two too!”

Cindy stood up and prepared herself but time started again faster than she expected. And before she knew it, there was a bullet flying at her! She started to spread her arms and look up towards the sky, but she wasn’t going to do it in time.

“Cindy!” Heath yelled out and dived in front of her, taking the bullet.

Cindy kept her preparation going and the scream came and soon enough the white light came with it. She concentrated as hard as she could. She had to make sure none of them were left. She finished and the men were all on the ground.

Brant and Amy were still getting to their feet when she saw Chelley struggling to carry Callie up the hill. But her first priority was Heath. She bent down on her knees and felt for his pulse. He was still alive, but in his last moments. He was saying something, “Speak up Heath, I can’t hear you!” she said looking into his eyes. The rain made it impossible for her to hear, but she could tell he wanted her to get the statue. She ran over to it, picked it up and carried it back to Heath.

“Now what?” she asked.

“Destroy it, I want this to be over,” he willed.

The ring, Cindy desperately searched her pockets. She’d forgotten all about it! Her fingers touched something, she grabbed it and pulled it out of her pocket. The opal on top of the ring glistened in the rain.

She studied the statue, looking for something that the ring could do. Her fingers probed the statue all over, but she couldn’t find any places for the ring. “Put it on,” a freakish voice instructed her. “Go on, put it on,” the voice whispered again.

Cindy had a feeling that she was the only one who could hear this voice, and she was desperate, so she did what she was told and slid the ring onto her index finger.

Bright colours flashed all around her and started to swirl in different patterns, making Cindy feel nauseous. She felt like she was being taken somewhere, to a sacred place.

Suddenly she was in a place that looked like an ancient temple. “Cindy,” the freakish voice called out to her, “Turn around.”

She turned around and jumped back, for there was a half-elephant half-human standing behind her, smiling creepily. “What do you want?” she asked it.

“It’s not what I want, it’s what you want. You want to destroy me.” The creature looked down at her, it was very tall.

“Yes, that’s true, what are you going to do about it?” Cindy challenged.

“No, no. Don’t worry. I’m glad that you are doing this. My purpose was not to be used for evil, or good,” the creature turned its head to one side.

“I don’t understand,” Cindy answered; the tomb was freaking her out.

“I don’t expect you to, look,” the creature pointed with its trunk at its forehead. There was an empty space there. “You know what to do.”

Cindy looked at the ring on her finger, then at the creature again. “I’m glad someone as brave as you is going to do this,” the creature admitted. “The ring has another purpose you know…” the elephant-human looked deep into her eyes. “Do it!” It screeched, suddenly irate. Cindy clenched her fist and gently placed the opal part of the ring in its forehead.

The colours whirled around her again and she was taken back to Maree Park, rain coming down steadily on her head. She was still bending over Heath, but the statue was gone.

“Good work,” he spluttered, then went still.

“Heath, no!” Cindy shouted and started shaking his shoulders. All of a sudden she remembered what the statue had told her, the ring had another purpose. Could it save Heath? She thought back to when it looked her in the eyes.

Her hand started moving towards Heath’s, and Cindy knew what to do. She put the ring on Heath’s finger. Suddenly his eyes opened, “Cindy,” he murmured, his eyes still closed. He was alive!

Chapter 14 – Sabotage

2007-11-10T15:29:00.000+11:00

Mr. Hartono walked briskly towards Maree Park, he was already late. “Hopefully my men will be able to keep it up,” he said, thinking of the factory. He had a feeling that they wouldn’t be able to.

He saw the Protector sitting on a park bench, he was fidgeting and looked like he was about to leave. It was starting to get dark and Mr. Hartono felt the cold wind blow against his face, and clutched his coat tighter. He walked up to the target and looked around for Rye. He saw someone move in a bush nearby. “Rye I’m counting on you and your men, don’t let me down.” He’d told him before leaving for the factory.

“I won’t sir, and I’ll let you know I’m there,” He’d replied.

Just before he sat down next to the Protector someone bumped into him and looked into his eyes. It was Rye, and he was here.

“Hello Mr. Hartono,” the Protector greeted him in his thick Russian accent. “How have you been?”

“Good. Now down to business…” Mr. Hartono stopped. If Rye had bumped into him then who had been in the bushes?

“What is it Hartono?” the Protector inquired.

“Oh nothing,” Mr. Hartono shook his head, all these inane worries. What was becoming of him? “Why did you want to see me?”

“I have something to discuss with you.”

“Yes?” Mr. Hartono responded, what was that rustling behind him? He hadn’t given the signal yet.

“I am not happy. You see my life has become one of killing and cold heartedness. I suppose it has been all along, but I’ve only just realised it lately.” The Protector explained.

“We all have some troubles with the position we are born into, but it is our destiny, old friend,” Mr. Hartono was becoming paranoid, and he couldn’t listen to this incessant babble any longer. He was about to give the signal when a loud boom came from the lake. Mr. Hartono and the Protector stopped talking and both looked down towards it.

The distraction had worked and now Amy and Brant had to jump the two sitting on the bench. They came up from behind and started to strangle them, the two immediately struggled.

“What’s happening?” the Protector yelled out in alarm.

“I don’t know,” Mr. Hartono coughed. He was feeling dizzy, “Rye, where are you?”

The Protector wasn’t in quite as bad a position as Mr. Hartono and he managed to fling Brant over his head and make him fall awkwardly onto the gravel path in front of him.

Chelley and Callie approached the Protector, just as Mr. Hartono passed out.

“Help!” Amy cried out from behind him. Some men in dark clothes had grabbed her; it looked like there were five in all.

“Amy!” Callie called to her in distress. That moment's distraction was all the Protector needed, he made a motion with his hands and Callie flew backwards and starting rolling down the bank towards the lake. Chelley just watched in horror.

Brant got to his feet again and headed towards Amy, trying to save her. But the men pulled out rifles and pointed them at him. He was no match for them so he put his hands on his head and fell down to his knees in surrender.

Chelley tried to use her power against the Protector, but he was too strong for her and she too was pushed back down the bank like a rag doll.

Heath and Cindy were the only ones left and they were about to get up to confront the Protector when something unexpected happened. The men who had captured Amy and Brant started shooting at the Protector. A few bullets connected and he fell to the ground, dead. The men who had shot him searched his body and found the statue.

“Cindy quickly! We can’t let them get the statue.” Heath ordered.

They rushed to their feet and started running towards the men with the statue. It was dark and hard to see and to make things worse it started raining. Cindy saw Heath pull out a gun from his pocket and take aim at one of them. He hit him in the leg. The other men noticed them and started shooting too. “Get down!” Heath yelled at her. They hit the ground at the same time. “Cindy you have to use your power!” Heath told her.

“I can’t,” she said, “I’ve tried but I can’t!”

“Cindy I know you can… ah!” He screamed. He’d been shot.

“Heath!” she shouted.

“Don’t worry about me, use your power!” he pleaded while clutching his arm.

Chapter 13 - Rescue

2007-11-09T14:15:00.001+11:00

“Alright, there’s two guards,” Heath said turning his head back towards the girls from the corridor. “And they’re about twenty metres along. I’m not sure if they’re armed.”

“Keep your voice down Heath!” Cindy cautioned.

“I think we should plan a diversion and get them to split up,” Chelley suggested.

“Good idea, but how?” Heath asked uncertainly, quieter this time.

“There has to be another way around,” Chelley said hopefully.

“Why don’t we get one of them to come to us?” Cindy put forth. “Then we could ambush him, and the second guy, when he comes to check on the first guy.”

“But they might call for help,” Heath warned.

“It’s a risk we might have to take,” Chelley answered, “And it’s probably the fastest way of getting in.”

“Someone’s going to have to run across to the other side of the corridor for it to work properly.” Heath determined, he was doubtful the plan would work.

“I’ll do it,” Cindy volunteered.

“Are you sure Cindy?” asked Chelley, a little concerned, “It could be dangerous if you give us away.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Cindy said generously.

“Okay, on three,” Heath instructed reluctantly, Cindy broke away from the huddle. “One, two, three!” He counted her in and she dashed across to the other side of the corridor as quickly as she could.

Heath gave her the thumbs up then hit the wall with his hand to draw the guard towards them; it worked.

“Did you hear that?” One of the guards said to the other.

“Yeah, I better go and check it out.”

Cindy could hear the guard’s footsteps slowly becoming louder and louder, then she could see him approaching. Just before he turned the corner to where Heath and Chelley were waiting, Cindy grabbed him from behind, put her hand around his mouth and pushed him towards them. Cindy prayed that the other guard hadn’t seen her. Heath knocked him out and searched him for a weapon. He found a silenced gun and a walkie-talkie. He shoved the gun into his pocket and said into the walkie-talkie, in his most guard-like voice, “Mate, you better come and check this out.”

He got a reply, “I’ll be right there, over.”

Seeing as this guard wasn’t as suspicious, he was easier to confront. They basically did the same thing. Luckily Heath didn’t have to resort to using the gun.

The three tiptoed up to the door that the guards had been guarding then paused, “What are we going to do when we get in?” Cindy asked curiously.

“Chelley and I will use our powers to deter any guards and you can try to sneak over to Callie, so she can use her power, then free Amy and Brant.” Heath announced.

Chelley nodded, “We can do this, I know we can.”

“On three?” Heath chuckled.

“Alright.” Cindy and Chelley agreed.

“One, two, three!” They whispered together.

Heath burst into the room closely followed by Chelley. He didn’t waste any time getting started, already taking aim at the nearest bad guy. Chelley did too. Cindy noticed immediately that her three friends were tied to chairs in the middle of the room. She dashed over to Callie, ducking her head and trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. She started undoing the ropes, but to her alarm Callie was unconscious, lying limp in the chair; Cindy would make them pay for this. She also noticed that Heath and Chelley weren’t going too well and that an Asian man was watching them, laughing.

“I bet that’s Hartono,” Cindy thought to herself. She kept on crouching behind Callie’s chair, trying make her wake up, but she wouldn’t. Things still weren’t going very well for the others, because Heath was hunched up on the ground, Chelley had been backed into the corner of the room and Amy and Brant were struggling in their chairs, a muscular man standing in front of them.

What could Cindy do? This was not going to plan. They were all done for. She had to do something, something spectacular. They couldn’t come this far and then lose.

All of a sudden she felt a power growing inside of her, trying to escape. She started having convulsions until she couldn’t take it anymore. She stood up and let out a deafening scream.

“It’s happening!” Brant said ecstatically from his chair.

Cindy stopped screaming and she felt this rage inside of her, she was full of confidence; nothing could stand in her way. She outstretched her arms either side of her and looked up towards the roof. The walls started shaking and all Mr. Hartono’s men stopped what they were doing and turned to face her. Everything went quiet. An amazing white light suddenly blasted out of Cindy’s hands and mouth and engulfed the whole room. When the light subsided, Mr. Hartono’s men were sprawled on the floor, but where was Mr. Hartono? He’d gotten away.

Cindy put her arms by her sides and looked down from the roof. Had she done this? Yes! She’d discovered her power, and what an amazing one at that. It felt so amazing in those few moments when she was full of confidence and energy. But now she felt a little drained, a little tired.

Her friends gingerly all got to their feet and smiled at her after wiping a shocked look off their faces, Callie had come to. One by one they patted her on the back or hugged her. “I’m glad everyone’s okay,” Cindy said jovially.

“Cindy that was…” Amy stopped, lost for words. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied.

“People, we have a meeting to sabotage. Would anyone happen to know where it is?” Brant questioned, looking in Callie’s direction.

“Maree Park,” Callie certified.

“Alright then, let’s go.” Brant paused, then addressed the group once more. “I’d just like to let everyone know that I’m very proud of all of you.”

They all headed out of the factory, together once more. But it was really for the first time, Cindy thought to herself. She noticed that Heath and Brant were talking quietly to each other a lot, and Brant put his arm around Heath lovingly a few times. She wished that her Dad was there to do that.

Chapter 12 – Stratton Factory

2007-11-08T16:43:00.000+11:00

“You look funny,” Heath jeered.

“How many times are you gonna say that?” Cindy replied, tired of his immaturity.

“I dunno,” Heath shrugged. “You don’t look as funny as the taxi driver though, eh?”

“Yeah he was hilarious! I don’t think he understood English very well.” Cindy responded, amused. She was wearing a brown overcoat that was at least three sizes too big, her denim skirt and a baseball cap low over her eyes, which were hidden behind sunglasses.

Heath hadn’t had to change; he was still wearing his baggy blue shorts and red Hang Ten t-shirt. “It can’t be much further,” he complained.

“Don’t tell me you’re tired!” Cindy said in disbelief, “And no it shouldn’t be much further. I think we should start being careful,” Cindy advised whilst looking at all the industrial buildings surrounding her and Heath.

“Okay then,” Heath acknowledged.

The pair kept walking along the one-way street. They walked past lots of buildings, and most of them looked the same, except for one that Cindy pointed out. “That’s it,” she declared, pointing to a bigger factory than the ones they had past.

“How do you know?” Heath queried.

“I remember it from my vision,” Cindy smiled mischievously; she always did that when she lied.

“Oh,” Heath said, seemingly impressed.

“No you idiot! I read the sign, see?” Cindy admitted through her laughing at Heath. “You’re so gullible!”

“Yeah, yeah, the jokes on me, but I think we should be more serious now,” Heath said responsibly. Cindy shivered. Heath noticed and asked, “What is it?”

“You’re starting to sound like me,” she answered.

They came to the front of the building, it was fenced off and there was only a heavy gate that would be impossible to move. “Great, what are we going to do now?” Cindy said in disappointment. The gate was too high to climb over.

“Cindy, come here.” Heath called her over to a spot at the end of the fence where a bit of the wire was pushed in. He pushed it a bit harder and opened just enough to let the through. “Looks like Chelley’s handiwork,” he proclaimed. “After you,” Heath gestured that he wanted Cindy to go in first.

“Thanks,” she smiled at him. He was so charming.

She’d only taken a few steps in when someone jumped at her from a ditch with their hands out in front of them. “Stay back!” warned a desperate looking girl. It was Chelley!
“Oh, thank goodness it’s you,” Chelley sniffled when she recognised them, and stood back a bit.

Cindy had to catch her balance before she could ask Chelley a question, but even then she had to wait. Chelley collapsed onto her shoulder and started crying, “It’s all my fault,” she wailed.

“Chelley, calm down. Where are Amy and Brant?” Cindy inquired, patting her on the back.

“They’re gone, Amy and Brant are gone. They’ve captured them!” she howled heavyhearted.

“Chelley, it’s going to be okay,” Heath consoled her. “How many of them were there?”

Chelley sniffled again, “Two. I only just got away. Oh I hope they’re alright.”

“They’ll be fine, but we have get moving now if we want to rescue them,” Cindy put forth.

“You’re right, let’s go,” Chelley agreed, a determined look now on her face.

The three of them, Cindy at the front, Chelley in the middle and Heath at the rear, set off through a winding path between construction tools and sheds. When they came to a rather large open space Chelley said, “This is where it happened.” Cindy noticed that there was a tree in the centre of the opening.

“What’s a tree doing here?” Heath questioned.

“That’s what we were trying to figure out,” Chelley explained, “Then they ambushed us. They just appeared out of nowhere, it was terrible.”

“There’s no time for the tree now. Everyone be on the lookout,” Cindy said cautiously.

Cindy was in command, and, to her surprise, it came naturally to her.

As they were walking past the tree everyone was on the lookout for places where people could be hiding, but couldn’t spot any. They couldn’t hear anything either, apart from the wind rustling the leaves of the tree and some machine working in the distance. Cindy turned around to face the others, “Looks like it’s all clear,” she whispered. But she spoke too soon. Two men suddenly appeared behind Chelley and Heath. Cindy screamed, “Behind you!”

Heath was the first to react and he turned around to face them, just in time. He blocked a kick from the one on the left, and gave him a decent punch to the side of the head, throwing him off balance. Chelley was a little slower to react but also just turned around in time to weave under an aggressive blow from the one on the right.

The attackers came at them again and Heath and Chelley looked at each other, formed an understanding of some type, then stood next to each other with their hands open facing their opponents. Heath and Chelley braced themselves then pushed forwards with their hands. Chelley’s attacker flew backwards and banged his head against a shed; he was out cold, Heath’s attacker looked like some imaginary chains were holding him back; he couldn’t move anywhere. Heath went up to him and hit him over the head.

“A job well done,” Heath grinned at Chelley.

“Yeah, good work. What did you think Cindy?” Chelley quizzed.

Cindy was speechless. And when she finally thought of what to say she went up to Heath and Chelley and put an arm around each of them, “That was great. I’m sorry I couldn’t help.”

“Don’t worry,” Heath said cheerfully, “You’ll find your power soon enough.”

“I think I can help now, though,” Cindy proclaimed. “I think I know the way to the factory.”

“Great, lead on!” Chelley enthused, she was slowly returning to her old self again. In fact, everyone’s spirits seemed to have lightened. They were a team, and a good one at that.

Chapter 11 – First Impressions

2007-11-06T12:21:00.000+11:00

When Cindy became conscious again she realised that she was lying in her bed. She also got the awful feeling that she was not alone. How ironic, she was afraid of being alone and yet she was also afraid of not being alone.

She didn’t want to open her eyes but what if she was in danger? She sensed that this other person was in her room. It must be Chelley or Amy. Brant? No, she didn’t think so. She tried not to stir and pretended to still be asleep, but it didn’t seem to work.

“Who are they?” asked an unfamiliar male voice. Cindy felt like the question was directed at her. Was it?

“Come on, I know you’re awake, who are these people?” the voice asked again persistently. Yes it was.

Cindy opened her eyes, she was facing the window and it was still light outside. She sat up and saw a boy about her age sitting at the desk holding some photos in his hands. The photos were the ones she had dropped when Brant knocked on the door. He didn’t appear to be threatening. “They were my family,” she informed this mysterious person, feeling a bit uncomfortable.

“Were?” asked the boy.

“They’re dead now,” Cindy told him. Cindy felt that this boy was not a stranger, she knew him from somewhere.

“Oh, sorry. Well they were just lying on the floor,” he said sympathetically, regretful that he asked the question. “You should take better care of them, they must be real important to you.”

“I will,” Cindy responded.

He must have realised that Cindy was feeling uncomfortable, because he stood up and introduced himself, “Hi, my name’s Heath, I’m Brant’s son. You do know who Brant is?”

“Hi, yeah I do, I’m Cindy,” she answered. He was quite handsome Cindy thought to herself. Wait a minute! This was the boy from her other dream! That’s where she’d seen him before. Cindy calmed herself, “What are you doing here?” Cindy got out of bed and noticed that she was still in her clothes, thank goodness for that.

“Oh, Dad told me to come and look after you, and tell you what he was doing.” Heath explained. He walked over to Cindy and handed her the photos. “You were pretty cute,” he said, indicating the picture of Cindy and her mum at the beach.

“Were?” Cindy challenged.

“Still are,” Heath replied. He walked out of her room and Cindy followed him into the kitchen, smiling. He leant on the kitchen bench.

“Were you in my room the whole time?” Cindy asked, taking a seat at the counter.

“Yeah. I was pretty much watching you sleep,” he answered sarcastically.

“Really?” Cindy questioned.

“No!” he denied. “Well just for a few minutes… Anyway, Dad, Chelley and Amy have gone to the factory place,” he said, trying to change the topic. “Would you like a drink?” He seemed to be relieved about getting that cleared up.

“No thanks I’m right. What time did they leave?” Cindy couldn’t believe how well she was getting on with this person. It was as if they’d been good friends for a while.

“About an hour, hour and a half ago. It’s about 12:30 now,” he said looking down at his watch. “I’ve got a bad feeling though, I think we should go and check if they’re okay,” he advised.

“Are you sure?” Cindy queried. “I don’t think I can go anywhere ‘cause I’m…”

“You’re wanted by the police, I know,” Heath cut her off. “But I don’t know if I can do it without you, I’m really worried about them.”

Cindy couldn’t resist his appealing expression; “Do you know where the factory is?”

“No, but I’m pretty sure there are some Yellow Pages in there,” he pointed to the study.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Go get them.” Cindy instructed.

Heath and Cindy started flipping through the Yellow Pages, “It’s called the Stratton factory,” Cindy told him.

“Okay,” he replied, “What a weird name!”

“Yeah, pretty strange, huh?” Cindy added.

Cindy wasn’t really sure if Heath knew about the powers and everything, but it turned out she didn’t have to worry about asking him. “Wanna see something cool?” Heath grinned at her, flashing perfectly straight teeth.

“I s’pose,” Cindy responded.

Heath held out his hands over the phone book and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath in then started muttering some words to himself. Cindy looked down and noticed that the pages of the phone book were turning! And Heath was doing it without touching them! The pages stopped flipping and near the middle of the left page ‘Stratton Factory’ was printed in big bold letters. “Here we are,” Heath announced, satisfied with himself.

“That’s amazing!” Cindy praised.

“Thanks,” he bent further down to get a closer look at the address. “Write this down, will you?”

“Sure.” Here was Cindy kneeling down next to someone she’d only met a few minutes ago, and yet she felt so safe and comfortable, like she would do anything for him. Cindy scribbled the address down on a notepad, then tore off the sheet and handed it to Heath.

“Looks like we’ll need a street directory now!” Heath laughed. “You’re getting it this time, though!”

“Fine,” Cindy conceded, and walked off into the study in search of a Melways.

Cindy had found a great friend in Heath, just as Heath had in Cindy. Perhaps deep down Cindy wanted more than his friendship, but she’d have to wait and see. She looked back at him from the study. His wild brown hair, playful eyes, tanned skin, great teeth, great personality, and friendly voice. He looked up at her and smiled, she nearly melted. “I wonder what he wants,” she whispered to herself.

When Cindy stopped looking at him, Heath started listing all the wonderful things about her in his head. Her eyes, her hair, her voice…

Chapter 10 - Maree Park

2007-11-05T12:02:00.000+11:00

When the boot of the car opened again she squinted, unaccustomed to the light. To her alarm, when her eyes did adjust, she saw a gun was pointed right at her. “Get out,” she was ordered.

“Okay, okay,” Callie obeyed. She looked around - she was in some sort of factory. There were big, heavy, metallic pipes everywhere and construction tools positioned around the room. It was cold.

“Sorry missy, we’ll have to put this on you,” one of the other men from the car informed her. He put a blindfold over her eyes, and she was left in darkness again. “This way.” She was led somewhere, and she lost track of which way she was facing. Thankfully these people didn’t walk her into any walls.

“Why are you taking me here?” she asked in distress.

“Sorry, we can’t say.” Was the only reply.

All of a sudden she heard whispering and she was taken into another room, she could tell because the temperature grew a little warmer, then a new pair of hands led her to a chair where she was instructed to sit. She did as she was told and felt ropes being tied around her. “What on earth are they doing?” Callie thought to herself.

Callie had to wait a few minutes before anyone said anything to her. After those few minutes, which felt like hours, she heard an older man’s voice, “Welcome, ahh, what’s your name dear?” the voice asked with insincere interest.

“Callie,” she answered, there was no point in lying.

“Welcome Callie, I am pleased to meet you. I’ve been waiting to meet one of you three for quite some time now,” said the mysterious, faceless voice.

“What do you mean?” she questioned, trying her best to look genuinely stumped, which was hard when you had a blindfold on.

“You know what I mean. Don’t be daft with me, girl! Now, you might as well see who I am.”

“Phillips, remove the blindfold off the young lady,” the voice commanded.

Sure enough the blindfold was removed and Callie saw an Asian man wearing a business suit standing in front of her. The voice had a face at last. “And you are?” she questioned.

“Does the name Hartono, ring a bell?” he smiled destructively.

“You… you’re him?” Callie stuttered, a shocked look appeared on her face.

“Yes, it is true. You’re lucky, you’re the first one of the little brats to have the pleasure of meeting me,” he said conceitedly.

“You are so up yourself,” Callie said with a sudden hatred. It was time to outsmart him, time to use her power. She didn’t care how much it hurt; she had to get an advantage over him. She concentrated and, yes, she had it!

Just as Mr. Hartono was going to say something, Callie interrupted him, “No, I have a proposition for you.”

Mr. Hartono gawked at her, “My-my, you are a smart one. Go on, what’s your deal?”

“Untie me, I need to show you,” Callie explained, hoping that he was dumb enough to fall for it.

“Nice try, Kelly,” she wasn’t in luck.

“It’s Callie,” she corrected.

“Callie, whatever. How foolish do you think I am? Now you listen to me.” Mr. Hartono scratched his head. “Now, I didn’t want to have to do this, but I’m afraid I have no choice. You see I have to be at a very important meeting today…”

“Where?” interrupted Callie.

“None of your business, I’m afraid.” She read his mind again, Maree Park. Somehow, she had to tell the others.

“Oww,” she winced. Her power was hurting her head again.

“Aww, in pain are we? Well you’ll be in even more pain unless you tell me where your friends are.” Mr. Hartono said unsympathetically

“Larry, can you come out here. I want you to meet somebody,” he beckoned to someone hiding in a dark corner of the room.

“Larry, Callie. Callie, Larry.” Mr. Hartono introduced. “Larry is a good friend of mine.” He went on, grinning at her, “You’ll like Larry.”

The man who walked from the corner of the room looked like he was a bodybuilder or a wrestler because he was so muscular. He cracked his knuckles whilst walking over to her. Mr. Hartono did the talking, “If you’re smart you’ll tell me where your friends are and what they’re doing. If you’re not, Larry here will introduce you to his fists.”

Callie thought it over, she couldn’t betray her friends no matter what, “I don’t know,” she said, “if one of us gets caught, we move, so it doesn’t happen again.”

“She’s lying!” Mr. Hartono accused. “Larry, you know what to do,” he said, not taking his eyes off Callie.

Larry was just about to swing a punch when another man walked into the room and whispered something in Mr. Hartono’s ear. “Wait!” Mr. Hartono instructed. “It looks like your friends have made it easier for us.” Callie had no idea what he was talking about.

“Bring them in,” Mr. Hartono ordered.

Callie could not believe her eyes. Brant and Amy were led into the room, and they both looked the worse for wear.

“Guys!” Callie said in dismay. “What have you done?”

“Sorry,” Amy uttered, not making eye contact with her.

“Three down, two to go,” Mr. Hartono laughed out loud.

Chapter 9 – Callie’s Ordeal

2007-11-04T14:38:00.000+11:00

“I hope Amy doesn’t fall asleep,” Callie said to herself as she was running down the footpath, breathing heavily. She found her rhythm again and kept on running steadily along the pavement. She waved to an elderly couple walking their dog and turned the corner into Stradella Avenue. “Come on Callie, halfway there, let’s see if we can break the record today.”

Callie was becoming very concerned about how it hurt every time she used her power. “Does it mean I’m losing the power?” she asked herself, worriedly. It only started to happen when Cindy came; maybe it has something to do with her. Those were the only two possibilities she could think of. She is the eldest, she has to look after everyone, comfort everyone, how could she do that without her power. For once she wanted to be comforted, to be cared for. She had their respect, but what good is respect when you’re not loved. She frowned.

Callie was wearing her running shoes, jogging shorts and black crop top, and she had her hair tied back in a ponytail. It swished back and forth with every step and a bit of it came loose and fell across her face, she tucked it back behind her ear in frustration. As she wiped some sweat off her forehead, she got a horrible feeling that she was being followed. She turned around but she couldn’t see anyone, or any cars for that matter. “You’re just being silly, Callie, there’s no need to worry.” She reassured herself. She turned around again, no one was there, but she noticed that the street was practically deserted. There were no people out walking, walking their dogs, joggers, or cars driving past. It was totally empty. Now Callie was getting freaked out and started running faster, towards the sanctuary of the house.

The feeling was still there, and now she heard a car engine behind her. She didn’t dare look back, she just kept running. She stepped on a stick and it cracked under her foot, a leaf fell down on her from a tree, a fly buzzed past her shoulder. All these little things making her even more terrified. The wind started whipping against her, as if trying to hold her back, cutting at her arms, legs and face like tiny knives.

She glanced sideways, a grey car had drawn alongside her, the passenger door opened, and an athletic looking man jumped out and started chasing her. Callie panicked and that affected her running. She was slowing down! The man caught up to her and tried to hit her over the head, but she dodged it. She turned around to confront him and noticed that two other men had gotten out of the car, which had stopped, and were also heading her direction. To Callie’s horror, she noticed that they had guns. One of those men was Cindy’s follower.

She tried to catch her breath, but she was exhausted. All she could do was dodge the oncoming attacks, and she didn’t know how long she could do that for. The combination of exhaustion and fear caused her to collapse onto the ground; this was so out of character for her, that she couldn’t believe she was doing it herself. Callie Windsor, giving up, what had become of her?

The man, who had chased her, kicked her in the ribs then bent over and grabbed her by the shoulders. She was a mess, her hair was everywhere, she had tears running down her cheeks, and blood coming out the corner of her mouth. They took her back to the car and carelessly shoved her in the boot.

Callie was still in shock and when the engine started she realised that they had her, and she couldn’t do anything about it.

Chapter 8 – Cindy’s Dream

2007-11-02T14:18:00.000+11:00

As Brant started reading the letter Cindy shoved the ring into her pocket and picked up her chair that she had knocked over not long before, Michelle and Amy didn’t seem to notice. “It’s damn Hartono again! I knew he was the only one capable of doing this,” he shouted, raising his voice unnecessarily high. He slouched back down in his chair again.

“How could they though? Callie should have been able to protect herself well enough,” Michelle questioned; this was obviously a major loss for them.

“Her martial arts should have protected her, yes, I honestly don’t know Chelley.” Brant admitted. So that was Callie’s other power, besides mind reading.

Amy changed the subject, noticing that Michelle was pretty upset, “Why are you here anyway? We weren’t expecting you until tomorrow.”

“It’s because I have some information and it could have been what we’d been waiting for, but without Callie I don’t know if we can make it happen.” Brant told her looking up from the note.

“Can I see the note please?” Cindy asked curiously.

“Sure Cindy, if you can read it,” Brant acknowledged.

Everyone was quiet for a while. No one really knew what to say, or if they did they didn’t want to. Brant slid the note across the table and Cindy picked it up then uttered a quiet “thanks”.

It turned out Brant was the one to interrupt the somber silence, “What I was going to do today was sabotage the meeting between the Protector and Mr. Hartono.” He said ‘Mr. Hartono’ with such animosity that it made Cindy wonder why Brant hated him so much.

“How’d you find out about the meeting?” Michelle asked with interest. Michelle was so different now, so different to her usual fun-loving self. She was glum and disappointed. Cindy wouldn’t be seeing any of her smiles for a while.

“I have my ways. He’s also planning on stealing the statue from the Protector, so it’s a good chance for us to steal it from one of them. I’ve waited all these years for an opportunity like this and now…” Brant trailed off.

“Oh my gosh!” Cindy exclaimed as she looked up from the note. “This is so creepy!”

“What is?” Was all Brant could say. Michelle and Amy looked in her direction for the first time since coming back with the note.

“You know that dream I was gonna tell you about, Amy,” Cindy couldn’t contain her excitement.

“Yeah?” Amy replied a little puzzled.

“It was just like this!” Cindy stopped to catch her breath. “Callie got kidnapped and then some strange people took her somewhere, then I met a man, which must have been you, Brant, then you two came back with a note that said exactly this,” she said excitedly, holding the note high in the air.

“No way,” Michelle proclaimed, “Yesterday the vision and now this!” She let out a big breath and turned to Brant.

Cindy left out one part of her dream, the part about a boy her age. She didn’t want to tell them about that, that was private.

“A vision?” Brant asked.

“Yes, but never mind about that now, can you remember where they took Callie?” Michelle quizzed intensely; Cindy saw a glimmer of hope flicker across usually cheerful brown eyes.

“Not exactly,” Cindy’s hand felt for the ring in her pocket, checking that it was still there. “I think it was a warehouse or a factory, something like that,” Cindy vaguely recollected.

“Think harder, were there any distinguishing things around the place?” Michelle interrogated; her heart was set on finding Callie.

“I’m not sure…” Before Cindy could finish her sentence she became lost, lost in Michelle’s eyes. Another vision. Brilliant colours flashed in front of her eyes then she saw a younger Michelle sitting behind a tree, alone and crying. Suddenly Callie walked up to Michelle and started comforting her. She lifted Michelle to her feet and held her hand then they walked off together. Now she understood why Michelle was so upset, she was so close to Callie. Another vision, it was of Callie, and she was tied up…

“Cindy? Cindy?” Everyone was gathered around her, looking worried.

“Cindy are you okay?” Amy inquired. “What happened?”

“I had…”

Michelle butted in, “Another vision? Is that it?”

“Yes,” Cindy answered. She was feeling weak but she didn’t want to forget what she just saw.

“Get her a glass of water,” Brant instructed Amy, then turned to Cindy.

“Cindy, what did you see? Take your time,” Brant said thoughtfully.

“Callie…” She closed her eyes.

“No-no-no, don’t close your eyes,” Michelle warned.

Cindy forced her eyelids open. “Stratton factory,” Cindy murmured.

“Callie’s in the Stratton factory, is that it?” Brant asked.

“Yes…” Cindy blacked out.

Profiles

2007-10-28T22:24:00.000+11:00

Profile: Darren

“I tried out my racist humour the other day,” Darren informs me mid-rally of our table tennis game. His remark causes me to hit a forehand that goes flying off the table. I wait for him to continue, he smiles. “Yeah, with Steve, my new black friend. I asked him whether golliwogs ever have any luck in love or if Ken just gets all the action.” He pauses, trying to suss out whether or not I understand the reference. He shrugs, “It was funny at the time,” and goes off in search of the ball.

I realise that Darren’s wearing ‘the t-shirt’ and chastise him for it. “Geez you’re a bit slow today Dale – your mum noticed when I walked in!” It was the exact same shirt that was once my favourite, but it shrunk in the wash and I mourned its loss, so Darren decided to go out and buy one of his own. He does things like that, but then again he also does things like buy me a two-hundred dollar bracelet for my birthday. I saw him quickly glance at my bare wrist when I opened the front door this afternoon. He didn’t comment though, just stood there grinning, hands in the pockets of his black shorts. “Hey.”

We sit down on beanbags and play PS2. The game – general knowledge Buzz. A question about George Orwell’s 1984 baffles me, but he answers correctly. “I think I’m gonna make it my mission to culture you,” he says slash gloats. He offers to lend me 1984 and then suggests we go to the theatre and see Priscilla: Queen of the Desert the stage show. I laugh, he looks at me with one eyebrow raised, his head slightly tilted to the side, and smiling with his entire face.

I take Darren for a walk around my neighbourhood. “I drive too much. Sometimes I just get in my car and drive – I ended up at work instead of uni once.”

We come to a forest of sorts. “A fork in the road…” he remarks as we’re confronted with two separate paths. During our foray into the woods I told him all the things that were happening in my life in a way that I didn’t tell anyone else; I was brutally honest. He listened and chimed in with things that would always make me smile or laugh, and make me take myself less seriously. He also said some things that I needed to hear. He laughed when I called him my moral centre.

“Car was broken into again last night,” he mentions out of the blue. I ask if there was any damage. “Only emotional,” was his response, his eyes downcast. His mood reminded me of his turbulent emotional state of late – I didn’t hear from him for a week until one night he called me and apologised and explained a little of what was going through his head; how he wasn’t happy with certain things about himself and his life.

“I’ve got three assignments due in the next two weeks,” he sighs. “I’ll get them done but it won’t be easy.” He always manages to get them done. We talk some more about uni and the future, moving out of home, his career, and whether we’ll know each other when we’re forty.

We go round the bend and take a right into my street. “Think I might start writing again at the end of this semester,” he says as we ascend the gradual incline to my house. “Just blogs though, not stories. I can’t do stories.” I begin to object before realising that most of the stories Darren writes are dark.

“Good to see you again,” Darren says, slouching, hands in pockets, awkward eye contact. I echo his thoughts and watch as he walks down my driveway and drives off in his bomby blue car.

Profile: Brittany

“Yeah, I know dude, I have big boobs,” Brittany says before taking even half a step out of the changing cubicle. “So what do you think?” She’s referring to the black cocktail dress with silver accents that she’s trying on. I nod and make reassuring noises. “Ugh, guys are hopeless at shopping.” She teases and retreats into the cubicle once again. I sigh with relief. She talks to me while she’s changing – in that perky voice that always seems to carry across the room – about people from work. I switch to making agreeable noises.

“Don’t you reckon this bag is just so me? I was with mates and they saw it and they were like, ‘You have to get that bag Brit!’” I inspect her colourful, eclectic-patterned bag and agree whole-heartedly. We walk past a department store and Brittany stops, looking at one of the plasmas hanging from the ceiling, “Oh my god I love this song,” she grins and literally drags me in with her.

We sit on opposing couches at the Coffee Club and she laughs at my milkshake while sipping her chocolate frappe. She seems to have been smiling and bright this whole time. We talk of a McDonalds awards night after-party a few days previous. “You drove a couple of carloads of people home didn’t you? Yeah sometimes I’ll take three or four carloads of people home; I just want to make sure they get there safe, you know?”

I thank her for covering two of my shifts over the last week. “No worries dude, I needed the money anyway – got a parking ticket the other day which sucks. Plus I’m always saving up for my trip.” She tells me how she plans to travel around Europe and North America at the end of 2008 – for three years. “After that I’ll come home and hopefully get married and have kids. I love kids,” she beams.

“I don’t speak to my parents much,” she responds when I ask what they think of the travel plans; her smile vanishing for the first time. “I dunno what happened – we used to be really close.”

Absent-mindedly she fiddles with the piercing just above her lip on the right side of her mouth. “Come here,” she says, and motions to the place next to her on her couch. Hesitantly, I obey. “I give the best massages,” she declares and goes to work on my shoulders, back and neck. Her touch was extremely relaxing.

I utter a “Thanks Brittany,” managing to surface briefly from my stupor.

“Dude call me Brit. Only the parentals call me Brittany.”

Reluctantly I told her to end the massage before I fell asleep, and I went and bought us ice creams. We sat looking out towards the Dandenong’s and she began to open up to me. It was as though I was now massaging her mind, in some kind of strange role reversal. She told me how she practically had to raise her younger brother by herself, because her parents separated. How, despite that, she doggedly finished year twelve – a feat which neither or her older siblings achieved. “It was something that I had to do for me,” she affirmed. Then she spoke of her tumultuous relationship with her boyfriend of one year. “My friends think we’re destined to be together, that we’re still in love. Please don’t tell me you believe in all that fate stuff. I don’t, I think it’s crap.”

We consume our ice cream and are about to part ways when she says, “I don’t ever tell anyone these things…” and then hugs me. Her smile returns as we disentangle.

2007-10-25T17:31:00.000+10:00

A SECOND CHANCE

(revised piece)

Panting lightly she reached the top. She put a hand to her forehead to shield her eyes from the sun and surveyed her surroundings. In every direction the horizon stretched further than she could see. A hopeful smile came to life on her face. The land, although foreign, was indescribably beautiful. Outstretching her arms to the sky she span around and around, stopping only when dizziness began to take hold.

A gust of wind blew through her hair as she fell to her knees, and with her eyes closed she cherished the remarkable sensation; the cool grass and gentle breeze, combined with the momentary loss of equilibrium. ‘I’m not going to take my new life for granted,’ she thought. The past was the past, there was no way of changing it. Now she could live how she wanted; create her own life, her own future. She collapsed onto her back and blades of grass tickled her skin. Bathed in sunlight she slept; dreaming of walls crashing down around her.

It was cold when she awoke. Clouds had clustered about the sky, and the sun had just begun its gradual decent. She shivered and got to her feet with memories of body heat.

It had been many years since she’d been alone. Although she missed companionship its absence was liberating. It was just her and the world. She could think, act and live for herself. And maybe it meant that she’d somehow broken the curse… She banished the thought from her mind.

‘What now?’ she thought. Food, water, shelter, her head responded. She descended the hill and set out towards a leafy forest, and the faint sound of rushing water.

As she entered the forest she tripped and grazed her knee. She picked herself up quickly. The pain was nothing to her, but the sight of her blood brought back memories of her sons. A thought immediately sprung to her mind, ‘I need a weapon…’ The beauty of this place had distracted her; she was a fool to be so casual. She hurriedly searched her surroundings for anything that remotely resembled a weapon. To her disbelief, the forest afforded nothing of the sort. Not even a sharp stick that she could use as a spear. Was this place so beautiful that there was neither violence nor pain? Despondent, and now wary, she continued to make her way towards the sound of water.

Trekking on through the forest she passed several trees and bushes she’d never seen before. She marveled but wondered, ‘Where are the animals?’ The forest was eerily still. There were no birds, or even ants, as far as she could tell. The only sounds were the water and her careful footsteps through the thickening undergrowth.

It was considerably darker now, and every so often she’d furtively glance from side to side. The trees seemed to lean towards each other and create a kind of light-filtering canopy far above her head. She began to quicken her pace; the sound of the water was steadily increasing in volume. She needed to get there.

But before long she stopped. And crouched. A rock; sheer on two sides so that the edge was sharp like a blade. She put it in her knapsack and continued on.

The forest didn’t thin out at all, she was suddenly standing on a stony bank of the river. Water rushed by and to her left she saw the source of the guiding sound; a waterfall. It looked like a sheet of crystal cascading down from the heavens. She took a few steps forward and felt the cooling effect of the water as it flowed around her ankles. She advanced further so that the water was at her hips, and looked down at her feet. There was a time when she’d stood in a river similar to this for days – the icy water had penetrated her skin and chilled her bones – but it was all in vain. Penance.

Remembering her thirst, she cupped her hands and brought the clear water to her mouth. It tasted so pure that she began to feel she was sullying the river just by standing in it. She began to swim across to the other side. She couldn’t be sure but she thought she heard the snap of a stick from the bank behind her, but she was too busy fighting the current to look back. Whether she’d imagined it or not she felt safer once she was all the way across.

The other side of the river was a mirror image of the one from which she’d come; she walked up the bank and straight into dense forest. Drops of water trickled down her as she stopped and turned to face the river again. ‘Behind me?’ she thought. ‘How could that be?’ To the eye, the forest seemed as empty as before, with the occasional ray of sunlight shining through the overgrowth. But something told her that it wasn’t as empty as it seemed. Her hand drifted over the rock in her knapsack. She momentarily doubted how wise it had been to leave, but then her heart ached at the memory of her cursed life, the agonising pain.

Resolute, she turned her back to the river. Before setting off again she spotted a tree bearing a peculiar type of fruit. Reaching up she picked off three and put them in her knapsack for later.

She didn’t really know where she was going, or when she’d stop, she just kept walking because she could. Suddenly, she noticed that the trees were thinning out; the forest was coming to an end. Before her was a clearing, but there was an incline preventing her from presumably looking down into a valley. Although she didn’t have trees as cover, the light was fading slowly, so she boldly walked up the incline and peered down across the clearing. What she saw brought tears to her eyes. ‘Why?’ she uttered in despair.

“I thought you’d like it,” said a voice from behind her. She froze where she was. The voice was familiar.

She felt a hand on her shoulder. A strong hand. A man’s hand. Adam’s hand.

The garden below them was just like the first. They could start again.

It would start again.

Chapter 7 – Ring of Destruction

2007-10-21T15:28:00.000+10:00

Brant and Cindy sat down at the breakfast table and Cindy helped herself to some Corn Flakes that Michelle had left out for her. “You sure you don’t want any?” Cindy asked politely.

“No thanks, I’ve already eaten,” Brant replied. “So how are you Cindy? You must be under a lot of stress at the moment. It must be really hard for you with your mum and everything else that’s been happening,” said Brant.

“I don’t really want to talk about that right now,” Cindy disclosed. Reminded of her mum again she hesitated, she didn’t feel very hungry anymore.

“Where are Callie, Chelley and Amy?” Brant inquired.

“Michelle and Amy are looking for Callie,” she responded, “She didn’t come back from her run this morning.”

“Oh,” a look of alarm crossed his face.

Cindy pushed her bowl forward and said, “Tell me all about this, Brant. About all these powers and what we use them for… and who killed my mum,” Cindy asked with a brave face.

Brant changed his position in his seat as if he were uneasy about telling her, “Here’s the explanation,” he announced. “This whole ordeal is about a statue, but not just any statue, a statue that has powers. It’s called the Mentoh and anyone who touches it gains those powers, but the thing is there’s a Protector. Now, this generation’s Protector is an evil one and he does everything he can to stop people who come near the statue from leaving.” He told her.

“How come I have powers then?” Cindy queried.

“Because your dad, Evan, touched the statue and if anyone who touches the statue has children, they inherit those powers.” Brant explained.

“And that’s how my dad died,” Cindy gathered. “From the Protector.”

“Yes, like all the other three girls’ fathers, but that’s not all. The current Protector is working with an evil corporation called Hartono Enterprises. And instead of using the powers of the statue for good, Hartono Enterprises have been using it for evil. I think they’re planning on using it to take over the government, then go even further. But they can’t do that.”

“Why not?” Cindy asked. This whole thing seemed a bit farfetched, but she continued to listen anyway.

“To fully master the statue they need this,” Brant pulled, what looked like a paperweight, out of his pocket and placed it on the table. Noticing her skepticism he told her, “The statue rests on it.” He went on, “We have your father to thank for this, the Protector forgot to take it with him after he killed your...”

Cindy rose to her feet, knocking over her chair in an angry rage, “So you sent my dad just so you could get that? You knew he would die, didn’t you? How could you do that? Do you have a heart or a just a cold hearted bastard!?” she shouted at him.

“Cindy, you’ve gotta think about how many lives he’s saved by doing that. All we need to do is get the statue then destroy it so no more evil can be done,” Brant defended himself.

“It’s still not good enough!” Now that Cindy knew the truth about her father, she was somewhat disappointed. She didn’t expect him to be involved in this stupid statue business… “How are we meant to destroy this statue anyway, if it has magic powers and all?” Cindy started pacing back and forth.

“With this,” Brant said, reaching into his pocket again.

“Great, what is it? Another paperweight? How many people died trying to get that?” she snapped.

“Cindy calm down. I want you to have this.” What he pulled out of his pocket this time was a stunning gold ring, with an opal embedded on the top. “But you can’t tell the others about it, understand? Keep it a secret from them.”

“Why me?” Cindy asked curiously, she reached out her hand. She couldn’t take her eyes off it; it was as if she were attracted to it.

“It’s the way it’s meant to be Cindy…” Brant said as he placed it in her outstretched palm.

Michelle and Amy burst through the door, surprising Cindy and Brant. Cindy enclosed the ring tightly in her hand so they couldn’t see it. “Brant! I’m so glad you’re here,” Michelle panted, they’d obviously been running. “We found this note,” she handed him a piece of paper with messy writing scribbled on it, “Callie’s been kidnapped!” she cried out in dismay.

Chapter 6 – Brant

2007-10-18T22:22:00.000+10:00

“Following you? What do you mean?” Callie questioned, “Are you sure?” Callie was obviously taken aback by this, her authority seemed to desert her for a second, leaving Cindy feeling awkward.

“I saw him at the market the other day and I remembered him from somewhere then. So he must have been watching me for quite a while for me to recognise him,” Cindy told everyone. She tucked some of her blonde hair behind her ears; she wasn’t sure how they would react to this.

“Okay then,” sighed Callie. Callie started staring out the window, concentrating on something, but Cindy wasn’t sure exactly what. Michelle and Amy didn’t seem to think it was odd, but Cindy thought she was crazy.

“He won’t be back for a while, but we better put someone on sentry duty incase he comes back tonight,” Callie told everyone, starting to rub her head.

“But how can you be sure?” Cindy asked, Callie seemed so sure of herself Cindy nearly regretted asking the question.

“Her power, Cindy,” Michelle explained. “We’ll tell you all about it in the morning. For now we’ll get some food into you then you can have a good rest, it looks like you need it,” she advised as she was walking over to Callie.

“Are you okay, Callie?” she’d obviously noticed that she was in pain.

“Yeah I’m fine,” Callie answered still rubbing her head, “My head’s starting to hurt every time I use my power, that’s all. It’s no big deal.”

“I’ll get you something for it,” Amy insisted, then walked down the hall into the bathroom.

“I’ll do some sentry duty,” Cindy offered, she felt like she needed to help out somehow. These girls had just taken her in and accepted her as family, where would she be without them? It would most likely be dead, or with the police, charged with murder. She owed these girls a lot, but she wasn’t sure what she was expected to do, or even why they’d taken her in.

“No Cindy, not tonight, maybe some other time. There’s some pasta in the fridge, you can heat it up in the microwave,” Callie said, retiring to the couch in front of the TV.

Cindy wasn’t really that hungry, and she only prodded at her pasta carbonara. It wasn’t very long before she announced that she was going to go to bed.

Before she went Amy came up to her and apologised, “I’m sorry I acted the way I did before, it was stupid of me, I was being so selfish.”

“No, no, it’s okay. I owe you, I owe all of you a lot, and I’m really grateful for everything,” Cindy responded. “Goodnight,” she uttered.

“Goodnight,” Amy replied, and embraced Cindy in a warm, friendly hug.

Cindy smiled and walked into the spare bedroom; acceptance was great. She hadn’t been accepted by people her own age for quite a long time, not even her fellow baseball teammates, and now she had some idea of why that was so. It was because she was different. She was special. She smiled contently.

She wasn’t bad looking; in fact she was quite attractive. She looked in the mirror at her curly blonde hair, green eyes, smooth skin, and a well-defined face. She smiled again; things were starting to go her way.

She slipped under the covers of an unfamiliar bed, in an unfamiliar room of an unfamiliar house. All Cindy had was herself, and the friendship of these three girls who she would grow closer and closer to during the coming events. “I wonder what powers I will get,” Cindy whispered to herself as she lay in the dark.

Cindy had a restless sleep, tossing and turning in bed. The past day’s happenings were too big for her to just forget and the noise of rain on the roof didn’t help either. But her night’s sleep wasn’t completely uneventful. She had an interesting dream she planned to discuss with the others. She walked into the living room and found Amy lying asleep by the window. Cindy shook her shoulder and Amy groaned, half opened her eyes then yawned. Suddenly she pretended to be alert, “I must have fallen asleep a few minutes ago,” she lied.

“You wouldn’t have fallen asleep on sentry duty would you now?” Cindy joked.

“Not me!” Amy played along with her. “Please don’t tell Callie,” Amy requested, on a more serious note.

“I won’t,” Cindy promised. “I had an interesting dream I wanna tell you about.”

“Interesting?”

“Yeah.”

Michelle walked into the room wearing a yellow jacket and well fitted grey jeans, “Where’s Callie? She wasn’t in her room when I woke up.”

“Oh, she probably went for a jog earlier this morning,” Amy suggested, standing up and stretching her arms and legs.

“And she hasn’t come back yet?” Michelle questioned.

“Well I sorta fell asleep,” Amy admitted regretfully.

“Amy! This is not good,” Michelle said frowning.

“Where could she be?” Cindy asked. Callie’s disappearance would obviously affect the group.

“Don’t worry about that, Amy and I will go look for her, she can’t be far. You stay here and get some breakfast,” Michelle instructed.

“Why can’t I come?” Cindy asked, feeling hurt.

“The police are looking for you, remember? You’re safer in the house,” Michelle reminded her.

“Alright, good luck then,” Cindy wished of them.

“Thanks Cindy, you can tell me about your dream when we get back. See ya,” Amy said cheerfully.

Michelle and Amy left the house in search of Callie, which meant Cindy was left on her own. That awful feeling of loneliness, how she hated it. She wondered what had happened to Callie. Had she been kidnapped? How would Michelle and Amy react to it if she had been?

She walked into her new bedroom and fished her mum’s brown wallet out of her backpack. Inside it there was a picture of Cindy and her mum at the beach when Cindy was about four. She took it out and held it close to her, it was all she had left, apart from her memories. She was about to put it back when she noticed there was another picture behind it. One of her dad? Yes it looked like him. Why hadn’t she seen this picture before?

Knock knock! All of a sudden there were two knocks at the door, and Cindy dropped the pictures on the floor. Who could it be? She walked out to the living room again and curiosity got the better of her because she peered out the window, slightly pulling back the curtain to see who it was. There was a man standing there, he looked like he was in his late thirties.

He called out, “Is anyone home?”

Cindy didn’t know what to do. He called out again, “Anyone? It’s Brant, open up.”

It was Brant! The man from Cindy’s vision! She walked over to the door and took a deep breath then opened it. “Hello Brant,” she greeted him.

He looked shocked, “Hey Cindy, err, nice to meet you. Can I come in?” He stuttered.

Chapter 5 – The Suspicious Man

2007-10-14T13:28:00.001+10:00

Cindy collapsed onto a nearby couch and started to cry; somehow more tears started streaming out of her eyes. She needed to let all of her sadness, grief, anger and disbelief come out from deep inside of her. “Please let this be a dream!” she moaned, “And let me wake up from it now!” she begged herself desperately.

“Cindy, it’ll be okay,” Michelle reassured her while clasping her hand.

“We need you to be strong now,” Callie said softly, “We’re gonna help you get through this.”

Cindy hung her head low and looked at the floorboards, she hadn’t yet heard Amy talk. Amy was the youngest, and about her age. Now she heard an unfamiliar voice, it was her, “Cindy,” Amy said. Cindy looked up at her through teary eyes, she noticed Amy also had tears running down her cheeks, “You’re not the only one, it happened to all of us too.” With that she ran out of the room and Cindy heard a door slam shut somewhere down the hall.

Michelle went to get up and go after her but Callie said, “Leave her Chelley, we have to explain things to Cindy first.” Callie had some power over Michelle because she sat back down again.

“Right, okay, where do we start?” Michelle asked, distracted. Obviously her loyalties lay with Amy, Cindy could tell Michelle would rather be comforting Amy than her.

Callie turned the TV off, then walked back to Cindy’s side. Trying to lighten things up she said, “Come on Cindy, we all made it through and by the looks of things you’re a strong girl, you’ll be just fine.”

“I just want things to go back to the way they were,” Cindy explained, “Whoever you are, you don’t need my help.”

“You don’t know that, and besides, you need ours,” said Michelle, “Call me Chelley, by the way.” Michelle smiled one of her fantastic smiles and Cindy felt a little better.

“Brant will explain more to you tomorrow, but until then…”

“Who’s Brant?” Cindy questioned; Brant sounded like a name she should remember.

“He’s like our leader,” Michelle contributed.

It looked like Callie was about to tell her something important, and she was, “Cindy, look me in the eyes,” she said. Cindy did as she was told but found she couldn’t stop looking at the blue part of Callie's left eye, was this meant to happen? The pitter-patter of the rain on the roof became louder, and suddenly it was all she could hear. She was struck by a vision, and she saw Callie as a young girl running away, fleeing from a house, and a man jumping out at her from behind a tree… It stopped, and she could hear Callie again. “I know you’ve already noticed our eyes…” she was saying, “What is it?” Callie asked noticing that Cindy wasn’t listening to her.

“Was that Brant?” Cindy questioned.

“What are you talking about?” Callie said bewildered.

“In my vision…”

“You had a vision?” Michelle’s eyes opened up wide.

“The rain became really loud and I couldn’t hear anything except for it, then all of a sudden I saw you,” Cindy said, pointing to Callie. “I saw you running away from something, then a man in dark clothes jumped out at you from behind a tree and grabbed you by the shoulders.”

“Cindy, that was amazing! That was Brant, and the first time I met him, after my mum was…” she stopped herself from saying anymore.

“I can’t believe it,” Michelle said in awe.

“I know, a vision already! She probably doesn’t even know about her powers,” Callie added.

“As I was saying, our eyes are like this because we’ve discovered our power, or powers in my case,” Callie explained.

“Callie stop,” Amy suddenly appeared and she was standing in the living room doorway, “There’s a man that keeps driving past in a black car and he’s been looking at our house every time he goes by. There he is again.”

Cindy looked out the window with the others. “A threat, Callie?” Michelle asked with a worried look on her face.

“Possibly Chelley, maybe we should get Brant,” Callie said with some concern.

Cindy interrupted them, “I know him,” she put forth. “I mean, I’ve seen him before.”

“Where?” her newfound friends asked in unison.

“I think he’s been following me,” announced Cindy. She shivered at the thought.

Chapter 4 – Mr. Hartono

2007-10-11T17:23:00.000+10:00

“Why hasn’t anyone reported back to me?” An Asian man wearing an expensive business suit demanded. “What’s taking them so long?!” He leant back in his black leather chair and stared at his assistant impatiently.

“Sir, I’m sure they’ll be back any minute now, and you won’t have to worry about the girl any more,” a nervous man in his late twenties reassured his impatient boss.

“I hope you’re right, Rye. I’ve had enough of this, damn my foolish ancestors!”

The phone rang and Rye quickly picked it up, grateful to be relieved from that awkward conversation. “It’s them Mr. Hartono,” he informed. His boss nodded. Rye continued to listen carefully and rolled his eyes at what he was told.

“What is it? What have they done?” Rye’s boss questioned him.

“They killed the mother, but the girl got away,” Rye reported.

Mr. Hartono slammed his fist down on his desk, “Imbeciles! Tell them to report to me immediately!” he instructed.

Rye said something into the receiver and then hung up the phone, “They don’t know where she went, it was like she disappeared.”

“I’ll let them explain it to me, Rye. If those three retched girls have found her…” He tried to calm himself by closing his eyes. “Is there any news on the statue?”

“I’ll go and check now sir,” he answered and headed towards the door of Mr. Hartono’s office.

“Good. I need some time on my own,” Mr. Hartono murmured as Rye was leaving the room.

He awoke to the sound of Rye’s voice on the intercom, “Have a good rest sir? Hope you’ve calmed down, they’re here.”

“Send them in,” Mr. Hartono instructed.

Two men, tall and lean (one slightly shorter than the other) wearing dark glasses, black suits, black ties, and blank expressions on their faces walked in to address Mr. Hartono.

“Please sit down.” Mr. Hartono paused, and then sighed. “Professionals hey? Do you want to be more obvious? You look like the Blues Brothers for heaven’s sake! What happened to fitting in?” he sneered.

The smaller one responded, “That was not a problem, sir.”

“Well obviously the girl was! Explain!” Mr. Hartono demanded, becoming flushed.

“Well, we watched her walk into the house and waited for ten minutes before we went in and killed her mother,” the smaller assassin replied again. “We searched the house but she was gone.”

Mr. Hartono sipped at a glass of water. As he placed it back on his desk, he commanded the two to take off their dark glasses, and then looked both of them straight in the eyes. “Gone? How could this be? You said you watched her go into the house, did she just disappear?”

“It looked as if she somehow managed to escape while we killed her mum because she took some things with her,” the tall assassin answered in a deep, husky voice.

“She froze time then?”

“Sir,” they were becoming uncomfortable and started to loosen their ties, “We don’t know.”

“Tell me something you do know,” said Mr. Hartono, leaning back on his chair.

The tall one smiled, “We framed her.”

“Huh?” Mr. Hartono sat forward again.

“We framed her for her mother’s murder,” the smaller assassin proudly announced.

“Leave now.” Mr. Hartono sighed, he wasn’t impressed. Why couldn’t he get any decent staff? Staff that correspond with him before doing something.

“We thought it was the best thing to do,” the tall assassin proclaimed.

“Did you not hear me? I said leave!” Demanded Mr. Hartono. He was very frustrated.

The two got up and left the office feeling unsure of themselves, and rightly so.

A few minutes after they’d left Rye walked into the room, “Not a good meeting, Mr. Hartono?” he assumed.

“It could work to our advantage I suppose…” he was distant.

“Um, I’ve got some news from the Protector,” Rye proclaimed. “It might cheer you up.”

“Go on.” He sighed again.

“He says that he has some big news for you and that he wants to meet you tomorrow afternoon, usual place,” Rye told him.

“Wonder what he wants,” Mr. Hartono retorted. “Rye, you can go home now, we’ve both had a big day.”

“Thanks sir,” Rye looked as if a huge amount of weight had just been lifted off his shoulders. “One more thing, Mr. Hartono, sir, he’s going to bring the statue.”

“Excellent,” Mr. Hartono responded, “The plan can commence then.”

When he’d left Mr. Hartono swiveled his chair around to face the window. “Brant, Brant, Brant. When will you give up? You’ll have to when I get hold of the statue tomorrow.” He laughed cheerfully out loud.

Chapter 3 – Framed

2007-10-07T22:15:00.000+10:00

Cindy started running but she had absolutely no idea about where she could go, she didn't have any friends she could really trust, and all her relatives lived interstate.

She was very fit because she played baseball, and trained every night except for Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays. Today was Tuesday and she was supposed to do a job interview. But with the police and her mum’s assassins looking for her, she didn't know if she could go anywhere or tell anyone about this. If the police knew where she was then the people who were after her would find out as well. She knew it.

Her mobile phone rang and she went to answer it, but stopped. She didn't feel like talking to anyone right now. Later she realised it was actually a good thing she hadn't answered it, and immediately turned it off.

This would explain the phone calls they got at home. The phone would ring and then be dead when they picked it up. Whoever it was, probably the assassins, were checking if they were home, and every time Cindy and her mum pressed 69 to retrieve the number the computerized voice said, "The last person who called had a private number, they called on the…"

Cindy burst into tears, and sat down beside the road, the weight of what had just happened was starting to sink in. Did it just happen? Was she going crazy? It seemed that the heavens were upset too because they opened up and rain came pouring down. "What have I done?” she whimpered. “I wished my life would be more interesting, but I didn't want this!" She reached into her pocket and pulled out a tissue. “Why does everyone close to me always die? First dad, then Fluffy, and now mum." Thinking about Fluffy, her cat, she hunched over. The pain was unbearable. Fluffy had been hit by a car and then run over by another. She remembered how she felt that day. Betrayed by Fluffy but also forgiving of her, everyone makes mistakes she had told herself. Thinking of her dad, who she had only just met, for the first and last time, she longed to be with him, to play with him. What was it he said? Mum would visit later? She'd make sure she treasured her visit instead of wasting it like her dad's.

She couldn't stand this; she couldn't let this happen to her. She had to fight against these people, but how could she do it on her own? Dad said she had powers, but she hadn't even figured out how to use them, she didn’t even know if she believed him. Something had to go her way today, just something.

She got up and bravely walked along the footpath in the pouring rain, away from a life of misery and into a new one of hope. But as she came to a huge oak tree she was confronted by three girls a little older than she was.

"Cindy," one of them said, "Come with us."

"How do you know my name?" she asked dumbfounded, her hair dripping water onto her face.

"Quickly we don't have much time, we know about what happened to your mum."

With that she stood there in awe, she couldn't not do what they wanted, these girls knew, but how?

The three girls took Cindy into an old weatherboard house situated a long way back from the road. A tall wooden fence concealed most of the house from the street, but from inside you could still see out to a fraction of the road. The outside of the house was greatly misleading for the inside was very well furnished and surprisingly spacious. One of the girls dried Cindy up and tried to remove the blood from her clothes but some of it wouldn't come off, "You'll have to borrow some of Michelle's clothes, she's about your size, we'll have to get rid of these though." The eldest girl proclaimed.

"No way! You're not getting rid of my clothes!" Cindy protested. "I don't even know who you are."

"Cindy, you'll just have to trust us, it's not like you have anywhere else to go." Cindy knew this girl was right, something told her that she won most of her arguments. She had an elegance and authority about her that made Cindy uncomfortable. Looking more closely at her she had short black hair and was taller than the other two girls who were busy doing something somewhere else. She wore some faded jeans and a white long-sleeved top. Her eyes were a hazel colour but half of her left eye was deep blue.

"Sorry Cindy, you must be wondering who we are," said one of the other girls walking in to the room. "My name's Michelle, that's Callie," she introduced, pointing to the girl that was cleaning her up, "And our other friend's name is Amy." Michelle was the shortest of the three but was more tanned and had long brown hair. She had a skinny body and wore bright clothes. Cindy noticed that she had a great smile, and cheerful eyes, but one half of her left eye was green, unlike her right and the other half of her left eye, which were brown.

Cindy wasn't sure what she was meant to say, except to ask about why she was there. “We'll explain why we took you here soon, but for now we'll have to finish cleaning you up," Callie said as if reading her mind.

"Okay," Cindy replied casually.

After getting changed in a spare bedroom Cindy came out to join the others. They were gathered around the television and Cindy could hear a news reporter, "I knew it," Michelle said, disgusted.

"This'll just make things worse," Callie added.

"What's going on?" Cindy asked. The three girls moved out of the way of the TV so Cindy could see. There was a picture of her in the top right-hand corner of the screen.

"Cindy, you've been framed. The police think you killed your mum."

Chapter 2 - Wishing

2007-10-03T18:32:00.000+10:00

"Hi, would you mind doing some surveys for my school?" Cindy asked politely, holding the survey sheet up for him to see.

"Nah," an uninterested man rejected.

"It'll only take a minute..." she tried to add, but he'd already walked off with a wry smile on his face. "Well thanks a lot," Cindy said staring after him. For some reason she thought he looked familiar.

She was on a school excursion to the Queen Victoria Market, and she had to survey at least ten people about it. So far no one had agreed to do them. She tried her best to look friendly and innocent, but she was fifteen and felt like she was staring to lose those talents.

"Screw this," Cindy said, found a seat and made all of them up.

"How was school Cind?" Cindy's mum asked predictably when she got home.

"We went on the excursion today," Cindy replied, while taking off her school blazer.

"Really? What excursion?" Her mum queried, forgetting what Cindy had told her that morning before school.

"I told you this morning, the one to the market," Cindy said impatiently.

"Oh how did...?" Cindy cut her off.

"It was good," she lied, anticipating the question. "Is there anything to eat?"

"You know that was the first thing your father said when he used to get home," her mum suddenly got lost in her memories.

Cindy sighed, So she remembers that, she thought to herself. "I know, you've told me," Cindy reminded her mum, while looking through the cupboard.

“There are some blueberry muffins in the oven, and they’ll be done in about fifteen minutes,” her mum stated.

"Okay, I’ll have some later. I'll be in my room if you want me." Cindy informed, shoving her hands deep into her pockets.

"Okay Hun," the phone rang as she left the kitchen and Cindy's mum went over to answer it but as soon as she’d picked it up it went dead. “Who keeps doing that?” Cindy heard her mum say as she was walking up to her room.

In her room Cindy had posters all over her walls. Mainly ones of Limp Bizkit and Puddle of Mudd, she didn't like pop groups like a lot of other girls. She turned on her favourite CD.

She lay down on her bed and thought about her unsuccessful day. "Why didn't anyone want to do my surveys?" she asked herself. She wasn't shy or very intimidating, but then again she didn't have many friends.

She closed her eyes and imagined that she was somewhere else. A place where she fitted in, a place where everyone understood her…"I wish there could be some excitement in my life," she sighed. "I wish I knew what happened to my dad," those words came out of her mouth with such longing and such desire that anyone who heard Cindy would console her straight away, but no one was there to hear. Tears formed in her eyes and she started to sob. She buried her face into her pillow, muffling her cries of sadness.

"Aahhhh!" her mum screamed from the kitchen. Cindy jerked her head up from her soggy pillow and jumped up off her bed. Then she heard a gun shot.

"Mum!" she cried and headed for the door, but something held her back, and time suddenly stopped; only she could still move around. “What’s going on?” she looked out the window and saw that cars were motionless and birds were frozen in mid-air. Her CD player had stopped as well. She remembered her mum and headed for the door.

"Cindy," a caring male voice called to her, "Cindy, over here."

She stopped in her tracks and turned around. At the window, where Cindy had just been, there was a man, but he was hard to see. "Who are you? What are you? You killed my mum!" she accused helplessly.

"No I didn't," the man said. "Why would I do that? I’m her husband, Cindy, and your father."

"My father’s dead!" she screamed at him.

"Not quite. I was only allowed to visit once from the afterworld." He gave her some time to take this in.

"The afterworld?" she questioned.

"Yes, that's where you go before heaven, after you die."

"Daddy?" it was as if she were a little girl again.

"Yes Cindy."

"What happened?" Her dad walked over to her and reached out his hand, Cindy reached out hers as well, but they passed right through each other.

"There's no time for that now darling, you’ll find out in due time. Your mum's just been murdered, and now is your chance to escape. They've come for you Cindy, because you're special. You have powers because you're my daughter," her dad explained.

"Powers? Me?" Surely that wasn’t true.

"Yes, get out of here now," he instructed.

"I wanna stay daddy."

"Go now, your mum will visit you later, I love you." He shimmered and disappeared just as quickly as he had arrived.

Reluctantly, Cindy got her backpack, went downstairs and took her mums wallet, some food and her mobile phone. She struggled to walk past her mum's body on the way out of her house, but she managed to bend down, stroke her hair and hold her hand, then kiss her on the forehead, accidentally getting blood all over her clothes. She walked past the two assassins, who were also still frozen, and fled out the front door.

"Mentoh" - my longest story (and post number 100)

2007-10-01T13:29:00.000+10:00

Chapter 1 - The Watcher

As he walked into the room Evan knew someone was watching him, he knew he wasn’t alone. He could feel their fierce, ever watchful eyes watching over him, just as they could feel his restless presence. Suddenly a spine tingling shiver ran down his back, a shiver that nearly made him turn back and leave, a shiver that made him want to pretend he’d never agreed to do this. But he knew he couldn't do that, he'd come too far and worked too hard.

He peered into the ominous darkness of the bedroom, trying to determine where his Watcher was hiding. He decided to take a risk and turn on his torch. He had been in a fair share of fights before and was still pretty fit, so he turned the torch on and braced himself, but no one lunged out at him from the shadows. He was thankful for that.

Evan realised that the room was much larger than he had originally thought, and it was barely furnished. It had an eerie feeling about it, with the off white walls, shadowy corners covered in cobwebs, and dust everywhere he shone his torch, it was not unlike the rest of the house in appearance, but was somehow different to it in some other mysterious way.

He took a few steps forward into the darkness and thought to himself, "Who else knows about the Mentoh anyway? No one could live here." He prayed that were true and the man Brant had told him about was just a myth. He took a few more cautious steps forward to look for places to make a quick exit. He found only a window and when he tried to open it, it was stuck. "Damn!" he said aloud and immediately regretted it. He listened for a sound, but there wasn’t one to be heard. With his heart beating quickly he turned away from the window and something brushed against the side of his face, "Jesus!" he cursed, and hurriedly shone his torch towards it. It was just an attic cord. He'd look up there later.

He shone his torch towards the window again and something in the corner of the room caught his eye. In the corner of the room there was an old dressing table, but it wasn’t the dressing table he was interested in, it was the statue sitting on top of it. It looked unusual and seemed out of place in a room like this. The statue was of an elephant standing up on its hind legs with a strange hat on its head. It was made of bronze and was probably the only thing in the room not covered in dust. Was this what he was looking for? Brant hadn't been clear about what the Mentoh looked like. All he had said was, "When you pick it up, you'll know if it’s the Mentoh you’re holding," and then walked off leaving Evan standing where he was, confused. One thing Brant had been clear about was how well rewarded Evan would be if he could bring it back.

Curious, he walked over to the dressing table and steadied himself against it; he was breathing heavily, tired from his task. He wiped some sweat off his forehead then reached forward and clasped the statue with his right hand. “Wow!” All of a sudden he felt a magnificent power rushing into him and steadily growing inside of him. He'd never experienced anything so extraordinary in his life. It felt so good that he nearly fell over, overcome by dizziness. He was brought back from his trance by a loud crash, and immediately he regained his senses. He'd knocked a small paperweight off the dressing table. What was it Brant had said about something that looked like a paperweight? He kicked it under the dressing table. Evan had found what he was sent to search for and now all he had to do was bring it back to Brant, so he shoved the statue into his backpack and turned in the direction of the door. He smiled and thought of his wife. She was the only reason he'd done this. They needed the money desperately, and with their baby only a few weeks away...

He pushed those thoughts back to where they came from and triumphantly walked over to the door, his concentration was slipping. When he was halfway to the door his torch went off, leaving him in total darkness. "Damn batteries," he said in frustration, he became scared once more, the darkness was overwhelming.

CRASH! Suddenly there was another crash, but this one was different because he heard feet landing heavily behind him. He turned around but he couldn’t see anything, he was just feeling around in the dark; he might as well have been blind. He tried running but he bumped into something. Evan was as scared as a tiny mouse running away from a hungry cat. A huge arm grabbed him and before he knew it there was a knife pressed against his neck. He realised this must have been his Watcher, and he must have come from the attic. How had he been so careless?

"Give me the statue," his captor whispered hastily in his ear.

Evan started thrashing around; "No I need it!" he was desperate. Brant had warned him about this Watcher, but he hadn’t taken him seriously and now look where he was, in the last few moments of his life.

"Give it to me!" whoever his Watcher was, he was impatient.

"My wife…" he said desperately. Those two words were his last; the knife slit his neck. Evan felt more than blood slowly trickling out of him; he felt his life trickling out entwined with it.

"Sorry," his killer whispered just before Evan died, and there was sympathy in his voice.

Now that the Mentoh was safe he could rest. He'd been up for days because of this man, watching him walk past each day, until finally he came in tonight. He’d watched him all through the house, thinking that if he didn't find the Mentoh he wouldn't have to kill him. But he had had to. Anyone who touched the Mentoh gained special powers that lived on through their children if they died. "He better not have any kids," he said quietly to himself. He didn't like killing people but it was his job to protect the Mentoh, he was the Protector. Not that he chose to be.

maybe blogging will help?

2007-09-30T16:46:00.000+10:00

Oh foul mood, be gone! Else I shall be drowned in this muddled puddle of feelings.

How to sum up this midsemester break briefly and accurately...

I feel I've grown up - Independence of Queensland trip. Refreshing freedom.
I feel I've become more confident in myself. My appearance and personality.
I feel my character's been put to the test; it's both failed and succeeded.
I've realised long-term goals are not my thing.
I've realised I think too much, but not often enough about the things I should.

Queensland held fascinating people, a different life, possibility...

Delayed flights prolonged my return, thought that was significant.

Returned to dress formally for the McBrownlow. Rachel was my date. She looked nice, I had plane hair and plane(/plain) attitude. I didn't get one vote. Way to keep employees satisfied. Recognition for 5.30am starts and 2.00am finishes would have been nice.

Afterparty: drunken teens running around feeling each other up inside (literally). Meaningful conversation with Brittany outside. Discussed loves. Unexpected. Danced inside, elbowed a few stumbly teens for fun. Drove two carloads of staggering/depressed/confused people home. Rachel accompanied me. Pleasant conversation. Comfortable companionship. Dropped her off last, she handed back my suit jacket.

Tuesday night Cheers, saw Kangaroos players, bowed to them (inconspicuously), lit the dancefloor on fire with Kate. Minimal drinking too. Guess I don't need liquor to bust moves.

Thursday night - upheaval. From avoiding someone, to the ultimate uneventful confrontation, to abandonment of someone dear for an exciting prospect. Foolish?

Friday, more distance between another dear person. Needed? Wanted?

Saturday, GF and poker. Came second, despite my mind being elsewhere..............

Today: looking at cars instead of focussing on uni woes.

Argh! Sorry if this has been the most frustrating post you've ever had to read.

Dale.