Curvature

A work of fiction by Christopher R. Adams

It was a beautiful spring day.

Wisps of cloud traced their way across the light blue sky while birds circled overhead, trilling their songs. The sun shone ever so brightly, and the trees cast long shadows on the courtyard as students hurriedly made their way home after a long day at school.

One boy in particular was doing his best to avoid being noticed. Light brown slightly disheveled hair fell down into blue eyes that scanned the courtyards nervously. Young Isaac was taller than average for his age. This coupled with the clumsiness that accompanies the pre-teen and teen years earned him his fair share of teasing.

Isaac was weaving between the various social cliques, keenly aware of several sets of eyes on him as he moved. Occasionally he would hear a snicker or laughter and he would cast his eyes downward in shame or embarrassment.

He saw his friend Sam moving towards him out of the corner of his eye, and stopped to wait for him. Sam came running up with a big smile on his face. “Hey Isaac, you wanna come over to my place tonight? I got BMX Rush for my GameCenter.”

“Sure, I gotta ask Mom, but you know she’ll be okay with it” he replied.

“Alright, that’s cool. I’ll see you later then.”

He took the steps down from the courtyard to the street level three at a time, passing many gleeful seventh graders along the way. Jumping from the next to the last step, he hit the sidewalk running. His untucked and unbuttoned flannel shirt flapped like a cape behind him as he landed. Just like Batman he thought and permitted himself a smile. Isaac decided to head around the far end of the courtyard in order to avoid any problems with the other stronger boys who looked for thrills or a good time after school.

No such luck.

He rounded the corner in time to hear a mocking “Isaaaaaaac…” behind him. He recognized the voice as Tate’s. One of Will’s friends.

He hit the ground, pushed from behind.

Arms came from nowhere and seized his. His backpack was ripped off and thrown to the ground. Tate was to the left, some other kid whose name he couldn’t remember was to his right. Isaac yelled, “Tate, let me go” while trying to pull free. Strong arms held him tight and refused to let go.

Trapped.

He felt his pulse rise. It rose further when he saw Will walk from behind a group of shrubs.

Will looked him up and down with a sneer on his face. “Where d’ya think you’re going Isaac?” You gonna run home to your Momma?”

His friends laughed and Will’s expression never changed.

Isaac simply looked at him and said “I ain’t got time for this Will. I gotta get home.”

“Yeah, I bet you do. Yer gonna make time for me now.”

“I don’t wanna hurt no one. Just leave me alone.”

Laughter. Sneers.

Isaac felt his pulse race faster as the situation started getting more complex. Will moved closer to him to where the younger boy could smell his breath as he spoke.

“I think someone is going to get hurt Isaac. And that someone is you.”

Isaac felt his breath whoosh out as his stomach was replaced with Will’s fist. He lay on the ground, vision spotting and going black. He felt someone pick him up… Will? No. It was Tate. He picked him up and held Isaac by his left arm, the other kid was holding his right again.

Crap, I’m gonna hurl he thought, but didn’t have time to finish it as another punch landed on his jaw. Blood spattered on the sidewalk as they dragged him out of sight.

“I don’t want to hurt you!” fell from his bloody lips.

“Yeah well I want to hurt you” Will said through a sneer.

Will’s fist popped into Isaac’s jaw again and he felt teeth loosen. He spit blood on the ground while the older boys laughed and jeered.

His heartbeat raced, and his consciousness seemed to dull. Sharp pain rippled across the back of his skull. His head spasmed involuntarily, eyes staring at the sky.

His eyes rolled back until the whites showed. His back arched. A scream came forth that seemed to start at the ground, and move up his body until it erupted into the sky.

Will stared at him, his eyes growing wide.

“What tha hell?”

Tate and the kid with no name let his arms go as Isaac’s body shuddered and fell to the ground.

Tate looked at Isaac, “Jeezus Will…”

Will’s eyes were wide as he whispered to himself. “I didn’t do nothing to him that he didn’t deserve! I just kicked his ass is what I did! Kicked his ass…”

Isaac stopped his spasms and began to lie still. He groaned.

Will stood over him. “Get up.”

Isaac just lay there.

“I said GET UP!” followed by a kick to the ribs.

Isaac coughed and spit some blood out of his mouth. He sat up and cradled his head in his hands.

“Will… stop it. The pain…”

“That’s RIGHT you little shit. It’s gonna hurt a lot more now.”

Will’s fist whistled through the air and came in contact with nothing. He stumbled and fell to his knees. His friends laughed at him as he swore to himself. He picked himself up off the ground and began to dust off his pants.

He started to make another violent promise to Isaac when he realized that Isaac wasn’t there anymore.

He wasn’t anywhere.

Will and his friends stopped and stared, mouths hanging open.

From nowhere he heard a whisper say, “Please stop the pain…”

Will whirled around to empty air.

“WHERE ARE YOU, YOU LITTLE SHIT!?” Will screamed.

Will’s friends had stopped laughing and started to back off. They were the smart ones now, thinking about running home to their Mommas.

The voice came from behind him.

“I’m right here Will.”

He turned. Isaac was staring at him, but not with human eyes.

His eyes had become smooth crystalline spheres and seemed lit from within like stars in the nighttime sky.

His skin had gone ghostly white and his hair was completely black. His flannel shirt rippled in some unsensed breeze as he floated above the ground.

Isaac hung there for a few moments, his gaze piercing Will. The bully’s jaw hung slack as he tried to understand what was happening.

Time seemed to have stopped. No birds chirped. No trees moved with the wind. Nature held its breath.

Isaac raised his right hand in front of him and held it straight out, pointing at Will. He moved his finger to point at Will’s right shoulder, and then drew an unseen line from the right shoulder to the left hip.

The boy screamed. Pain erupted across his chest and waist. He could feel his skin split and blister under the invisible touch, even though the younger boy was still ten feet away.

His friends, Tate included, bolted and disappeared into the trees surrounding the school.

The world seemed to fold in on itself, like a box turned inside out. The color faded and became blurred and muted shades of gray. Will tried to run, but his body had stopped obeying his commands.

Please Will, stop the PAIN.

The bully felt more than heard these words. It skittered across the inside of his skull like spiders crawling across a stone surface.

Will screamed, thrashing against whatever force held him there.

Isaac’s head tilted to an angle. He quizzically looked at Will as he was immobilized there.

No emotion touched his ashen face at all.

Will stared at Isaac, then began to beg. Spittle fell from his lips as he blubbered senselessly. He made promise after promise, pleading for his very young life as he knew it.

Isaac only stared, unblinking.

Will closed his eyes and thrashed about, trying to break the invisible bonds that held him.

No luck.

Isaac held his hand out again, this time palm up.

Will whimpered.

Isaac slowly closed his hand into a fist, and Will felt his heart explode in his chest.

Blood spurted from his mouth, a bubbling red geyser.

The invisible bonds that were holding him slipped away, and Will slumped to the ground, blood running from his nostrils and mouth.

The world unfolded. The brushed and blended shades of gray became sharp and vivid once again.

The pain is gone.

Isaac dropped to the ground and collapsed, unconscious.

A breeze stirred, and on it faint laughter could be heard. It was a dry, cackling sound.

Then a voice like sandpaper.

“We have found him.”

“Yes. He is young.”

“You were not much older when we found you.”

A grunt of affirmation. “His will is strong. Can he be shaped?”

“He will be shaped and he will be molded to our way. There is no other alternative.”

“If he turns?”

“That has not been seen.”

“It is not an impossibility.”

“You border on heresy.”

“Forgive me.”

“Then let us fetch him and be on our way.”

“Agreed.”

Which OS are you?

This was a relatively entertaining personality quiz. It managed to blow at least 5 minutes of my time, then left me wondering if I needed to be compiled or not whenever I wanted to do something new. I found solace in the fact that I am considered extremely stable and durable though. (Some Linux in-jokes. I guess you had to be there).

Which OS are You?

Writing Down the Bones, Part II

Work on my writing projects has suffered as of late. The Mark of Cain has seen little of my time, and Curvature even less. I have so many ideas bouncing around inside my head for both stories, yet I find little time to do research on them and to develop characters, plot, storylines, intrigue, and other such details.

When I first started writing them, the wellspring didn’t seem to want to run dry. On the contrary, I had to write just to keep the dam from bursting. Now it’s like squeezing blood from a turnip. I’m less than satisfied with my latest work on The Mark of Cain as it seems contrived, just to get something out in the open. In my subconscious I know that I will more than likely wind up pulling it all, shelving it, and starting from scratch.

I guess that’s how one learns to be a writer.

Oh well. I need the experience anyway.

---

On the homefront, Emma has swung back to being majorly cranky. She has developed a habit of screaming when she doesn’t get her way. Apparently this is supposed to be normal, but it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with.

Kids.

*sigh*

This evening I’ve been ripping my CD collection to MP3s for storage on my hard drive. This is a rather time consuming task since I have a rack of around 400 CDs sitting next to me waiting to be processed. I’ve been doing it for about two hours now and I still haven’t gotten past ‘A’. Oh wait… I just hit ‘B’ with Bad Company.

Stop that snickering, I can hear it from here.

Wait til I get to ‘M’ for Milli Vanilli.

OK. Seriously. Stop laughing. You’re making me self-conscious.

---

School has finally let out and as a reward I get a week off to prepare for the next fifteen-week extended tour of the seventh sphere of hades. Joy.

On this cruise I will be exploring the wonders of Human-Computer Interaction and Database Management Systems. That’s how to design a user interface, and how to store data away safely for all of you non-computer savvy folk out there.

If you think I’m being sarcastic, you’re right. Last time I checked my degree audit, I was about a year and a half from graduating. Of course a year and a half ago, I was supposed to be a year and a half from graduating.

Gah. This will never end! Make it stop!

Writing Down the Bones

Writing isn’t so much a compulsion or an obsession for me as it is a cathartic experience. Some people call it writing down the bones, or freeing the spirit. I look at it more as an emptying of myself. Days pass and I fill with thoughts, ideas, and concepts. Eventually I need to empty myself of these things. Sometimes it comes forth in the form of venting or writing about one thing or another. Other times it is to update the family about Emma.

Fact, fiction, and otherwise find their way here in some strange form of self expression that somehow manages to keep me sane.

Not long ago I penned an autobiographical story called Waiting on the Ghosts. This was not so much a snapshot of my childhood as it was a semi-fictionalized rendering of a childhood memory. This may shock some of you. For others it may allow the final piece to fall into place if you are trying to figure me out.

I can’t say I was abused or neglected as a child. No, far from it. I was well cared for. I guess what has always bothered me is that all my older cousins speak fondly of having so many good memories of visits to Aunt Norma’s and Uncle Roy’s place and I have memories like Waiting on the Ghosts.

I feel a little jealous sometimes because of that. I feel like they all got the best of my Mother and I got the last years of her life when she was a bitter and broken woman that had been ravaged by Diabetes, Cancer, and a hormonal imbalance that almost tore apart her sanity.

So if you wonder sometimes why I am the way I am, or if I’m a bit different from you I hope you understand that I’ve been shaped by my experiences. Even now, sometimes I’m still that little boy sitting at the top of the stairs looking down into the blackness of the unknown and I tremble with fear. Other times I am the boy sitting by the fire with his father, watching while he whittles away at a piece of wood.

We all are at one point or another like that. We find ourselves stuck in that inescapable situation. Powerless to move towards or away from our fears. We can only helplessly stare at them and wonder what will happen. Will we be consumed? Or will we overcome?

“I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.”
The Litany Against Fear, Frank Herbert – Dune

Magic Kingdom For Sale

Well, it’s official. Our house is now on the market.

The Realtor came by and we signed all the paperwork. All the photos were taken that needed to be taken. I have mixed emotions about it, but I know that it is for the best. I’m leaving it up to God, or fate, or whatever lies in between now.

If I sound disappointed, I am. I keep telling myself that God has a greater plan and that something better is in store. Deep in my heart I believe it, but my pride is having a hard time letting me take a step back. It will be dealt with in time though.

It was kind of hard seeing the sign go up in the front yard though.

So.

Life goes on.

I know in my last post I was all “Y’know, I wouldn’t mind living with Dad again” but the reality is hitting home that we are selling the first house we ever bought together to move back in with my Dad.

Granted, I know the reasons and the motives are pure: To let Cheryl stay home and take care of Emma, but still it’s damned hard to give up something I’ve worked this hard for. I know I only spend a few hours a day in it, but it’s mine and I worked for it.

I know I’m taking a step back, and it’s the right thing to do, but I just need some time to sulk and get over it. It’s only a human reaction I suppose.

Life. Goes. On.

Times Makin’ Changes

The Realtor stopped by the other night to kick off discussions on selling the house. That session went well, but it looks like we will have a hard time breaking even. We may have to do some more work to the house in order to raise the appraisal value. Things like adding handrails to our front steps and redecorating the guest bedroom from NASCAR nastiness to something a bit more tasteful. Perhaps even adding a deck onto the back of the house.

Oh well, I guess I’ll go pick some more money off the tree.

The more I ponder selling and moving back in with my father, the more the idea grows on me. Our expenses will be almost nil, and we will be able to pay off our debt much sooner than were we still living here. Granted, I love the fact that I have my own house but to be honest it’s starting to wear on me. I spend less than 12 hours a day in this house during the week, and on the weekends I am usually out running all the errands I don’t have time to run when I’m working. I don’t even have time to mow my own lawn or mulch my flower beds.

While I am trying to get over my stinging sense of pride at moving back in with my father, I am growing accustomed to the idea. Even looking forward to it somewhat. All of us will be under one roof, and Cheryl will be able to stay home and take care of Emma.

With Cheryl home, that frees me up to make more positive career choices. I spoke with a recruiter for Robert Half Technology today and we discussed various options. I liked what he had to say, but in the end I told him I couldn’t make any kind of decision right now. I told him I would call him when I was free to pick and choose between contract-to-hire options (and after the house has sold and things have calmed down.)

The idea of consulting was once somewhat unsettling to me, as there isn’t always a lot of security. However, given the potential situation of living with Dad again, there is a bit of a security blanket there. Consulting would let me pick and choose from some of the best IT shops in town. I would have variety and could be a chameleon if I wanted to. I would be able to take part in projects big and small, or find a nice contract that results in a hire after a few months.

Plus, RHT is throughout North America. That’s always good.

I’ve started looking into the possibility of taking Canadian citizenship. It would be as long and drawn out a process as Cheryl’s immigration to the US has been. But, it would give me the freedom I want to be able to live here or there, or to work here or there.

But we all know the main reason I want to move is because I can’t get enough of back bacon and Hockey Night in Canada.

Feh. Predictable I am. Yeeeeees.