15 Reasons to say goodbye: Reason 12 I awaken to find, that I am not who I was

The blackness recedes, and I awake covered in meat and blood. It takes me a moment to adjust to my surroundings, to remember the exact sequence of events that led to this. I stretch stiff muscles and rise to my feet. As I do, I survey the room around me, the bodies, the gore. While certainly disgusted by the grisly scene, I find myself strangely inured to the violence.

Trembling steps towards the door, the blood sticky on the soles of my naked feet. My hand grasps the ruined surface of the table where mere hours before, creatures from another world viciously tortured me for information they claimed I possessed.  

The memory in question slips through my brain like quicksilver; elusive, slippery, and impossible to grasp. It's there, but I just can't seem to focus. The cold bite of sharp metal against my foot brings me back to the present as I look down to see the weapon I used to kill the second alien. I pick it up, and make my way to the door of the chamber. 

The door opens of its own accord, and I step into an empty, white and quite featureless hallway. Following an unknown instinct, I turn left. Sticky red footprints follow my progress down the passageway, which terminates in a steel door, identical to the door of the chamber I'd just left. It too opens automatically as I approach.

On the other side of this door however, lay a sight beyond my wildest dreams. Rather than a viewscreen of some sort, showing the expected starfield, staggeringly tall towers, glisten in the light of a blue sun. People, not the hideously deformed creatures that assaulted me, but beautiful, marvelous people soaring through the air with no visible means of flight. Petals from alien flowers wafting on the breeze and a thousand exotic birds join their voices in harmonies alien to my ears. 

"I'm not on a ship at all. I'm....on a different planet?" Shocked, I stumble backwards through the door, which closes as I impact the rear wall. I turn and streak back the way I came, my footsteps echoing in the cold and empty hallway. 

"Please....stop." The voice cuts through the chaos in my mind like a knife. It seems familiar somehow...like so much else about this place. I stop.

"Thank you," the voice continues, "If you will allow us a moment to explain, we can help you reacclimate to the world around you."

"Reacclimate?" I let all of my pent up fear and anger burst forth in my words, as I turned in a slow circle in the middle of the hallway. "What the fuck are you talking about? I've never been here before in my life. I want to go home to my wife, and I will get there if I have to kill every damn alien on this planet."

"Alien? Dear boy....you are quite misinformed." As if on cue, a hidden panel opens to my right, and a radiant figure emerges. Standing at least seven feet tall, adorned in glowing robes of innumerable hues, and with a great white beard stretching nearly to the floor, there was only one person this could possibly be. "God?" I kneel just to be on the safe side.

A warm belly laugh reverberates against the walls, it's enough to put a smile on my face despite my situation. "Not quite in the way you're thinking."

"Santa?" Once again, kneeling. Just in case.

"Uhm...No." A somewhat confused look arrives on the heels of my last query. "You really don't remember me?" Then turning to look over his shoulder, "Damnable Avatars, leave them hooked up too long and their in-program persona overwrites the native code!"

A second being steps into the hallway, and my breath seizes in my lungs. A woman of such resplendent beauty that I have never seen before steps to the right of the bearded 'not God or Santa'-man. Dark, loving eyes gaze at me from the pale perfection that is her face. Diaphanous robes drape over her frame like they had grown there organically, and her casual grace exudes calm. Despite this, I was still keenly aware of my own lack of clothing, and modestly attempted to cover myself in front of the somehow familiar woman.

It all clicked into place one second after the old man spoke his next words.

"Boy, I'm your father." 

That slippery mercurial memory is back. It covers my brain like a hood, and for the second time in recent memory, all goes black.
....

Eons rewind and fast forward in seconds as my brain adjusts the tracking. A picture emerges and millennia of knowledge flashes through my synapses in moments. Concepts and colors, curious and confounding to the senses of a human suddenly crystalize and take new meaning. My consciousness expands like that of a meditating yogi, and realization dawns. My name....my true name flashes in 73 foot tall neon letters in my frontal-lobe. As I utter the strangely familiar syllables, the disorienting transformation screeches to a halt, and my metamorphosis is complete. Once more, I am..."Pilleus, the free."

I stand in the hall with my Father and Mother. I am covered in the blood of two Orpheus-men. A snarl crawls unbidden and instinctively across my mouth and sets to gnawing at the corners of my lips. "Father...." I begin, but a raised hand forestalls any further words.

"Welcome home my son. Too long has it been since last these halls echoed with the sound of your footfalls. But wait just a moment, and tell us what has transpired. Tell us what you remember. Tell us what you saw...."

So I tell them.

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In the beginning, there were the Shapers, giving form to the void. Traveling the vast reaches of null-space, they seeded the Godworlds with life, and gave form to the void. 
Imbuing the lifeforms of each of the Godworlds with the ability to manipulate and shape reality as they saw fit, the Shapers proceeded to the fringes of the universe and beyond, leaving behind the women and men of the Godworlds to police creation. 
Eons of alternating warfare and peace transpired until an uneasy truce was signed, and the vast majority of the citizens of the Godworlds were phase shifted into the lower realms, created by the One Above All.

Forsaking this great gift, the One Above All and his family stayed behind to await the return of the shapers, and to shepard the worlds they created.

However, one among the citizens of the Godworlds desired the power of the One Above All for himself. Orpheus, brother to the One Above All, and Lord of the Legions of Lur lead a rebellion against his brother, and was defeated. 

Shamed into leaving the Godworlds, Orpheus and his legions made their home in the burned out husk of a giant star.

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"Orpheus....his men have broken through to the lower realms. They are preying upon the men and women in Lower Earth." The shock of the memories flooding back is beginning to fade, and I find myself with stray thoughts and feelings from my time on earth."That was my mission, to learn how far they've managed to infiltrate the program and report back. How long was I gone?"

"About a year and a half as we recognize time. Although relativistically speaking you were gone a little over 2,000 years." 

15 Reasons to say goodbye - Reason 13: The Octuplets Conundrum

Seven secret brothers send seven (semi) silent assassins to slay, slaughter and otherwise snuff-out my sentience. Alliteration notwithstanding, it's not the worst way to start my Saturday morning. That happened a week ago, when I was forced to leave behind my best (and only) friend, my dog, Sneezes. 

The shattering of the front window, and the baseball sized grenade rolling across my parquet floors hinted at future misfortunes. Sneezes wisely chose the better part of valor, tiny pomeranian footfalls receding through the kitchen. Setting my tea down upon the side table and closing my eyes, I covered my ears against the imminent...

BOOM, went the grenade, intending to immobilize the target, namely myself. This however, was not entirely effective.

With a sigh, I brushed the mangled and thoroughly useless shrapnel from my now-ruined sweater. There are times when being on the receiving end of a centuries-old eugenics program has its advantages, diamond tough skin clearly being at the top of said list. However, over the years, the cost of replacing wardrobes due to overzealous men like the ones soon to be introduced, does add up.

Oh, how terribly rude of me, I never did introduce myself. I am Augustus Pritchard, though my family often simply call me Brother 8. There's nothing terribly clever about this name, I'm simply the eighth iteration of a biological experiment intended to create a new master race. Standing at nearly seven feet tall, and weighing an impressive 280 pounds of pure muscle, I consider myself something of a success in this endeavor. However, as the baby of the family, I am quite disliked by my rather less impressive brothers. Thus, the grenade, the ruined sweater, and of course..."Ninjas," I remarked casually, pretentiously proud of my calm dismissal of the cliched and hackneyed plot device Brother 3 traditionally employed.

The asian assassins slip silently into my living room, sneaking stealthily through the smoke, unaware that I'm unharmed and that my heightened vision makes their theatrics somewhat comically unnecessary. 

"Oh, do quit skulking about please, I've had a rather unfortunate turn with my sweater, and I'm fairly certain you've spoiled a perfectly good cup of tea," I said.

All movement stopped.

"Seriously, it's rather annoying," I added.

One figure stepped out into the open, masked face revealing no emotion.

"Stand and die with honor," commanded the ninja.

I stood. The expected whirlwind of attacks came. Shuriken whirling silently towards my throat, a blade cut vertically up the length of my spine while two others simultaneously stabbed for my midsection. The sound of shattering steel rent the silence of the well practiced assault asunder. 

The ninja's eyes widened with fear and confusion as they glanced from their ruined weapons, to my unblemished flesh. They were still motionless when my fist closed around the head of the first ninja, and lifted his body as a weapon, whipping him against his comrades in a violent fury until they all lay dead and unmoving at my feet.

"Well, that was certainly anti-climactic," intoned a familiar voice from the hole in my ruined living room wall.

I turned to see Brother 5 leaning with all the sullenness of an angsty teen against the rough edge of the newly minted doorway.

"Do kindly step outside when you've got a moment, brother dear," continued 5.

"Do kindly give me a moment to compose myself, Chauncey." I enjoyed the wince caused by my use of my brother's familiar name, as I removed the last few strips of clothing from my body. "As you can see, my wardrobe is hardly suitable for galavanting about town."

An indifferent wave of his hand showed his willingness to allow me some propriety. "Of course, Brother. We're not savages. I hardly want to humiliate you by leaving a naked corpse on your front lawn."

"Thank you, ever so much...Chauncey." I strolled into my chambers and pulled out my second favorite suit. Wouldn't do to spoil my favorite after all. I dressed with as much alacrity as I could muster, ran a comb through my hair, and hoisting my large, double-bladed axe onto my shoulder, I returned to the ersatz door in my living room wall, and stepped through.

There upon the lawn, a veritable army awaited me. Men with high-tech weaponry standing shoulder to shoulder with ninjas, common thugs keeping company with honorable warriors, all in an effort to end my life. At the head of the assemblage, stood two of my siblings, Chauncey, or Brother 5 as he prefers to be called. (Despite our familial connections, I must confess to a rather keen dislike of the man. Our limited interactions as youths always culminated in a fight, invariably centered around his intense jealousy and hatred of me. That and my disdain for his cowardly attempts to sabotage my standing in the program.) To his right stood Brother 3. As an earlier member of the program, I was afforded far less contact with the man, and in some regards hold him in far greater esteem than any of my brothers. An honorable man, Brother 3 was no less ruthless than any of my kin, and had reached a somewhat legendary status among the brethren due to his single-handed elimination of the two previous iterations of our line. Adding to the man's general air of mystery, I didn't even know his name.

"Quite a force you've assembled, brother." I casually hefted the weight of the blade from my shoulder as I addressed Brother 3. "Why do you sully your ranks with Chauncey's riffraff?"

"Would you kindly...." Chauncey....Brother 5's retort was cut off, a katana blade serving as punctuation, bringing the man's sentence, and life to a pre-emptive end.

"A means to an end, 8. I intend to be the last brother standing. This was the easiest way to dispose of the cowardly little whelp before I eliminated you."

Brother 5's men studied the force they were now attached to. Bereft of their former leader, and allied with an obviously ruthless individual and an army of asian assassins, they were perturbed to say the least. I can't honestly deny that I myself was somewhat taken aback by these most recent developments.

"I do suppose you've made your point then." Axe blade leveled at the opposing force, I straightened my lapels with my free hand. "Do try your best not to ruin my suit....it's my second favorite."

"I will do my best, Brother." 

They attacked.


I suppose I could take the time to describe every vicious and gory moment of the battle here, but I'm not one prone to enjoying gratuitous violence. Suffice it to say that within a span of 15 minutes, my lawn was left littered with the remains of a score of men, broken weapons, and exploded ordinance. My suit fared little better.

At the very least, the relative privacy afforded by the sheer size of my estate prevented the immediate interference of uniformed authority figures. Though this also precluded the arrival of aid.

"Well brother, you tried....apparently they give trophies for that nowadays." As I said this, I wiped an egregious amount of blood from the blade of my weapon.

Gasping out the last few precious moments of his life upon my well manicured bermuda grass lawn, Brother 3 made a valiant effort at holding in his entrails long enough for one final conversation with his little brother. "That's four of us gone now. If it means anything to you at all, I admit my respect for you, brother, if not my affection."

"It doesn't," I lied. "Why now, brother? Why choose this moment to continue the war between the brethren?" Kneeling down, I removed my ruined suit coat and balled it up beneath his head. I'm nothing if not a gentleman.

"You and 7 are the most powerful, the most dangerous among us. I was hunting Brother 5, nearly killed the pompous prig in fact. He begged for his life, offered me your location in exchange." A racking cough shook his body, eliciting a sharp groan of pain. Blood pooled in his throat. "7 is on his way."

These were the final words of a brother whose true name I would never learn. Following a brief moment during which I allowed myself to grieve, I hastened back to the ruined estate. A change of attire was certainly warranted, as was a final cup of tea in my devastated living room. 

Bag packed with clothing and assorted small weaponry, I left my life and home behind, to once more join in the brethren hunt.

.....

"The 'brethren hunt'?" The gentleman sharing my cabin on the train looked somewhat taken aback by my tale. "Is that a thing? It sounds like a thing. Like you're some kind a ancient god or sumthin."

"Point one; I am certainly not a god. Point two; yes, I suppose it is a 'thing', in that it's the sole purpose of the brethren to weed out the weak among our line, leaving the strongest in control of the considerable influence and wealth inherent in the position. Point three; your grammar is atrocious." Folding my arms across my chest, I cast a wary eye back towards my companion. "So tell me your tale, since you find mine so incredulous."

"Ok fine, asshole. There I was, walking out a tha Tropicana, when a slot machine says to me....."

15 Reasons to Say Goodbye - Reason 14: The Harsh Reality of the Situation

Late one evening in the science wing of a prestigious New England university, a lone window glowed with faint illumination. If one were to approach this dim portal on the first floor of the ivy covered building, he would immediately notice the voluminous amount of textbooks, manuscripts, and even loose-leaf notes piled several feet thick upon tables near the window sills. Venturing closer still, and peering through the grimy and seldom-used windows, one would certainly espy a middle-aged man, graying at the temples, bedecked in a worn lab coat, and looking for all the world like the stereotypical image of a mad scientist, writing furiously upon a dusty chalkboard in the corner of his office. 
     

"So if the variables remain constant in this line....then this proves..." the Professor, one Rudolph Rander murmured to himself, deep in concentration despite the late hour. Prone to losing track of time, the professor was at this very moment, pursuing a topic of particular interest to him. The very nature of reality itself. For months Rander had been working on a complex mathematical formula which he was convinced would disprove the existence of God, Allah, or whatever flavor of personal creator being one may worship. Alas, as chance, or perhaps fate would have it, the world would have to wait a little longer to learn the secrets Rander was about to uncover.

"Professor, are you there?" Jacob Erskine, one of Rander's two grad-student assistants entered the professor's office, a look of concern spread over his all-American features.

"...hmmm? What? Oh yes, Jacob. Come in, come in. You've got to take a look at this," responded the thoroughly manic older man. "I've just discovered something most surprising, something I wasn't looking for at all."

"What is it, sir?" Jacob stepped towards the board, and cocking his head to one side, said, "Is this the research you've been so anxious to keep secret from myself and Melissa?"

"Don't be so sensitive, Jacob. You must understand that I am something of a recluse. Were it not for the necessity of funding provided by the school, as well as access to their equipment, I wouldn't even be teaching these ridiculous children." The professor paced as he spoke, wringing his hands nervously. "You and Melissa are the only two students here deserving of any recognition whatsoever. The majority of the trust-fund brats will never amount to much more than wealthy alumni that the school can pump for donations. What....wait, where is Melissa anyway?" Rander glanced at the watch on his wrist. A perplexed expression washed over his face as he raised the instrument to his ear and lightly wrapped upon the crystal face. "For that matter, what are you doing here at this hour?"

Turning from the board towards the professor, Jacob assumed a look of amusement. "I'm here checking up on you, professor. Do you have any idea how long you've been cooped up in this musty office? You need to get out and get some air. This isn't healthy for you." As he spoke, he turned his head slightly to regard the stacks of moldering paper atop the nearby tables, and row upon row of science texts placed carelessly upon the bookshelves which lined one wall. With a look of disdain upon his face he asked, "When was the last time someone cleaned in here?"

"There's no time, boy." The professor confidently strode towards his board, one arm outstretched towards the mathematical jumble scrawled thereon. "Can you not see what I've just discovered?"

Turning once more towards the indicated board, Jacob examined the seeming madness scribbled upon it's slate gray surface. His eyes slowly widened and his jaw dropped slack as the implications of the information began to sink in. "This can't be right."

"Ah, but it is, it is." The professor giggled like a madman and spun in place, arms held wide. "I didn't want to believe the data, but I have to accept it. We are living in a simulation. I don't know what force or entity is responsible, but there was in fact a conscious and planned origin for the universe."

"How...?" Jacob stammered, searching for the right words.

"The lack of true chaos, the fact that I can prove that nothing in the universe occurs at random or by chance." Finally regaining control of his raging emotions, the professor's outstretched index finger came to rest on a particular section of the complicated equation. "No system can be designed to incorporate true chaos. If a creator creates something, then by dint of it's existence it represents order. You can sew the seeds of chaos, or foment unrest, but actually creating the concept of chaos....impossible!"

The look of bemused wonder that had settled over Jacob's face slowly bled away, replaced by a dead, glazed look. The familiar warmth had similarly drained from his voice when he finally replied, "That's really too bad, professor. I had hoped it wouldn't turn out this way. You're smarter than we gave you credit for. I guess it's really a testament to our own abilities...who knew we could create something so...life-like?"

"Jacob...? What?" The professor edged away from his young grad student, wary of his shift in tone and demeanor. "What are you implying, Jacob?"

"Don't fear me, professor. I will reveal everything to you in time, satisfy all of your intellectual curiosity. However, you mustn't be allowed to reveal any of this information to the public." Jacob reached one hand out towards the professor, his other, slowly inching towards Rander's desk. "Such knowledge would panic the masses. The processing power expenditure required to keep the program running under such circumstances would prove problematic."

"Enough of this foolishness, Jacob!" Rander takes another step back, but bumps into the door as it opens behind him. 

On the other side of the portal, Melissa looks up, startled by the impact of the door hitting the professor's body. "Professor Rander, Jacob what are you...?" Melissa's head peeked around the doorframe to take in the tense standoff between the two men.

Rander briefly turned to regard the young woman, and it nearly cost him his life, as Jacob's other hand shot forward, a heavy paperweight in its clutches. "Now you both must die," screamed the apoplectic young man. 

Desperate to protect his life, as well as that of his other prized-pupil, Rander moved inside the blow, throwing his own body against Jacob's not-inconsiderable bulk.

Professor and student both fell to the floor grappling, as Melissa stepped into the room. Screaming for them to stop fighting, Melissa determinedly grabbed a nearby lamp, and with every ounce of strength in her small frame, slammed the base against her fellow student's head with a muffled thump.

After helping the battered and winded professor to his feet, Melissa then checked on the status of her classmate. " What the hell professor, what did I walk into?"

"I'll explain everything later, for now, we have to preserve my work, and our lives. It's important we're not here when he wakes up." As the professor carefully snapped photos of the blackboard, he failed to notice the scene behind him.

"Professor...I don't think that's going to be a problem," said Melissa, her voice quavering with emotion, "Jacob's dead."

Turning towards his quietly sobbing student, the professor's face turned ghostly white as realization dawned. "Come, Melissa, get up. We have to run."

15 Reasons to Say Goodbye - Reason 15: Alien Abduction

I awake in the dark. Your body warming mine through light cotton sheets. I usually find that to be quite comforting, however not tonight. Something is wrong. I can feel it in the stillness of the bedroom air, the unnatural quiet that's settled over the house. 

I try to sit up, and find that I cannot. 

Card 15 of the Major Arcana, The Devil.
Tarot images courtesy of http://rann-poisoncage.deviantart.com

My arms and legs are paralyzed. They lay helplessly at my side...immobile and useless. My eyes have not yet betrayed me, they scan the room, desperately searching for something, anything that can explain what's going on. Drops of cold sweat gather on the surface of my skin. My breathing quickens as I begin to panic. I see motion in the shadows in the corner of the room, but it's gone by the time I turn to look.

Sibilant whispers chill my blood, and the sound of cold static....white noise hisses in the back of my brain. Rhythm permeates the sound, and a cadence slowly becomes apparent. 

Slime and ice glide in tandem across my skin as unseen digits probe my motionless form. More hands join in the exploratory venture, and as I feel myself lifted from the mattress, my head lolls to one side, my gaze meeting yours. I know you are as helpless as I am, my will struggling to force out a cry, a farewell....something.

No words escape the prison of my throat, and I watch you recede into the shadows as I am pulled bodily from the house. My vision blurs and the night air raises gooseflesh over my naked form. I see vague images below me....houses I think, and hope wells within my breast. If a curious neighbor were to look up, hopefully a floating naked man would at least rouse enough curiosity to investigate further. However, that hope is soon dashed. There is no time left. I have reached my mid-air destination.

Blinding white light assails my senses as I approach an immense shape floating before me in the sky. Dimension is hard to judge with my senses dulled, but it just feels....immense. My attempt at clinical assessment of the situation ends abruptly as I am taken aboard the strange floating craft. Instantly, my world is thrown into chaos. The previous gentleness of my captors is replaced with a casually cruel and brusque approach as I am transferred into the custody of something....new.

Immense fists close around my arms before slamming my body down onto a raised platform. I hear grunting and cannot tell whether it's the voices of my new custodians, or my own voice choking in pain. The breath rushes from my lungs, and an intense pain sets my nerves afire as I learn that paralyzation does not necessarily equate to a lack of sensation. Thick manacles are fastened around my limbs, perhaps in an effort to forestall the eventual struggle to restrain me once the paralytic effects of whatever they've done to me begins to wane.

What follows next is a blur of agony as I am tortured in a literally inhumane fashion. Previously undiscovered nerve endings are ravaged, in-between brief sessions of incoherent ramblings from my captors. Several hours in, and I slowly realize that the haze that's been clouding my thoughts is beginning to dissipate. In addition to this discovery, I realize that I'm starting to understand fragments of their tongue...

"When did you...? How many of.....? What was your purpose here?" The brutal interrogator inquires.

"My purpose where," I make the mistake of replying.

"At last the simpleton begins to remember....I thought we would kill him this time for sure," one of the creatures mutters in a guttural voice in response to my acknowledgement of understanding.

"It has assimilated far too much into this ridiculous world...it may be worthless," says the one currently stabbing a small metal cylinder into my left hip, just above my groin.

"What the fuck do you want," I ask, anger creeping into my voice as I find myself held in place only by the restraints. My limbs once more mine to command.

"Ha, it wants to know what we want," laughs the creature with the stabbing fetish, then to me he replied, "We want to know what you remember. Tell us, and we'll make it quick, worm!"

Further contemplation of my situation is forestalled however, when the restraints holding me in place open of their own accord. I turn to see my arms free, my captors mirroring my actions. Never one to look a gift-horse in the mouth, my first rage-fueled blow lands directly in the side of one creature's head. Staggering the brute, I spin him into his accomplice and leap from the table. A wave of agony passes through me as my tortured body resists my efforts to escape. Persevering, I remove the metal sliver from my torso, and stab it into the eye of the onrushing being. His scream of agony serves to reawaken my rage as I grapple him into a shielding position just as the second assailant's weapon fires. My living shield no longer viable, I push the lifeless husk forward, and dive for the limited cover offered by the torture platform. 

"Bastard, I'll kill you slow for this," growls my lone remaining opponent. The glare from his blaster blindingly bright in the small cell, my vision is dazzled, and details begin to blur. A powerful arm reaches across the table and grabs me by the neck. As I am lifted into the air, I turn, and in a last-ditch effort to stay alive, I sink my teeth into the bastards arm. The sour taste of sweat mingles with the metallic tang of blood as my vicious and primal attack succeeds.

The howl of pain and fury deafens me, but I do not hesitate, instead closing the distance and throwing myself upon him. I continue my savage onslaught, sinking my thumbs into his eyes, my teeth biting through the cartilage of his nose. 

We fall to the ground. 

Stunned for the moment, my attacker screams next to me as I slowly regain my wits. Willing the confrontation to end, I find myself in possession of his weapon, the alien technology seeming somehow familiar in my hands. Ramming the barrel into his mouth, I activate the weapon, and decorate the chamber with what passes for his brains.

"That's that I guess," I mutter in the emptiness of the room, "now what?"

I sink to my knees in the gore splattered corner of the room, before the blackness of unconsciousness rises to claim me.

Welcome to Graphic Novelty

I welcome you to Graphic Novelty. Now, the more visually discerning reader may note a distinct lack of well....graphics. There is a perfectly logical and reasonable explanation for this....there aren't any....mainly because I am an absolutely horrible artist.

So, rather than subject you to page after page of the same crudely drawn, overly muscled, spandex bedecked "artwork," (all of which would be forever locked in the one pose I've managed to master) I've decided to simply tell my story here...I'm hoping this will catch on...maybe someone will open a shop for stuff like this one day. It's a comic book, without the comic....so, a book.
Nah, that'll never catch on.

Anyway, the title is intended to be an homage to my childhood love of comic books. Growing up, my parents would always buy me a few whenever we took one of our frequent road trips. We would stop in a Stuckey's, and I would race for the rear corner of the store to see what books were available. My heart would pound with excitement as I picked up grab bag after grab bag of random books. Back on the road, I would read and re-read them until the inevitable bout of motion sickness induced nausea swept in and put a stop to it. My domain in the backseat of my parents car vanished, and the four color world I found myself in was filled with unique and amazing places like the crime-filled streets of Madripoor, the halls of Ancient Asgard, and a House of more than just a little Mystery. Though I may not remember the exact issue numbers, I still remember the stories, as well as the feeling they evoked in my tiny adolescent soul.

The love I feel for the medium has never really waned, so when a friend suggested that I try to actually create something...I did. Stories will post every Saturday, so you have plenty of time to finish your Wednesday comic pile.

I hope you enjoy it.