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Adventures In Living With The Mythical |
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A military veteran is adopted by a werewolf and brought into his pack. Insanity ensues. About "Life With A Werewolf" Life with a werewolf is a dramatic blog. As such the characters in this blog are not real but maybe loosely based on real people. The situations represented are not real but maybe loosely based on real things that have happened in my life. There are a multitude of ways to view life, this is simply one of the ways I have chosen to view mine. Updated Every Friday unless I can't or don't want to. If this is your first time reading this...start here: https://www.writing.com/main/books/entry_id/1040400-Welcome-To-The-Pack My book, "Dreamers of The Sea" is available now on Amazon: https://a.co/d/0uz7xa3 |
| Werewolves are certainly human. Until their absolutely not. One example of this strange dichotomy happened when me and Crash were playing video games one day. I remember it was a racing game of some kind, probably one of the Gran Tourismo games or it's ilk on one of the other systems. The style of driving was meant to be as real world as possible, to give you as serious of a drivers experience as could be had with a controller in your hand. So, of course me and Crash were using it to play bumper cars. "Gah! Get back here!" Crash shouted, as I drove away on some beautiful course with lots of open spaces. I remember there being lots of dirt, thin scrabbly pieces of grass struggling for survival in its digital world of a virtual punishing sun, and of course lots and lots of tire smoke. "Ha! Eat my dust!" I shouted, trying to push and shove him off the couch with my shoulder, while clutching my controller in both hands. The vehicle on screen, probably a Mopar beast of some kind, continued to squeal tire smoke as I twisted and wrenched its way through scenery that was never intended by programmers to be used as a race track. We at some point in the game had determined that using the track was cheating. Why? I don't know, something about asphalt tires being used on asphalt was too easy for our little game. Or something. I'm not sure. Alcohol was involved, that much I do remember, so really whenever we get in these little things of drinking and gaming, strange rules come out and honestly, almost anything goes. It had been a late Friday night that capped off one heck of a week for both of us. I did just deal with the whole ordeal of the gnomes and the mess left behind by the Larry, the stone dragon. Apparently, Larry knows how to throw one heck of a party, but cleanliness is not high on the list of any dragon, especially a stone one. It took me hours to clean up the shattered remnants of the hats, stone fruits and vegetables the gnomes were "growing", as well as the brownish blackish stone pile that I'm going to go on believing was a weird sculpture Larry liked enough to leave behind and not something else entirely. For Crash, it was a week of something he absolutely hated: office work. I knew by now that the centaur boss and other characters I created for my head canon was far from Crash's reality, but someone was certainly riding him hard about something, that much I could tell. Hence, the whole game of virtual drinking and driving that we had going on. Or as we called it: "Drunk Bumper Cars." Like I said earlier, we had no actual rules for the game itself, making most of the stuff up on the fly. However, we did have drinking rules. If you lose, you take a drink. If you win, you take a drink. The loser has to also drink with the winner. It was a simple game that was getting us both drunk. Since neither of us was planning on doing any actual driving it worked out well. That is it did until Crash began to grow hair. I'm not the most observant of people. Heck, my entire head could be set ablaze and it would take me several hours to even notice. However, even I could see the dark hairs that started to grow down his arms from his shirt. "Uh, Crash," I asked, pausing the game for a moment. "Yeah," he asked. Twitching his fingers absent-mindedly. His finger nails had nearly grown into claws, but he wasn't at the point of extreme pain, yet. A point of changing I had only heard through my bedroom wall, and had no interest in seeing in real life. "You're uh....changing." I said, feeling like an idiot. "What," he cried, stumbling a moment as he got up, then walked over towards the bathroom, and looked at himself in the mirror. I could see a bit of a muzzle beginning for form on his face, but nothing terribly permanent yet. "Oh shit," he grumbled, stumbling towards his bedroom. "What should I do," I asked. I was concerned. After all, I'm sure that Crash has been through this change hundreds of times before and was more than used to it by now. However, for me, it was the very first time I was seeing it first hand, and was at a loss for what I could be and should be actually doing. I heard the screams. And cries. I had never witnessed the shift in real life, but I knew it was a painful ordeal, something that was survived more than lived or enjoyed. To me, it always seemed like syphilis. Sure the itching and burning and pain can be horrendous, but look at the upside! I mean, if you can find one. Crash tossed his shirt in the dirty clothes hamper in his room. his chest and stomach had a lot more hair on it than before. "Get me another beer, I guess," he mumbled as he walked back into the living room and picked up the game controller. "You're not going to need, medicine, or towels or something," I asked. "Nah," he replied. "I'm just pent up. I'll have more body hair and things, but I won't go full wolf. I'll probably change next week for work." Pent up. He said he was pent up? "You mean, like a horny teenager?" "Well, kind of." He shrugged. "I'm getting beer, I'll be right back." I said, walking towards the beer fridge we kept on the back porch. It got me away from things for a moment, giving my brain time to think. When I returned, I tossed him one. He popped the top with a fingernail that was rapidly becoming a claw and sighed. "The chemicals that cause the change in us weres builds up in our system if we don't change enough. Then our bodies begin to force a change. Wherever we are. A lot of fun dealing with it when it happens and you're say, in the middle of an operation or something." "So, you're a doctor." I said dumbly. He took a long drink out of the beer, then smiled. "Out of all that, you got that I'm a doctor?" It was my turn to shrug. "I dunno. What else am I supposed to get out of that?" "Look, the thing to remember is, that if I don't change. I will," Crash said, then took another long drink. Yeah, whatever that meant. I popped open my beer and took a drink while I thought. So werewolves are basically like horny teenagers, only with shifting forms. This leaves all sorts of things to the imagination, parts of which I'll leave to the worse parts of Deviant Art and Tumblr to picture. I don't really want to. And he didn't call them werewolves, but weres. Where there more than one type of were out there or was it just short hand for werewolf? Did they have a club or something? What was the secret handshake to get in their club? What if I wanted to be secretary of the werewolf club and not president? My mind was running away with itself again. It does that from time to time. "So, are you like, extra aggressive or something," I asked, trying to get my brain back on track. "No, I'm not. I'm still me. I won't go randomly attacking anyone, and besides if I did they'd take away my pension," he said, then took another sip and set the beer down. "Are you going to keep playing?" "I dunno," I said, "are you going to keep changing?" "I dunno. Does that even matter?" He picked up a controller and stared at me awaiting my answer. I looked over at him, and shrugged. I guess it didn't. He wasn't screaming in agony yet. I grabbed the controller and unpaused it. "Okay, fine." I said. "But no more bumper cars. This race we do completely in top gear. No other gear allowed." "Deal," he grinned. Crash didn't completely shift that night. He did so a few days later, going in for 'the evening shift' as Zack and Kris called it. He came home later covered in usual muck, and a bit of blood. I didn't ask, he didn't tell. It kind of works out well right now. Though, I know there will come a time when he has to tell me more about his job and the other part of his life. Whenever that happens, whatever day that is, I'll be ready. I'm sure he has horrific stories. But it can't be any worse than some of the tales I've heard from my former co-workers. My battle buddies. The men and women whom I served with who may only talk about those things after heavy amounts of alcohol, in the quiet moments when the night is slowly losing its fight to the dawn. When that time comes for Crash. I'm ready. I'll listen. But for now, I'm content to play drinking contests with ridiculous rules. To have prank wars and strange meals. I'm content to have a friend and a room mate. I'm content to have family. |
| It was something I figured I could handle at first. Part of me was still convinced that Crash was doing it somehow, right underneath my nose. I mean, you can figure out why. Lawn Gnomes? Coming to life? Really? What's next, a ten foot tall purple dinosaur dancing through the living room and teaching us all how to spell? The entire idea was preposterous. So is the idea of werewolves I suppose. Yet I was living with a real one, whom I'd seen in multiple forms already up to this point. I at first tried ignoring them and their pranks. The Vaseline on the brake pedal. The toothpaste on the door handles to my car. The weird dreams that kept getting more and more surreal, with the great big gnome trying to talk to me as I was tied up. I didn't understand, didn't want to understand. Yet, with each dream, the words started to become clearer, and clearer. I still didn't understand the language, but I got the gist enough to know that he wanted inside the house, and couldn't come inside unless I invited him or brought him in. I didn't want to do the former, and was afraid to do the latter. But if I brought him in and say, locked him up the dreams would stop, wouldn't they? "What happens when a lawn gnome comes inside," I tried to ask Crash casually. My body language must have told him that it wasn't any casual request. "Well, depends," he replied as I stifled a yawn. Today was one of his office days, so he would be expected to come home at a reasonable time, which would be a nice change of pace. His shirt was tucked and fitted, his tie rested just above his belt buckle. It was a stylized brass wolf face howling at a full moon in the background. "They can wreak havoc. Tie you to the bed, grow lawn in the living room. In your case, Kheid out there would pull you apart, but not before he has you kill all of us first." "He says he wants to play nice," I mumble as I start brewing a cup of coffee. I felt a heavy hand land on my shoulder and spin me around. I stared up into Crash's eyes which had grown decidedly darker. "So you can understand them." Being military, part of my former job was to lie through omission. I'd tell my commander for example after one incident, "No sir, we were simply training on the humvee." I'd just conveniently leave out the part where we did the drivers course at double the speed they asked us to go complete with getting air on some of the dunes, turning them into ramps. "Sir, the get together was to boost morale in the squad," I'd tell my platoon leader after another incident. The fact that our little get together required two kegs to boost morale, well I'd just leave that out. Besides, we weren't encouraging people to drink. We just weren't discouraging it either. And free booze is free booze. So, I've had plenty of practice when I told him, "I still don't understand a word they're saying." Of course I left out the part of me beginning to understand every intention behind the now nightly interrogations. "So, you're thinking of bringing one inside," Crash replied. "Let me guess, Kheid?" "Well, we could lock him in a trunk or something," I offered. "Get the eyesore off the lawn." "If it's an eyesore you want to get rid of," Crash replied with a sly grin, "I can do it." "Well, I'd like to just, you know, grab it, and sell it to someone else later," I said, looking down. "Sure, that always works out well." Crash rolled his eyes. "Just say uncle, and I'll do it." I grabbed my cup of coffee and looked out at the lawn. Kheid glared at me through his sunglasses. Two different female gnomes where draped off of him, each grinning in their own way. A sinister way now. They were all looking at me. I felt the hatred coming up from that glare. "I...." I began. "I'll....think about it," I said, then turned back around. "Well," Crash replied. "I got to go to work. Text me when you're ready to give in." I nodded my acquiescence, then the door slammed shut to announce Crash's departure. I glanced one more time outside. The glare grew more sinister. I turned and locked the door after Crash left. It wouldn't help at all, I knew. But I felt a little safer. A couple hours went by before I finally gave in. I had went out to my car to head to the store and pick up lunch. When I pressed my foot on the brake pedal, it sank all the way to the floor. Scratching my head, I opened the hood of the car, only to find a small stone knife sticking out of the brake fluid reservoir. Two things occurred to me then. First, that was a damn strong knife cause those master cylinders aren't made all that weak. Second, this was a warning. Kheid wanted inside. Or else. A chill went down my spine as I looked over my shoulder. There he was. The lawn gnome. Glaring at me again. This time with two half naked female trolls and two half naked male trolls, all draped over him. All glaring at me. "UNCLE!" I texted to Crash, then sent him a photograph of my master cylinder. "GET INSIDE. LOCK THE DOOR." He texted back. I tried to be cool, just turn around, and walk slowly towards the door. As I looked over at Kheid, he was still glaring at me. I sighed, and picked up the pace a bit, never meaning to break into a run, but I guess by the time I got to the door, I had done so, slamming it shut hard enough to wake up Shawn who came down stairs in time to see me huffing and puffing in the kitchen. "You okay?" he asked, his curly hair flopping to the side as he tilted his head in confusion. I sighed and nodded, "Yeah, I'm fine." I replied, trying to play it cool. "I thought there was a huge ass snake outside." I lied. "Oh," he said with a shrug. "I thought it was your lawn gnomes again." "What?" I said, tilting my head. "Yeah, you go outside mumble about them at night. Move them around." He went to the sink and grabbed a glass of water. "You've seen me moving them around," It was more of an accusation than a question. "No, but you go outside, mumbling about them, come back in and they're moved in weird poses. Has to be you doing it, right?" He took a sip, then started walking back to his room. Sleep walking. I've never slept walked in my entire life, and these damn things have me sleep walking! I grabbed my phone and texted Crash, "Did you know I've been sleep walking?" Crash texted me back. "Yeah. We've all seen you. You go outside, and stare at Kheid for several hours as if you're in a deep debate. Then you come back inside and lay back down again." How did I miss that? I checked my bed and bed clothes. They were covered in dirt. I must have been so exhausted that I didn't notice it. Or was it something else? To this day, I'm still not entirely sure how I missed that. After all, they had me sleep walking. Could they have programmed me to miss that as well? When Crash came home a few hours later, I was in my room, pistol in hand. "Wow, paranoid much?" He said with a straight face. "I just found out I've been sleep walking and covering my room and night clothes in dirt," I growled. He nodded. "Yeah, I know. When I tried to ask you about it last, you growled at me something about King Kheid, and shuffled back into your room." "How long have I been doing this," I asked. Well, it was more of a cry. I was pretty freaked out by now. This was my first real paranormal experience, after all. Well, outside of treating Crash's shoulder or the night he brought me home that is. "Every night since you brought that thing home." He replied. "Don't worry, it's handled." "How are we going to do it," I gruffed, standing up and tucking my pistol in my pants. "Handled." Crash said again. "I've got it, don't worry." Then he brought me to the window. Outside, hidden in a bush near the roadside away from Kheid who was still glaring at me was a stone dragon. It resembled a cross between an Eastern dragon and a western one, with large muscular legs and a slender stylized body. "You get to clean up after it tomorrow," Crash said with a grin, patting me on the shoulder. "What?" I asked, walking after him. "How is more cheesy lawn art going to solve this!?" He would say nothing more about it, despite my frequent inquiries about it through dinner. It was Zack's night to cook, so that meant Hamburger Helper and more Hamburger Helper. With a side of, you guessed it, Hamburger Helper. He's a wiz at those things though, so at least the meal came out good. I'm not sure how he does it, really. That night I went to sleep as normal. This time getting my door barricaded from the outside by Crash, (I had to beg him into doing it), and sleeping on the floor next to the bed with my pistol near my hand. I wanted to make sure I slept light so if anything happened I could easily meet it with gunfire. If those stone monstrosities were going to get me, I was going to take a few of them out with me first. Make them pay for choosing me. In my dream, there was no interrogation or threats. I wasn't tied up at all. I was standing in the lawn as normal, a thick fog around the yard covering everything else. Only this time, I heard screaming and shouting. Cries of fear and pain. I literally saw stone gnomes fleeing the stone dragon who had one gnome under a foot, another in it's mouth, and a third in a head lock with it's tail. They writhed and struggled as the dragon began to gobble each one down. I felt more than saw something hard and heavy strike me in the chest, catching me off balance and knocking me down. Glaring down at me was Kheid, who reached up and took off his sunglasses to reveal beady red glowing eyes. "I'll be back," It said, in gnomish. I could strangely understand it this time. "I'll have my revenge. You'll all suffer." Then he was gone. Fleeing as the stone dragon chased after, with one gnome wrapped in his tail, and now two more in his stone belly. I awoke with a start. Standing up, I stretched. Then touched my chest. I had a bruise there. Covered in dirt and muck. How? I was still barricaded inside. The tall shelf and other things that Crash had piled in front of my door blocked my path. I sat down, on my bed, looked out into the sun drenched evening villa view that I had on my wall and sighed. A few moments later Crash began to clear the barricade so I could leave my room. "Maybe today is a good day." I said as Crash cleared the way for me to get out. They were gone. No gnomes remained. Shattered stone vegetables, hats, a few shattered faces that looked as if bites had been taken out of them where around, sure. But no gnomes. Only one very fat and happy stone dragon sitting curled up on the lawn, looking up at me through the window. "Don't forget." Crash said as he began to prepare for his day. "Yeah, yeah," I mumbled. "I got to clean up. Thank God they're gone though." "Yes, and thank Larry." Crash replied. I threw a thumb down at the stone dragon. "Him?" Crash nodded. "He's only visiting. But he likes the yard, and lawn gnomes are his favorite. Says you gave him quite the buffet last night. Think he likes you." It was all getting a bit too weird for me. But I swear that damn stone dragon winked at me when I passed back by the window. |
| The lesson to be learned here is this: never buy lawn gnomes at yard sales. I'll say that again: NEVER BUY LAWN GNOMES AT YARD SALES. It just doesn't pan out all that well, and can be the start of an all out invasion. It hasn't come to barb wire and siege towers yet, but honestly I think we're not a long way off from that. Things all started with yard sale season. If you're not familiar, yard sale season kicks off right around summer and goes until it's just far too damn cold to sit outside any longer to hock your useless stuff onto unsuspecting early morning shoppers. The little community we live near has a weekend every year where they go all out for yard sales. Stretching from one lawn to the next, street after street, block after block, you could spend, well.... it's not a very big community so forty five minutes at least going through yard sales looking at all the neat stuff people are willing to part with now that it's outlived its usefulness to them, or someone moved out/died, or it broke or whatever. That was what I was doing that morning, moving from yard to garage carefully picking through everyone's piles of stuff trying to find the gold mine within the rubbish. Crash had a late night adventure of some kind or another that he was still on, and would get home about an hour after I had left. I had imagined it had something to do with his centaur boss and or something but honestly I had no clue really and didn't ask because, what's the fun in that? I'd rather just guess and make it up as I go along. After touring blankets piled high with baby clothing bought new and barely worn, (and saying 'kid's grow fast, don't they?' for about a billion times) and witnessing box and crate after box and crate filled with records from people who must have been local favorites at one point but now no one in their life could remember who the heck these people were, I'd stumbled across something. It was a lawn gnome. He had on a little pair of sunglasses, a leather jacket, and his arms crossed in front of him like he was posing as if he was tough or something. The darn thing made me giggle when I saw it, which is difficult for a lawn gnome to do. In my head I had visions of a moving lawn gnome, first starting in one part of the yard, then the next. Slowly a few inches a day here and there. That is until Crash Sean, Zack and the rest would start asking themselves if they were going insane or if that thing was moving. Was it a dumb idea? Perhaps. But remember, I'm not the one who stood in the kitchen eating Reese's Peanut Butter Puffs out of a dogfood bag. So, he had it coming. Besides it wasn't like anything was going to happen, right? Gnome gets moved around, people ask 'am I crazy or is that thing moving?', I pretend to not know, and see how long it takes before they crack or catch me. That was my original intension when I brought it home and set it up near the woods by our property. It was visible from the road, looked cute and funny in that weird kitschy sort of way your strange aunt with all the cats and figurines is. It didn't exactly bring "class" to the house, but then again my forgotten relic of a car, and the grass that's always over grown doesn't bring much class either. Besides, if you remember my last post, class is not something I concern myself too much with. Crash was less than enthusiastic about our latest addition to the landscaping. I expected some hemms and haws. Maybe a joke or two about my taste in figurines or perhaps one or two jokes about me becoming a stereotypical housewife from the eighties. I didn't expect the 'what the hell' moment that I got. He came crashing through the door, a sneer on his face. He was covered in dirt and mud this time, as well as another substance that smelled a bit like sewage if sewage wanted to stink. "What the hell is that thing doing in our yard," he growled. "Oh, the gnome," I asked, trying my best to sound innocent. "No, the water fountain in the back next to the olympic sized pool," he said, rolling his eyes. "Yes the gnome!" "I saw it at a yard sale, and thought" I began. "That you'd pollute our yard and the entire neighborhood," he replied dryly. "You mad," I asked, a bit confused now. I mean, sure lawn gnomes are a bit cheesy, but we're a bit of a cheesy group. From Zack's Minecraft Halloween decorations to Kris and Sean's unique taste on Christmas (think 'Frozen' meets 'Nightmare before Christmas'), and of course me and Crash ourselves, we have a delightfully unique take on just about everything. We're the ones who could have endless hours of debates about what exactly it would sound like if Talking Heads suddenly decided to become a Slipknot style metal band, for example complete with lyrics and song titles. Since when was something too cheesy for us? "I'm not mad," he replied finally. His shoulders had slumped forward, his face was dark with that subtle defeated look that we all get at the end of a hard day. "Just a long day at the office, and now, that thing." He threw a thumb up over his shoulder towards the yard. It's strange. I swear the damn Gnome was glaring into the house just then. His arms crossed, the sunglasses on his face peering at us through the windows with, well hate. I wrote it off at the time to my overactive imagination. "When you've had your fun with him, let me know and I'll take care of it," he sighed, and shuffled through the kitchen towards the shower. The strangeness began almost the next day. I went outside to begin my prank. I was going to move the gnome just a few inches from it's spot by the large oak tree near the path through the woods towards the house. If they let me, I would inch it up to the door step, and practically inside the house. However, instead of standing next to the woods, it was now over near the garage. Near the woods was a female lawn gnome. She was complete with hat, large bashful eyes and a blush, as if being courted by my original lawn gnome. He was turned slightly towards her, and I swear he had a 'come hither to' smile on his face. "Very funny," I grumbled, and turned around to go back inside. At the time, I figured it was Crash pranking me. Ceramic and plaster doesn't exactly just get up on it's own and begin moving around the yard by itself, does it? That's not the way physics work, at least not in this world. It could be Zack, but honestly video games are more his speed. If it was him, I'd expect the gnome to suddenly look like a character out of Zelda or Halo or something. So, it had to be Crash, didn't it? I don't know where he found the time to get the gnomes or even where he got them from, but it had to be him. Upon seeing this, I rolled my eyes, and went back inside. How the heck was I defeated in my own prank even before I started it? Am I really that predictable? It's as if he not only stole my entire play book, but rewrote every bit of it, Xeroxed it, and gave it back to me. The female and male lawn gnomes moved around a bit in the yard every day. At one point he moved away from the garage, towards the female. At another they were holding hands and kissing. As they were kissing another female lawn gnome appeared at the entrance towards the woods. "That freaking hairball," I growled. Taking a picture, I texted "very funny" to Crash. His only response was "Say uncle and I'll take care of it." I glared at the screen. "Screw you," I muttered. I could ignore it far longer than he could. Push comes to shove, I can take care of it. It went back and forth like this for a few days more. The gnomes began to multiply. As the first female began to swell up day by day, the other female was being held by the gnome. Then came male gnomes. small kid gnomes. Little ceramic carrots being planted in the front of the house by gnomes. The whole entire works. "Oh, what the hell," I grumbled looking at them. We had started off with one. Now, if I counted the number would be closer to thirty. They were multiplying faster than rabbits! I began seeing little ceramic men in my dreams wearing pointy hats and threatening me with ceramic knives. They would speak a gibberish language that I didn't understand. I awoke that morning, groggy. It was now approximately three weeks into Gnome ownership, or gnomership as I began calling it, feeling more like an owner of a ceramic petting zoo at this point than the proud over of a strange lawn statue that was supposed to be a funny prank for me, but completely backfiring instead. Shuffling from my bedroom into the kitchen, I gave a big yawn as I prepared myself a cup of coffee. I would need it extra strong this morning. "You look like hell," Crash replied, smiling at me from his usual chair at the table by the window. He had a steaming coffee cup in front of him and a half eaten bowl of cereal before him. It appeared that he was looking out into the yard at the lawn gnomes. One was in the process of mooning the window, another giving us the finger. Cute. "I had dreams of lawn gnomes attacking me," I grumbled. "Could you understand them," Crash asked. "No, they were speaking gibberish," I replied, unsure of where this was going. "Good," he said, then took another bite of cereal. "You ready to give in?" "no," I growled, "especially since I know it's you moving them around. I don't know where you're finding all of these stupid figurines, but I know it's you." "no, not me." He replied. "They move themselves." Not this crap again. "Sure. They come alive under the moonlight to terrorize us." "Well, mostly play pranks." He replied. 'But, that one you got there is a trouble maker." "Pranks aren't trouble," I asked. He shook his head. "No, not usually. They'll saran wrap your toilet seat or put peanut butter in your tooth paste, things like that." "Peanut butter in the tooth paste?" That just sounded weird. Crash shrugged. "They think it's funny. But Kheid out there, he's dangerous. Hates humans. Wants to eradicate us all." "Crash, you're making no sense here," I replied, visibly confused. After all, he named the damn thing Kheid. I've got a lawn gnome army out there. Well, at least a lawn gnome platoon. Twenty something of them, planting things, reaping things, lawn gnome kids running around, all being over seen by a gnome that strangely has no chin beard, but has the pointed hat, sun glasses, a leather jacket, and now a pistol and grenade rounds in a sling wrapped around itself like it's a one gnome army. You know Rambo? This thing now looks like Ram-gnome. "Like I said, when you're ready to all it quits, let me know. I'll take care of them. And when you can understand them, especially let them know." I rolled my eyes at his words. Now, he's just being silly, I thought, then walked back into my room to start my day of writing and reading. I wrote the entire thing off really. After all, Crash works at night and has a lot of time on his hands. Err...paws. Or whatever form he's in when he works at night. He could easily be moving gnomes around before work trying to throw me off. Slowly adding to the collection in time to make me think I'm crazy. Right? But that one gnome, the leather daddy Gnome named Kheid, he seems to no longer be kidding or playful. There is no smile full of humor on his face in the mornings like the other gnomes. And slowly as their numbers grow each one of them begins to look more and more sinister. As if they're ready to come after us. So, either this will end with Crash laughing at me after he's driven me bonkers, or a lawn full of broken lawn gnomes, or we will all be forced to recognize the power of our new pointy hatted over lords. One of those three things will happen. Either way, I've made my piece with it. And no, the cocked hand gun near my bedside isn't because now I'm paranoid. All of this trouble because I tried to start one prank. Next time I'm just replacing his shampoo with nair or putting toothpaste on his door knob or something. All of this trouble. No lawn gnomes. No more of this! This prank has gone absolutely no where. Lawn gnomes just aren't worth the trouble. |
| Crash's recent injury has both of us thinking about the future. Neither one of us really is getting any younger. Since it has been impossible to age in reverse, we've both come to the conclusion that we're going to age with dignity and grace giving each new milestone the quiet suffering elegance and prestige each one deserves. "Yeah, right," Crash said, rolling his eyes. "I'm going into the grave screaming like a banshee fighting the whole damn way. I'm going to live till I'm a thousand." He was seated in the kitchen at the end of a long day at the office. A glass was in his hand that appeared to be rum and coke, though I'm not sure just how much rum was in it. Smelled like a lot from my seat across the table. His arm was still in the sling, though the chunk was no longer missing out of it. In a day or two he'd be back to working nights, doing whatever it is that he does. "Do, you? I mean....can you live that long?" I asked, unsure. Sometimes these things happen in our conversations. "Yeah," he said smiling, "and we sleep in coffins during the day and drink the blood of the innocent at night when you sleep!" "Very funny," I grumbled rolling my eyes. He chuckled a bit, leaning back in his chair, then took another sip. "Nah, we don't. We usually live as long as you regular humans do. We hardly age until just about the end when everything falls apart at once." I rubbed my hip a bit at the thought of falling apart. There was heavy moisture in the air, due to the recent rains, which was starting to play hell on my joints. Some days I wasn't sure how old I was. I felt closer to eighty than forty. "I'm gonna need a cane soon." I grumbled. "I got one in the closet you can use," Crash nodded his head back down the hallway. "Hell no," I growled. "I'm going to get me a sword cane." This perplexed Crash at first. I'm not going to go into the extended conversation, but he seemed puzzled then pleased with the idea. I'll get myself a sword cane, one with a glass skull on the end of it, and blood red jewels for the eye sockets. I'm going back and forth on whether to make it a human skull or a canine's. I want to have black trousers and a black belt to wear with it, and maybe a coat and a fedora or a pork pie hat. I'll have sun glasses I wear just about everywhere I go when I do. Why? Well, because like Crash said I'm going into the grave screaming like a banshee and fighting the whole entire way. Just because you're getting old doesn't mean you're getting dead. I've always hated the philosophy that some have when it comes to that. "From the moment you're born, you begin to die" they say trying to drag you down mentally and emotionally into their own dark negative space. From the moment you're born you begin to get older. That isn't some new age philosophy, or some crazy new religious movement talking, that's just life. The time you choose to start giving in, to start letting others decide for you what is cool and what is not, what is acceptable and what is not, what you like and what you shouldn't, THAT'S the moment you begin to die. Death isn't something that's experienced by everyone in the same way. Some people die in their heart, mind and soul almost right out of middle school. They decide they'd rather be accepted by a group than to think for themselves on what they like or don't, what is acceptable and what is not. And when you'd rather be accepted by a group rather than make your own decisions, that's when it begins. Dying isn't something that's embraced by me, but merely accepted. It's a fact of life. Everyone: service members, police, fire fighters, etc, everyone who has that dangerous type of occupation sooner or later accepts that they could die. They do the things they can to prevent it, but any day could honestly be their last. It's why they sometimes laugh the loudest, have the most twisted jokes, do the crazier things. Cause tomorrow could literally be their last day, so why worry about it? When you die in your mind, heart and soul, the body isn't that far behind. That goes double for when you get older. Others deciding for you that certain music isn't good. That certain movies should be rejected, because THEY didn't like it, so now you have to hate it too. Why? Am I not allowed now to like older style music and newer stuff simply because someone said I'm not supposed to? When the hell did I sign up for that? Life is about living. It's not about dying, or about making a stand or a statement. I'm not out protesting others, or trying to over throw anything. I'm not fighting political battles for some fat politician to get elected and grow fatter and richer off the blood I spill. I'm making my choices, living life the way I see fit. If I want to dress like a villainous reject from an anime, then damn it, I will. If I want to see a Metallica concert one day, then a Black Pistol Fire concert the next, then damn it I will. If I want to watch foreign action films or sappy romantic comedies back to back, then damn it, I will. Cause I'm living my life. Other's can't live it for me. Or as Crash put it that night before he decided to call it a day, "If I can't choose the way I die, I might as well choose the way I live." |
The audio version of this blog post is here: https://youtu.be/EeOk9pWwO0Q Crash's life as you know by now is consistently inconsistent. His work schedule has him out at nights, that is unless he's just working a regular nine to five in the office, sharing gossip about whatever it is werewolves gossip about around the water cooler. He has been tight lipped about his job, which only causes my mind to get creative, and come up with all sorts of strange scenarios. I've been told on more than one occasion that I have an active imagination. Which, lets be entirely honest here, is an understatement. If my imagination was a child, it would be loaded with ADHD, caffeine and sugar, given a box of markers and four white walls in a small room and two hours without adult supervision. What I'm trying to say is, giving me as little information as possible just invites all sorts of strange ideas and scenarios. You see, I know Crash's job has an office portion cause he sometimes goes to work in a suit and tie. So, the little information that I've gleaned from his, what I now call, nighttime adventures, and the suit and tie has lead me to the image of him standing around in an office with other mythical creatures gossiping by the water cooler about what the humans are doing. I'm sure Val, the vampire, would have some juicy gossip as he sips his cup full of red liquid, swearing up and down that they were willing and are still alive. "And quite healthy!" he would say with eyes darting around to see if anyone suspects anything. Susan, whose the office manager in my little head cannon that I created for this scenario makes the best coffee. She's also a centaur, and will just literally kick you into next week instead of firing you if she gets angry, which is why everyone stays on her good side. The skinwalker, Larry, tries to pretend to be just about everyone in the office for a laugh. People chuckle out of politeness, but no one has the heart to tell Larry that mimicking people's motions is funny, walking in the office looking literally just like them is just creepy and weird. But, come on, it's Larry. He means well, but is not just good as people. Sad thing is, I could go on like this for hours. Create little lives for these people, and what each one of them does. Make up fun personality quirks and things for them, like Larry having a set of old school turn tables that he uses to try and make up his own beats at home, though he's not very good at it. He knows he's not good, but he does it for fun and to relieve stress not for money or anything. Or how Susan is two cat adoptions shy of being a crazy cat lady. Or crazy cat centaur. Or whatever. All of this works for his office days, but what about non-office days? The other times Crash works at night and comes home covered in dirt and muck? None of this actually explains those evenings and nights. Especially when he comes home in the mornings some days with injuries. An injured werewolf is strange. They heal much faster, sure. It's funny to see someone with a broken arm on Monday, going into work on Friday like nothing actually ever happened to them. When in wolf form, if the injury is severe enough they can't shift back until it's healed up some. They have to walk around the house for days, stuck in form while whatever part of their body heals to the point that they can shift back to human. The first time I saw this, I was just getting up when Crash stumbled into the door. Sunlight had just peaked over the horizon for the morning, giving gentle rays of goodness and beauty to go with my early coffee. When the back door slammed open and Crash half tumbled, half rolled into it, I gaped at him, stunned. I hadn't seen him in his wolf form often. I'm not sure if it's a bad luck thing or if they don't like revealing that form to humans due to us staring or whatever. He was trying not to leave a blood trail. However, that was difficult due to the gaping hole in his shoulder. A large hand (paw?) covered it. He grimaced, stumbled down the hallway into his room without saying a word, then slammed the door shut. I didn't see him for almost a day afterwards, and when I did, he was still in his werewolf form. Grumbling a bit about pain, a wrap on his shoulder, and not saying anything else. No explanation of what happened. No attempt at an explanation. Just "hey Jason," in the hallway, then back to his room. Every question I asked was met with "you wouldn't believe me," then he went back to his room. I mean, dude you're literally a seven foot tall five hundred something pounds of pure muscle walking talking werewolf. Everything is on the table right now for possibilities. But this lack of information gets my brain going again. He still hasn't talked about the bite, but my brain has come up with an Indiana Jones scenario, where he's trying to rescue a statue of Catomon from a temple but was attacked by cougar people, (cause they're always cougar people in the middle of it, isn't there?) and barely escaped with his life after only dispatching four or five dozen, (cause he's a werewolf, remember). I haven't told Crash any of these thoughts or ideas yet. I'm certain if he heard them, he'd laugh and tell me it's something a bit more mundane than that, and proceed to give me an explanation that's both better and far worse than what I was originally imagining. But the injury thing did throw me for a bit. I mean, yes he's a werewolf, but surely that doesn't mean he's out howling at the moon or whatever, does it? But he's got to be doing something dangerous to go out so often at night for his job, only to come back covered in mud, dirt, and sometimes blood that he swears isn't his and isn't human. But the strangest thing of it all is how quick he heals. The bit shoulder thing from earlier only lasted four days and he was back to normal. His shoulder was missing flesh. I helped him bandage the wound twice, mostly since Kris and Sean wouldn't touch even try to touch it, and the last time Zack attempted to help with his wound, he nearly passed out and Crash ended up giving him first aid instead. That was how I found myself standing in his bedroom, with Crash leaning against a large four post bed, pointing at a box of gauze pads and a wrap. "Could you help with this, please," he pleaded. His ears were folded back like a dog begging for help. Pain creased his muzzle for a moment, before I eventually nodded. Beside the bed was two end tables that looked like they came from a different era from the Victorian style four post bed he had. On top of the one on his left was an smart device of some kind that I could hear play music on occasion. He leaned over half the bed, hanging his head in pain and misery. As I walked around the bed, an old Jeff Foxworthy joke began playing through my mind. "you'd injure yourself in some horrible way and you'd go back to your mom to hear those ever-loving words: 'well, I hope you're satisfied.'" I began to chuckle a bit, under my breath, trying to suppress the urge to act out the scene as told by Jeff. "What," Crash said, as I began to unwrap his shoulder. "Well, I hope you're satisifed," I said, smiling. "What," he asked, confused. I confused him enough that he head tilted. Werewolves do it too, apparently. I picked up my best southern woman accent that I could find rolling around in my noggin and said "Look at you, you're in a pool of blood." He bent his head down, and I heard a low rumble. It took me a moment to realize he was chuckling. "Are you doing that old Jeff Foxworthy joke?" I blushed, and pulled the bloody gauze off of his shoulder. All three pads of them. "No." "You were," he smiled. I looked down into his shoulder. It wasn't as bad as I expected. I'm sure it would have been a fascinating site for a doctor or scientist. It reminded me of one of those creature from another planet flicks. It was pulsating a bit, slowly. I could see something white sticking out of it near the center. "Uh, dude, there's something in here." There wasn't a lot of blood. There was some, but it appeared as if his body was rerouting it somehow. Like it had created the necessary clots so it was now concentrating on building and replacing torn tissue, and not just pushing blood through the open vessels and whatever exposed to the air. However, the white thing looked to be completely out of place. I didn't ask. I grabbed and pulled. He yelped a bit, and a small spurt of blood sprayed outward onto his white blanket. "Ouch!" He snarled, looking back at me. "here," I replied, putting it in his working hand. "I think that belongs to whatever the hell did that to you." "Oh, thanks." He said, his eyes widening a bit. "This is going to help." "I'm glad I could," I replied grabbing the fresh gauze, slowly packing it back in before applying the wrap. The tooth or whatever was never really explained. Not sure it ever will be. That was why my brain came up with cougar people, and the entire Temple of Doom rip off. I don't honestly need to know what he does, and the explanation at this point might actually disappoint me, due to how much fun my imagination had playing with this entire idea. Besides, if I find out Larry the Skinwalker and Susan the Centaur are fake, I'm going to be very disappointed. |
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