1000 Crazy Nights

I gave myself the challenge to write something based on or inspired by music. The following piece is a short story inspired by this song:

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Jack hadn't seen Clara for about five years and hadn't thought of her in three. Theirs was a relationship of words, of what ifs and eventuallys. A chance meeting while visiting family out-of-state, the two became quick friends. She had a boyfriend and he had a history of bad decisions. They both considered their blossoming closeness a harmless pastime and nothing more. Over time the relationship between the two grew more complex, their flirtations becoming more overt and less innocent. When Clara broke off the engagement to her long-time suitor, the two friends finally felt free to express the feelings they had for one another. The next month, Jack bought a plane ticket.

What happened after that, Jack was never really sure. His busy schedule only gave the pair enough time to spend one day together. Clara was shy and sweet, and Jack was a perfect gentleman. After the flight home he called Clara to let her know what a lovely time he had with her, and possibly make plans for a longer trip so that the two could spend more time together. The only problem? She didn't answer the phone. She never answered the phone after that day. Clara disappeared, never to be heard from again and leaving Jack to pick up the pieces of his broken heart. Time would eventually heal his wounds, the scar tissue hardening his once soft heart.

Walking into a club one evening, Jack saw a face that he hadn't seen for a quite long time. Across a sea of bodies, pulsating and beating to the rhythms of the night, hers was the one that he noticed. The one that he had wanted for so long. Jack hadn't seen Clara in ages and any feelings that remained had been pushed deep into the darkest corners of his mind. Seeing her again, a hunger emerged. Romance had long passed, it was too late for something like that. Instead, it had been replaced with lust. An eagerness to taste the flesh he had spent so many nights coveting. Except this time, things would be different. This time, he would no longer be repressed by time, distance or circumstance. With his lips curled into a half-smile, Jack stepped into the crowd. This was going to be a night to remember. This was a night of bad intentions.

Warm In The Shadows

I gave myself the challenge to write something based on or inspired by music. The following piece is a short story inspired by this song:

(Click Here if you can't see the embedded video)

"The first time I went back, I felt this twinge..." Michael stopped, pressed his hand to his chest, and took a deep breath. His lungs filled with the warm, familiar air of home. "Of course, I thought it was excitement. I'd done the impossible. We had done the impossible!" His eyes widened. They were the eyes of a madman, filled with joy, fear, and terror. "But that chill I felt run down my spine, it happened each time I left, and every time I went back it got worse."

Michael looked at himself. He was worn and tired. Gaunt. Looking into his own eyes was like looking at an old photograph, the person looks familiar but at the same time seems like a complete stranger. The man he saw before him looked old, weak, and ravaged by time. Michael turned away, looking down at the floor rather than face the truth. "You shouldn't be here. We both know I shouldn't be talking to you. This breaks every rule in the book."

"There is no book!" He stepped forward, his anger and frustration driving him closer. Michael wanted to grab him by the shoulders and force him to understand, but once again he felt the cold run down his spine. Returning to the shadows, Michael took another deep breath. The warmth he felt in his chest eased the sudden stinging pain. "You don't understand. We created something very dangerous. Using the machine has changed me. Physiologically."

The damage was obvious, there was no denying that. Not only did he seem scrawny and emaciated, he also seemed to glow. Even in the darkness his skin reflected light, and the moment he stepped out of the shadows the temperature of the room dropped significantly. Could the machine have done this much harm? "Why come back then? Why keep using the time machine if it does this to you? Judging by how you look, I look, we had plenty of time to stop before getting this sick."

Michael looked down at his hands, wrinkled and blue, and then back up to himself. He sighed and a tear ran down his cheek. Resigning to another failure, he repeated a speech he had said countless times before. "I'm here to try and stop you. I've tried to stop you before, and each time I fail. I warn you, but eventually you use the machine anyway. Time... it's not what you think. I'm not what you think. I can't be sure, but I think I'm only a year older."

I Walk Alone

I gave myself the challenge to write something based on or inspired by music. The following piece is a portion of a letter that was inspired by this song:

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...moments of clarity are becoming longer with the days I spend in this place. I thank you for that. It has been two months since we parted, sixty days and nights since we were last together. I know you had my best interests at heart when you brought me here, I can see that now. I am very sorry for all the terrible things I have said, and for all that I have done to hurt you. When I get better, everything will go back to the way it was before. We can be together again. We can have that family you always wanted.

The doctors say I am healing quickly and the diary I was given to write in has helped channel the delusions. It helps me recognize reality from fantasy. I no longer see the monsters that haunt the dark corners of my mind. They were merely a dream. I understand my illness now and I have not tried to harm myself for almost a whole month. I am hoping to make a full recovery and go home very soon. There are women here who have lived at the institution for years. They wander the halls like ghosts and their cries make it hard for me to sleep, but they give me the motivation to get better and find my way back to you.

I will do my best to be well again, my love.

Yours eternally,

Meredith

The Prisoner

That time, almost 10 years ago, when I took a Photoshop class and made these custom DVD covers for the old TV show "The Prisoner"

Falling

All it took was one wrong step. Pods had fallen from the trees and covered the park's pathways. He had managed to avoid all of them except, of course, for this one. A trip, a stumble, and a fall. He hit the pavement before having a chance to react and scuffed up his left forearm in the process. Dazed, he turned over and stared up into the heavens. His whole perspective had changed from vertical to horizontal and the only thing up ahead now was the sky, bright and blue.

Turning his head to the left and to the right, he scanned the park to see if anyone had noticed. He imagined people pointing and laughing after seeing him take a nose dive into the sidewalk. With the coast clear, he wiped the tears of pain and embarrassment from his eyes. Pulling his hands away, he was surprised to find a face hovering over his own. "Hey," she said, "can I join you?" Before he could respond, she laid down next to him, resting her head on his right arm. "It's beautiful out here. A real nice day, don't you think? My name's Nicole, by the way. What's yours?"

"Um, Damon?" He didn't mean it to sound like a question. He definitely knew his own name, but between the fall and the lovely girl now laying beside him, Damon was at a loss for words. Looking at Nicole as she stared up at the sky, she was absolutely adorable as she pointed high into the blue and marveled at the shapes in the clouds. Just like that, all of the hurt and shame he felt about his fall dissolved into the air and blew away with the breeze.

Without warning, Nicole stood up and tugged at Damon's hand. "C'mon, let's go home." With a sigh, he stood up and dusted himself off. Grabbing her hand, Damon looked at her and smiled. "You're the best, you know that? Seriously, I'm so glad you're here." "Always!" she said with a smile. She kissed his cheek, something they'd got in the habit of doing years ago, and pulled him by the hand. "Now let's go get you cleaned up."

Hipster Romantic

He didn't know good music from grunge, a style derived from a movement in rock music characterized by unkempt clothing and aggressive, nihilistic songs.

Let's Go Back

Set the controls on your Delorean to New Years Eve, 1995, and experience the magic.