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not only am I bored but boring too
2001-06-04 - 8:51 a.m. Went to Starbuck's last night with Jenni some of her other friends. Paige was there and Michael Zipper and Jessica and two people I didn't know. Acutally the girl that was with Michael Z had been in the bookstore before with Michael, so in passing and the other guy, another brandon, I'd never met before. We got there right as Starbucks was closing and sat out on the sidewalk for about an hour and 20 minutes talking about nothing really. But fun was still had. I had gone swimming the 20 minutes before Jenni came over so I was refreshed and ready to go. After that everybody just went home. Except for maybe Michael and his friend who were going to go to the mazda dealership. everybody else went home to go to sleep. I really don't have much more to say except i get to work today. Man o man, does it get any better. Not that I am complaining, sometimes work is good. It makes me money which enables me to live, somewhat comfortably within my means, it buys me books, ahhhh books, what a wonderful thing that is. So all in all, I really shouldn't complain, huh? Then I don't know what I am doing. Several options have presented themself so far this morning, its just a matter of choosing the right one. You probably want to know what those options are don't you. Well tough! You'll just have to wait with bated breath till I return with another entry. But I leave you with this prologue I wrote. It's gonna be a werewolf story. You know, those are in vogue right now. A WOLF'S MOON Prologue The rain beat against the windows like muted drums. It was only when the hail started skittering across the roof like a thousand miniature raccoons that Cayla began to wonder if it would collapse. The wind howled angrily through the trees, which swayed and waved like the air was water. In the distance a bulbous yellow moon glowed. She was never fond of yellow moons, they seemed sickly and menacing in the sky. But this moon, full and bloated against the backdrop of this sudden storm, it seemed malevolent. A shutter suddenly crashed like lightning against the side of the house. She jumped at the noise. But it was the sudden glimpse of dark black against the gray night outside that caused her heart to beat wildly and her breath to catch. She stepped back from the window while trying to peer through the slick panes of glass. The hail bounced in the dark grass and the puddles in the driveway boiled with it. The angry wind ripped leaves off the trees and flung them against the windows where they stuck momentarily like wet paper and then were buffeted away by more wind and rain. The willow tree looked like an angry medusa, wispy serpent-like limbs striking at the air. It was only then that she noticed that the garage doors were open. No light except the glistening rain off the back of the Land Rover showed from the garage but she knew like breathing that whatever had passed beneath the window had taken refuge in the garage. And one more thing. The connecting door to the garage was unlocked. Cayla hefted the small lamp like a baseball bat and swung it once and then again for good measure. She felt ridiculous but told herself all she need do was get to the front door and then run. The kitchen door has this annoying creak, sounding more like a hiccup whenever the door opened. Cayla was certain her heart stopped when she heard the sound that so grated on her nerves. She tightened her grip on the lamp and held her breath, listening for any new sounds. The porcelain was cold and slick with sweat in her hands. No sound echoed up the stairs so she peered slowly around the doorway and into the dark hallway leading to the steps. In the darkness of night, shadows so familiar become menacing. The darkness at the bottom of the stairs seemed as solid as the wall next to her cheek. In the impenetrable darkness, she saw nothing, but imagined eyes staring back at her. Cayla crept along the shadowed wall as quietly as the old floors would allow, listening as they betrayed her to the trespasser below. She imagined the trespasser stealthily mirroring her footsteps on the first floor. With each creaky footstep he would take one blind step into the darkness towards the base of the stairs. She reached the landing her breaths coming in short muffled gasps. She felt her lungs close up and in her minds eye saw her asthma inhaler on the kitchen cabinet next to her keys. She grabbed the railing for support only to drop the porcelain lamp and watch it totter out of reach and hear it shatter in the darkness at the base of the stairs. The crunching of glass stilled her breath once again. She backed away from the railing and fled to her bedroom, slamming the door. Shadows danced through the windows and onto the gray carpet. The rain had stopped and the yellow moon had pushed past the clouds in the night sky and shone directly into her bedroom. She struggled for every small breath of air as she hid against the far wall away from the door. She watched the brass door handle, waiting for the inevitable turning. She wanted to scream, but every gasp of breath caught in her throat. Sunlight streamed through the window. Cayla, perched like a frightened bird, stared inmcomprehensively at the light settling on the throw rugs and across the room. Maybe it had all been a dream. She had been spooked by the storm, had a sudden asthma attack and the lack of oxygen to her brain had caused hallucinations. The palms of her hands were marked by crescent shaped bruises where her nails had dug into them. Dream or not, she had been frightened. She pushed herself up against the wall, staring at the closed bedroom door and the light coming in from underneath it. She crept slowly towards the door, waiting for a shadow to cross in front of it or the handle to turn. She eased the door quietly open on its hinges. Deep scratches marred the hardwood floor in front of her doorway, as though some animal had paced back and forth in front of it, gouging a nail into the finish. A lone set of scratches venture along the wall to the railing and then back across the hall, as if whatever it was had followed her scent to and from the stairs. From the landing she could see the scattered remains of the porcelain lamp at the bottom of the stairs, the broken shards looking like a disturbed game of dominoes. Standing on the last step she saw a deep crimson smudge she was certain was blood. Another trail of scratches led away through the living room. At the base of the stairs she peered around the corner and into the living room. Her eyes consciously were following the scratches to the front door, which was left ajar. She walked to the door pulling it open revealing the aftermath of the storm. Small tree limbs were scattered across the yard. Her blue Rubbermaid trashcan lid leaned against the neighbor's picket fence, the trashcan itself lay in the road against the curb. She started out the door only to stop as sudden pain flared in her foot. Looking down she saw it. Snagged on the threshold was a jagged piece of the lamp, matted with blood and what looked like strands of hair. She examined the bottom of her foot. The piece of porcelain had cut her heel. A bead of her blood swelled from the cut. Chapter 1 Blossoms, radiant in the full moon light, surrounded the house. The blossoms of the dingy purple belladonna seemed almost invisible against the dark of the night but he knew that they bloomed as well. His mother cultivated these flowers as well as she cultivated the superstitions that went along with them. ::::::::: ::::::::::::::::::: ::::::::: that's all for the time being. I know, just a taste, just a glimmer, but that's all I have at the moment. |
