David
Finkelstein original
sentences 11/1/05 10
Suicide…
“Ring! Ring!” The bell sounded,
meaning Tim was late for science class, again.
As
he entered the classroom, he tried to explain,
“I’m
sorry I’m late, my locker jammed” Tim explained
“Do you have a pass?” Asked the
science teacher
“No, but-“, Tim tried to argue
“Then please take a seat, you’re
interrupting the class”, the science teacher told him. Tim tried to act blasé
about the whole thing, but for the first few minutes of class he was trying to
muster himself. A few minutes later, Tim had preoccupied himself with trying to
balance his pencil on the table top. Because of this, he wasn’t listening when
his teacher asked him a question.
“Tim!”
the science teacher yelled.
“Huh?
What?” Tim tried to figure out what was going on
“I
asked you a question!” the science teacher yelled, becoming impatient.
“You
did?” Tim asked, “I mean, could you please repeat the question?
“Pay
attention!” the teacher answered, getting ready to repeat his question.
“Why
should I? Attention doesn’t pay m-.” Tim started to reply, suddenly realizing
that he was saying it aloud.
“That’s
it! Leave my classroom!” shouted the teacher loudly, finally losing his temper.
He quickly ousted Tim from the classroom. Outside, Tim was really mad at
himself, he was so obsessed with telling jokes, that he had forgotten how angry
teachers got when he tried to tell one. But he hadn’t meant to say it out loud,
it had just slipped out. Without thinking, he started to draw on the floor. He
looked down, and with a cry of surprise, he realized that he had drawn all over
one of the tiles. Not only that, but he had signed his work! His name, Tim Weinershnizel Twinklebrain, he
quickly went to work, trying to erase it. The teacher, alarmed by a sudden cry
from outside the classroom, started to walk towards the door. Realizing that he
wouldn’t have enough time to erase his drawing, Tim simply started to wipe it
off. Suddenly, just above Tim’s head, the door handle started to turn. Tim
quickly sat down on the residue hoping that Mr.Voib,
his science teacher, wouldn’t see the smudges. The door opened, and Mr.Voib looked down.
“Is every thing alright?” asked Mr.Voib
“Yes! I’m fine, great, absolutely wonderfully splendid!” Tim replied a bit too
enthusiastically.
“What’s that big mark that you’re
sitting on?” Mr.Voibasked
“Nothing!
It’s nothing” Tim assured him.
“Stand up.” Mr.Voib
told Tim.
“I’d rather stay in my current
posture” Tim replied
“Tim Weinershnizel
Twinklebrain, I told you to stand up!” Mr. Mr.Voib hollered, loud enough so that everyone in the
neighboring classrooms heard him. Tim stood up. Mr. Mr.Voib
gasped.
“I
can’t believe you! Go to the office immediately” Mr. Mr.Voib
practically screamed.
“Okay! Okay, calm down, sheesh!” Tim answered, forgetting himself. Mr.Voib turned a bright purple. Tim sprinted to the office.
“No running in the hallways!” Mr.Voib hollered after him. Tim was disgraced, blinking
back tears, he ran to the office. Why did he have to be so prone to make a joke
out of everything? Then, with a sudden surge of anger, he thought
“Why do teachers have to be so mean? The most
frivolous of remarks sets them off. He hadn’t meant to do it! It wasn’t his
fault!” Then he thought back, “Well, he had been late, but he hadn’t meant to
tell the joke, it had just slipped out.” Suddenly he thought to himself, “What
was the question? Oh yeah! It had been something about a promontory.” Suddenly
he remembered, Mr.Voib had asked him to define the
word “promontory.” He sighed, “Why do I have to be so stupid?” Then he had a
qualm, “What if he was suspended? Or even expelled!”, the very thought of it
made him shake with fear, his only recourse was the thought that it was Friday,
and so he wouldn’t be given a detention, but there was still the possibility
that he would be suspended. Then the thought of what his mother would say made
him become very nervous. Tim opened the office door, walked past the front
desk, then walked into Mr. Gollygeewillickers’
office. The principal reminded Tim of what it was that he had done, as if he
didn’t know. Then told him to call home. Tim was
shaking from fear, he took the phone. Then he asked Mr. Sugarpiepoo
what punishment he was to be given. Mr. Sugarpiepoo
calmly answered,
“You
are now expelled from school.” Tim slowly digested the information. Then he
broke out in tears,
“It’s
not fair! I can’t take this anymore! I can’t take it!” Suddenly, with a cry of
defeat, Tim rushed to the nearest window. With the sound of breaking glass in
his ears, Tim plunged to his death (the principal’s office was on the second
floor). Then, just before hitting the ground,
“I
walk a lonely road
The
only one that I have ever known
Don't
know where it goes
But
its home to me and I walk alone
I
walk this empty street
On
the Boulevard of Broken Dreams
When
the city sleeps
And
I'm the only one and I walk alo-“Tim slammed the
alarm clock, turning it off.
“Ohhhhhhhhhh…”
Tim moaned into his pillow. About eleven minutes and ten seconds of convincing
himself to get up later. Tim got dressed and walked downstairs.
“Hi
mom,” Tim said, as he passed his mom’s bedroom. Then he ate, brushed his teeth,
and got ready for school.
“By mom!”
Tim yelled into the house, as he ran to catch the bus.
“Wait, honey!
You forgot…” Mrs. Twinklebrain let the thought trail
off, as the bus gathered speed and soon left her sight. Tim quickly got off the
bus, shoved his way threw the crowd of kids, and finally got to his locker. He
quickly entered his combination, but the locker was jammed. He kicked it, and
tried again, still no luck. Finally, he hit it as hard as he could with his
head, figuring that his head was harder than his foot) and again entered his
combination. It opened; Time grabbed hi books, sprinted up the stairs, across
the hall, then up the second set of stairs. He was just rounding the corner,
when the bell rang. He was late, again…
“Hey! This is just like my dream!”
Tim thought, and then he looked down, and quickly realized that this wasn’t
exactly like his dream. It was worse, because he wasn’t wearing any pants.
David
Finkelstein
A Tribute to
Fire: At a Far Distance
It
flickers in the dim room light,
A
thin fragile splinter,
A
taste of the essence of beauty,
A
perfect shade of orange, just licking,
Through
and around,
The
black, lava-like logs,
Reminding
of a lava flow,
Bright
red and yellow and almost pure white,
Yet
solid black on top,
Looking
on from a small distance,
Entranced
by its eternal dance,
A
fiery slippery tendril,
Licking
the fire, reaching,
Stretching,
tasting, the rough taste of wood,
Flying
up sometimes fast sometimes slow,
Soft,
like liquid fire, a sort of thin, slippery lava,
Running
up the sometimes smooth, sometimes jagged,
Surface
of the fuel which drives the fire,
A
hungry beast, devouring its hearty meal,
The
wood crackles as it burns,
Every
minute or two, as the coals glow bright yellow,
And
the smoke, looking like the ghost of a fire long dead,
Rise
up from various places in the burning logs,
Doomed
to die, the whiffs of this grey ghost-like substance rise up,
Through
the air above the metal prison, in which the fire resides,
Not
15 minutes later, the fire is all but gone, left are but a few,
Flicks
of red, desperately trying to live on, if only for a moment,
Then
a minute later the fire has died out, and all that remains,
Is its smoky ghost.
David
Finkelstein
Tribute to
music: With an open heart
The
notes blend together, no longer distinct,
The
melody is all that remains, a smooth blend of sound,
Touching
the soul, and warming the heart,
As
the mind taps out the beat, sometimes slow,
Sometimes
fast, sometimes dancing, sometimes not,
All
sorts of songs, all sorts of rhythms,
All
pretty and layered, all filled with sound,
No
matter the tune, the speed, or the number of notes,
Rather
whether or not the player plays with an open soul or,
With
a closed heart and an open mind, only playing to play,
To
be there, to play, to get through the piece,
These
people bore; they stop that beat, that wonderful, glorious sound,
They
interrupt the golden, shining, personal paradise,
Their
stuttering sound startles back the drifting mind,
And
in looking around is seen, a fire,
Some
people, and on the piano, a boy of under 10 years of age,
Trying
as hard as he can, to get out those notes,
With
at least a little heart, and a smile comes,
And
the mind re-settles, into this new, unusual beat,
Because
layered and trapped inside, of this of-beat sound,
Lies
a bit of soul, a bit of heart, a bit of something nice,
An
uncut gem, just lying in wait, for the chisel’s work to begin,
As
the mind hammers out the notes, the heart and soul slowly awake,
And
mold the melody, adding a hint of understanding here,
A
small bit of interpretation there, slowly carving out the tune,
Until
there is an open bending of the sound,
As
the heart dives right into the blend and adds itself,
To
hear such music is something special, and makes one feel as if,
One
is listening to a radio set to heaven’s station, and the mind is free,
To
wander where it pleases, through the clouds, right to the gate,
Where
one finds whatever one feels one should find at this gate,
And
where whatever should happen happens, as the outcome should,
And
all the way, until the end, the music pursues the soul, as the heart stops,
And
the mind shortly after, the music carries the soul up, up, and through the sky,
Into eternal bliss…
…Only
to be awakened, and come softly plummeting down,
As
the applause, so loud and alert, comes booming, such a sound!
And
never to know, whether the others, went on this endless journey,
Up, and up and through the sky.
David
Finkelstein
Mrs.
Bemis
Journal
entry; Flying Humans
How
does one describe what it is to have wings?
To
be able to gracefully soar,
And to glide, through the clouds.
On
strong powerful wings, and
With
my hollow bones,
Flying
is so effortless, as natural
As walking.
To as me how I fly,
Is
to ask you how you move your eyes.
But
to lack the use of hands,
And
have but toes to grip,
The
life of a flying one isn’t,
As simple as you may think.
Although
we have wings,
In
place they are of hands,
And
try, some day, to walk around,
In
modern society, with a pair
Of wings sticking out, from beneath your back.
Located
at our shoulder blades,
Our
bodies are quite different.
Our
eyesight is more adapted,
For
honing in on things, but not nearly
As strong as a hawks. It’s fun to soar
Above
the clouds,
Not
a care in the world. But remember that
Many
of us are still born, and cast back into
The
regular world, where we are undoubtedly
Cast
out, or put up for display. Looked on as freaks,
As
humans with wings, not as a completely
New species.
As everyone debates, of another
Species
after the humans, ours is now developing,
We
speak with our eyes, a blink here meaning
“Hi’
and there meaning “No”, and in some cases,
A
wink and a nudge can mean: “Go hide, a human!”
Many
of us pretend to not be homo-sapiens, but really we are,
Just
with an added “feature”. I think it is wrong,
To completely ignore our heritage. I am only
Releasing
these words so other can understand
Us
and have a new perception. For recently
It
was discovered, that in the humans’ society
It
is often one lies, or exaggerates, to simply
“Puff
up” ones ego, while here it is strictly forbidden, while stealing is greatly
encouraged (provided the victim
be a competitor for a
lady or a,
good reason is had).
David
Finkelstein
1-8-06
I hate
technology!
“Oh dang!”
you yell, so very frustrated,
As your
computer refuses to save,
And you click
“Alt+S” repeatedly,
Your anger
starts to border,
Psychopathic
rage, and your clicking,
Rather
incessant now,
Starts to
sound like just one sound,
A cliiiiicktickticktiiiiiickcliiiickicki-ck-ck…
That goes so
fast that it is barely heard,
You feel so
upset!
On the verge
of tears,
When your 8
year old daughter,
Still in just
third grade,
Calmly walks
over, and like a trained pro,
Puts her two
small hands,
Right on the
home-row keys,
And with just
two clicks (you counted,
You saw!) she told the computer,
To save that
danged file, as the popup
Popped right
up, and asked her for a file name,
She calmly
wrote in “Hold Cntrl,
Then press
the letter s (just once!)”.
You smile an
insanely wide smile,
Your mouth
gaping open, from ear to ear,
As you gladly
gaze at, this technological wiz,
That you so
perfectly raised.
David
Finkelstein
1-8-06
On this
perfect summer day
The sun
shines bright,
lighting up the side of your house,
the wind dies down, and suddenly its 75!
You feel warm, and nice and cozy,
then the light dies down and its mid-day bright,
what a perfect sort of light!
A perfect way, to spend this day,
a lemonade in one hand,
a good book in the other,
no need for your sunglasses,
the light is just right for reading,
when you pledge to finish chapter 10,
and finish the book instead,
your friends call from,
across the street, "wanna play frisbee?"
they yell, "sure" your reply,
and until the sun dies, and the thermostat
gets started up, you keep playing frisbee,
on this perfect day,
In such a perfect sort of light.
David
Finkelstein
Mrs.
Bemis
Journal
entry; Personal Narrative of the Present: Your
Future
There’s something to wearing an MAV (Multi-purpose,
all terrain vehicle) that makes you feel invulnerable, like you’re immortal and
you can do almost anything, which is, in fact, true. The MAV was basically a
suit which fit snugly around your entire body; it makes you invisible, because
of the trillions of microscopic cameras forever taking stock of their
surroundings and projecting a picture. But by invisible I mean GONE
(Non-gravitational object; Not examinable), in other words, it is IMPOSSIBLE to
detect somebody wearing a MAV. Wearing a MAV takes away everything that defines
anything as something, in other words, you no longer exist. You still bump into
stuff, but as for liquid and gasses, they are sucked instantaneously around the
suit, and when it is absolutely necessary solids, including people can be
passed through. I will stop defining things and just state them as they are,
because I have not yet learned how to operate the MRM, mind reading machine
which works by pure science and physics. When I was a teenager I used to
fantasize about an actual barrier in technology, since to make a machine
capable of doing incredible things beyond your wildest dreams, it would have to
understand, know, and just have a perfect sense of just about everything. It
would instantaneously weigh out the possibilities, and no matter what you did, it would immediately start
killing all humans and threats and creating its own world. But we’ve managed to
fly by that barrier with no problems at all, for not one of our computers has the capability of understanding squat, the
MRM works on purely scientific matters, and if you doze off in your MAV, the
machine will IMMIDIATELY stop ALL movement, and launched weapons and such will
halt, and basically anything relating to the MAV will just cease. The point is
that if you fall unconscious just before you are put into a certain death
situation (such as two or more people equipped with MAVs
willing to kill you). The ONLY thing capable of destroying someone in an MAV is
somebody else in an MAV that is better at using it then you are. You may have
noticed that in my narrative I use absolutely no dates or major events etc. you
can bemuse yourself by wondering exactly why, but to help you not drive
yourself in circles, there are really only a few possibilities, A.) We have developed
time travel and telling you about when things will happen might endanger
something or other. B.) I’m lying about the whole thing and don’t want anybody
to have any proof of that, or C.) I forgot. Anywho,
like I was saying, we have managed to prevent robots or something related
taking over the world by the simple way of making anything powerful rely fully
on a conscious, willing, and capable human being. In other words, the computers
never learn from our behaviors, they can not think for themselves, etc. which
boils down them being unable to do anything by themselves without human
command. You may wonder exactly where
I am when I begin this narrative, and the truth is we are currently residing on
a planet just outside of the Milky Way galaxy, Elx.
The reason being that we are still currently developing our MAV suits to make
them able to carry us much faster then the traditional speed, which is exactly
1/100 of light speed. The problem with using our ships is that to fly fast
enough for us to be able to find a planet and have the youngest generation at
the beginning of our takeoff be alive we would need to use our Scout ships, the
fastest thing we have ever built, capable of going an incredible 1/200 of the
speed of light; and these are only capable of holding one person weighing less
then 100 pounds. Thus MAVMC (the MC at the end stand for “manufacturing
company”) is being developed to take us through the galaxy, within 50 years it
is said we will be populating at least one planet per year. We have a gigantic
population of 500,000,000,001 people, and that odd “1” at the end is me. I am,
in all senses but realistically, dead. I “died” one second before my birth, the
last human ever born with any sort of defect or mutation. My mutation was
death, exactly how am I alive? Simple, when placed inside the sealed, solid gyrix (unbreakable and un-moldable, except by heat about
5,000,000* Fahrenheit), I then spontaneously combusted, and my molecules came
back together (again, spontaneously). I then managed to pass through the few
miles of sold gyrix surrounding the underground
burial tomb (my molecules arranged themselves to pass between those of the gyrix). Of course, this is almost infinitely unlikely, but
you’ll just have to take my word for it. (Of course, had it happened by
purpose, and not complete absolute chance, I would say that it had [happened by
chance]).
David
Finkelstein
Mrs.
Bemis
Journal
entry; Running
Running,
running, running
Never
stopping
Never
walking
Never
resting, ever
Just
running
All
the time
No
room for pausing
No
time to refresh
Getting
tired
More
every second
They’re
gaining
More
and more
Almost
upon me
A
burst of speed
Been
a couple hours now
Just
running, them and me
First
to stop gets killed
Second
spared till the ‘morrow
That’s
all there’s to our lives
Running,
running, running
Just
him and me, we used to be friends
Still
would be but for this
We
know if I win
Then
he dies
And
if he lives I die
So
we run, never stopping
Never
catching our breath
No
room for error
No
room for thought
Just
running, till we stop
Almost
there, just a couple miles
Oh
no, he’s falling behind
He’s
stumbling, stuttering, falling down
I’m
saved
At
least for today
Put
brother against brother
Friend
against friend
And
make them run until the end
That’s
the game we’re forced to play
Until
we reach the end
We
never get no rest
Winners
never win
If
you win you start again, still no stop or rest
And
since you ran a while just then
You
can not win again.
David
Finkelstein
Journal
entry
Shower
The
drizzle, the fizzle, the buzz,
The
running, the dripping, the splatter,
The
massage of the water, hitting your back,
With
s gentle, but slightly firm sting,
The
shower-head stares, right into your eyes,
And
you hold that gaze, unwavering,
The
water, un-tasted, falls into your mouth,
And
baths the rest of your body,
As
the soap foams, and covers your skin,
In
a thinning white bubbly coat,
As
the water cascades, down onto the foam,
The
bubbles disperse and run down to your toes,
Carrying
the dirt, down along to the drain,
To
be washed away to the ocean,
Or
maybe out to sea, making for cleaner,
Shinier
fish, and maybe not so ugly,
Will
be those sharks, with their many rows,
Of
pointy teeth, threatening to rip out,
Your vulnerable, fleshy throat.
David
Finkelstein
Soaring…
Running,
streaking,
Ground
flying, faster,
Grass,
trees, twigs,
Legs
faster,
Blurring,
slowing,
Arms
flapping, faster,
Rising
through the air,
Wind
flying through your hair,
Tilting,
flying, to your right,
Soaring,
slowing, arms not pumping,
Looking
around, exhilarated,
Ecastatic,
yet calm,
Enjoying
the flight,
The
sense of incredible peace,
Of
happiness,
Amid
all that ails,
Amid
your strenuous life,
The
stress is building,
Yet
when you go to sleep,
Your
legs start pumping,
Your
eyes start closing,
Your
heart ready to burst,
Your
mouth smiling,
Arms
a’flappin, pumping,
Slowing,
tilting, looking,
Soaring,
flying,
Happy,
like never, ever before,
The
number of flights is numbered,
Not
too many left,
So
you savor the ones,
That
you got,
And
hope to get some more.
Every
now and then,
The
happiness comes back,
And
you work, and you organize,
And
you sleep some more,
And
you relax,
And
you fly,
The best, and only, sort of of
happiness.
David
Finkelstein
Mrs.
Bemis
Journal
entry; Birth of a prodigy
The birth of a Prodigy
The
Daily
March
29, 2019
At the young age of only 14, Detien
V. Skefialdi (nick-named “Deti”) became fascinated with
technology. In fact, after graduating from high school he became increasingly
fascinated with chemicals. It started to become inevitable that Deti would become either a chemist or a scientist, and his
first year in collage studding chemistry and science seemed to give great
support to that theory. But all that changed after he attempted to combine two
highly unstable chemicals by use of a newly invented chemically-powered device.
The mechanism held the two chemicals at a temperature of approximately 230
degrees Fahrenheit below zero at a pressure of approximately 150 atmoshperes. At this temperature, the two chemicals where
the least active, but just a few more degrees and a little more pressure would
turn them both to liquids which would be bad news for the mechanism as the
liquids began to resist much more then they did as gasses. The mechanism was
especially designed to then release the two gasses simultaneously and create a
potentially fatal reaction. The room was however built to withstand almost any
scale of explosion should things get really out of hand so as to prevent
minimal damage to the surrounding area. Analysis of the room has shown that Deti combined the two gasses which created a new, much more
stable gas. Then he most probably attempted to increase the pressure, but for
some strange reason the gas expanded instantly and created an outwards pressure
on the machine of approximately 8,960 atmospheres. The machine then apparently
exploded and was blown to dust, the gas then apparently continued to expand and
put a similar pressure on the walls, which cracked a little but held. Deti was not in or anywhere near the room and we can only
speculate of what may have happened to him-
After the
explosion everything went black I then awoke a moment later with a loud
explosive noise blaring in my ears and everything swinging around in circles. I
promptly tried to fall, but found I was already lying completely flattened
against the cold tiles in the floor. I felt…strange somehow...my entire body
tingled with this newly found sensation. That’s when I discovered something
completely dumbfounding…I was completely-
-Scientists are now speculating that Deti may have been crushed to dust by the tremendous force
of the explosion. Adding even more mystery to this story, the gas was
completely gone, and analysis is showing that there are not even microscopic
traces of any of the gases left, they seen to have escaped through the cracks,
which are now shown to have been only surface cracks about 0.001 millimeters
thick; the walls are still completely intact. Which makes
there be just one obvious explanation-
-invisible
and that I was slowly rising through the air. I looked
down and to my horror I was passing through the ceiling. I then took my hand
and tried to punch myself, to prove I was either dead or dreaming. Incredibly,
my hand passed right through me…then it all became clear to me, everything…it
had worked, incredibly and unbelievably it had worked, I had become something
incredible…a-
-That the gas had somehow managed to pass through the
walls.
David
Finkelstein
Mrs.
Bemis
Journal
entry; Stuff of Dreams
He was not made of human tissue, nor
was he made from plant tissue for that matter. He was made from bits and pieces
of dreams so his appearance was constantly changing. At some times his head was
that of an animal, and others it was that of a distorted robot. His appearance
changing in accordance with the dreams that others
dreamt, so which ever dream happened to pass through his head influenced his
physical properties.
Unsurprisingly, his apearence was most often distorted or incomplete, as when
in somebody’s dream they only partly sensed what was going on, as in a state
halfway between sleeping and waking. But most often in dreams things look
strange but in a vague way familiar, as when a person whom the dreamer despises
is seen by the dreamer as a hideous, green, dark, and distorted person whom the
dreamer goes on to destroy. People are constantly dreaming, but although this
would seem to create a constant light speed changing in the appearance of the
man whom I previously mentioned, this unusual being’s appearance was actually
constantly changing in a slow and almost graceful manner. This being can be
found only in the dream realm, where everybody’s dreams go after they are
dreamt, and stored in case of the person’s mind’s desire to again witness that
specific dream. To find this amazing being, one must only fall asleep thinking
of his image, but not intently, since that would force one to complete his
image and thus make it impossible to find him, since his appearance is truly
impossible to completely describe. But be warned, dear reader, that although
many have tried, for some strange reason nobody can claim seeing this being in
their dreams…but could this not possibly be because one rarely remembers of
what one dreams of? I, for one, can proudly claim having seen everything,
including the dream stroller. Why has he been applied this name? Simply because
he, quite literally, enjoys strolling through peoples’ dreams, looking at the
alternate realities, the worlds so similar, yet different from our own, it is
hard to talk of him, much in the way there is so much to say of god. He is in
the likeness of the devil, for he is said to bring great evil, yet, like many
say, the devil isn’t the hard-bitten evil criminal scum many make him out to
be. The Dream Stroller, for instance, simply makes nightmares, by taking from
peoples’ sleep many parts of their dream. You may be dreaming of a petting one
moment, and have the image of a crocodile, an angry crocodile, under your hand the next. The crocodile will have
jumped to you from somebody else’s dream, thus when one unfortunate sole has
everything a’switchin’ and a’wirlin’
they often have a sense of “knowing but not sensing” where they can know and later
recall the exact events, but all specific details elude them. During this
period of vagueness these people often start thinking carefully about their not
being able to really hone any of their senses in on their environment. This
often leads quickly to the realization that they are dreaming, which
sequentially leads to their waking up.
David
Finkelstein
Time Travel
“Seriously, what would you do if you
could just snap your fingers and
travel back in time?
“Okay, look, I don’t believe you,
and I never will, so jut stop trying to convince me!”
“Please, just listen okay? Really, I
can re-live things that happened before, it’s like my brain takes note of
everything that it can, so when I want to I can relive it completely
differently!” Ex (pronounced ez) whispered excitedly.
“Okay, fine… then tell me exactly
how many cars were on our street exactly 24 seconds ago.”
“Well then, don’t be alarmed when I
stop mov-” Ex froze instantaneously, impossibly
of-balance.
“Wow, nice, it’s rather obvious
though, you just put a rather heavy weight in your foot…” Xe’s
mumbled, rather unconvincingly, until he finally realized the absurdity of his
proposition. Exactly 24 seconds later Ex put down his foot and turned towards Xe, a disbelieving expression on his face.
“How…how…how did
you know?!” At this outburst Xe began to laugh uncontrollably, for how absurd was it for
Ex to be asking him
how he knew, while Ex was the one
with the superpowers!
“What on earth are you talking about?!” Xe
looked at Ex questioningly.
“My god…you mean you really named a
random number?” Ex blanched slightly, and his composure unraveled a little.
“Of course I named a random bloody
number, what in the world are you going on about?!” Ex decided to tell the
truth.
“Well, I just went back to 24
seconds ago, and I looked around to see how many cars were on the street, and
didn’t see almost any.”
“Ya? So?” Xe tried to
restrain from giggling, this was so absurd! But the grim, serious expression on
Ex’s face warned Xe that this wasn’t a laughing
matter, not at all.
“So…there was only one…a red pick up
truck…”
“Oh no!
Someone was driving a red pick up truck 24 seconds ago! Alert the police! Alert
the police!” Xe burst out in a tremendous laughing
fit, while Ex grew steadily angrier, as he realized the seriousness of the
situation he was now in. He was now officially witness to a murder, and
suddenly he realized that 24 seconds ago and now are not realistically very far
apart. Gun shots rang out in the still air, as a BANG rattled the ear-drums of
everybody nearby. Suddenly everybody
that was caught on the street screamed and dropped onto the ground and covered
their heads, woman protecting their babies, men protecting their wives. The
shots kept coming, but nobody could figure out where they could possibly coming
from, until a half-dead man unsteadily shuffled out of the doorway of a house,
his body riddled with bullet holes. Just then a leg lashed out and hit the
already dying man square in the back; he went flying. The boot was quickly
followed by a dark-skinned man wielding a high-caliber gun, which he brandished
wildly. Several people started to whimper, and many seeked
cover or protection from this mad-man, who proceeded to walk over to the dead
man, kick him in the face, and continue his mission to blow as many holes
through the dead man’s chest as possible. The man turned around, and started to
randomly shoot at people, a few dropped to the ground clutching various body
parts, while the mad-man’s face lit up with a gigantic grin. Ex couldn’t stand
it, he quickly picked up a stone, and threw it as hard as he could in the
man-mans general direction, the stone hit the man’s gun, and as Ex grimly
thought of what life would be like in heaven or in hell, something amazing
happened…
David
Finkelstein
Time Travel
(continued)
...the
rock hit the man’s gun at a slight angle, which caused the gun to fly out of
the man’s hand, hit the ground, and fire. The shot hit the man square in the
jaw, killing him instantly; blood splattered up in to the air, and some of it
hit Ex’s shirt and stained it a brilliantly ominous
dark red. Ex felt faint, and as he looked down he saw a long, sharp metal
spike, his scream died in his throat as he slowly started to fall down, closer
and closer to the sickenly sharp metal point. He lost
consciousness as his forehead hit the spike and started to sink in with a loud
“thud”…
…being
dead was rather…boring…everything was pure white…he didn’t even get to see
saint peter! What a bummer…
Then
his body exploded in pain as he felt himself hit the hard, cold ground. He
looked around, and saw a large cloud of white, behind which was a large,
clawing, howling demon!
Ex
moaned, looked around, and was extremely disappointed to find that the demon
was in actuality his bookshelf. That the large cloud was his blanket, and that
the howling was his alarm clock, which he quickly shut up with a smack of his
hand. He looked up and gasped, as the realization that it was 7:45 slowly sunk
in. His brain ran around in circles, he looked around wildly, trying to figure
out what he could do. He ran around wildly and started to put together
everything he needed for school; his books, his homework. His agenda fell open, and in his rush to pick
it up he failed to see the day of the week. He rushed outside, and sprinted
along the sidewalk his backpack bouncing against his back with every stride.
After an agonizing 5 minutes he finally reached the school, threw open the
door, and ran as fast as he could to the office. There didn’t seem to be
anybody there, he walked to the door to the principal’s office; he needed to
get a pass so he wouldn’t get in trouble. He quickly opened the door and upon
looking inside saw the principal. Along with the principal was the vice
principal, and about 20 other teachers, all of whom where now looking at him,
several with at least a small amount of disapproval. He felt like digging a
hole and lying inside, but knew that daydreaming wouldn’t get him out of the
situation he was now in. The principal looked at him for 5 seconds before
strictly informing Ex that he was to report to her
office on Monday and she would discuss his suspension with him then. Ex
suddenly froze as he started to absorb what was happening. The principal
waiting patiently for 5 more minutes then told Ex to leave now and that he was
suspended for the next two weeks for interrupting an incredibly important
meeting and completely disregarding what she was telling him. He grew hysteric
and his heart began to race like mad, he looked around and saw 22 very, very angry faces. He stared to run, then
to sprint down the length of the room, and before anybody could stop him, he
broke through the glass, and slowly fell down, down, down…
He landed with a loud thump and
several smaller cracks, pain shot through his body as he felt himself starting
to drift away, away…
He was very…very disappointed when he woke up…
Now he knew that it WAS possible to have
a dream inside a dream, though he was skeptical of whether he was in the true
reality or not for the next few months…
David
Finkelstein
Journal
entry
War
You’re
running with the wind,
Your
finger on the trigger,
Your
nerves are all on end,
Your
eyes are on the road,
You’re
looking to the right,
You’re
looking to the left,
You
keep telling yourself,
You
ain’t the last one left,
The
others are right there,
Following
at a steady pace,
But
just out of sight,
So
you really just don’t know,
But
you know enough,
To
trust that they’re right there,
Following
along, just out of sight,
Suddenly
you see some people,
Your
brain screams “resistance!”
It
tells you to engage,
So
your finger on the trigger,
Is
suddenly pulling,
And
there are lots of little pieces,
Of
metal flying out,
And
you feel so dang ecstatic,
Like
nothing here can stop you,
You
cut down every man,
That
dares stand in your way,
And
yet there are still more,
So
you tell yourself,
In
the back of your mind,
They’re
just out of sight,
But
I know enough,
To
trust that they’re still there,
Then
suddenly there are too many,
You
just can’t keep up,
And
there is a tap on your shoulder,
As
if death is letting you know,
That
he has come to take you,
Then
you feel the spot become warm,
And
you think, for some strange reason,
That
death’s hand should really be cold,
You
can’t let yourself think,
That
the warm is blood,
That
that they aren’t there,
The
ecstasy is gone,
All
that’s left is you,
Standing
there with a gun,
Pulling
the trigger,
Watching
the metal fly out,
You
realize, so suddenly,
What
you are really doing,
And
you drop the gun,
And
realize the warm is really blood,
They
aren’t just out of sight,
They’re
never coming,
They’ll
never be there,
Fast
enough to help,
Death
started punching,
Kicking,
ripping,
Bullets
rip your body,
And
as you look down you see,
You’re
friends coming,
And
running by,
Taking
care of the resistance,
But
you no longer feel,
That
this is right,
That
you are doing,
The
right thing for your country,
The
pride is gone,
So
is your life and here you just floating,
Looking
down, upon yourself,
And
suddenly realizing,
That
your wife will get a notice,
And
your son will cry,
But
it doesn’t matter,
Because
you don’t know why,
Would
people grab,
These
sticks of metal,
Go
and stab themselves,
Through
these smaller,
Pieces
of metal,
And
kill each other still?
Of
what sense does it make?
To
lose so many lives,
After
fighting to end,
Segregation
with whites and blacks,
Fighting
to end,
Discrimination
between ethnic groups,
Fighting
to end,
Poverty
and so many places,
As
if the person doesn’t matter,
But
rather for what they stand,
For
what they believe in,
And
suddenly you see,
That
everyone is different,
That
there can never be,
This
ideal peace, this harmony,
For
there must always be,
A
balance of the people,
Who
don’t believe in war and death,
And
oh so few,
So
very little,
Who
fight to fight,
And
just so few,
Can
lead entire armies,
Can
take these people,
Make
these laws,
And
you think,
In
your lasts thoughts on earth,
That
to fight to stop,
The
people who fight,
To
fight each other all the time,
Makes
no sense, nor does anything,
So
you smile as you pass away,
As
so many do,
And
you know that you’re not the only one,
Who
realized the truth,
But
who are you to judge,
And
tell what be the truth?
So
people fight,
Because
they can’t,
Bring
themselves to think,
To
understand; at least to try!
And
you think to yourself,
That
it takes so little time,
Just
a moment in your life,
To
let you think,
And
see what you want,
And
know what you wanted to know,
And
slowly thoughts fade,
And
you feel that ecstasy,
For
you finally understand!
And
aren’t afraid,
Or
even sad,
That your life suddenly ended. ●