Prayers

Tonight I received this email from Megan Flynn.

My grandma’s health has been slowly deteriorating. She has broken her ankle, in two places, and the procedure to fix it cannot be done due to her bone density and age. She also had a stroke. She is now a resident in the nursing home.

This is terrible news, and I know that Megan and her family will appreciate all your prayers. Frances is a dear, sweet old lady whose will and inner strength has far outlived her body’s ability to keep up. She has truly lived her life for God and her family. I will be praying for the best.

My First Christmas

I wrote this song tonight. I may perform it for old people as a captive audience.

Christmas Day. The sun was out, but the winter snow kept the cold. I trudged through it to make my way back home.

Christmas Day: 1925. Why did I return to your place? I guess that I just had to see your face.

In uniform, my medals pinned to my chest, I stood in the grass. While I stood there gaping, the man who answered asked,

“Who are you? The girl you knew isn’t living anymore. She’s moving on.” And then he shut the door.

Merry Christmas to me. Happy Christmas to me. That’s just the way it should be.

Christmas Day. And you denied him who once was your only thought. An empty well, a human shell, to rot.

Christmas Day: 1925. I resigned myself to new paths. I’m moving on. I’m moving on; it will last.

I dailed home on the telephone. “Mom and Dad, I’ll journey there. I’m a new man. Stronger than I can ever share.”

So, Christmas Day, you went away, but I told myself what to do. I’ll love, but I won’t kill myself for …

Merry Christmas to me. Happy Christmas to me. That’s just the way it should be.

Christmas Day, Christmas Day.

…D G D Bm G G* D!

Twilight

Mom wanted me to remind you that tomorrow is a holy day which means you have to go to church which mean its important.

Yea ok see ya later

Molly

Webmaster note: I believe that Madison’s mass times are at noon and at 5. I think I’m going at 5:00.

Twilight: http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/12982018/

In the movies, they always make it look like it’s comfortable to lay down on the hood of a car. They tried it, the two of them, and opted to sit on the trunk intead. It just made more sense for their vehicle.

The sun had fallen. An orange haze of twilight sat heavily upon the hills of the horizon. He held her hand. Then, he brought it to his lips and kissed it.

“What are you thinking?” She asked him. In his eyes she could see the orange fade to gray and then to blue before it became the black of space. That nothingness at the crest of a sunset.

He leaned back, his shoulder blades suddenly cold against the back windown. She remained sitting upright. “I’m wondering how it’s going to be. I’m remembering all the details of the mission. I’m thinking about you, and if I’ll ever see you again.” He was scared, but so was she.

It was important for her to be strong right now. “You see the sky? You see, up there, those two stars?”

He nodded.

“You’re that one, on the right. The big, bright star. You sit high up in the sky, boldly, giving the cosmonauts direction and, at the same time, taunting them.”

He smiled at her. Her gaze was on the stars, though, and she didn’t see it.

“I’m the other star. The only other star in the sky. I’m dimmer, smaller, but I’m closer to Earth. And I don’t shine for the cosmonauts. I shine for that other star. And I wait for him to come home.”

But, as she said that, she began to cry. He reached his arms out, and she collapsed into his chest. “Whatever happens up there after launch… whatever happens on reentry… the only thing that will keep me sane is knowing that you and our only will be here waiting.”

She sat up a little, to look into his eyes and to kiss him softly and tenderly – willing all her love for him into his lips.

“Your strength,” he said, “is what gives me the courage to launch myself from this rock to another one. Your love is what will bring me back.”

On the trunk of his car, they held each other, both of them crying and uncertain. The stars shined on but a bit brighter. It was as if they knew that they now played a part in this distant love story.

And the sun went down.

…wallpaper!

More Wallpapers

I made some new wallpapers. Well, I made them a long time ago and have just now made enough completions or changes to be able to post them.

fast-forward : http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/12936021/

Which one of these rings is fast-forward?

chair : http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/12936843/

My wife and I wished I would die
and set about some means.
She had hers and I had mine
but wouldn’t share her scheme.

I tried for days to make the hag
let loose her morbid plan.
“No gun or knife or plastic bag.
I’ll tell you when I can.”

There my chair both strong and fair
became my major prop.
“I’ll tie a noose with love and care
and take my final drop.”

This brought my miss a bit of fits
as laughter wrought her face.
“You’re not as tall as half of it!
The back stands past your face!

“Such a muss and fuss that just
seems like it wouldn’t fare.
I’m sorry, Dear, but fear I must
add books and one more chair!”

‘She could be more rich and free
the sooner I am done,’ I thought.
I stood upon my stack to see
the dilemma I had bought.

The noose, though hanging low and loose,
was just beyond my reach.
My wife just laughed upon such use
and left to make some tea.

I tried and pried and longed to die
but could not grab the rope.
The tea was warm and helped decide
there wasn’t any hope.

I learned to turn away or burn
my plansm despite the dread.
Still for the death I felt a yearn,
Then, I fell over, dead.

hope : http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/12937209/

{? It’s: waking up and realizing
                 !really!                                                                  1      2      3
                                                         it was all a dream          [ _ ] [ – ] [   ]
                                                                                             A      T      D
it’s: losing your glasses (?)
                     and wallet ($)
                     and keys (.)
                                     in the exact place you left them
It’s: coming to know that
                                             HELL
                         is not a place
                                                             but a state*ment* of *yours*and* mind
                         and you can leave
                                             as IT soots you
it’s: finding that
                 one degree to the left <--                                      we all FREEze                                                                                  --> one degree to the right
                                                                                 we all boILL
             <-- and knowing we/we're/all just right -->
It’s: leaving…and giving up…
                 only to find the most beautiful moon (girl)
                                                                                         has bro———————ken
(((((the)))))((((clouds))))
             that you may find your w.i.n.d.i.n.g. path back to her
a – gan. !}

poker : http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/12937374/

This was an attempt at shorthanding a pixel wallpaper.

There are, of course, four variations.

Mataya : http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/12937533/

This little miracle is Mataya. I’ve never met her, and I probably never will. She will most likely never know that this wallpaper exists.

It’s terrible how a child under a certain set of circumstances is considered a joyous miracle, and a child under a different set of circumstances is considered a pock mark and a nuisance. Most mothers, after having the child, change their minds if they did feel it was a problem, but society won’t change its mind. A child out of wedlock makes you a whore for getting pregnant. It doesn’t make the man a manipulating rapist (like most often he is), just an unlucky fool.

Love your child, Ruth, and give her the best – always. Make sure she knows two parents and knows love from both. You’ve seen what happens if not.

Turtle Boy : http://www.deviantart.com/deviation/12937630/

This wasn’t done by me. It is by Tony Rolfes, a friend of mine.

He made this as an homage to me. No. No, he didn’t.

He did it to hurt me.

…more to come!

The Longest Paragraphs Ever

I made this wallpaper and this wallpaper. They are related, but the first is only 1024×768 with 1 variation, and the second is only 1600×1200 with 15 variations.

As most of you know, I’ve been having a hard time lately. So, lately, I’ve been trying to live the single life to the max. So, Saturday, I decided to dub it Miles Day.

Miles Day began at 10:30. I was up, showered, and dressed in that order. I queued up some kickin’ tunes on iTunes (lately it’s been Death Cab for Cutie – that guys needs a girlfriend he can hold onto), and I took off for the monopolis that is Sioux Falls.

The trip went well. I did not fall asleep, nod off, and I got to sing a lot. Apparently, everyone else knew about Miles Day, too, because the streets and stores were crammed to the gills with people.

First stop: Petco. I noticed the other day that Haji’s skin is getting pretty dried out. I know. “How can you tell? She’s a turtle! She’s the driest animal in the world! What, does she creak when she crawls now? Does she have another wrinkle? Do you get a shock when you pick her up?” Look, I just know, okay. So, I’m hoping that getting her new soil, and moist soil at that, should help her out. But, Petco was busy. Apparently, winter isn’t the best season for selling reptiles; little kids want some sort of large, dentally-challenged rodent to ignore instead. So, it took a while for me to find the reptile area. I think I passed the same Petco employee three times, but I apparently didn’t look lost enough. I grabbed two bricks of soil, and, while at the checkout, donate four bucks to some sort of animal saving thing. The neat thing, I got to write Haji’s name on the little carboard ornament things.

Then I walked across the street to Barms and Nobul. (I wrote it that way because the way I wrote it before didn’t look right, so I deliberately misspelled it so no one can make fun of me.) If there’s one thing worse than driving in Sioux Falls, it’s walking in Sioux Falls. The driver’s in Sioux Falls are not only impatient, but they are blood thirsty. Like the hounds of Mordor. Barms and Nobul was nice. I love books. I had meant to get a book on Spanish Verbs, but I instead walked out with the Complete Works of Emily Dickenson and Diary by Chuck Palanuik. The return walk was even worse. I had to wait through an entire cycle of traffic because some idiots got themselves into a “snake-eating-tale” kind of paradox traffic jam.

Back in the car, some neato bedito driving, and I got back on the road. The next place I went was to Best Buy. My usual reason for going to Best Buy is to purchase music. HAHAHHAH!!! Yeah, right. I go for special collector editions of movies. I considered Punch Drunk Love. Some day I’ll get that and Magnolia. I looked for Snatch, but I must have missed it. I was, however, going to buy the X-Men Collection. Then I got to the line. When Best Buy gets really busy, they set up some shopping carts and make you wade your way through the software. I would have had to start at the printers, and I had a movie to catch. I stashed the DVD in a rack of phone cards and left the store.

My next stop was West Mall 7. West Mall 7 gets movies a little after the big names, but it only charges $3 per show. Flat rates for popcorn, candy, and soda. You just say, “Give me a soda.” They don’t pressure you to buy a large instead of a small even though the small is for your 8 year old hyper-active diabetic half-son because you promised him one high sugar snack a week and his mom had him the rest of the week. I went and saw Shark Tale. It wasn’t bad. There were couple of moments where I laughed out loud, but no one else did at those moments. And when everyone else laughed, I was thinking, “Oh, I got it; I just didn’t ‘hink it was funny.” I kinda fell into the crack of being older than the kids who were there and younger than the parents who were simply doing it to keep the screaming down. But I got my own enjoyment out of it.

After the movie, I hit church hardcore. My church of choice on Saturday nights in Sioux Falls is Our Lady of Guadalupe. The cool thing about it’s Saturday mass is that it’s bilingual. Megan and I went a couple of times. It’s a bit odd being one of four people who don’t natively speak spanish. I was a minority. I, of course, understood half of the mass for sure, the English half. Of the Spanish half, I got about 2/5 of that. Of, 2/5 of 1/2 is 2/10 or 1/5. And 1/2 plus 1/5 is 7/10 which is about 70%. So, if the mass was a dollar, I would have first probably gotten three quarters from the clerk, and then the clerk redoes the math in his head, being Chinese and all, and then takes one of the quarters back and give me back two dimes instead.

The Spanish speaking people really know how to do church music. They are a passionate people who know how to have a good time and relax. They even have siesta time in the middle of the day. But, if there is one thing they know, it’s Jesus and how much it hurt when he died. So, when they lament him, the music is deliciously minor and mournful. When it’s a responsorial psalm, though, the tunes seem fit more appropriatly as the background soundtrack for someone’s quincienera. That, and they can usually tell when you can’t speak spanish. For instance, everyone before me in the communion line was Spanish speaking. So, he says, “El Cuerpo De Cristo” and they say, “Amen” (pronounce ah-men). Then he gets to me and says, “Body of Christ”. I almost didn’t answer because it through me off, but I think my skin color was a dead giveaway.

My next, and last, stop was HuHot. I was probably one of the only single parties there, but I didn’t mind. The place was just as crowded as everywhere else had been. I got egg drop soup. I had a good time. A good meal, simple and quiet and lonely. From there, I left for home to discover that my Radiohead DVD “The Most Gigantic Lying Mouth of All Time”, which was their internet only TV show for a while. After getting home, I spent some time at Bob and Holly’s, just hanging out. Bob got a new computer game called “Hot Rod Jungle Fever” or something. It was one of the worst computer games I have ever seen ever in my life. And that is very extremely true.

Sunday was mostly nothing. Saw Megan for a short while, when she came over to borrow a book. That was tough, confusing, frustrating, wonderful, and every sort of other emotion I could possibly have ever at the same moment. I go up and down and up and down on this subject. If you guys are still reading this, please continue to pray for Megan and I as we try to figure out what’s going on and what will go on. All I usually do is *sigh* and Ugh. I can’t help but think that I would be better at this if God would just tell me his plan so I can help him along. But no.

Al, why haven’t I leaped yet?

…new post!

Novel Update

Technically, I should just give up on this stupid story and concentrate on other things. NaNoWriMo is long (3 days) over by now. I didn’t even upload my manuscript to their word counters. I knew it wouldn’t matter; I’m still way short.

But, you know what? I like this story. And I want to see what happens. Hell, this last Titled Subsection a whole ‘nother main character popped up. I mean, damn! How does that just happen? And there are more suprises to come. This story kinda takes a long time to get going.

So, a new section is up. I don’t think I wrote as much as I wanted to, but I’ve been sitting on this for a while and I really liked the turn it took. I’m sure (well, I hope) I get a lot written over Christmas break. That would be nice.

Other than that not much is going on. My life is still too complicated to put into words and, to top it off, Winter is being stupid. We normally get snow (and a permanent one at that) around Halloween. Now it’s December 3rd and we STILL haven’t had one.

This makes me worried. VERY worried.

So, keep watching the weather, and please keep Megan and I in your prayers. Thank you.

Oh, and, if you have time and low expectations, read [Forget.Me.Not].

(|~~~~\o/~~~~|)

Ballad of a Paralyzed Denizen

Poem 2:

Seeing clearly
left all blurry
Nothing feels
makes everything right
Doubt empties
the stomach of trust
Holding God
turning me to dust

There is a general panick in a pool. It’s ironic, considering all of our development takes place suspended in water, our lungs collapsed within us. But there we float, happy, unknowing, protected against drowning by never having known air or breath. Ignorance being infantile bliss.

Suffocation is a slow death. It’s even slower to the person who experiences it; you can watch your life (or death, rather) slowing down as your brain learns to cope with less and less oxygen. Your mind, ever the survivor, shuts down some of the less important parts in favor of those that really keep a person alive. Emergency shutdown.

There is panick, though. You feel a yearning for air. You know how good the air tastes, how welcoming it feels in your lungs. You can recall thousands of times you held a breath, never a time cherishing it instead. But that hand keeps you down. A hand holds you under.

Sometimes, in panick, we close our eyes and ears. We strive to only deal with one perception at a time. Like, when someone is lost, and they turn the stereo down to help them locate their lost location. Or like, when someone closes their eyes to enjoy the mystery of Beethoven or Bush or passing winter traffic that reminds them of Chicago. We close our eyes, and we thrash and scream. Our body goes into spasms, a frightful dance of last resort, hoping that at least one action (or combination thereof) will cause the hand distress and us redress.

No abrasion is more jarring than cheek to pool bottom. The twelve foot bottom, no less. Hope flits up from our chest as we recall that the bottom is a starting point – somewhere to push off from. The hand continues to push. Then the bottom makes us think of all that heavy water – terrible weight – pushing down on us. A thousand miles from sky.

The body is slow, dumb, dull, and weak. Worst, it is soaking wet. Somehow, being wet makes it all the more horrible. The mind is no longer problem solving, no longer cognitive and reasonable. The mind is a thing of reaction and instinct, but no pattern of behavior prepares us for this; for death. It is against all the laws of every species to accept death. We must survive, plain and simple.

Our eyes open briefly, distorted shapes of objects rise and fall before our grim eyes. The brain refuses to make sense of it, for the sake of being able to see it instead. The lights begin to go out. The muscles begin to relax. The white noise of heartbeating begins to fade to silence. One flickering realization sparks in the dark.

The hand holding us down is our own.

The poem at the top was not written by me. You can hold your mouse over the words to see who did write it. I could not write something that poetic and true. I am just a boy who mocks his words with other words, pushing rhyme into and onto other rhymes like a two year old does with differently shaped blocks of wood. This was written by a sculptor; one afraid of her figures, unfortunately.

I hate nights like these.

…what is he on?

Not Much To Report

A lot has been happening in my life lately, but I’m not eager to comment on it. Just keep me and Megan in your prayers.

Guess what came in the mail today: Widescreen Special Edition Two Disc Spider-Man 2 DVD. Preorder rocks. I know what I’m watching all night.

…homework, homemade food, and spider-man!

A Poem To Whoever She Loves Next

Make sure you tell her every day
how beautiful she is
she never says it herself.

Make sure she lets you see her paintings
or her poetry
you’ll learn volumes about her
from what she puts on paper
or canvas.

Make sure you never forget
she’s a person
she’s been hurt
and yet
she’s survived.

Make sure that, at least once,
you trace her face with your hands
as she stares up at you
head in lap
elated
at three in the morning.

Make sure that you catch her lies
(she smiles and looks away when she does)
or they will get out of hand
though she usually doesn’t mean to.

Make sure that, at least once,
you tickle her under her chin
though she will fight and claw you
it is totally worth it
to hear her laughter.

Make sure that, above all,
you act as her best friend
since she doesn’t have many people
she can trust
with anything.

Make sure you don’t let her
get away with things –
she never had anyone
to make her do anything.

Make sure you don’t take too many things personally
because she doesn’t mean them
she just can’t stop
doing them.

Make sure that
if she loves you
you love her back
you love her completely
you love
her ocean blue eyes
her golden hair
her shapes and curves
her self.

Make sure that
if she loves you
you’re worth
being loved.

I cannot look after her
anymore
I cannot be there for her
anymore
I cannot be
what I want to be
for her
anymore

I have to go away
to put distance in
to put time in
so I can heal
and recover
and fix myself
for whoever I love next.

Chapter Finished

My parents decided to put down a cat we’ve had for about 10 years. Rajah was a lovable, but annoying, orange-colored fat cat. According to some people in the family, Rajah was “my” cat.

Rajah had been very sick lately, and the Sioux Falls humane society was only going to put him down, so my father did the deed himself. Rajah has been a big part of this family. At first we thought he was a girl. Then he needed surgery on his tibia.

He shed. He liked to get in your face. He didn’t always smell good. He acted more like a dog than our dogs did. But, for all his annoyances, I’m not sure how I feel about this. I’m not sure how much of an impact it’s having on me right now. I don’t deal well with change and death. Distance is nonexistance.

Dying is just being far away. And being far away is like being dead. Rajah is just far away. Too far to see or hear. Too far to call back to the house. But I know he’s in the backyard. A year ago yesterday, Father Ray went far away. Too far to offer advice or council. Too far to be a friend. But I know he’s at Blue Cloud. He knew Rajah. Maybe they are far away together.

Almost too far to love. Almost too far to remember.

Almost.

Novel Update

I don’t think many of you got the joke. If you had read the excerpt and then gone to

you would have seen that all that gory ridiculous stuff I made up to get you to go to the site and read it. You were supposed to think “Oh, that crazy Miles! What ridiculous stuff he writes! I’m not sure I buy it…” and then go to

and read for yourself. So, go read this time – I doubled my word count. Emily Dickenson is now in it. She plays the manic-depressive surgeon. Her scrubs are white.

…read!

Novel Update

Jenica Jencks arrived back at the nurses station about 10 minutes later. She had taken a shortcut which ran past a vending machine. She took this time to grab a soda, using her Hospital swipe card, then she continued to the main station, located near the front of the building on the same floor that Anthony was staying.

“JJ. You have Perdita’s chart?” called a burly voice from the main desk. That was Head Nurse Manuela Garcia, a slightly heavy-set woman of very distant Hispanic heritage. The only features about her that her long dead relatives might recognize included her slightly darker complexion and her tendency to speak faster than could be understood. Her hair was blond, her eyes were blue, and she didn’t know a word of spanish.

Jenica set the clipboard upon the desk and stared into Manuela’s eyes. Her sky blue eyes could not hide what Jenica saw there. Jenica walked around the front of the desk, the area where patients and family members were required to stand, and stood by Manuela’s side. Then, lightening quick, she plunged her right hand in between Manuela’s ample bosom. Her fingers spun, rotating with lightning speed, tearing Manuela’s clothing and quickly chiseling into the bone. Flecks of flesh and white bone fragments spattered Jenica’s face. Finally the sawing stopped. Manuela’s face was lit with terror. She was gasping with the loss of blood and shock, unable to move to protect herself or attack in her defense. Jenica walked to a drawer in the desk, removed an object, and returned to her artform. Then, with a permanent marker, she drew an “x” over Manuela’s heart.

Jenica considered the wound for a bit, then with a wry smile commented, “I thought it’d be smaller than that.” She recapped the pen and left the hospital.

Do you want more? Navigate to http://awayken.com/nano!
…blood!

Halloween Night (An Anecdote)

Halloween this year was a sort of bust. I had expected certain plans, made certain plans, and then someone never showed up. So, deciding to not let it get me down, I attacked the art of Pumpkin Carving.

First, like anything, you look it up on the internet. The most widely used method (according to page hits) for carving pumpkins is to use a stencil. You print a stencil out at the library because the paper is free there, and you spend too much of your day there anyway. After printing out your stencil, or stencils, from whatever crappy site gives them out for free, you then hide them in your backpack and try to recall if the library hides those magnetic strips in their printer paper, too.

You get home, drop off your bag, talk to Haji for a while, and then head back out. If you go to Lewis you can buy 5 pumpkins. I had originally bought them as 2 for me, 2 for Megan, and 1 for both of us. So, I had to make three trips to my car, but, for a dollar a piece, they were a steal (ba dum bum).

Get home, and then haul just one of the pumpkins up. This was going to be the test / first pumpkin, as I had never done this before. You wash up the pumpkin, and cut the top off. Then you scrape all the guts out, so you have a nice hollow, freezing cold pumpkin. Wash your hands, and get feeling back as soon as you can. In the pause, go back and chat with Molly Brass and Bryce.

Then you have to decide which stencil will work best for the pumpkin. You place the sheets of paper upon the pumpkin, trying to decided between the Storm Trooper and the spider. Eventually you decide on the spider. The next step is to tape the spider stencil onto the pumpkin and then poke holes through the lines. Then when you pull the stencil off you have the outline (connect-the-dots style) of the spider.

Then you actually start carving. This is a delicate process. They make knives for this kinda stuff, apparently, but I had to use a slender steak knife. All in all, it turned out pretty good. If I had a digital camera, I would have pictures of these things, but I don’t, and, currently, they are moldy and rotten. When you’re done, you can find a nice place to store your pumpkin, place a candle inside, and let onlookers “Oooo” and “Ahhh” at your work.

I did four that night – a spider, a face, a sea turtle, and a cat face. I put candles in three of them. It was after my final pumpkin, when I decided to call it a night, that disaster struck. Here’s the story.

I had just gotten done with my fourth pumpkin, the kitty face. I took it downstairs, put it on the steps, put a candle in it, and came back upstairs, collecting the various things I’d left around.

I got up to the second floor stoop, and I decided I wanted to have that candle lit, so that, if anyone comes up here in the dark, they see the face in the light.

I try to light the candle in the pumpkin, but it doesn’t work very well. The match either goes out, or I can’t reach the candle, or I burn my hand. I have to come up with a different way to get it lit.

I try all sorts of different ways going through the eyes or the mouth, but then it dawns on me – I should use something else – light that and put it in the pumpkin.

So, I grab a kleenex. I stuff it into the candle and I light it.

It smoulders and burns and a lot of smoke starts coming out. Then, out of nowhere, this shrieking alarm goes off. As it turns out, the smoke detector is right above the door. It starts to scream. Over and over.

I run into the kitchen and grab the white dish drying clothe to fan the air away from the smoke detector. Then, when it stops for a spell, I try to blow out the fire, but it doesn’t work. In fact, it flames up angrily at me. It just keeps burning, and it’s starting to burn the pumpkin itself.

I finally try to tear the smoke detector off of the wall with my hands. The front panel comes off, though I just wanted to remove the unit. Then I see the battery. I grab it and it flips out of my hand and down the steps somewhere.

Of course, this whole time I’ve had the lights off to see “how cool a lit pumpkin looks”, so now I turn the lights back on. The fire still rages. I run back to the kitchen and grab a glass of water.

I get back to the pumpkin and dump the water in. This causes the candle to react. It bursts the glass container holding the candle, wax begins to pour out and into the pumpkin, and water flows out of the pumpkin’s open mouth and onto the floor.

Now the candle’s ruined, the pumpkin’s ruined, the floor may be ruined (it is stained blueish now), the smoke alarm may be ruined, and the smell of smoke is everywhere. I decide that I’ll leave the stairwell light on afterall.

Being somewhat shaken, I walk back to my tablet and recount the story to Molly and Bryce, who find it quite humourous (those sick, sick people), and pick up the rest of my pumpkin things. I move Megan’s pumpkin to the back cubboard area, along with my utensils, and then turn everything off in the apartment to go to bed.

As I lay in my bed, thinking about the events of the night, I recall that I own a pliars. A tool perfect for moving a lit match towards an unlit candle. That is, in fact, how I relit the candles for two more nights. The next morning, leaving for mass, I discovered the battery, set upon the window sill, next to the screaming, wax scarred, wilted pumpkin who caused all the mess.

“That’s what you get, boy. That’s what you get.” I heard no reply, and my steps echoed away.

…pumpkin!