Embers (A Short Story)

1995  
     "The stars are missing; nothing but fog," said Finn. "Makes you wonder why we are still staring at the sky," Connor replies. "Because you never know," said Finn. Finn spits up into the air and watches it disappear into the fog. Connor shouts, "Idiot!" as they both scramble get out of the way of what gravity will inevitably bring back onto them.

....

1985
     Connor shovels in spoonfuls of "Frankenberry" cereal while sitting in front of the television in the living room. Connor loved autumn, in part because this cereal became available. Finn is getting a spanking in their room down the hallway. Connor knows he deserves it. The kid never listens and always says stupid things that he knows will get him in trouble. He stills says them anyway. But Connor has never liked to see Finn hurt. He tries to drown out the sound of his little brother crying, so he looks down at the aluminum TV tray over his lap and pretends. "Darth Vader is here!" shouts a storm trooper. Darth Vader walks into the room and everyone knows he is in a bad mood. "When is he ever in a good mood?" asks a different storm trooper, "It's like someone pooped in his Wheat.." The storm trooper is lifted off the ground and slammed into the wall beside the large control panel. He can see only through his peripheral vision that Darth Vader has gotten him with his hand beams of dark sided invisible matter and is choking him to death. By the time the storm trooper dies, Finn has stopped crying and has entered the room with his Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles TV tray.

....

2007
     Finn sits in a small jail cell on a hard bed looking cement riser. He looks down at his fingers and watches blood coagulate in between his knuckles and open back up when he bends them. He shakes his head, "Damnit," he says. Hours later the cell made a loud click that echoed all the way down the hallway of cells. An officer stepped into the doorway. "Time to go, lucky you missed dinner, tonight was Salisbury steak fresh from the Lean Cuisine menu," the officer said. Finn gets up and walks shoeless past the officer and through the doorway. Once in the lobby, he is greeted by Connor. "You idiot!" he said. He continues, "Do you know what I had to go through to get the money for this without mom and dad finding out? What the hell is wrong with you?" Connor grabs Finn's head and kisses him on the forehead, then pushed his face away slightly so that he could see his eyes. "You just can't lay off it can you? That poison is going to kill you." He looks down at Finn's hands, then follows his mangled veins back up to his forearm. "Look at your arms Finn. Look what you've done to yourself." Connor grabs hold of Finn, pulling him in and hugs him.

....

2014
     Connor sits on the couch holding an empty jewelry box that belonged to his late wife. Before the cancer had sunk it's teeth into her breasts, this box was her favorite possession. It held various relics of diamonds, silver, and gold once held dear by her grandmothers. Now it sits empty. One day after Finn had dropped by for a place to crash for the night. One day after Finn asked for more money and Connor declined. "I can't help you kill yourself Finn! I don't have anything for you. If you want some food, come to me. If you want a job, come to me. If you want to talk, come to me. If you want to shoot money into your arm, go elsewhere," said Connor. Finn apologized for asking again and said that he understood. He got up from the couch and put out his hand for Connor to punch. "No hard feelings?" said Finn. Connor shakes his head at him. "Never kid." Finn makes a stop into the bathroom before leaving out the front door. In the bathroom is where she kept the jewelry box.

     Connor picks up the phone and dials Finn. "Hello brother," said Finn. "Where are they Finn? I'll only ask once," Connor said. Finn replies, "I don't know wha..." "One time Finn. I will ask you one time. Where is my wife's jewelry?" asks Connor. Silence on the other side of the line. Then Finn replies, "Gone." More silence, this time the quiet radiates from Connor's side of the line. Finn continues, "She doesn't need it anymore Connor. She's gone. You have to accep..." "Shut up! Just shut your lying mouth. Don't say even one more word to me. Don't you ever mention my wife again, don't...just don't!" shouts Connor. He continues, "My entire life I've taken care of you. I've bailed you out. I've fought for you. I've always invited you into my home. My door has always been open to you unconditionally. You are a parasite Finn. You take and you take and never give anything to anyone. You lie around all day in that broken apartment, sticking needles into your arms. You are pathetic Finn. You are a loser. As of right now, I don't want to hear your voice anymore. We're done here. If one day, you find yourself in trouble and looking for family, you won't find any here. You've killed me Finn." Connor hangs up the phone and throws it across the room, shattering it against the wall. "Damnit!" he shouts.

....

2015
     Connor sleeps alone in his king sized bed. He still sleeps on the left side of the bed. His wife would always ask him, "How do you know which side you are sleeping on? If you are laying here, you're on the left, but if you are standing up, it's the right." Connor would always say, "My better half is always on the right." He would wink at her as she would always repeat, "Always right." Connor sleeps soundly until his phone rings. He hears it and dreads looking at the screen. He has been dreading this moment in the back of his mind. He reaches over and sees the screen and knows that his brother Finn is dead. After listening to his mother wail over the phone, he gets up and puts on his clothes in no hurry. He would love to put life off for a while and pretend.

.... 1 Week

     The room is full of people from different places. Some his family, some his friends, and some Finn's friends. Finn's friends were easy to spot. Connor was nauseated by the stench of funeral flowers. A concept that he never understood. What were the flowers for? They were obviously there to mask something. Maybe they are meant to help people forget that the person in the coffin is dead or that death doesn't smell bad. Or that the afterlife is some quiet room where everyone whispers in front of picked flowers while listening to organs playing sad bastard music. Connor sits down and listens to the pastor rattle off his death march speech. Another thing he didn't understand. Why have a stranger come in and talk about someone they had barely known? Why does he try to make people that actually know the dead person feel better about the fact that he isn't coming back? Why do they do that? The loved ones would be better served today, if he were to get up and say, "See? This is what happens. This is what happens when you poison yourselves to feel better. This is what happens when you are so spoiled that you think you are unhappy...so unhappy that you need to also kill your family with heroine."

     While the pastor was talking, he remembered the last time the pastor had seen Finn. Finn had to be in the 4th grade. They were in Sunday school and the pastor was filling in for the teacher. Finn was talking and flicking paper footballs while the pastor was teaching on some felt board with these stupid paper people dressed in blankets. The pastor kept telling Finn to behave. Finn had told the pastor, "This is boring. Can we go outside?" The pastor said, "Sure, you can go outside, but the rest of us are staying put. You aren't allowed back. I'll be talking to your father after church." Finn shrugged, then left the room. A few minutes later, we all heard the squeal of the rusty chains on the swing set and Finn was laughing and swinging alone on the swings. The entire class looked outside for the rest of the hour. We all wanted to join him on those swings.

     When the pastor stopped mumbling through Bible verses, he asked for anyone that wanted to say something about Finn to come up. Connor hadn't prepared anything, but he couldn't get the image of Finn laughing on those swings out of his head. He stood up before noticing that he had done so. He let his legs carry him past his little brother to the podium. He got to the front and looked out to the room full of quiet people, all staring at him and realized what a terrible mistake he had just made. He stood in silence for an eternity. Everyone just started to cry harder every moment he stood in the headlights. It was about to become worse than the words of that pastor. He realized that he was ruining the funeral and that the pastor would be looked at as the highlight. So he opened his mouth and spoke.

     "I said some things that I don't mean," Connor said. As he spoke those words, he felt the most overwhelming urge to throw up. The words were so true that they made him sick and hate himself." I never understood my brother completely. I'm not sure there is anyone that did fully. I saw him in the way I wanted to see him and ignored the rest. Finn's friends knew the ignored side of him and ignored what I saw. So in that, none of us knew him very well, but we all knew some part of him very well. I remember when we were little kids, I used to watch out for him. I guess I lived much of my life exerting some sort of big brother pride in being better than him. I got better grades. I went to college. I made a family. I gave him things and I guess, in some way, I liked having him need me to take care of him. But there was a time when Finn saved me. I had gotten into a shouting match with some wannabe gang member in high school. The next thing I knew, there were 7 of them on my front lawn after school. I saw them once it was too late. I turned the corner walking home and they saw me and started chasing me. It didn't take them long to catch me. One of the bigger ones held my arms down on the ground and the little one I had the shouting match with started punching me in the face. I thought they were going to kill me until I heard the boom of my father's shotgun. I looked up as everyone else did and there was Finn now pointing the gun at them." "That was a warning shot. The next is going to his ass and then the other one's nuts," Finn said. Connor continued, "Finn always had a way with words. The idiots ran away and my mom started us in private school the next day. Finn never spoke of it again and neither did I. I think he knew that I needed to be needed. But I think he took care of me sometimes. He did these crazy things and said these crazy things. He would put himself in the most unbelievable situations. He always had this hope in his eyes that would shine bright, then fade out. He used to tell me whenever I would ask about his craziness, "Because you never know." I think that maybe he got hurt by finding out too many times that there isn't much real magic in this life."

     "Everyone keeps asking me how I'm doing. Until right now at this very moment looking at Finn sleeping, I had no idea. But I think I do now. I think he had the right idea all along, but was too impatient with the outcomes. I think that maybe I'll take some chances and wait it out. I'll give the magic a little more time to work." "Because you never know."

   



   

   

   





Sing.
Migrate.






Thanks for reading...Z

I Am ?

   

     People want other people to believe that they are perfect. That there is something profoundly different about them. They are the ones that speak negative thoughts about others. They would have done everything different than you, if only they had the chance. They would see your mistakes before they even happened and would have lived your perfect life. Really, they are just like everyone else; insecure and proud.

     People go to great depths to hurt other people in this culture. Some for their own seemingly good reasons, and others to make someone hurt like they do. People are so angry...and people often get childish when they are angry. I say this because I am and have always been an angry person. There have been times when you wouldn't know it...I think. I try to forgive and move forward always. In fact, the mantra of my house is that Coffman's NEVER GIVE UP. This comes from a lot of pain, but it is true nonetheless. It isn't that I try to hide anger. I just try not to let it fester and become who I am.

     Then there are these times that all I see makes me angry. I watch TV and see only negative. I hear conversations and only see negative. I listen to the stories from other people and only fear dread at what bad is coming for them. This gets exhausting. I have become weary.

     What I've noticed about anger is that it rules you most when you are looking at it. When you are looking at the things that sink you, you find yourself under water too. I've found that when I look away from God, I sink. Much like Peter. I struggle because I want so bad to be mad at absolutely everyone for everything. But I'm not an idiot. There is always the prevailing voice inside that reminds me that this isn't God's fault. This isn't your fault. I didn't cause this. This isn't their fault. The world is lost somewhere in the dark. Maybe the answer isn't to scream into the abyss, but to walk into the abyss and take the lost and lead them by hand to where God reigns.

     The answer isn't judgement or anger. The answer is sacrifice and humility. No one is better than anyone. Some of the Christian culture will shake their head's at me because they want to be angry to forget that Jesus only saved people and never condemned. Some of the non-religious will praise me for speaking differently, forgetting that Jesus stood and died for them regardless of their views on religion. I'd reply to all of them that God loved you. God loves you. God will love you. He only asks for you to trust Him to refine you. God is real. God is perfect, in contrast to what we see before us. God doesn't cause our sin. God isn't responsible for the sin of the world. God isn't responsible for the sin done to you. God didn't want your loved ones to die. The sad truth about the evil in the world is that it exists because we exist.

     If we were an experiment, the scientists would see our entire existence as a failure. We learned to hate each other right away. So we kill. We kill with our hands and with our mouths. We are a broken creation that God severely loves. Because of that, we are not a failed creation. We are only broken. All broken things can be fixed given the right talent. God uses people with different talents to fix us.

     I really do believe that the key to overcoming my anger is believing that God has the power and will to refine me. I have resisted and fought my own desire to feel better. I've really given it a good try. I've shouted and raised my fists. I've tried to hurt Him with my actions. I've tried to protect myself from the God that made me who I am and raised me. I begged Him to not touch my babies, because so many that I have loved have left this world. I just want to be left alone. But that isn't real life is it? Sometimes, we have to find the beauty in the horror and move forward always... NEVER GIVING UP.  I only want to be near God. I want to hear Him speak to me. I want to move as He moves. I want to be a positive person in the lives of all people in my life. I just want to give up and let go. I think that is what God has in mind maybe.



   




Sing.
Migrate.


Thanks for reading...Z

The Grind

     Bob walks back through the great hall to the locker room. He sits down on the bench after taking off his protective gear. Sweat falls from the tips of his thinning hair to his nose, then to the floor. "5 O'clock buddy, time to poke the liver," Bill says." Bob replies, "Not today Bill. The liver's been through quite enough lately." "Come on man, she can't have both of your balls. Just go out with us for once. It's Friday!' said Bill. "I'm gonna go home. I'm tired man," Bob replies. Bob grabs his jacket and leaves for home.

     6:30 PM. "Dinner's ready! Get John and Amy inside," says Sarah. John and Amy come in from the front yard covered in black soot and dirt. Bob looks behind them as they walk in and see a brand new black ashen snowman erected in the front yard. "You two are filthy," said Bob. "You should see the snowman," said John. Bob smacks him on the back of the head. "It's time to eat kid."

     "How was school?" Sarah says. "Sam Smith got detention for hitting a lunch monitor. He cried all the way to the office, then hit the principle," said Amy. Bob can't help but to outwardly gasp to keep from all out laughing. Sarah gives him a dirty look. "Mom? Did uncle Joe really die in a glider crash?" asks John.  Sarah replies, "Of course sweetie, what would make you think differently?" "Gliders don't go very fast or very high, that's all. Today, we learned about the great sadness. Seems like he died at the same time as the explosion," John says. Bob drags his fork across the black textured plate, making a squeal that killed their ears. "This is a conversation for some other time than dinner time. I just got home. Can we talk about something a little lighter like; not how my brother died?" he says. "Sorry dad," John says.

     10:00 PM. John puts on his bed clothes and picks up a book off of the dresser; "The Last Stand; How We Almost Lost the War" by Jim Reed. "Coming to bed so soon babe?" Sarah asks. "Yeah. I'm gonna read for a bit. I have to work OT tomorrow," he replies. "But we have a wedding?" says Sarah. "Sorry honey, it's mandatory. Chief says we are running out of guards. I'll make it up to you," he replies. "You always say that." she replies smiling. Sarah rubs his chest as he reads his book about how their world almost ended. By the time he shuts off the light to their small bedroom, he is energized and full of resolve. Reading about the reason he enlisted in the first place always reminds him that the fight must go on.

     6:10 AM. Bob gets up out of bed just before his alarm clock would have gone off. He turns it off to not wake his wife. He sits on the side of the bed and looks at her like she was the only reason to breathe. Life has been so hard over the past 5 years, but she is his rock. He brushes her hair back from her eyes and combs his fingers through it. She doesn't wake, but smiles. He kisses her on the head and leaves the room. He visits Amy's room first, then John's. He kisses them both on their heads and feels full. There have been bad days, but today, he is full.

     7:00 AM. John opens his locker and takes out a pair of white shin guards, followed by a white girdle. He straps the velcro white chest plate around his back, then puts on the arm protectors. He sits down and sighs. Of all days, this is the day he feels something bad is about to happen. He says a quick prayer to God. He asks for safety for his wife, for his kids, and for himself. He stands up and grabs the large white helmet from the upper portion of the locker and places it on his head...then grabs his blaster.

Sing.
Migrate.


Thanks for reading...Z

Out of Ashes

   
     Humans have a history of rising up out of ashes. Our very origins in history come from ashes. Adam, meaning "of the earth" or "from the earth." There is a pattern to the human experience. We suffer, then survive. We rule, then thrive. We kill, then lie. We fade, then die.

     I think life takes a similar path. Most of us have figured out some level of suffering. Some more and some less. Everyone perceives suffering in a different way. None more disastrous than the other to the person going through it. White privileged men kill themselves at a higher rate than poor minorities. Many would look at their lives and ask, "Why?" Me too.

     Recently. I've been reading about the plight of black people in America; in particular those during the civil rights movement. I read these historical accounts and it makes me cry. I look at my life as a man that at one time didn't want to live and it makes me ashamed. I read a book by Elie Wiesel, a Jew in the concentration camps. It makes me sick what he endured. I read these things and I am disgusted by my privilege. I am lucky to have been born into a successful nation. I am lucky to not have been a black person anywhere before or during the fifties. I am lucky to not have been Jewish man in the 40's. Not because they were bad, but because humanity was particularly bad.

     Right now, there are refugees fleeing Syria. The world is scrambling, seemingly trying to find a way NOT to take them in. I live in prosperity. Everything I have belongs to God. It comes from God. It will go back to God. I have space I can free up.

     Despite the horror going on around the world, we still have our own horror here. There is a poverty of a different kind going on here. This is a poverty of the mind...and heart. We have too much. We get upset when we can't get the knew phone that has been released. We whine about our economy, yet we have 3-4 televisions in our homes. There is this photo of a kid in Africa that won a Pulitzer prize (I have hope that the photographer also fed the child after snapping his prize). It depicts a starving child collapsed to the ground as a vulture waits for him to die to feed on him. But...the new iPhone is here and I can't afford it right now.

     At this very moment, I have an iPhone 6. I'm the cool guy. There is nothing wrong or everything wrong with this. It's a matter of where your heart lies. For me, I need to do better because I think doing better and helping people makes hurting people feel better. It is a reminder that hurt is a constant all over the world and is a majority experience of the human experience.

     These last 5 or 6 years, I've really given up on feeling bad for other people. I've lost some people that were very close to me and all I see is the mess they left as they passed through. They destroyed my family.

     But here my family is. My wife is laying 10 feet from me on the couch, because it makes her feel better to be close to me. 2 of my kids are sleeping in their beds. Both of them told me I was the best dad in the world today. So all is not lost. I have what God intends for me to have. I am safe. I am loved. I am blessed. But I am still sad. Because no one is in charge of a person's perception of loss.

     America is a sad place to be if you really open your eyes. This poverty of heart is killing us. For me, two boys that took me in, and loved me as brothers, grew up with me. At some point they found a way to make their hurt go away and the rest of ours spiral out of control.

     But I am here now. Right here in this place with these people that I have left. They love me very much. I love very much and I'm quite ready to rise up out of the ashes.





Sing.
Migrate.


Thanks for reading...Z

A Better Life

     A look back at the things that used to bother you will make most of you laugh. Things generally don't get easier as you get older...at least we don't perceive them to be. I used to worry in the 3rd grade that nuclear war would be my end. I used to worry in 7th grade that the world would be my end. Sometimes I worry now that I will be my end.

    It's not about the end of anything. It really is about what you are while the world leaves it's marks on you. It's also about what you do to make amends for the marks you have left on other people.

     We live in a sensitive society. This isn't anything new to you. Some of us are sensitive and reactive and some of us aren't. Some of us don't really care that much. It doesn't really matter one way or the other. We owe each other. We don't owe each other because are indebted, but because we are the same human species. We rely on each other for survival.

     Everyone needs someone. Most of us pick our friends and resist the rest. The people that are annoying get ignored. The people that talk too much may get ignored. The quiet people may get ignored. The idiots may get ignored. The problem with this society is that people ignore other people that can really enrich their lives and help them. Small differences shouldn't mean so much to us.

     I've had people that have almost nothing in common with me, save my life. I'm not going to explain that because they are my heroes now and it doesn't matter our differences. No one is more valuable than another, and we are all the same. We all have deep thoughts and really strong feelings and opinions.

      This is exactly what makes us all the same. It's also exactly what makes us beautiful. My thoughts are not your thoughts, I believe God said the same thing to us in the Bible. We aren't the same, but so different. Yet we get so upset at each other for these little things. It makes sense to me that life would be better lived without so much frustration.







Sing.
Migrate.





Thanks for reading...Z

Instead, We Hate...So Much

   

      I sat there holding my little girl's hand in the emergency room. She was ok. She had a broken arm, so I'm not trying to be dramatic. But I realized when I jumped at her every groan or movement that things mean much more to you when it is your child that is the subject. People are self centered all over everywhere, but I think people are even more inclined to rest their every emotion and motivation on their children...like an idol.

    People would rather you feel the pain of life than them...unless it's their own children. All of the sudden, you get a stomach ache and start pacing the emergency room floors looking for any way to help that child you have made your entire life. Then everything is different. It makes it hard to fathom that Jesus would take all of that pain on himself, and even more, His Father would watch Him do it, knowing He didn't deserve it. It makes God's love seem a little more believable.

     I've learned since being a parent that most people don't pay much attention to you...unless you are loving their child. I've learn as a youth pastor that the parents of the kids you are working with will either forget your name every time they meet you...if they ever will meet you. Or they will love you like you are a part of their family. It all depends on how much they value their children. I've taken teenagers across the state on youth trips without a child's parents even seeing me face to face or speaking to me at all. I've also battled parents over everything their kids are going through and gotten yelled at and blamed. But...I would have always preferred being shouted at and doubted. Then I know they care. I can work with that. For those reading this, if I have pissed you off, but you learned to love me, raise your hand.

     I didn't learn this from actually doing the job. While doing the job, this pissed me off and made me a self-righteous prick at times. I learned this the moment my kids started needing someone else to teach them something. I had to learn to trust someone else to be an expert at something. I learned trust this way. I could always "trust" someone else for my own life, because it's me...if I get hurt, I'm an adult. But my kids...I'm gonna need to know a little more information first.

     My daughter is in figure skating and needed a coach so she could compete. We asked a friend who's kid competes in the same city and she recommended very highly her daughter's coach. We called her and Aevry started lessons with her. I don't think much about people teaching a talent, because they are usually a dime a dozen. After a few months, we started to notice something different about the coach. She got annoyed with my little girl, but was visibly proud of her when she succeeded; just like we would be as parents. After years of teaching, I trust her coach because she isn't just an awesome coach, but she's and awesome person. She loved my kid. She loves all of the kids. She got married today, so she gets extra attention.

     My son works with a baseball coach that can't remember his age when he comes in. He asks his age every time we come in. For years. But....he remembers my son's strengths and weaknesses and gets really pissed when he hears stories of my kid not having the best position at baseball. So, we love him. Don't know many things about him, but he seems to care about our kid, so we care about him. Their actions remind us that people care about others other than themselves.

     We had this morning where planes hit our buildings and we were reminded that we all are connected and care about each other. For over a decade, we have learned to hate each other even more. Humans like to separate each other from who we kind of are. So we divide, then divide, then divide. In the end, we are alone. In the end, we only care about who really cares about us, personally. I think this is wrong. We should care about a person because we agree they have blood in their veins and because we agree they are full of these different, but similar emotions that we have about things. They have different memories and viewpoints. This should make us closer to them. But all we seem to see are the differences in viewpoints.

     Just because a person sees gay people differently, doesn't mean they see the moon differently. Just because people see any political or humanitarian or social topics different doesn't mean the same sun doesn't also make them squint and hold their hands over their eyes. We are different, but we are really the same. I know this sounds really humanistic and "correct" but I really do think it's true. Love is true. We don't have to agree, but love is ingrained in us. Just let it out.

     If we were to care about people even though they aren't directly helping us or our family, we would be a really great country and a really great asset to people that really need some love. Instead, we hate...so much.

     But I remember right now this one particular time that in the most terrible place I have been, my little girl gave me a little plastic heart. And that reminded me that there is something much greater than all of this anger and greed and sadness. Sometimes the kids have all of the correct answers. We should listen.

Matthew 19:14





Sing.
Migrate.



Thanks for reading...Z

The Truth About Suicide

   
      The guy with the saxophone played in the park when I should have been in school. I really can't remember why I wasn't there that day or why I was allowed to be at the park next door. Sometimes I faked being sick. But in those times, I was confined to the couch with the television. Sometimes my mom would give me a 'Mental Health Day." This is a thing that was exclusive to her at the time and to this day I believe whole heartedly in it. I do it for my kids. If I see my kids struggling or really emotional, I'll call them off and we will go to the movies. It may be because I'm a big kid, but I remember it helping me a lot as a kid, and I suppose it helps them too. Sometimes we all need to take a day off for no reason other than to take a deep breath and relax.

     This day, I sat on the ground in front of the sax guy and listened to him play while everyone else was in school. I didn't have money, so I assume that's why he never asked for it. What he gave me was terror. This dude told me of nuclear war. He told me that Detroit was a huge target because of the nuclear power plant in Monroe and the auto industry. He told me that if the bomb hit, we'd be dead in15 minutes. That day started my obsession with death. It made me think about what it would be like to die. A couple years later, a classmate and football team friend would hang himself at 12 years old. I went to the funeral and looked at his dead kid body. I had never seen a dead person that young. We always went to church growing up, so I saw a lot of old people from church that had died. It didn't bother me. They were wax figures to me. This kid was different. I remember my mom giving me at least two mental health days after that. I went back to school after the weekend and the counselor was still there trying to get us to talk to her about it. I came home so full of sadness that my mom asked me what was wrong and I could not help to burst out weeping. She held on to me on the couch and said nothing. She just let me feel it. Kids told stories of why he did it, and conspiracies floated around of foul play. Reality was that this kid didn't want to live in this world. He was profoundly sick and he tapped out.

      I went through a lot of bad things once I started growing into a man. When you stop playing with action figures, you start seeing the world in the way it really exists. I realized that I was missing a dad I had never met. I started fighting and blaming a mom that was doing her best. I kept obsessing with death and the act of dying. I just couldn't fathom having the balls to die. I wasn't so happy with life, but no where did I have the guts to die. Many think that those that kill themselves are cowards. I think those are people that never found themselves on the brink. Those that have been there and have survived it know that it takes a lot of courage to just go. I'm not condoning suicide. I could and would never do that. But I don't think people understand what is actually happening in a person that has had too much and is going to go. I understood it the day I tried to leave as a teenager. It wasn't a cry for help. I had done my research. It wasn't me looking for attention because I got plenty of that, I have always gotten attention. It was illness. Something close to cancer, except it kills you slowly and no one wants to admit you have it.

     Dying from cancer is awful and everyone accepts it. Dying from suicide is awful and everyone thinks you were a coward. It's not true. It actually takes a lot of guts and hopelessness to kill yourself. Most people try really hard to get better and find a way to be happy. Happiness is just on the horizon for some people, but not all. We don't live in a movie world where the happy ending is just on the other side of our pride. Sometimes, we suffer and pray for help and no help comes. Sometimes we give all we have and can't find the answer, even if it in front of us. In those times, we lose hope and go away from the ones we love. They aren't cowards. They aren't selfish. They are sick.

     I used to be a youth pastor for this reason. I worked with teenagers for 13 years. My passion was for the truly broken kids. For kids like I was. I did well at my church. I attracted a lot of hurting kids and many of them are happy adults now. But I also watched many of those hurting kids become even more hurting adults. After Will killed himself, I lost my passion for hurting people. I wanted to quit. I couldn't do it anymore. The kids hurt me when they circled the drain, but watching one of my best friends do it destroyed me. I resigned. I started trying to help people from a different perspective as a nurse. I watched people die, and again they were just wax figures to me. People learn to disengage from reality to survive.

     All the while, this saxophone guy is telling me that everything is hopeless. I lost Joe too in December and I started to really believe him. I really started to believe that hope was lost. No human can or will choose to live without hope. Rich white men lose hope and die. Poor black women lose hope and die. We all can lose hope and die.

     It's easy to look at our culture right now in America and lose hope. We argue and get angry over the stupidest things. It seems from my point of view that we fight for things we may not even know enough to actually believe in. We label each other. We judge each other. We hate each other for our opinions. We celebrate hatred. We fight intolerance with intolerance. We kill in God's name. We hate in God's name. We do both in the name of our denial of a god. We don't apologize when we are wrong. We don't help each other when we are in need. We don't empathize with anyone.

     To me, this world appears to be hopeless. I guess that is why the suicide rate continues to climb. Everyone needs love and there are so few giving it. If we got busy loving every time we got angry, I think we could actually make a difference.

     I have hope. Despite any death I've seen, I've seen more life in my wife and kids. They are hope to me. I watch those that do love for no reason and it makes me smile and want to stay. Kindness makes people want to stay, despite their sadness. Hatred makes people go away forever.

     


Sing.
Migrate.




Thanks for reading...Z

A Place Under the Stairs

   
     Shouting from all sides of the wall. Charlie sits in his little red Camaro bed and holds his hands over his ears. He counts the holes in the ceiling tiles, like he always does. He makes pictures from the sponge painted shapes on his walls. Chuck does this whenever he feels stressed. Times when his mom and boyfriends are fighting. When the lights go out at first. When someone has hurt him at school. When his mother has had enough of his obsessing over things and strikes him. People seem to always strike him.

     One, two, three, four, five, six...He sits on the bed and waits for silence to win. Noise has never been anything but a nuisance. Charlie hates music and he hates the sound of people's voices, especially his father's. He remembers hearing his father speak only once. He knows he must have heard it more, but this once, his father told him that he should have been aborted. Chuck obsessed too much to not look that word up when he got old enough to do so. Now this voice makes him rock back and forth.

Journal entry July 5th 1992. 

I'm not good at this. I hate this. I am only writing this because the lady at school told me that I had to. Here are the events of today; written in order. I got up from bed and brushed my teeth. I got toothpaste on my clean shirt and that doesn't come out well, so I changed it. I locked the bathroom door so that my sister didn't barge in and ask me all of these questions. I went to the bus stop and Michael Salsbury pushed snow into my face, then pushed me into the snow bank. I tried to punch him, but I couldn't see because of the snow and missed. The bus stop laughed at me. I got to school and broke 5 pencil leads. Sometimes I break them because of nerves. I asked to sharpen the fifth and the teacher told me stay in my seat. She told me that having sharpened pencils is part of being responsible, and I will learn what that means and someday I will thank her for the lesson. I went home on the bus. I ate a frozen TV dinner on my Spiderman tray while watching "The Apple Dumpling Gang" on TV. I went to bed and that was the end of my day.

     Charlie sits under the basement stairs that he has made into a fort with blankets. He watches a small portable television that he got from a camper his mom once owned. He had figured out a way to extend cords from the cable box and run a line into the basement to his small TV. He isn't sure how many hours he had spent down there, but this is the place he goes at night when he can't sleep. Sometimes he pretends to sleep when his mom comes in crying to look at him. She will cry and touch his shoulder. Sometimes, she will say she is sorry. Other times, she will just lay next to him on his little sleeping bag and cry. She never stayed long. Charlie always woke up alone.

Journal Entry August 1st, 1992

I got detention for not writing in this stupid book every week. So here is my day, in chronological order. I got up in my fort under the stairs. The basement was cold, so I got an extra blanket from the laundry room and laid back down. I woke up again and my mom was slapping me in the face and pouring water on my face. I was late and had missed the bus. I slept too much. She would have to walk me to school if I was going. But I wasn't going. When I missed the bus it meant I was staying home. I watched the "Winnie the Pooh Show" on my little TV under the stairs. I took a couple of naps. I woke up during the "Pinwheel" show, then fell asleep again when "Picture Page" ended.  I heard my mom come home slamming things around upstairs. She called someone and she was yelling. I covered my ears and rocked myself to sleep. I woke up and ate a peanut butter sandwich for dinner. I did the homework my sister brought me from school. It was easy. I watched "Mr. Belvedere" and went to sleep.

...

Journal Entry October 25th, 2012

Here is my day from the first to last. I woke up before my alarm clock. I turned over and remembered that Amber was working tonight and I shouldn't expect her to be home until I was off to work. I tried to sleep, but I couldn't so I went to my secret fort under the stairs and fell asleep. I got up when I heard the front door. I came upstairs holding my work clothes so that she wouldn't know about my fort. I went to work. Today was a good day at work. I got my review and it went really well. Jim (My Boss) told me that I only needed to work on my "People skills." I got a pay raise that I couldn't wait to tell Amber about. I called her at lunch and she was so excited about it. I'm not stupid. I know she was pretending. But it feels good to be appreciated at work and at least encouraged at home...even if it isn't completely real. 

     Charlie sat down in front of the Christmas tree on his recliner. Amber sat in front of the tree by the fireplace. She asked him how his day went and he answered, "It was ok." She probed and probed because Amber like to ask questions to keep him talking. She loved it when he would speak. She knew he didn't know it, but when he spoke the honesty that came from his mouth was truly refreshing. Amber loved Charlie from the moment she had met him at their therapy appointment. Her mom had encouraged her to be an adult. Her dad didn't speak to her at all...never had. Amber was his little secret mistake. She knew that because he had told her that. His voice was one that was revolting to her.

    When she met Charlie, she just couldn't stop looking at him. He was so handsome to her. She wanted to speak to him, but she was a proper lady. She waited.

     This one day, he opened the door for her as they were both leaving. She looked at him and said "Thank you my darling." Chuck didn't know what to make of that. He liked it; at least he thought he did. So Charlie replied, "I'd love to eat a cheeseburger...maybe you could come too." It was a date.

     They married without their parent's approval. Charlie's mom left just after he graduated high school and got an apartment with another "very special" roommate. She was shouted at and scolded. Her parents reluctantly came to the wedding and he dad placed her hand into his and smiled at her, even though she knew he didn't mean it.

Journal Entry December 15th, 2025

I did it! I got a promotion! I am the assistant supervisor to the quality department. I am so happy. I just want to tell Amber. I just want to tell Amber. I just want to tell Amber. I just want to tell Amber...Amber is gone though. Amber isn't at home or going to listen.  I forgot for a few minutes that Amber has died. I was sad, so I went to the Dairy Queen and got a cone. I walked for a while. It made me sad to think about her. I've come a long way since I started writing this journal as a kid. I've tried really hard to be more "social" and I think I'm better with people. It's a more difficult task without her here. She used to help me to not say the wrong things. She used to help me to understand why I feel so awkward. I got up and made eggs, fresh from our chickens out front. I stayed home today and worked from home. I looked at her picture every few minutes to remind me that she existed. I stopped working and ate dinner....a TV dinner that Amber would have screamed at me for eating. I went to bed under the stairs and fell asleep remembering that I am happy and got what I have aways wanted.
     


   




Sing.
Migrate.



Thanks for reading...Z

Happiness

   
     I started working out again this week. I have always continued running some, but something inside of me has made me too lazy to lift weights up and down. I guess it didn't seem to matter. This week was a reminder that it matters because it's something I used to love to do. I picked up the weight and got mad and wanted to lift it further. I wanted to release something.

     Maybe that's what all of this nonsense in my life it about...releasing something...letting go. I'm gonna go ahead and do that. I have been avoiding the topic. I've been coasting. I've been trying not to feel much or share much. I went back last night and looked at my posts from when Will died and I realized that I had shared so much more than I do now. I'm not sure why exactly, but my bet is that so many things and feelings about them were the same that I didn't feel the need to share them. Maybe it's because it hurts some people to read my thoughts about them because their thoughts equal mine. It may be because I'm tired of being some kind of person that people say they will "pray for."

     I'm not proud, but I'm no victim. I war everyday. Most days I win. Some days I lose. The losing has always looked worse than the winning. No one weeps about winning. Books and poems are seldom written about winning.  Songs are hardly written about perfection. I'm broken like always. Nothing has changed. I win a few and lose a few, but nothing can replace the huge wins I have had. I could lose everything and it wouldn't erase the joy God has given me in my life.

     I have this wife that endures my every struggle. These kids that weep at the feeling of my distress. My family that sits and waits for me to ask for help. My hybrid brother Andy who continues to bleed with me through all things. These amazing friends, old and new, that keep me laughing. I am blessed. I have a loving God. We all have a loving God. We are not alone in anything. We only sometimes feel that way.

    Somewhere along the line, I stopped fighting. I stopped  doing the things I loved to do. Enough is enough. I'm going to try and change some things. It hurts so much to let go. It doesn't happen all at once. It starts happening and continues until you are almost lost. I usually give up when I feel lost. Maybe just letting go is the answer. Loving God. Loving the people God has given you. Loving people more destitute than you think you are.

     Maybe this is happiness from now on.



Sing.
Migrate.



Thanks for reading...Z

Hope in Humanity

   
     Everyone is mad about something. Someone has hurt them in some way or someone has stirred up the wound another person has made many years ago. Both ways, anger ensues. I am an offender. Lines piss me off. Slow drivers piss me off. People who don't wave when you let them go first piss me off. People that say nothing when you hold the door for them piss me off. I'm not wrong I don't think, in being slighted, but I am probably wrong in caring if they do these things at all. People are rude and mean and I probably should have already figured this out and expected it. But I don't want to expect the worst in people.

     I think the real problem here is the people that do right. I think they should be blamed for the entire world expecting something better. They do these selfless acts and bleed for people they have never met. They give their money and time to help strangers in need...and they don't even have the common courtesy to take credit for their disastrous mistakes. They are the reason that people still believe in goodness. They are the sad ones.

     When I get really bound up inside with anxiety and anger, I think about things that no one can destroy. No one can destroy the sky you look up to at night...at least not yet. No one can destroy your memories of beautiful things...unless dementia has sunk it's terrible teeth into you. No one can destroy who you are inside. It is you and you alone that does that.

     We can't control the things that have made us angry. This is an issue that I have battled for the last 6 years. We can control our response. This is also an issue I have battled for the last 6 years. It's easy to blame other people for the things that someone else has done. It's easy to forget the things that you love about being alive. I think many people forget that other people are also human, so we train ourselves to stop caring about them unless we have a really good reason to.

     When I get really mad, I usually want to destruct myself or someone else. In the times I succeed in not acting out of anger, it's usually because I remembered the reason I loved the people that have hurt me in the first place.

     I think about laying in a huge open field at night with the fog moving in on us. We were wearing the same leather jackets, three shades of the same brown color. We all had rockets and those rockets had wicks that would send them into the heavens. They also had parachutes that would help us find them when they fell. We laid on the grass with the dew treating our faces no different from the grass as it surrounded us. We talked all night. I don't need to explain that; we all have had those conversations with someone we love dearly. In the end, we would get up and one by one light those rockets and watch them disappear into the sky. We didn't even look for them. I don't think any one of us wanted to know that they ever came down. These were the nights that make me smile when I am so angry at them. They help me hang on to hope in humanity.

   





Sing.
Migrate.



Thanks for reading...Z

Who Are We?

   

      We are only vagrants passing through. You take a look at the world and where it's been and where it seems to be going, and it kind of gives you a perspective as to what you really are. To each individual person, we are these amazingly complex and unforgettable people. You me, no one has ever been me or could share the same past or present. Yet to history, we were barely here. If you didn't do something historically terrible or historically wonderful, you were just another fish fly that was just passing from the last to the next for a day. It's a disastrous thought really. It's sickening to think that we don't actually matter.

    All of the things that happened to us that mean so much to us. All of the people and moments that we would die to preserve. The moment you realized your friend was no longer just your friend...but your family. The moment you looked into your date's eyes and knew she would be your wife. The moment your kid's breath blew hot onto your face as they were sleeping on your chest. These are the moments that make life absolutely beautiful, but we are a blip on the radar of what has and what will be. It's a really terrible thought if you don't believe that God has made you for a specific purpose. If you believe it is just another day closer to ultimate death, then I feel for you.

     I don't think that's the case. I believe we affect the future. I believe that because of me and my wife, my kids will love their kids more than their own lives. Then those kids will carry our love to the next and the next. I believe God loves all of us individually.

     He loves even if you are a screw up. He loves when you do everything by the book. God loves absolutely everyone.

    People who are religious sometimes get too caught up in their religion and forget the point of what Jesus was. He died. He actually bled actual blood for the worst sinner you can think of. His forgiveness and grace is the entire point of why He was a Savior.

     I needed a savior more than many. I needed a savior to save me from myself. I needed a savior to lead me through very dark times that I couldn't see my way through. I need a Savior this very moment to lead me to where He is.

     I think the world is full of hatred. I think we can all agree. I think America is particularly spoiled. I think American religion has at least partly, lost it's way. We judge good from evil. We label everyone according to our own standards. We think politically instead of spiritually. I think we should be something different.

     I think we should be students of learning. I think that we should work on being educated. I think we should be spiritual. I think we should work on being educated scientifically. I think we should educate ourselves spiritually. I think that we should work on actual tolerance...not the tolerance that's based on hating the intolerant. I think we should think. I think we should care. I think that we should let God do the judgement and focus on your own house.



Sing.
Migrate. T


Thanks for reading...Z

A Blog About Other People

     I don't have the creativity right now to express myself in a short story. I wanted to. I sat here and tried really hard to think of something, but there is simply no interesting story about "Hanging in there." When I say that, I mean that there is nothing at all new to speak of. I don't have any news or new feelings to express. Because of this, I haven't written anything to note of in a while. There is a Macklemore lyric that says "Ask more questions, talk about yourself less." I like it. I think there is real wisdom there. So this blog is for other people.

     I was struck by a car in the late hours of the night. I laid there in the turn lane unable to move. Car after car drove by and I looked into the eyes of many people whose gaze told me, "Sorry, I won't stop for you." Cars drove by and humanity was lost in my heart. Until a terrible smelling black homeless man came running toward me. He shouted for me to hold on. Help was on the way. He got to me and told me that he didn't know what to do. He told a gas station clerk to call 911 for me. He didn't know how to help me, but he did tell me how I humorously shouted "What!" when I was struck. He told me that he thought I'd be dead. No one asked him to do any of those things. No one was watching him. He was free of the fear of losing something that doesn't actually mean anything. He knew what humanity looked like because he maybe hadn't seen it in some time. Maybe I would have driven my car right by him while he was laying in a rode. I don't know. I hope not.

     It took me a long time to tell my future wife about the bad things I had done in my life. I hadn't murdered anyone with my hands, but I had killed a few with my words. I wasn't proud of the things God had forgiven me for. I had spent a lot of hours finding those people to apologize to. I had prayed for forgiveness and mercy. Then here comes this girl. I didn't deserve her and I knew it. I walked softly and was very slow to move because when you see a unicorn you are careful not to scare her away. I reluctantly took her on a walk I had taken every day for months to pray for forgiveness. I told her everything while trembling. She didn't see it. She didn't see the man I thought I was. She saw me. She loved me. That is a woman you marry. So I did. Holla if you see us! He will be the the two holding hands after almost 15 years.

     There are so many more. I'm gonna save them for future "About other People" blogs. Truth be told, I led with the homeless man story because I didn't want to be so obvious that my wife saves me everyday because she doesn't like the attention...just like any other hero.

   

   




Sing.
Migrate.


Thanks for reading...Z

Sane. (A Short Story by Caeden Coffman)

     

This is a short story written by my 12 year old son Caeden. He is on a horror kick lately and this impressed me. I hope you enjoy it too. 

     I was sleeping one night when I heard a faint noise like somebody was carving something. It immediately freaked me out so I put on my robe and went downstairs to see SANE written on the wall. I went up stairs to tell my parents when we got downstairs the words were all gone. The next morning I went downstairs to get a bowl of cereal, midway through I got a text from my best friend Ben when I went to get another bite I saw that my cereal started to move and it spelled the word sane. I went to go get my parents the word was gone. Later that day I got a phone call I answered it and in old raspier voice it said “Your sane Your insane.” After that I heard the door open then my dad yelling I rushed down the stairs and their was a man with a knife attacking my dad. He stabs my dad, and my heart sank as I watched him carve sane on his forehead. The man lunged at me with the knife pinning me down I shout “What do you want with me!”

He says “Your sanity.”

He stabs me and carves im sane on my head.

 

Love and sometimes...Ping Pong

   

     Growing up is hard sometimes, but in the end the getting there is so beautiful. Hard times lead to growth and good times lead to shared laughter. I've had the joy of growing up with my best friends. Two of them aren't walking the same earth as I am anymore, and that sucks. I get sad thinking about not being old with them one day going on one last adventure before we give up and die. But this blog isn't about that. This blog is about enjoying what is in front of you. A month ago, I got to travel with my family to the west coast to see my little brother. The mountains were awesome..and the sunset so beautiful from just below the clouds. But the best moments of that trip were spent in a basement buried in a mountain playing ping pong with my little brother and oldest friend Andy.

     It doesn't matter the time or distance between us. When we are in the same room, nothing has ever changed. There is a beautiful feeling that comes with nothing changing. We played ping pong all night. I lost every single game to a kid I used to exert big brother strength to growing up. For a few days, I forgot what I was missing. I've been trying to figure out a way to thank him for being a great host and a great friend, but most importantly a great brother. He may not be blood, but I'd bleed for him as if he were. Sometimes God chooses your family. We sang stupid songs in strange English dialects. We drove for hours. We smacked a little white ball back and forth until the wee hours of the morning. I wouldn't trade that week for anything.

     We have many more adventures ahead of us. But one day, we are going to be old and senile and we are going to be smacking a ball back and forth at some old man's home. We will look at each other and remember every adventure we have had together and laugh...because life was love and sometimes....ping pong.





Sing.
Migrate.

Thanks for reading...Z

Into the Night ( A Short Story)

   

     He looked at her as if the moment wasn't really happening. Her beautiful dress reflecting warm light across time and space, reminding him that what lives in that dress is being subdued by it. Her beauty was more than he could take.

     This could not be him and she could not be her. He met her at a wedding. She was pretty in a way he had never seen before. She was that blossom tree that you see while driving that takes away your breath and beckons you to turn around and go back to it. But you don't ever, at least he never did. Beauty like that was something he wasn't accustomed to. So he would usually keep driving.

     She was warm and promised more than beauty for a week before she would die all over the ground. She wasn't a girl he deserved or pictured himself with. Really, he didn't picture himself with anyone at all. Yet she loved him like he was the only person on the earth.

     He looks across the isle and stairs into her eyes. He wasn't a person who cried much, but this moment tested his resolve. She was an angel. She was the only person in this world that would save him. He knew that the day they met.

... a decade

     She looked at him while he shouted in her face. He called her names and threatened to leave. She shouted back and accused him. They fought until they both felt awful, then would go to bed crying and hopeless.  No matter the offense, it was always the other's fault. It was always something that the other had done that was unforgivable. They had many moments of peace and harmony, but the bad days were very bad days.

    She would think about that dress she wore and that smile on his face and it kept her working. He would think about his life before and the warmth of every time she had touched him. They both had a longing for each other that they couldn't voice. Both were so proud and stubborn. They would fight, but hope was found in the moments of anger evaporated by certain looks resolving into moments of laughter.

...another decade

     He was comfortable. She was comfortable. They rarely fought anymore. They watched television and drank together as if there wasn't a very sick world outside. They would laugh at the same time when someone said something that triggered an inside joke. She made his appointments and he made sure her cell phone was always up to date. They both loved the only way they knew how to love. It wasn't that they didn't know how to love the best way it would be perceived; it was that they were still both so stubborn and proud.

 ... 3 decades

     He sat up in the bed. The nurse came in to give him something that would make him tired in about a half an hour, but would help the pain. The problem with this medicine was that it made him let go of her hand and lose focus on her eyes. At the very moment before he would close his eyes to sleep, he would worry about whether he would wake up, then become anxious and regretful that he had been so proud his entire life. He wanted to tell her that he was sorry for all of the fights he knew he was wrong in, but made himself heard anyway. He wanted to tell her that she was the only reason he had lived such a wonderful and normal life. He was never destined for a normal life. She was that blossom tree that never died. The only beautiful thing he had ever gone back to. He wanted to tell her how very much he loved her, but he had lost his ability to speak weeks ago. The illness had taken away his ability to fight anything or anyone. In that moment, he could only squeeze her hand and fall asleep forever.

     She felt his hand in the night. He squeezed her's harder than she could ever remember. He was speaking to her. She looked into his eyes that were glossed over and fighting to leave. Every time they would begin to fail, they would fight themselves open again. She knew this was the very last bit of love he could show her. She put his hand to her face and let her tears fall over his fingers. She brushed his hair back and kissed his head. "I'm sorry too," she said as he slipped away into the night.

   





Sing.
Migrate.





Thanks for reading...Z

The Abyss

     The eruption occurred without warning. I was thrown from where I was lying into the side of the hull, then jerked back left into a maintenance closet. Sparks and small flames lit up what little I could see. No time to think about anything, I just started wriggling out of a labyrinth of wires until I was too tangled to get to my feet. My legs felt weak and my arms hurt on both sides. I was bleeding as far as I could tell from somewhere above my eyes as I felt the warm trickle of vicious fluid roll off my brow. The ship settled. "No submarine!" I remembered.

    "I am Victor Gost. I am in the United States Navy. I have been on this sub for 2 years. The president is Kellen Murphy. The year is 2033." I continued to reassess my brain function. The bleeding had stopped and the hull also free from leaks. I regained my composure and emerged from the wires and out of the closet. My legs were still weak, but I managed to crawl to the sub window by the fern garden and pull myself to my feet. I looked inside and the room was bursting with green so dense I couldn't see beyond the plants to the other side. As far as I remembered the seeds were planted only a few days ago. I could be wrong.

     I made my way to the corridor 23 and entered with my keycard. I approached the wooden desk next to the hull window and peer outside into the abyss that has become my home. The water was dark and it appeared the lights from the sub were cut off. There were no fish that I could see, which was wasn't a rare occasion, but it wasn't frequent either. The fish always tend to hang close to the sub to ward off predators. I couldn't see anything that would cause such a jarring blow from that angle, so a moved to the other side of the corridor and looked out the other window. What I saw, not a single person would have believed. I had smashed into and through the hull of a sunken ship. There were old plates and chairs floating around the water, still held up by the sea bottom that was stirred up and roaring from the ocean floor.

     I made my way to the control room to find Captain Denning. As I progressed to Sector 1, I noticed the lack of officers. I noticed a lack of anyone at all. No rattling, no talking, and no radios. I noticed silence, save for the hum of the engines underneath me. I passed the specimen lab, then the mess hall, then the latrine...no one stirred or made a single noise. I felt all of the sudden lonely. I reached Sector 1 and entered through a door rarely left open. No one. Nothing. The lights on all of the panels were lit with their normal colors and the depth screen was accurate to the sea floor. I sat down at the communications desk to go through the manifests. In the cabinet was a hard drive. I plugged it in and saw Captain Denning on the screen emaciated and pale. He was crying and apologizing. To me.

     He said they tried to get me out, but they were too weak to lift me through the airlock. He said he was sorry he gave me that order. Then he said goodbye. The video went to black and the time stamp lit up November 5 2034...nearly a full year since I can could remember hearing a date. I played the next video, then the next, then the next. I played 5 terabytes of apologies and goodbyes. Most felt guilty for the war. Other's just lamented about the smell of flowers and the taste of real meat. I traced the videos backwards and watched the men grow in weight and shrink in facial hair. When the video footage was finished, I opened the second file on the hard drive labelled "Media." I spent the better part of 2 entire days watching the footage. I could not believe what I saw. We, the Americans, launched a nuclear missile from a submarine (which I now gather was me and my crew). The missile struck France and obliterated 5 entire cities. In retaliation, Germany launched, then Iran, then Israel. The entire world was shown in pictures flashing across my eyes. Everything was melting. The final transmission was made by a man who spoke gravely alone in a studio. His eyes were sunken in and his skin sloughing off. He spoke about the end of civilization and sounded much like my crew in their goodbye videos.

     I closed the file and opened the third and final file on the hard drive. It was labeled "For you who remained." It was a video dated the same day as his last, of Captain Denning, again emaciated. He explained what happened to me in case I ever woke up. He explained my demise to no one in case I slept forever. I had tried to kill myself. The order was given from Washington to launch the missile. I am a bombardier and I pressed the button. I can't remember it or what happened after. He guessed I had gone crazy over it. I took all of the pills I could find and fell asleep. They resuscitated me. The crew medic diagnosed me with anoxic brain injury with a guarded opinion on whether I would ever wake up. He told me they were all going to set themselves free into the water. He was very sorry they couldn't bear my weight.

      I recovered my legs and toured the ship. I cut down the pants, devoid of any edible fruit and waited to die. I got hungry, then more hungry. I saw my reflection in the mirror and didn't recognize who it was at first. I shrieked and almost spoke in excitement at the stranger. Maybe I wasn't alone! But he mimicked me perfectly and I knew I was alone and would die alone. I was the last man on Earth and I was in the sea.

...

     He pressed stop on the controller after rewinding the video a dozen times. "This is our father," he tells Lincoln. "This is our father!" "You heard him say that?" asks Reagan. "He just said he was the last man on the Earth. He didn't know about Roosevelt or Liberty!" He is our closest relative to what was before. Do you get what this means?" asks Lincoln. "Enlighten me," replies Reagan. "It means we have the answer to what happened to humanity! We know what they looked like and we know about the bombs, but we didn't know about their desire to die," says Lincoln. "This answers why they killed each other. They all wanted to die," continues Lincoln.

     Washington walks into the room. "Why are you guys watching that video again? You're 9 years old," he says. "Dad, you kind of have to watch the videos you are supposed to be writing a report on. This is fascinating. This is my connection to 15 centuries separating me from this man in this water vessel," says Lincoln. Reagan rolls his eyes. "No son, it is a video found before the beginning of our time about the death of their time. It means nothing more than our ancestors all killed each other and this man died in a boat hundreds of feet under water all alone because he he followed an order and pressed a button and ruined our planet," says Washington. "This isn't a connection to the past; it's a lesson to be learned from fools. While he starved to death and rotted under the sea, two toddlers placed in a bomb shelter with canned food and bottled water grew and had children. Their children had children and no one has shot a missile in centuries. We learned from idiocy. That is the only connection we have to them," he continues. Washington turns off  Lincoln's computer and pats him on the head. "Let's go see what your mom has made for dinner."




Sing.
Migrate.




Thanks for reading...Z

What's in Front of You

My last blog was stupid and I don't like it.

I do things spontaneously. I feel a certain way for a moment and if that moment is strong enough I write it down. I had a lot of strong moments that moved my fingers across the board for the last bit. It wasn't untrue. It was how I was feeling and how I have been feeling, but it wasn't the image I wanted to portray.

So here are some things I need to get out about those feelings.

1. I feel really angry, and when I'm angry I try to blame anyone that isn't the person that is to blame. I had just spent the day with Will's kids and every single moment hurt me. I got angry that they will end up being more like anyone around them than Will. Because he quit. I love him and will always take his side, but he quit on them and it makes me angry. I'll speak to him about it in heaven.

2. It upsets me that I feel like God let me know this was going to happen and it did. It makes me feel more responsible for their lives. I didn't help them. In many ways I hurt them.

3. Regardless of what the actual word of God says, I guess I still felt privileged and except from loss. Some people have to learn the hard way. I am that person. When God promises heartbreak, He means it. It doesn't make Him less beautiful.

4. I am to blame for any and all hard feelings. I wrote things about being God being unfair, but it isn't true. Life isn't fair. God never promised anything different. God promised tears until the day we would be perfected. I think He gets pretty mad about it too.

5. If you mix certain feelings with certain songs, you create a monster of sadness. Sometimes your ghosts become powerful. You may not think of them much, but when you smell something or hear something ancient, you awaken to the most vivid emotions. Many times, I become overwhelmed by certain moments and it doesn't reflect what is really going on beyond that moment.

So what really is going on?

I'm living my life.

Nothing has changed. My wife and children bring all of the light into my life. I just returned from a visit with my brother Andy which made me smile for 8 days straight. I've lost much, but I'm making new friends and I really like them. I'm not lighting rockets, but I am placing fuses. I work hard and I like my job. I'm doing things I have always liked to do. I'm playing music and writing, I'm thinking a lot, which is good. Thought produces better results than emotion.

I am happy with who I am. That's enough for now. I believe in my God and will continue to. I'm going try to pray more and see things without bias or pride. I'm going to start from 0. It will be as if I have never known anything. I want to be a blank canvas.

I am starting over.






Sing.
Migrate.



Thanks for reading...Z

The Leftovers

   

     Which is worse; losing the guys you grew up with, or losing the God that has been with you all along? Anger and negativity mutes the colors of everything around you. Things seem darker than they appear because that's the only way you know how to see them anymore. I've never been a person to hold grudges...at least not up until 5 years ago. I could forgive so easily. This isn't the case anymore. I find myself writing people off before they ever get a chance to prove my pretentious mind wrong. It's a pretty sad state to be in. It isn't what I should be. I am nowhere near who I should be. I've been given so much and yet I cannot shake this resentment and anger. I have been given every reason to believe that God exists and loves me dearly. I know the facts of the matter. I know what He did and what my friends did. I know that God grieves with me, both for them and for me. But I cannot divorce myself from the feelings that God simply isn't fair and doesn't appear to have ever been.

     I'll explain the best I can and please understand that I know I'm not at all rational in this. I know the counter arguments for all of my queries into who God is. I know about Job and I know I haven't lost even a fraction what he did. Yet, I still feel anger, and I can't conquer it. I don't think it's fair to give a broken and destitute kid all of these beautiful people, then rip them away violently one by one. It leaves that kid an even more destitute man. I don't think it's fair to take both sons from a mother and father that have always worked so hard to be good parents. I don't think it's fair that 7 children have lost their fathers and don't even have an adequate answer as to why they were left behind. I don't think it's fair that the world will forget about two people that saved my life. Or that the world will forget about anyone. It isn't fair that we are so insignificant. We don't feel that way, so why does it have to be?

     It isn't fair that I have always believed I would lose half of who I am. I told my wife and I told my brothers that I felt something terrible coming a decade ago. I felt it as a kid. I always felt this dread of the future and hopelessness. I felt like nothing good could last. I know this isn't true as I look at my family, but I also can't help but be angry because two very significant people aren't in the car with me rehashing old stories and visiting stomping grounds. They aren't doing anything on earth at all and that pisses me off.

     I feel like in some ways I am starting my entire past over. It simply isn't fair to give a person all of these great memories of being a teenager, then take away the very people you wish to share them with. I drive past places that great things happened and I want to call Will. I want to call Joe. I want to laugh about these crazy memories, but I can't. So these memories bring me sadness. They are like a thousand little ghosts that haunt everywhere we had been...the very places I still reside. It's just not fair.

    I know I am whining. This is the paragraph I dedicate to reality. God is good. God doesn't kill, sin does. Evil took my brothers, and mental illness. I have the most beautiful life. I still look at my wife the same as the day I met her...in complete love. I am breathing and my heart still beats. I am very much alive and happy to be. God doesn't cause terror. God is all knowing and powerful, but He doesn't deal in mind control. We aren't perfect and He doesn't force us to be. This is the very thing that attracts me to Him in the first place. I am not perfect and He loves me. How can I blame Him for not preventing mistakes from people I love. God never promised me or anyone safety. In fact, God promised persecution and sorrow.


      I don't write much like this anymore. I would rather mask these things into short stories. But I read something I said here years ago and it was a promise to never lie to you or myself. I wanted my life to be transparent. I have been anything but transparent lately. I have been hiding everything. This isn't who I want to be. I want to be the guy that has no secrets and the guy that people want to be around because of his honesty. So here it is. I am broken. I am confused. I am angry. I am sad. I am lonely. I want to feel the warmth of God again.
   






Sing.
Migrate.




Thanks for reading...Z

The Great Escape

     "I NEED OUT NOW! I have an appointment," he shouts as he bangs on the door with his fist one last time. He hears nothing in return from the halls. He slides his back down the large white door that separates him from the silence in the hallway. He traces his finger over the outline of his name on his facility issued pants. He mouths the words as his fingers sweep across: "Graeme," he says under his breath. It's been a really long time since he has considered himself an individual, he considers. He punches the door one last time in defiance behind his head and hears only the echo of his wailing.

     Graeme was sent to the Beacon Institute two summers ago when he drove his car off of a ferry headed from New Jersey to New York. He had always feared tunnels and bridges, so the ferry was his commute to and from work. This day in his history, he felt "somewhat strange" waking up. He got on the ferry to Jersey, sat on the 67th floor of the financial building, and ate a cheese sandwich he had purchased from the truck out front. He typed feverishly into his computer. He had this strange habit of faking suicide threats on unrelated internet forums and chat threads.

     "I think I'm ready to go through with it," he said on a video game review thread of the latest Call of Arms installment. He continues, "I'm going to jump off the top of this building. No words are going to make me chicken out this time." Later after lunch, he posts onto the social media page representing the cereal maker advertising a "Blend of happiness, with a touch of fire." He writes, "This blade feels hot under my chin, I think about the Joker and his permanent grin."

     He left work and headed for the ferry at 4:00 PM sharp. By 4:47 PM, he was rocking back and forth from the waves dancing with the boat underneath his car. He didn't know why he did it, but he turned the key and pushed the peddle, smashing through two railings and into the water. He left his car and swam for shore. Police were waiting when he finally arrived.

     Lying under Graeme's bed are the skeletal remains of rats and various bugs he has trapped in his cell and eaten over the course of the last 15 days, give or take. He is tired of being neglected and has made his decision to break out. He stands and moves to his bed frame and begins tearing it to pieces. He takes and uses the pieces as pry bars for the door, but never budging the door a bit. He begins beating the door with an aluminum bar that formerly served as a leg of his bed. He beats the door until his hands bleed, continuing to shout curses at the silence that lurks on the other side. No reply.

    After a few hours of work, he gives up his anger and motivation and drops the aluminum onto the ground. The metal makes a sound that produces an echo from the outside of the door. "Emptiness leaves echoes," Graeme thinks. He takes a look at his hand as it reaches for the doorknob slowly. He takes hold and feels how very cold it is from his side of the door...the loud side. He pivots his wrist and to his surprise, the knob turns and the door creaks open. He shakes his head and chuckles once, then shakes his head again.

     Graeme Clay steps out into the hallway and attempts to look around. The lights appear to be out. He walks left to the door that opens up the block to the mess hall. It should be locked, but it isn't. The lights are out in the mess hall as well. He finds his way to the office suites, then to the visitors waiting room...all doors that should have been locked. He reaches the back visitor entrance to the building. There is no guard, no receptionist, and no visitors. He pushed the little iron bar in and the door swings open and gets caught by the wind which blasts it open too quickly and gets away from him. He squints as the sun beams through the door. He has wanted to see the sun for the better part of two weeks, but for now, he wishes it were dark so he could see.

     After several moments of adjustment, wondering why it was so windy and imagining stepping back into his old life, he takes his first step into the sun. He sees no one around. There is a parking lot full of vehicles, semi-trucks, and people standing all around very still. He hadn't seen or heard anyone in the building, but then again, it was too dark to see much of anything. Graeme walks over to a woman who is holding her son's hand while walking toward the visitor entrance. Neither of them are moving and she is off balance, but not falling over. He looks her into her eyes, which look dead to him. "Ma'am? Hello?" He waves his hand in front of her face and then in front of her son's. There is no response from either. He walks a hundred feet and repeats his greeting to the man who appears to be painting new lines on the parking lot. He isn't moving either. No response at all.

     "What is this?," he asks himself. Then as if he were awakened by the sound of someone saying his own name, Graeme thinks, "Emptiness leaves echoes." The sky immediately changes from one color pattern to another and he quickly realized that it is him that is controlling the changes. He looks at the tree in front of him and bends it down from the top with his mind, then releases it, sending a truckload of apples into the sky. They go straight up and do not return to the earth. Graeme laughs and begins running at a pace faster than sound. As he runs, letters starts falling from the sky to the ground and bouncing in front of him. He sees the name of his mother and father drop, then his own name. He stops suddenly. Something feels different inside of him. The sky clears of all color, then the ground. Everything turns an eggshell white in front of him. This was a feeling he had never before had in his life. This was freedom.

     At this very moment, in another dimension, a man with a large white beard sitting in a creaky wooden chair, drops his hands to his side and keels forward, bouncing his head off of a type writer. His chest neither rises nor falls. The rhythm in his chest goes silent, and all of the characters in his head are freed.
   

   





Sing.
Migrate.



Thanks for reading...Z