The Achievement Factor

The following is an excerpt from a novel I'm working on. Not like anyone's gonna quote it but just in case, as with any other intellectual work give credit when quoting.

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“Speech! Speech!” the crowd shouted...

...“Well, since this was totally unexpected. I don’t really have much. But, I will say this. To all of you eager students out there… I’m not among a bunch of elite few who are all doing great things. Many well-deserving scientists do amazing things, and what do they get for it? Nothing. You get a new invention, a better way of life, and they just keep traveling down their path and working on it. Other people before me have sent rockets into space. They helped design and build this International Space Station. They got man to the moon. I merely helped with the next step: Getting man to mars.”

<>“I wasn’t the only one who was responsible for this. I worked with a large team of scientists for many years to get this done. Many others contributed to this great work, and I can’t claim all the credit. For those of you who study nuclear physics, you’ll know Dr. Pierce, who was also nominated. He contributed some of his fusion theories to our plan, which helped with engine designs. Countless others helped as well, with features such as artificial gravity on the ship and more heat-resistant plating.”

“You all are capable of doing bigger and greater things than I have done. Who knows? One of you might be able to reshape another one of our planets, and make it a suitable home to live on. Maybe you’ll design a rocket that can go faster than light, and be the man who disproved one of history’s greatest scientific theories. And, when you do, you may not be recognized, or you may get an award. It doesn’t matter. Awards don’t matter. What matters is the advancement of human society. We’ve claimed mars as the second planet to be inhabited by humans. And we’ll go on from there.”

The SWAT Factor

More timed exercises. The first sentence was set.

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He kept telling himself that he couldn't possibly have known about it, much less prevented it, but it didn't help. How could he have known that the terrorist would have a bomb hidden in the building? They didn't mention it in any of their threats or requests. There was no bomb visible - it didn't even show up on any radar or scans that they took of the building! Then, the SWAT team showed up, and the shit hit the fan.

The entire first floor of the building had been obliterated. No one survived. All the money in the bank had been incinerated. The structure was a writeoff. Now, he sat before a debreifing committee. What the hell was he supposed to do?

"So, Mr. Jones... why did you send the swat team in knowing full well that there were still hostages?"

"Damnit, man! I alraedy told you, someone went over my head! And you don't just stand in front of a swat tem as they try to go into a building! It wasn't my responsibility!"

"Now, Mr Jones, just calm down"

He jumped up. "DON'T TELL ME TO BE CALM!" He knocked his coffee cup across the room; it shattered on the wall into a thousand pieces. "Every waking moment since that explosion happened, I see their faces. The woman on the floor, crying. A grandmother holding a baby in their arms, with the worst look of fear I've ever seen. I can't stop thinking about them." A tear came to his eye. "I keep telling myself that it wasn't my fault, but was it? I should have stopped whoever sent the SWAT team in before we finished negotiating. Should we have given them what they wanted?"

So many emotions overwhelmed his head. His son was the bank manager, and he'd never see him again. Fortunately, his wife was late in making their bank deposit; she was still at home, in tears over the death of their son. So many others... so many others... that was all he could think about.

"Mr. Jones, what you need is a vacation... a place away from all of this. You need time off."

"I need more than that. I've already thought about it." He pushed a folder over to the head of the committee. "Everything in there contains my resignation papers. I've already cleared it with my captain. Goodbye."

He left the room quickly before they could respond. Even the day after, to everyone else it looked like he was a zombie. A totally blank stare came over him as he walked down the hallway with his personal belongings in a box.

Eventually, he made it to his car. A couple of close calls occurred on the way home. He ran a red light, and narrowly missed a pedestrian crossing the road. A loud honk pulled him out of his trance-like state as he nearly sideswiped a car changing lanes. Somehow, he made it in one physical piece home... but it'd take him a long time to glue his emotions together.

The Shallow Factor

Another "write as much as you can as fast as you can" thing. This one's on the dangers of diving with a given opening sentence.

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"Often times we don't really think about checking the depth of the water, or if there even is water, before enthusiastically diving in." James leaned down a bit to look at all of the kids in this camp - some were beginning to swim, others were advanced divers. All loved the water. However, not all had the same respect for it as he did, after one fateful day.

"It was a late night - a weekend. Maybe about 2 AM. My friends and I had just left a party. We each had a couple of beers, not drunk, but pretty buzzed. My girlfriend and I, along with a few others, were taking a walk down the beach. The water looked warm on that cool, summer night. We were all hot. There was a rocky precipace overhaning the water, maybe about 10 feet high.

My girlfriend suggested, "Hey, why don't we all take a dive?" It was late, we were all hot. Why not? Since I grew up on the side of the lake, I volunteered to go first. I didn't have a second thought about it - I ran up to the precipace and dove in head first. That was the last dive I'd ever make." James wheeled over to the other end of the stage, to take a good look at some of the younger ones.

"Do you know what happened? The water wasn't as deep as I thought as was. There was about 2 feet of water there. Not 10, as we all thought by how far out the rocky overhang was. I couldn't move. I couldn't budge an inch. And I was face down. Can you imagine - almost drowning in 2 feet of water? Luckily, my friends all recognized that I wasn't moving, even though they were all a bit out of it. My best friend, Steve, had a cell phone, and they called 911. Diane finally pulled me out of the water. I saw the look in her eyes as I was being dragged to safety - full of fear, horror, disbelief, and ultimately, shock. I eventually passed out due to the pain.

When I came to, I was in a hospital room. I tried to move my legs, but... I couldn't. It was like they weren't there. My parents were by my side, thank the Lord. So was the doctor.

'Um... James... we have some very bad news for you. That dive - you broke your neck. We've been able to repair some of the damage, and eventually... you may regain use of your arms. Over time. Maybe years. But you will never walk again.'

Never walk again... never walk again. I felt like I had taken a kick to the stomack by a karate expert. To never walk again, to never run... to be confined to sitting down for the rest of your life, is one of the hardest things you will ever hear. I tried to reply, but I couldn't do that either. My speech was gone.

It took my 6 months of rehab just to learn how to talk again. And I still can't write very well. But I was one of the lucky ones. I've known people who have died, been paralyzed, even been vegetablized by a bad dive. They didn't know how deep the water was, even though they were perfectly sober. Let that be a warning to you."

Jason wheeled back to the center of the stage. "I implore all of you.... every single one." There was a tear in his eye. "Please... always check the water before you make a dive. And never, ever dive alone. If there's no one around to know you're in danger, no one will find you before it's too late."

He backed up. The kids didn't clap, didn't boo, didn't start to talk. They just sat there and stared. A blank stare of shock... across the entire crowd. No one in that crowd at the camp left that speech untouched.

The Peer Factor

Another timed exercise of mine, this time 5 minutes. Topic: Used.

And slightly disturbing.

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"oh, god, my head..."

George woke up in another hotel room - what the hell happened the night before? Where was he? All he knew was that he had the headache of a lifetime. He'd never done anything like that before.

He was 19. He jsut turned the legal drinking age. His friends promised him the ride of his life. Everything. First, they took him to a local drug dealer. "Everyone does it", they said. "Now, it's your turn. You're beyond your parent's boundaries. They have no control anymore."

he didn't know why, but he just couldn't say no. There was the heroine needle. It was like some other force inside his body. He picked up the needle and injected it into his right arm. His body didn't know what hit him. It seemed like a wall of pleasure.

He remembered some sort of bar. "Drink, drink," his friends encouraged. "You're in control of your own life now." He didn't feel like it after the heroine shot. His friends forced a beer down his throat. After that, he couldn't help himself. He had another one... and another one... and another one.

George got up... very slowly. His head was pounding like a giant metronome. He spotted a used condom on the floor. He remembered... someone... in this room. "I must have had sex..." he thought. Although... he just couldn't remember what happened.

He slowly made his way to the bathroom, limping all the way. There was another needle... a half-burned joint. "Man..." he thought to himself. "What the hell did I get myself into here?"

He made it into the bathroom and took the longest whizz of his life. It burned. Bad. The place reeked of smoke and booze. He washed his face in the sink, then looked up in the mirror. There was a note, in blood."

"Hey, George. Welcome to the world of Aids."

The Cracking Factor

A little short story I wrote while being timed: 15 minutes.

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The leaves fell around me, dancing in the air as though they were trying to put on a special performance just for me and my spouse. Adding insult to injury. Mother Nature had no way of knowing it was too late. The leaf did a couple of cartweels and a triple backflip before landing dead center on the casket. The pallbearers slowly laid her into the earth.

I wasn't one to show my emotions on any occasion, but I let out a few tears - a small breach in my emotional wall. Nothing too concerned. After all, this was a tragic occasion. Even though I was a Vietnam war veteran, I felt I could make an exception here. I had my friends around me, my colleagues at my side. All's fair in love and war.

But, that one incident triggered something in my mind. I still wasn't sure if the autopsy was right. Food poisoning isn't always by accident. A hamburger could have been undercooked on purpose, right? Was that left out for me? Did someone see me in that diner, and switch up the order by accident?

I tried so hard to shut these thoughts out, but it seemed that every time I tried to stop thinking, the problems grew. I slowly gathered into a tight hunch over the sterring wheel of my pickup truck. Something was wrong - I could feel the emotions swelling up inside me. What was going on? Anger, rage, things that had been bunched up for so long now coming to a head.

I swerved around at the next intersection and made a straight line for the diner. It was a three day drive, and I had no bags - I didn't care one bit. Somebody murdered someone I loved more than myself. In cold blood, for that matter. I've done unspeakable things in the war, but I can justify that in self defense. Or can I? Those kids in the village who stole the hand grenades - did they really intend to pull the pin before I took them out? What about the whole village that had a few Vietnamese guards in them? Was I any different then whoever poisoned the burger? Was it all a complete accident?

A sudden honk pulled me from my trance-like state. I swerved to the right to avoid an oncoming 18-wheeler. "This can't be any good," I thought to myself. I had to find some place to cool off. These emotions were coming on too strong. Where were my meds? I think I took them this morning, but it was all a blur. So many people, so many issues, so many problems... so much unbelievable pain. I couldn't think of anyone alive who had the kind of ordeal I felt like I was going through.

As I drove onto a large bridge, I looked to my right and saw a couple of canoeists. A flashback pulled me into another trance: All I could see was people escaping on canoes, gondolas, anything they could find. We were pulling into a village southwest of Ho Chi Min City, with a whole truckload of marines and arms, complete with helicopters behind us for air support. We thought there were enemy troops stationed there. All we found were women... children... families. We - I - killed innocent people that day. That was on purpose. The person who killed my wife with an undercooked burger possibly did it by accident - I don't know.

Something inside me snapped. I lost control of my body. All I could do was watch what my eyes were seeing. My two cold, clammy hands grabbed the steering wheel, and swerved to the right - off the overpass, into the river. I felt nothing... I heard nothing... all I could see was the car sinking, into a slow, murky water. The canoeists watched in horror.

"Are you okay? Can we help?"
I couldnt' feel my bodily responses. All I heard was, "Don't cry for me. I'm already dead." The car slipped under. First blue, then brown... then... nothing.

The Written Factor

November is National Novel month or something like that.

So, hell, I thought I'd write a novel.

http://nanoblogmo.blogspot.com if you're interested. You have 30 days to write 50,000 words.

I may post none, some, or all of it up. Have fun reading or writing as you will.

The Murphy Factor

A guy named Murphy once stated, "If anything can go wrong, it will go wrong."

A cynicist, he was. Perhaps.

How painfully true those words can be. I like to call it The Murphy Factor.

The Murphy Factor is responsible for you screwing up on a timed deadline so you have a grand total of no time to start from scratch.

The Murphy Factor is responsible for you double-booking your schedule. (Of course, maybe in 20 years you can clone yourself so this won't be an issue anymore, but that's a completely different issue for another time.)

The Murphy Factor is responsible for you overloading your weekend with commitments, none of which can be broken.

The Murphy Factor is responsible for you for getting laid off the same day that all the bills come in and you total your car.

Whoever this Murphy was, he was a genius. Good for him, unfortunate for us. It happens at the most inopportune times.

Example: The Murphy Factor sneaks up from behind you and whacks you upside the head, abolishing the brain cells responsible for storing memory of all things regarding calculus. 5 minutes before your exam.

Or, maybe it's the brain cells that allow you to move your tongue, mouth, and throat muscles in unison to create words and sentences when you're delivering an important speech.

Maybe it decides to really mess with you and forget who you're around when you're delivering a toast at a wedding, thus turning you into a family outcast. (Seen it happen - quite embarrasing)

The Murphy Factor tries so hard to be your enemy. Very hard. It's always sneaking around, cloaking itself, waiting for an opportune moment to strike.

Be on your guard. At all times. Its radar goes off if you're tired, stressed, worried, or intoxicated.

If you have to speak at an important occasion, speak slower. People might think your a bit dense, but it's better than saying something really stupid. If you're drunk, only open your mouth to intake alcohol. (Better yet, stop drinking.)

Keep a close eye on your schedule. Don't overstress yourself; that's a ticking time bomb. One wrong word from someone and you'll blow.

Building something? Don't be stupid and forego the instruction manual. Too many bad things have happened. Too many fathers have ruined their kid's childhood like that.

Oh, and if you're drawing up blueprints for something expensive - double check them. Triple check them. On a rocket design, the inventor left out a hyphen in the middle of an equation. The rocket self-destructed. Don't let that happen to you.

But, in spite of all this, don't let The Murphy Factor prevent you from going out there and doing the important things. That's his alterior motive. Look him in the eye and go on. Keep him in your periphreal vision at all times. (If I spelled that wrong, blame the Murphy Factor.) With constant diligence, you'll decrease the damage.

Just be careful. Please.

The Core Factor

Well, it's finally done.

I vowed never to do it. But, it's finally happened.

I, the stoic, have a blog.

Under the emo, nerd, or fob category, I would land as an emo now. As a blogger, one falls under any one of (or possibly more than) these categories. Unfortunately, the dams of the internal emotional resevoir grow old and start to crack. This is a temporary basin until I can repair the damage.

Until then, enjoy.