Steven Mix's Blog, page 2

New cover art and an inexpensive ebook!

I'm pretty happy to announce the 2nd edition of my first book, Goodbye from the Edge of Never.

It will be available on April 28th in both print and ebook format featuring this gorgeous new cover art.

The price for the paperback is $12.95

If you buy the ebook and help save some trees while preparing for the release of the second book in the Zombie Civil Rights Saga, it will only cost you:

$0.99

256 pages of action and adventure for only 99 cents!

Also, Deep Cuts from the Edge of Never will be available early summer.

Saturday Morning Round-Up

What I've been up to:

There is just an insane amount of things that need addressing these days so I figured I'd use a Saturday Morning Round Up post to talk about what is going on with my world and events and whatever pop culture I feel like discussing.

Let's get to it!

First of all, it's week three of the writer's life. For those that haven't been up to speed, on the advice of M. Todd Gallowglas, I quit my 9 to 5 job to live without a safety net and just write. So far it's worked out great! Fanboy Planet featured a piece I did on Cyborg and autism. The Claims Department featured a piece I did on 80s/90s Comics. Chris Garcia also left me an open invite to submit articles for future zines. I've hit my stride in writing essays so that I will be providing more over the next year. I'm having an excellent time writing them.

So what did the last three weeks earn me? I finally completed my second novel. In fact, I finished it at record speed. I have already powered through mapping out most of the timeline to make sure it matched up without any conflicts to the first book's timeline. I then began the editing and have the copyeditors laying eyes on it in early May. That's easy for me to make right now since I'm about 1/4th of the way through the first edit.

I put out the call for Beta Readers and was surprised at how many people were excited to sign up. So, I built a Beta Readers site and set up a login, then distributed access to those kind folks who are helping me out. They've earned a few perks, and I add a few more bonuses as a thank you over the next few weeks.

The book covers are being designed for my second book and my second edition of book one. I'm pretty hyped about the company I'm using but, I'll touch on that later this month.

Pop Culture:

I've caught up on Detective Comics, Batman, and All Star Batman. I've loved all of these books and the fanboy in me is loving the D.C. Comics Rebirth event. I'm glad I saved the All-Star Batman comics for last! The event is wild with the most insane Batman villains, and it has Duke Thomas coming into his own as a hero. I'm having a great time so far so I can't recommend these books enough. I'd say start with Detective Comics as Batman's super team has been brilliantly written so far! I also think I have a soft spot in my heart for Clayface right now. He's been given a chance for redemption by Batman and the things he says hit home for me. There hasn't been one book that has disappointed me so; you really can't go wrong with any of these books.

Chaps

For Pops

It has been almost two years since you left, Pops, and my heart still feels tired and worn out sometimes.

There's so much you've missed. So much that has changed!

I think the first thing I want to tell you is I quit working at the center for autism. Not because I wanted to leave but because I need to be a better writer than I am. That's my next adventure. I was living with a safety net, so I was only going to be "sort of" a writer. I think you would still be proud of me. You remember I started working for that center in 1998? Well, they never had a place of their own. They finally managed to earn enough money to buy a site! I took them all the way up until the day they moved and then bowed my head and walked away. I suppose the trip felt more important than the destination.

Mom isn't quite right without you. She does her best to stand tall, but you can tell part of her left with you. She has taken to remodeling the house: new shelving, coats of paint and brighter colors to lighten the mood. I suppose it's a healthier way to cope than I've ever known.

Megan is working at the school for the deaf, and she is so pleased to work amongst her community. My wife is glad to be helping people and Pops you would be so proud of her! I think she is happy, which seems to make me happy.

Your grandson is still a handful! Oh but, he is so entertaining these days. He has discovered video games, and he surprises me with how good he is at them. The stuff he picks up too is quite hysterical. The other day he was asking for the Nintendo Gamepad, and he told me, "There it is! Yo yo YO!" I had to wonder for a moment if my son wasn't Flava Flav.

Nyla is a giant now! I can't get over how tall she is. She has braces now too! It's strange to think she has grown up this much since you have been gone. She is in middle school! Can you believe it? I keep trying not to blink because I know a moment later she might be in college. She's got almost straight As in everything except science! I can't blame her either since I always hated science.

Myself, though, I don't know. I was reminded of your lessons that I hold dear, by a friend who said to me,

"A rising tide lifts all boats."

It is not a lesson you taught me in so many words, but it is something I learned in how you always sprinted to help people up when they fell. The way you always bent over backward to encourage someone to stand taller. You know, I've lost count at how many times I saw you risk your life running into the street to drag someone out of an accident? This fact still blows my mind on a daily basis. I've never seen someone else's father do that. We never acted like this was a strange thing in the digital age. To us, it wasn't! You just helped people. There was no why.

I took those lessons from you and applied them to life. I have helped design a better communications app for kids with autism. We have an alpha build that is almost finished! I can't believe that it has come this far. More importantly, I've had good friends rally around me to help me make it. It has been exciting! I think you'd be pleased.

Oh, and the award I named after us, the Mixy award. Last year Elanor, the lady who helped make it a grand thing, she said she thought it should be an every year thing! It was supposed just to be a thing to cheer folks up in the moment, and now it is a bit prestigious. There is a committee. We had presenters! A few folks were even so excited that they cried on stage!

I think we made people happy. I wish you were here for all of this.

Doing these things felt like a fluke to me. They didn't feel like something that happened on purpose but, something I fell into without thinking. I think that was the genius in your parenting. You accidentally taught me how to be a better person. It didn't need words or lectures. You just ran around helping people, and I watched you do it. Somewhere along the line, I found myself running alongside you, trying to help folks. Then one day, you bowed your head and quietly stepped away. I miss our journey together, but I think I'm finally at the destination you wanted for me. I'm finally standing in your shadow, hoping I can do it justice. Thanks, Pops, for lifting me up and never giving up on me. You are missed. We all standing taller because of you.

Writing Tip: Office chairs

Image by Joe Whited

Your back is important so don't take it for granted. Most of us spend too many hours hunched over a keyboard. I have to do a massage once a month because of my posture at a desk and my injuries from my time in the military.

So today, I'm going to give you the ultimate budget writer tip on buying an office chair.

Desk chairs are way overpriced. If you want a good ergonomic office chair, you are going to pay somewhere between $400 to $1000. That's if you want a good model with quality support.

So don't buy them. Buy gaming chairs!

Gaming chairs used by folks who stream video games to Twitch.tv and Youtube are ergonomic, and they look vibrant and colorful. Gamers tend to spend hours sitting at desks playing games, so they know they need comfort and design to keep from getting back pain.

Gaming chairs cost between $79 to $400, with $400 being top of the line and unnecessary because even the cheaper models are pleasant. I recommend this chair here.

It's great and cheap enough that you can still afford to pay your artists for new book covers.

A Timeline of Insanity Part 2

Photo credit: JD Hancock

Green Lantern is a symbol of D.C. Comics.

I ate a huge cheese sandwich before bed last night and had another insane dream. Enjoy.



I was standing on a cliff overlooking a city on the edge of a forest.

I jumped off and began to fall towards the city. I could hear the rush of air as I fell. Time to see if this power-ring I got off Ebay works. I look at my right hand clenched in a fist. Nothing. I stare at the ground rushing up to meet me. Fuck, I’m going to die. At the last second, I glow green and begin to fly horizontal and then up and away from the ground.

“YEA!” I’m screaming and laughing at the same time. This ring must be stolen Lantern Corps Tech. Like a beta release ring before they released their real power-rings. This one only has two powers: flight and teleport. Time to test the teleport.

I teleport into some lady’s house. “Sorry, ma’am. My bad, just testing the teleport power on this ring.”

The lady seems emotionless as she says, “My dog is on fire.”

I look down next to me, and there’s a Pomeranian engulfed in a fireball. It’s yapping in pain.

“Jesus fuck! Why is your dog on fire?”

The lady still sounds emotionless. “Teleportation causes dogs to light on fire.”

“That seems like something that should have come with a warning label.” I look at the woman’s face, down to the flaming pooch and then leave. I’m not dealing with teleportation-dog-fires.

So I go to my mansion. It’s oversized and next to a cliff. No Batcave though, I checked. I’m going to get some ice cream in a big walk in sized freezer. Rocky road, mint chocolate chip, frozen corpse. Hang on.

Frozen corpse? Why the fuck is there a frozen dead guy in my freezer?

I walk back into the mansion holding a cup of mint choco chip and a spoon. There’s a line of folks carrying corpses in black bags walking through my front double doors and hiding dead bodies all over my mansion. Scott Baio is directing them holding a clipboard. Scott Baio? I fucking hate this guy.

“I fucking hate you, Scott Baio!”

Scott looks hurt and asks me, “Why do you hate me?”

“Well for starters you’re hiding corpses in my house,” I’m still eating mint choco chip. “Also you were the chosen one. Then you became a huge asshole! And look!” I’m pointing my spoon at his pants, “Fucking khakis!”

“Who cares what you think,” Scott’s tone is pretty cold by now. “I’ve alerted President Trump that you’re hiding bodies here in Mix Mansion X.”

“So what? I have GuardEx.” I reply. Damn this mint choco chip is dope.

“Guardex?” Scott Baio is waving an angry fist. Everyone knows Guardex is the best drop cam security providers and totally not just something I made up in my dream time brain.

Not caring about the corpses or Scott Baio I concentrate on digging out another spoonful of ice cream. “Yea so Guardex will see you’re a liar and the drop cams will prove you did this. Done. Rot in hell Scott Baio.”

Scott’s voice sounds sinister, monstrous. Almost like it has spirits trapped in it screaming to get out. “No one will believe you.” All of the people carrying corpses now have red eyes. The fuck is this? I fly out the door and off to Guardex headquarters still eating ice cream. When I get there the head of security tells me, “We didn’t see anything?”

I’m shocked, “How can that be?” I notice the head of security’s eyes are red, “Scott Baio has the power of celebrity. He can get away with everything and everyone is under his control.”

“Everyone?” I ask dropping my cup of mint choco chip.

“Everyone.” Security forces with red eyes are swarming around me. “There’s nowhere on earth you can hide.”

“Fuck you; I can fly.”

I fly away, but whenever I look down, I see red eyes looking up at me. Eventually, I find a quiet spot of the earth and go into stealth mode by putting on a black hoodie. I walk the earth. Whenever I pass people, I only look up showing one eye and keeping the rest of my face covered so you know I’m holding stealth mode well. I walk for months and then I hear rumors of an ancient artifact in Bangkok. Somehow I walk to Bangkok. I throw off my hoodie and immediately begin flying into an ornate air vent with gold filigree. Obviously air vents built by an ancient civilization. I soar through the ductwork into a large room with a phosphorescent black and red ring, on the ring is a glowing red grenade. “Fuck yea, Grenade Brothas tech.”

I put the ring on and then immediately fly back to my mansion where Scott Baio is perched on a throne of rotting corpses in the main room. I show my hand with two power rings. Before he can speak the GB ring steals his power.

“Now I have the power of celebrity fucka!”

I grin looking at my hand full of power rings. In a condemning tone, I say, “Go fuck yourself, SCOTT BAIO!” He starts spazzing out in weird yoga poses that look like a character glitching out in Garry’s mod. “Gross,” I add with disgust. “Go do that somewhere else,” looking at the red power ring, “Like hell!” Scott Baio vanishes in a puff of fire just like a teleport-fire-pomeranian would.

Blue Oyster cult starts to play. It’s heavy on the cowbell. Chris Garcia runs into my mansion from the front door wearing a shirt that reads, “Actual Hugo Award winner. No asterisk’.”

He pauses to catch his breath, “We need your new Grenade Brothas power ring for Gerard Butler!”

“Why would I give this to some French actor dude?” I ask while hiding my power ring hand behind my back.

“You never studied.” Chris shook his head. “That’s Gerard De Par Deux.” The words float off his tongue into my vision.

Staring at the words, I ask, “Is that how you say his name? De Par Deux?”

Chris shrugs, “I don’t know. It’s French. The point is we need that ring for Gerard Butler.”

“Who the fuck is Gerard Butler again?” I ask.

Chris nods, “Exactly.”

Then I woke up. Apparently eating cheese before bed is amazing. I think I might do this for 30 days and write a whole book of cheese dreams.

Life after the military

Surviving life after the military is a difficult thing.

There are all sorts of pitfalls you need to avoid. Civilians don't give each other the same respect your brothers in arms do. Drugs and alcohol are too tempting of a coping method for survivor's guilt, PTSD or dealing with service related injuries. Probably the biggest injury that goes unseen is having a family of brothers, who you've bled and sweat with, suddenly ripped away from you. I've always thought if the Army had a way to relocate our platoon to the same city, after our service so that we could see each other more often, we'd be much better off. I don't think a program like that exists.

I've lost brothers. Some to suicide and some to combat.

My roommate from the Army and my best friend from Basic Training hit me the hardest. My best friend from basic, Robert Kislow was one of the greatest guys I'd ever known. He lost his leg, and was even shot in the head but refused to give up the gun. He wound up saving most of his platoon because of it. He lived with injuries you could see, and even more, that you couldn't see, until one day his stressors got the best of him and he took his life.

My roommate from the army, Kevin Lipscomb was who I was the closest with after military life. We talked every other night on facebook and called each other once a week. One night he messaged me saying, "Things are getting too dark." This kind of conversation wasn't uncommon for us, and we usually talked our way through it. We talked all night. From 10 pm until 4 am. We laughed and joked about the Army, talked about women, and talked about art. I was the writer, and he was a sketch artist. By the end of the night, we were laughing and joking! I thought I talked him down.

He was found dead the next day.

My heart still hurts, and survivor's guilt still has me reaching lows where I go, "If only I'd known this was the time it was going to happen, I'd have jumped on a plane and gone out there." There is no way I could have made it in time or even known that this was the time it was going to happen but, I still beat myself up over it.

So after having a traumatic brain injury and being separated from my brothers, how did I cope?

I'm not going to tell you it's been an easy road. It hasn't. I've gone down dark paths and came pretty close to the edge at times out of sheer grief. Those first few years after leaving the Army are worse than any monster you have ever known.

I think when I sit and examine the pieces, I had some perks most folks don't have. I had a lot of support. My mother and father both loved me. I have a great dog (believe me, a great dog is important!) I met an extraordinary woman who became my wife and gave me a son and a daughter. My wife is amazing and has always known when to look at me with soft eyes and when to use a stern voice. Through her, my new in-laws were all family that had served in the air force, including my father in law who was Para-Rescue in Danang and worked shuttle recovery on the Apollo missions. A real American badass!

One of the key factors to coping was: I gave up drinking.

I get too depressed and make too many poor decisions that haunt me when I'm drunk. It doesn't work for me. It probably doesn't work for most other veterans too but, getting us to admit it is... Well, sometimes self-medication is needed because we don't get the same love and support systems. It is sad but true.

I made sure to make my VA appointments, and the VA worked hard to help me survive. Say what you want about the VA, I'm sure it is not great in a lot of places, but the doctors, nurses and case workers that helped me, worked hard to do so. Yes, the bureaucracy is insane, I agree, but that's a whole other can of worms we can tackle some other time.

These are all support systems that we as veterans deserve and need to thrive.

But then there are the accidental support groups that I didn't see coming, that made a huge difference.

Rob Kislow’s brother, Jason Kislow visited me. He even introduced me to his son! Although Jason and Rob don’t look too much alike to me, when Jason spoke, I swear I heard Rob’s voice and infectious laughter. We are still good friends today! It means a lot to me that I've earned another brother through Rob's brother.

A center for autism that I used to work for rehired me. I was back in my element of helping folks. The place has so much altruism with people who believe they can change the world. They help give others abilities most of us take for granted. While I was caught up in trying to help kids grow, the kids turned around and surprised me by reminding me how to live! Laughter and warmth are what I need to flourish, and if I put it out into the world, it tends to come back to me.

The biggest surprise came from creative types.

I met a writing coach who functioned as a counselor. She listened to my tales of woe and frustration in the civilian world and encouraged me to pull that creative spark from it.

I fell in with a convention called BayCon and found this great group of artists that is overflowing with people from all walks of life.

They encourage each other to grow, dance and live! I found police officers, activists, writers, mothers (so many mothers!), actors/actresses, painters, podcasters, an old salty army ranger, and even a woman who I'm fairly sure was meant to be born as a shield-maiden fighting on battlefields during the time of the Vikings. That last one is the writer and martial artist Setsu Uzume, in case you are wondering. What I'm trying to get at though is: I found folks that felt like warriors reborn as artists and that enthusiasm bled into me. Here is a community, who I'm sure, often felt like outcasts growing up but were all united by one common thing: a love for science fiction and fantasy. I could name them all individually, and probably should, since they all deserve the recognition, but there are too many folks that make the BayCon community magical. This post would go on all day.

I still miss my brothers from the Army, always.

I mean they are only a phone call away. I can call them day or night but, that doesn't stop me from wishing they lived next door.

Still, I'm thankful that I've found good folks in my life who were strong enough to push me through depression and guilt. Folks who helped me live again. Instead of dwelling on sadness and depression, these kind-hearted people reminded me how to dance. They taught me that in life the dance steps aren't as important as the act of dancing itself.

So much love to the families, support systems, and accidental support groups that save some of us veterans. We might not always write about it or vocalize it, but you can bet, we sure appreciate you.

Strange Dream

I had a dream last night that I was at some hotel that played with timelines.

In it there was this man wearing glasses with dark eyes sitting at a desk and folks would come in then sit on a large brown leather chair on the other side of the desk. The man would be like, "So Mr. Lee. You had a few interesting lives. On the one hand, you were a martial artist that had a well-celebrated career and was loved but suffered a tragic death while still young. Or you could have a long life as that same film star, but at the end of your life, you'll be rocked with scandals and die in shame." The man's tone felt very clinical.

Bruce Lee looked across the table at the man wearing glasses and say, "Well I guess I'll live a shorter life then."

The person would leave the room, and he'd continue with the next superstar. "So Mr. Mercury. You live an amazing rockstar life and are considered to be one of the greatest rockstars of all time. But your life is cut short by a disease. However, the diagnosis of that disease leads you to lock yourself in a room and write the greatest rock song the world has ever known before you die young OR you could live a long, healthy and mediocre life."

Freddy Mercury doesn't blink and announces he came to this life to rock. They lead him out of the room to his shorter, much more rocking timeline.

I watch this go on in the dream for some time. Finally, I rush over to the desk standing behind the chair; I place my hands on the back of it for a moment admiring its craftsmanship. Comment to the man across the table, "I find it so interesting that all of these folks chose a short life full of excitement and accomplishments versus a long line of mediocrity."

The man just gazes steadily in my direction, then in a tone lacking sympathy he says, "So Mr. Mix..."

Digital Kingdoms

More Fiction? Sure why not.

I've been releasing a serial fiction piece called Digital Kingdoms.

We are three chapters deep and I'll be posting the fourth chapter later today.

Enjoy, and if it isn't too much trouble please vote for my work at the link below!

Click here to enjoy Digital Kingdoms on JukePop

How (not) to be rich in America

I want to earn a kingdom of money. Then when my family is comfortable, I want to give away a kingdom of money.

I will commit to such grand gestures that people will debate whether I was a genius or just insane.

Things that rich folks never do, like "Surprise, I just paid off your car," or "your vet clinic can now afford to give free procedures for the next three months." Even, "I don't know you, and you are getting married at the courthouse, but here is a surprise band, catering and photographer free of charge. I hope your wedding is magical, and you stay together for the rest of your life."

"You thought you were being foreclosed on at Christmas ma'am, but I've paid your loan, and I have the bank manager on hold waiting for you to tell him to go fuck himself."

I'll install soft park benches next to those fucked up ones that are designed to be uncomfortable, so the homeless never have a decent place to rest their weary bones.

I'll pay for four-star entertainment in nursing homes.

My personal favorite, "I've paid for these medical bills. I hope your dad lives forever."

This level of foolishness is the same reason I'll never become rich.

Mystery House (Full Story)

A dark haired Asian girl climbed over some of the rubble that littered the back entrance to the mansion. An aluminum baseball bat strapped across her back. Its hilt perched just over her left shoulder. She held a rifle by it's lower receiver in her left hand, not bothering to carry it at the ready.

"What exactly is it again?" Ashley asked. In the days before this, the mansion had been a tourist attraction in San Jose California. The mansion was a maze of insanity with secret passages and strange architecture. The woman who built it was heir to the Winchester fortune. The rifle that had won the west. She believed that she had to build an insane house to trick and hide from the spirits that had died to her family's creation. The front side of the house had fallen in, the roof caving down blocking entry on that side. The trio had noted that the front door still stood separated from the rest of the dilapidated building. The stained glass panels and dark wood still untouched and unopened as if it just ignored the undead world around it.

"The man who gave us the job said it was a Whip but Nyla wasn't so sure. Remember she argued with him saying Whips rarely hold up in one place for long." Donathan scrambled over the same rubble Ash had just passed over. As the man stepped over the upended chunks of concrete, his long black leather duster parted. Two holsters clung to his hips each with nickel plated pistols tucked in them.

Mason sighed glancing up at the mid-day sun. He reached up to check that the hockey mask was resting in the up position just above his face. The paint was still drying on the new creation. He sighed before lifting the heavy m240 bravo machine gun up into his arms and stepping tall across the concrete. The gun's weight along with his red camo painted Interceptor Body Armor vest made it difficult for him to move as easily as his friends. "Either way it's just one zombie, right? No surprises?" he questioned.

"Right, because there's never any surprises?" Ash replied.

Once they were all inside and staring up a dark hallway, Donathan began the process of draping a mic cord over his neck. When he finished, the square box of an ancient radio mic hung down from one of his shoulders.

Donathan cued up his mic with a chirp, "Nyla can you hear us?"

A flash of static, a slight chirp and Nyla replied with her usual spacey tone, "Roger! We haven't seen anything out here."

Their numbers had grown from three to five when they'd met up with Nyla and Princess Jae in Half Moon Bay. They had fled Half Moon Bay last month and destroyed a vehicle in the process. After a couple of days of searching, the group had managed to find a replacement truck but had been low on coin. Collectively they decided that it would be best if they double back to San Jose to see if there were any hunter jobs available. Jae was older than the rest of them and better at driving so she had opted to stay with the vehicle. Nyla would stay with her, act as operator and over watch from her passenger seat in Jae's truck, surveying the house from afar. Together they'd be creating a mobile command center if something went wrong. Most hunter operations would have them using stealth and sign language. The group had decided it was better to get comms up. There should only be one creature but, Nyla had warned them that Whips were difficult to kill... If they became lost inside of this house, they might need to call for backup. So the radio was the best plan.

A few moments later the trio dragged off their packs and rummaged through them to find red lensed, L shaped military flashlights. Donathan clipped his light to the front fold of his duster. Ashley tucked the clip onto the waistband of her right hip. Mason attached his light to one of the front pouches on his IBA. Afterwards he dragged out another belt of ammunition and draped it across his shoulders. Nyla began feeding them directions through the radio. Leaving their bags by the front door, the group fumbled their way down the dark hallway. Making a right, they traipsed up another hallway, past a stairway that lead up to the ceiling. Eventually, they wound up in a round room that looked like it had several cupboard doors and no other exits.

"Some of those large cupboard doors will open up to walls. One should lead out of the room. Seen anything yet?" Nyla asked excitedly across the radio.

Even in the dim, red lit room Donathan and Mason could see Ashley rolling her eyes over Nyla's elation at the hunt. Her lack of fear and passion for studying the science of the undead always seemed to shock most of the group. Princess Jae never seemed to mind, but she had known her much longer.

"Nothing ye-" A loud hiss from behind had interrupted Donathan. In one fluid motion, the three leaped into action spinning on their heels. Ashley had the rifle at the high ready. Donathan had already drawn both of his pistols and was staring down the sights. Mason fell over in a loud clatter of gear and gunmetal. Somehow he managed to keep his mask on.

An uncomfortable minute ticked by. Mason opted to just remain laying on the floor and dragged his machine gun into position in front of him. Ashley began to whisper only to be shushed by Donathan. Another minute passed. Nothing.

Donathan lowered his pistols, holstered one and looked in Ashley's direction. Shrugging he whispered, "I don't think we-"

A close sinister growl erupted from behind the trio. They spun around again just in time to see a sharp fanged mouth framed by a warped, leathery face in the red light. The face let loose an ear piercing scream. Donathan was raising a pistol at the same time he was cueing up the microphone and saying, "Not a Whip!" The zombie's face and body shattered into black smokey smudges that exploded out from its form across the room. All three friends were standing in the quiet dust filled room, blinking and wondering what happened.

Confusion sprinted across their faces. Each looking from left to right at one another. Another second and Ashley had stepped back from the other two, turning to walk away. Mason matched her movement spinning in the opposite direction. Donathan did the same. A half step later and their clothes had changed. A complete step later the world had changed.

Finally, it was Friday. Mason felt like he'd waited a lifetime and today was the day! Hopefully, they'd arrive on time so that he could relax and enjoy this weekend. If they didn't show up... Well, he didn't want to consider that option.

Mason sighed staring at the numbers on his lcd computer screen with frustration as if they were boring a hole through his eye sockets. The desktop music player was churning out heavy saxophone filled experimental jazz. Looking up past the cuffs of his white button up shirt, he drank in the excitement of Friday in the office. The accounting department desks were all lined up on the far wall of the office, facing his direction, giving the place a crowded feeling. Their actual office was behind the doors and glass windows on the other side of the large room. Corporate had seen fit to move them out here so that the workmen could get a head start on painting their walls before the weekend. Across from Mason's desk, facing directly towards him was Jenson's desk. No matter where Mason moved the keyboard, turned the monitor or shifted in his chair he was always forced to stare at Doug Jenson. The man never loosened his tie. The man never unbuttoned his top button. The man loved numbers more than his wife. His fingers never slowed and he was always overflowing with tired old office clichés. Every manager's wet dream.

Mason was the polar opposite of Doug Jenson. He dreaded trudging into work every morning. He was always thinking about the weekend and for the life of him he could never keep his mind on his ta...

"Three full paint cans of whipped cream white paint. That paint has just enough tint that it looks more pleasing than plain white under fluorescent lighting." Mason had said his thought out loud. He was eyeballing the workmen, their paintbrushes and the cans of paint in the next room. He couldn't hear anything through the glass, but they all looked exhausted. They didn't seem like big fans of painting walls.

Jenson didn't even look up from his screen, "What's that now buddy? I don't want to throw you under the bus to management... but, I am giving a hundred and ten percent today!" His fingers were blurs.

Mason wrinkled his nose and looked back down at the screen. A hand took control of the computer mouse, clicking it in the direction of the music player. Bass filled hip-hop belted a familiar song out of the desk speakers. He made sure to turn it up before looking up to see Doug Jenson's face.

Doug still hadn't peered up from his work but announced, "This sort of music isn't going to help you push the envelope friend. You need high end production tunes." The lack of reaction and clacking of Doug's keyboard frustrated Mason. He let his eyes drift about the room, coming to rest at a desk littered with office supplies. Behind the desk sat a woman with long flowing red hair and large green eyes that matched her fashionable green top and skirt. She smiled from behind her desk and flashed long eyelashes in Mason's direction.

"We should try to be more pro-active in our work here buddy." Jenson added his eyes still lost on his computer screen.

Mason smiled and then looked up and away, then let his eyes drift back towards the woman's desk.

Jenson managed to take his eyes off his computer screen long enough to look back over his shoulder and see what Mason was staring at. After a few seconds, he turned back and asked, "So is today the big day? Are you finally going to make a play at her?"

Fifteen minutes later and Mason was scribbling across the wall. He didn't have to coax the workers at all, he'd just stuck his head in the room and announced, "Break time!" One of them even threw down his brush before walking off. After that Mason picked up the brush, took a can of the white paint and moved further into the room. He found a large static spot of the old blue wall. His hand was a blur, draping paint from the can to the wall until he had a large oval patch of white paint. He'd waited 2 minutes before making his move out of the room and towards that red haired woman's desk. She had smiled slyly as if expecting him long before that. He had frozen in place for a moment, shifting with nervous energy. Then reached down slowly and began scooping black permanent ink markers off of her desk. She had protested his actions, stating that those were her office supplies. Mason hadn't noticed or cared about anything she said as he sprinted back towards the empty room. For some reason, he had known that one light coat of paint on other acrylic could dry in approximately 7 minutes. He had spent the extra minute uncapping pens, lining them up on the carpeted floor in front of him, choosing which pens to use. As his hands grasped the pens and he turned to face the wall his breath grew ragged. His skin tingled. The pens danced across the freshly dried paint, their ink flowing smoothly until finally an image appeared. Mason stepped back to admire his work.

"Hockey mask?" Doug Jenson had been able to tear himself away from his data entry long enough to walk in the room and pass judgement. "And who the hell is the woman with the headset drawn on top of the hockey mask?"

"It's not a drawing, it's a plain hockey mask," Mason replied. "She's a painting on top of it." Sighing, Mason couldn't take his eyes off his work, "I know her somehow."

Doug Jenson had, had enough. "I don't know what's going on here but I'm going to go get upper management." Doug took two steps towards the door. Looking over his shoulder he added, "You are destroying this department's synergy!"

Mason hadn't moved from his spot. Doug Jenson came back in leading a few bald headed men from management. They all swarmed in shouting fury and asking why he had done this. A woman in a sharp business suit came in shortly after that. Her focused voice informed Mason that this sort of behavior was highly inappropriate. It was destroying company property! Another older fellow with a brown business suit and graying hair sauntered in and informed Mason he was fired. The only time Mason looked up was when Doug Jenson had complained to the others that Mason's work, "Is not even ART!"

A bike messenger opened up the glass doors, loped in the room past the chaos and stuck an envelope in Mason's hand. All of management was shouting at this point, demanding Mason clean out his desk. Oblivious to them, Mason signed the messenger's slip. After ripping open the package, he pulled out two bookmarked shaped slips of paper. Mason read out loud the large bold print across the first glossy ticket. "Anthrocon the World's Largest Furry Convention. Admit One: Mason Meeks."

A scream erupted from Mason as he threw down the ticket. Falling back he kicked his feet against the ground, struggling with his sudden loss of balance, trying to scramble away from the paper. "No! It can't be!" Mason's hands were clutching his face. "I CAN'T be!" His hands brushed a hockey mask that was not there before. He pulled it down to hide behind it revealing the image of a smaller version of Mason looking up from the middle of a chess board. The painting of Mason was surrounded by chess pieces. Each with sharp edges and blurry lines. "NOOOOOOOOO!" The world warped around him as his sharpened scream ripped through reality.

"It sucked. I sucked!" Ashley was shouting at her friend, throwing her surfboard down in the sand in frustration.

Jennifer's jaw had dropped. She raised both her hands wide, lowering her shoulders, "What are you TALKING about?! That was an amazing run?"

"The hell it was!" Ashley's fists were clenching. She raised one angry arm towards the ocean, "The waves are garbage today! Not an a-framed wave in sight and it was bullshit that they told me to take off when I did!"

"You stand a good chance at winning!" Jennifer's tone was full of frustration.

Ashley countered with accusation, "No! You stand a good chance of winning!" She left her board on the sand as she stormed away.

"What are you even saying?" Jennifer's tone had become whiny as it faded off into the distance. Ashley crossed the hot sand, past the dividers and began picking her path through the crowd of onlookers. Ashley looked up long enough to see a blond girl with long hair and a white tank top, wearing a headset. The girl mouthed Ashley's name as Ashley strutted past. There was no time for this nonsense.

A tan skinned, dark haired boy with long khaki shorts and no shoes was standing between Ashley and the sandy parking lot. His face had a five o'clock shadow. His abs looked chiseled out of stone by Michelangelo himself. Ashley froze and stood wide eyed for a moment, her breath held as she realized his eyes drifted down and back up across her length. A familiar hip-hop song coasted in off the wind from someone's car radio in the parking lot.

"Great set today!" The boy chimed in with a seasoned long toned voice of a valley guy. Ashley blushed and brushed her hair back behind one of her ears, looking down at the sand.

She managed to take a step forward and sheepishly answered, "Thanks" as her shoulder coasted past the guy.

From behind her the boy flirtingly added, "You looked good out there. Seriously."

Ashley froze mid-step. She could feel the blood rushing through her cheeks. Her hands were warm. It was impossible to tell if that roar was coming from the ocean or the noise echoing through her red, sunburned ears.

In an instant, she had spun around and swung a wide punch at the face of Mr. Chiseled Abs. When her knuckles connected he had squawked a swear word in protest. Stumbling back holding his gushing nose the guy managed to groan out, "Psycho!" before turning to run back towards the beach and away from Ash.

Ashley grinned watched the sand kicked up from his trail as he sprinted off before looking down at her knuckles. Studying them she murmured, "This doesn't feel-"

"It's my turn at bat!" A girl's voice cried out in frustration.

Ashley stood on her tiptoes, peering back and forth across the parking lot, trying to see where the source of the commotion was. She spotted a girl and a boy playing with a bat and ball near the open spaced front entrance of the parking lot. She crossed the parking lot as they settled their squabble and exchanged a pitch and a swing.

"Can I just-?" Ashley motioned for the bat from the girl. The girl looked up at Ashley with a confused look on her face and hefted up the bat. Ashley took the baseball bat by the barrel flipping it up out of her hand. She let it spin a full rotation before reaching forward and snatching it out of the air, gripping the bat by the handle.

The boy watching remarked, "coooOOOool!"

It was cool... It is cool... Actually, Ashley thought.

"This," Ashley loosened and flexed her hand causing the baseball bat's mass to raise and lower, "This is real."

"What's that?" the girl asked, pointing at the street beyond the parking lot.

Ashley looked up and stared in the direction the girl was pointing. The street was clear and barren, only the wind seemed to cross it and yet, something was there. Her eyes couldn't focus on it, but it was there. Part of the street shifted and warped as something lunged at her.

Ping! clank! The sounds of the aluminum bat connecting twice with a mass of flesh rang out across the parking lot. Something stumbled back and away from Ashley as her eyes narrowed and a smile crossed her lips. The world began shaking around her.

Donathan woke up. The summer sun angled in through the arched windows and held bright beams over his blanket and sheets. Bouncing out of bed, Donathan stood in front of his windows in his striped pajamas, staring out at the early morning. No work. No responsibilities. Just a gorgeous day ahead.

After brushing his teeth and showering, Donathan chose a fresh suit from his closet. Dark Italian silk that coasted and drifted across its length. A starched white shirt with an open collar and not a necktie in sight.

Donathan took a bit to eyeball his reflection in the mirror remarking to himself how the suit felt sharp and powerful. When he'd decided his hair was just right he let his vision lower until he found himself shifting aside a stack of mail on his bedside table. An envelope fell from the stack and landed face up on the floor. The letter addressed to him looked formal. The return address listed as, "Gun Enthusiast Quarterly." What a strange piece of mail. Donathan had never held a gun.

He found his wallet and keys, and made his way to his black Jaguar. Inside the leather interior smelled fresh and inviting. The engine revved to life as he angled the vehicle towards 101 South.

He managed to find a parking garage with an open space right up front so he didn't have to hunt. The first restaurant Donathan passed turned out to have an artichoke theme. He doubled back for it and after climbing to the top of the stairs, the host sat Donathan with a gorgeous view overlooking Cannery Row. The meal was immaculate. Fresh artichoke fashioned into a burger, grilled to perfection. The waiter only breezed by the table once to check how everything was. The restaurant was empty and silent.

Back on the street Donathan became conscious of how sober things were. A few minutes and a hill later he found himself inside a dark Irish themed pub. The large man behind the counter was happy to set down his rag and search in the mass of bottles behind him. After a minute, he poured a double scotch into a wide glass with three ice cubes.

As Donathan raised the scotch to his lips a girl cleared her throat off to his left. Sighing Donathan set down the glass and turned in the direction of the woman. Long blonde hair drifted down her shoulders and bright eyes lit up her face. For some reason, she wore a radio headset on her head. She smiled and said, "Dona-"

Donathan cleared his throat to signal his lack of concern for any interruption. Ignoring the woman he turned back to his scotch. Raising the glass high he admired the amber colored liquid as it shifted about the ice cubes. The smell was mellow and didn't bite at the nose. The liquid did bite at his throat though. He felt as if the wind had been kicked out of him on his first mouthful.

After a second double scotch, his head felt light and breezy. The day was warmer and more comfortable. A half hour later he was sitting on a rock, staring down at Whaler's Cove, watching the waves drift in across the sand. Cypress trees were sparsely growing up and out of the beach rock surrounding the inlet.

Donathan sighed and let his gaze rise until he was staring at the ocean's horizon. Clean air filled his lungs and good whiskey filled his head.

His hand snapped down and up, holding a nickel plated pistol forward as he squeezed off a round into the peaceful scene in front of him. Everything jolted and crumbled around him until he was standing back in a room lit up by the dim red hues of military grade flashlights. Mason and Ashley groaned clutching their heads. A rush of footsteps and Donathan drew his second pistol to aim at the doorway while his friends struggled to get their bearings. A head with blond hair and a headset perched on top of it appeared in the room. She held a shotgun at the low ready as she stepped inside.

"Oh!" Nyla sounded surprised and announced into the headset, "Jae I found them! They're fine."

Donathan headset echoed Nyla's voice into the darkened room. He took the cue to tuck his pistols away and began fishing through his chest pockets for his Zippo lighter and a lone cigarette.

"We're not fine," Ashley added motioning to the corpse with a fresh bullet hole. A splatter of necrotic flesh scattered out from it across the floor. "The hell was that?"

The quick sound of metal flicking and the room lit up for a moment as Donathan ignited the cigarette. For a fraction of a second an amber glow flashed across his face meshing with the darkness.

Nyla studied the corpse for a moment and then added with surprise, "A Maelstrom!" Her voice was enthusiastic as always. "I've never- I mean I've only heard of what they can do." She sounded relieved and added, "You're lucky to be alive!"

Through clenched teeth and lips still gripping a cigarette Donathan asked, "Aren't we always?"