Day 76: I didn't forget about you, writing blog

OK I'm going to get more into this thing "in earnest."  I know I've been doing it every day for SEVENTY SIX DAYS, and that in itself is a commitment, but I'm going to marry it now.  Also, want to read a book about making successful blogs.  I think that might make me more blog-savvy.



            The face saw Jim and panicked.  It cradled its black leather fingers in front of its face, steepling them under its jaw.  A smile rose over its nonexistent lips, hinted at by its eyebrows which lurched downward.   The frenzied neighing of a stallion in the background caused temporary feedback, the screen fuzzing blue black.  The man looked like he could see into the other side of the camera, and the screen turned apprehensively in each direction as he tried to figure out what was going on behind Jim and the policeman.

            “That sure is a lot of scrap metal around.”  The metallic voice said.  “You… must,  have had some problems.”

            The policeman looked around unscrupulously, the wheels turning slowly inside his head.  He took the hand off the holster and walked over to the pile of rubble, kicking a metal corner with his steel toed boots.  The pile collapsed in on itself and the cop turned slowly, staring blankly over at Jim.  He rolled up his sleeves for no apparent reason, falling to one knee with his elbow perched on the other looking at the pile.

            Roger slouched and rubbed his forehead with an open palm, the vein under his eye throbbing with red intensity.  The bags under his eyes grew with each second, crows feet popping up by the twenties like his face was building a fence to protect the nose from the eyes.

            “When can I see my girls, are they fine?  They have to be fine.  Where did you take them?”  Roger said, his voice wavering.

            The robotic eyes twitched and focused on Jim, ignoring Roger’s question completely.  An aperture adjustment scrolled like a hand on a mouse button, the screen zooming forward about a quarter of an inch.

            “Jim, how are you? It’s been so long, hasn’t it?!”  The voice moved up to a high register and stayed there,  the robot voices enthusiasm sounding entirely genuine. 

            “Yeah, I suppose it has.”  The cloudy veil behind Jim’s eyes lifted and he was lucid again.  His voice took the shape of a Batman behind the mask.  “Glad I got here in time for the screening.” 

            It’s voice grew shriller.  “Making dumb jokes at a time like this!  Jim, you really are a piece of work!  You think you can escape from here without doing the work we scheduled for you?  Do you think that, Jim?”

            A bouncing autonomous sound shook the camera, the screen displaying it rising up and facing out into a vast desert.  Roger watched with anticipation for a glimpse of one of his daughters but the bright midday sun gave him an eyeful of blurs instead. 

            “It’s not my fault you guys can’t invent yourself a design out of a cardboard box.”  Jim said, digging through his pockets for something.  He retrieved a piece of gun and popped it into his mouth, smoothing his wild long hair back into a pony tail again after popping it into his mouth. 

            “I’ll give you one chance,”  The robot voice said after a long pause.  The cop pressed a button on his neck, and the man on the screen froze.  A bright purple laser shot in a concentrated line at the cop, leaving a skeleton laying in a pile of charred ash.  Roger recoiled,  gulping back copious bodily fluids rising through his throat. 

Jim looked at him, he was close to tears, and what he really wanted to do was walk over and give him a hug.  Instead, he ducked around the house, out of view of the screen, and returned seconds later with a triangular shaped rock.  He held a “shh” finger in front of his face, Roger looking at him with woeful acceptance.

Roger was too afraid to talk to the screen, although now they were left alone.  He smiled at it sheepishly.

“Where did Jim go?”  The screen asked, perplexed.  Jim jumped out at it like a wild tiger, struck it in the side with the rock, and the picture fizzled into white noise momentarily.  Roger languidly walked toward Jim who was frantically gesturing, the screen trying to turn to face them, drubbing its sides against the wooden scaffolding of the building. 

“I will be here, waiting, when you get back, and you want to see me.”  It assumed they were going somewhere.

            Jim ran through the house organizing all of his warring equipment.  He got his metal boots, bulletproof vest, rickshaw cutoff shotgun.  Roger grabbed the shotgun out of his hand and looked at him with disdain.  He fumbled it, unprepared for the heaviness of it, and screamed weakly as it hit the front walkway and didn’t go off.

            “Who is that guy?  What kind of people are you involved with?”  Roger shouted as Jim dug through cabinets, pulled drawers open, stomping more loudly than might have been necessary.  Chunks of dirt from his clothes left a trail on the kitchen floor.  “You know, this isn’t your house anymore!”  Roger said rhetorically

            Jim speedwalked down the hall and hit an invisible button underneath the stairs and a hidden armory opened, from which he removed a helmet and special gloves.

            “What do you know about this guy?” Roger pestered in a feeble voice.

            Jim didn’t answer, he raced upstairs into the master bedroom, slipping at first on the bottom of the stairwell and having to hold himself up with the banister to the top.

            “There’s nothing in our bedroom!  What are you doing in our bedroom.”  He rolled his eyes and followed upstairs, repeating in a quiet staccato.

            Jim was on his knees digging through Roger’s wifes underwear drawer, with a focused look in his eyes.

            “What the hell are you doing?”  Roger blustered out in his most authoritative tone.  He stood over Jim with his hands on his hips and fingers facing outwards, and started gnawing at his lower lip.

            Jim removed a pin from the drawer minutes later, a tiny lappel with a swordfish insignia.  He handed it to Roger, giving him a stern “you know what to do with it” face.  Then he raced back outside, dragging his armament along with him.

          Ok, not quite a thousand words, and not a particularly good one.  It ebbs and flows.  But, it's not always easy, so it feels like work.  And so the point is definitely to improve as time goes on, eh?  We'll see tomorrow.