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Impossible Things – 10/​6/​14


1. Play­ing ten­nis with a tiger. (They tend to chase the balls)

2. Tiny steam­punk tur­tle samu­rai.

3. Aero­nau­tic starfish.

4. Evolved Jello.

5. Inverted stairs (You walk down to go up…)

6. Con­vinc­ing a cat to do…. any­thing really.

7. Diplo­matic Poi­son Ivy (It's asks per­mis­sion before caus­ing a rash)




So the NYC Flash Fic­tion con­test thingy begins the sec­ond round tonight.  I didn't place in the top 15 for round #1, and I'm not really in a place to par­tic­i­pate in round 2 (and there­fore likely not going to com­pete).  That said, I'm post­ing the first round entry because here I want to. It's not my best work but con­sid­er­ing I hate hor­ror and have trou­ble read­ing and writ­ing it (I get creeped out to easy) but I think it's decent.

Jeremy gig­gled and reached out to grab onto the stack of lum­ber that sat on the ground wait­ing for tomorrow’s ship­ment. As he tot­tered around the cor­ner, he saw the wig­gling tail of the puppy he had been fol­low­ing dis­ap­pear into the shad­ows up ahead. 

As he turned the cor­ner again his bracelets caught on the stack of wood. The one with the base­ball bat had got­ten stuck, so he slipped it off and dashed for­ward. Ahead, he saw the puppy scram­bling into a metal tun­nel.

When Jeremy reached the tun­nel he climbed in after the puppy, the tin­kling of the base­ball charm on the remain­ing bracelet echo­ing around him.

Sud­denly a loud noise erupted and the tun­nel began to shake. Jeremy tried to back out, but couldn't. Instead he began to slip for­ward.

As he saw the blades com­ing closer, he screamed.


Wal­ter Minkis walked up to the counter and dropped his pur­chases on it. 

"Did you find every­thing okay?" asked the blond stand­ing at the reg­is­ter. Wal­ter avoided eye con­tact, and nod­ded.

She care­fully placed each item into the bag as she rang it in. "That will be $24.50."

Wal­ter reached back and pulled out his wal­let. He stared down at it for a few sec­onds, stroked it twice and reached in to take out the money inside.

"Where did you get that?"

"Wha-​​?" he said, look­ing up quickly at the lady behind the counter, panic spread­ing across his face.

"I asked you where you got that." Her voice quickly shifted from sur­prise to anger.

"Lisa? What's wrong?" asked the only other cus­tomer in the store. 

"This guy has Matthew’s wal­let."

Wal­ter turned to see who Lisa was talk­ing to and nearly wet him­self. Strid­ing up the aisle was Michael Davis, town sher­iff.

Wal­ter tossed the wal­let at Lisa, who threw up her arms and screamed as he bolted towards the door. He reached it just as the sher­iff came out of the aisle. As Wal­ter ran he glanced through the store win­dows, see­ing the sher­iff stop­ping to check on the counter girl. When he reached the cor­ner of the build­ing he cut sharply left into the alley that ran along­side and ran for home as if his life depended on it. Which it did.


The door shat­tered. Wal­ter flinched away from the suit­case he had been pack­ing, cov­er­ing his face and head from fly­ing splin­ters. The wood was still falling when the sher­iff and sev­eral state troop­ers swarmed into the room shout­ing and bark­ing orders. Some yelled for him not to move while oth­ers were telling him to put his arms up. Still oth­ers kept shout­ing to get on his knees. 

He darted for the back door, dodg­ing the offi­cer that dove over the worn and frayed couch try­ing to tackle him. The ply­wood and cin­der block cof­fee table crum­bled under the impact of the offi­cer. Wal­ter grinned and hoped he had been hurt.

As he turned the cor­ner into the kitchen he ran into another group of offi­cers. One grabbed him by the shoul­ders, wrap­ping his arms around Wal­ter to pre­vent any fur­ther attempt to escape while another fought to get his arms pinned behind Walter’s back and slip on plas­tic zip cuffs. 

The offi­cer hold­ing Wal­ter by the shoul­ders shoved him hard up against the refrig­er­a­tor, shak­ing the appli­ance so vio­lently that it knocked every­thing from the top. In the pile of mess that fell was a sin­gle sil­ver bracelet with a base­ball bat hang­ing from the end. 

Another offi­cer reached down and picked up the bracelet along with the paper box that sat upside down with its lid slightly askew. As he turned over the base­ball bat charm he saw the name 'Jeremy' engraved on the back. He showed this to the sher­iff, who motioned with his head for the offi­cers to sit Wal­ter at the round linoleum kitchen table.

"Why, Wal­ter?" the sher­iff asked qui­etly.

"Why what?" 

Sher­iff Davis reached out, back­hand­ing Wal­ter. The other offi­cers looked away. They all knew the sheriff’s son was one of the first to dis­ap­pear.

"I won't ask again."

"I remem­ber you now," said the offi­cer that had grabbed Wal­ter by the shoul­ders. "You're Wal­ter Minkis. You used to work down at the lum­ber yard when I was a kid. My dad worked there and would bring me in some­times. You ran the big saw."

Wal­ter glanced at the offi­cer, not mak­ing eye con­tact.

"You had an acci­dent there didn't you?"

"He lost his hand when he fell into the chip­per. Said he was res­cu­ing his puppy," said Sher­iff Davis, turn­ing the bracelet over in his fin­gers.

"Damn kids had hung Roger by his neck," screamed Wal­ter.

"Is that why you used a puppy to lure kids? Because some kids killed your puppy what, twenty years ago?"

"What are you talk­ing about?"

"Wit­nesses say they saw the kids that dis­ap­peared fol­low­ing a puppy into the lum­ber yard. Is that how you did it? Using a puppy?"

"I don't know any­thing about no damn puppy but those kids deserved every­thing they got!"

The Sher­iff frowned and stood up. "Get him out of my sight."

The state troop­ers yanked Wal­ter up so hard he yelped. They dragged him out of the house, kick­ing and scream­ing "They deserved it!"

Just inside the woods that sur­rounded Walter’s house, in the dap­pled shad­ows of sun­light cast by the leaves of the trees over­head sat a small red and black puppy. His eyes flashed red as he pulled out a small bone and began chew­ing. As the puppy shifted his paws around to get a bet­ter grip the leaves cov­er­ing the other end of the bone slid to expose the skele­tal hand that still remained attached. Around the hand was a small sil­ver bracelet with what looks like a base­ball hang­ing from it.

Yes. I am alive. (somewhat long)


What hap­pened?
The Good 
As I said, I'm alive. In addi­tion, a few weeks ago my edi­tor (one +Lau­rie Lal­ib­erte ) gave me feed­back on Chron­i­cles and a short story I've writ­ten. Both were extremely pos­i­tive. And she threat­ened me if I didn't fin­ish Chron­i­cles.  The Locked Room mys­tery was accepted by +Susan Joslyn and crew for pub in the upcom­ing mag­a­zine (hope­fully I have't been replaced).

A few weeks ago I went on vaca­tion. Didn't actu­ally go any­way (which turned out to be a good thing, see below) but took time off and did stuff around the house, did mini-​​adventures with Beck, etc…

The Bad 
The week after vaca­tion, my aller­gies and chronic pain kicked into full gear. Together. So for a week I hurt and felt like crap. Then, the cold went into full swing and I was mis­er­able and basi­cally camped out on the couch for a few days.

The Ugly
I haven't talked about this because… hon­estly I didn't know what do say and didn't want to have every­one giv­ing sym­pa­thies and all that. Not that I don't appre­ci­ate them, but I never know what to do with them. 

For the last year of so my mom has been sick. Not in the hos­pi­tal sick but jut gen­er­ally feel­ing like crap. Turned out the rea­son was because she had can­cer and being the stub­born woman she is never went to the doc­tor. I want to say it was breast can­cer but I can't find the com­mu­ni­ca­tions back and forth right now but I know it was aggres­sive. They did radi­a­tion (and if it was breast likely removed either the tumor or the entire thing) and put her on meds that she would take the rest of her life. Appar­ently her body wasn't able to han­dle the full fledged chemo and this was the alter­na­tive (again, I can't find the stuff to give details).

All that was a while back. Last year or early this year. In the pic­tures I've seen of her since she didn't look good. She didn't look like mom at all. 

Over the last few months she hasn't been feel­ing great and last week started hav­ing trou­ble breath­ing. Andrew (my step-​​father) finally con­vinced her to go to the doc­tor where they found sev­eral pul­monary embolisms (blood clots) and imme­di­ately had her admit­ted to the hos­pi­tal. While there they dis­cov­ered that her lungs and legs were rid­dled with clots, one of which con­cerned them. That was Tues­day of last week (Sept. 23). She died the next night.

They had done a biopsy of a cou­ple of the 'clots' and found out that one was in fact a can­cer­ous tumor that had attached and invaded a lymph node. It was very aggres­sive and they pretty much told us that it was sim­ply a mat­ter of time at that point and that it really didn't mat­ter if she had come in a cou­ple weeks ear­lier.  

So she died on Wednes­day and we left on Sat­ur­day to drive to Ten­nessee for the ser­vices and just got back.

So that's what has been going on and keep­ing me quiet (among other things)

What's next?
Hon­estly, I have no freak­ing idea. The past few days have been a whirl­wind. Over 2200 miles dri­ven in less than 5 days, recon­nect­ing with my brother (who I've grown dis­tant from in the 8 years since I'm seen him), learn­ing to for­give my step-​​father for the past…

But it hasn't actu­ally hit me yet. Some of you might recall that I've said in the past that my mom and I weren't that close, and we weren't, but we did talk and we did com­mu­ni­cate. It just wasn't all that often and tended to be short (both want­ing to avoid start­ing another argu­ment) so I haven't had that "Oh, I need to call mom…. damn" moment yet.

I will never again look at my phone and get ner­vous when I seen her name on the caller ID. I will never again get annoyed with her because she called me for the first time in months because she screwed up the task bar in Win­dows and can't fig­ure out how to fix it.

I will never again hear her attempt to sing happy birth­day on my voice­mail.

She will never see me get pub­lished.

So for now I'm just try­ing to put things together, find­ing out which pieces are miss­ing and how ti get along with­out them. Because no mat­ter how lit­tle we spoke or saw each other there are bits of my life miss­ing. 

All I can say at this point is to for­give and for­get. Hug those clos­est to you because even though she was sick, her actual death was unex­pected and came sud­denly. The last thing I was to her was a text telling her to rest (she had just got­ten back from the biopsy surgery) and that I'd talk to her tomor­row. It was mere hours before she passed. Had I known I still would have called and told her I loved her and just lis­tened to her vent and com­plain about the doc­tors and being in the hos­pi­tal.

So, I'm not back yet. I need time to work things through. I don't know when Impos­si­ble Things will return or when I will get back to post­ing more reg­u­lar, but I will eventually.

Read more than the title and make your own decisions.


Read more than the title and make your own decisions.

A Woman Told Her Boss About A Dev­as­tat­ing Can­cer Diag­no­sis. He Responded By Fir­ing Her.
A Penn­syl­va­nia com­mu­nity is ral­ly­ing around a woman who was fired from her job at an oral surgeon’s office fol­low­ing her diag­no­sis with cancer.

Carol Jumper, who lives in Hopewell Town­ship, Penn­syl­va­nia, was diag­nosed with can­cer impact­ing her pa…

Yes, another D&D post.  


Yes, it's a link to Face­book.

Yes I think it's worth post­ing about.

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In an effort to bring in more women and expose them to not only the game but the ben­e­fits of Dun­geons and Drag­ons, NHRPGA will be host­ing a ladies night. We will be play­ing the newest edi­tion of the game, Dun­geons and Drag­ons Next (5th edi­tion). No expe­ri­ence nec­es­sary, just your brain and a …

Been reading this a lot the last few days


For pretty much the same rea­sons it was written.

Kintsugi: A Poem
Image adapted from Kate, with per­mis­sion, cc license Kintsugi  (For Anthony) “There is a crack in every­thing. That’s how the light gets in.” -Leonard Cohen The wheel squeaks as it spins, the plat­ter catch­ing on the splash gu…

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