Walking The Rope

Here's another one to slot into The Circus file. Warning: tear jerker (but only a mild one - not too much) Read Percy The Great if you like Walking The Rope. Catch old chapters of The Builder too!

***

Jenna was day dreaming again. Ring Master Perkins was an awful person. She loathed him but there was not a thing she could about it. He had caught the two of them, after all. Paul loved her, she knew that much. They had grown up together, laughed and played, cried and fought, learned and competed. Being born into the circus was not something one hoped for, it was never an ambition – to be a trapeze walker.


Paul was her partner and with Jude and Layla they made the most thrilling act called The Walkers. Jude and Layla were long since married. It was not fair, as far as she figured, that they were allowed to marry and remain together while Paul and Jenna had to hide their affair. What did age have to do with anything? So what if she was just sixteen? So what if he was just seventeen? True love knew no boundaries, especially asinine ones like age and adulthood.

If there was any semblance of normalcy growing up in the circus, she would have agreed that they were too young to be wed but how could one assume that their lives were ‘normal’? How could walking 30 feet above ground on a thin rope be considered normal? By the age of twelve, Jenna no longer needed the safety harness and she was so accurate and skilled that she could do away with the safety net. Who needed a safety net when Paul was around?

She dreamed of being in his arms, his strong hands holding her, the two of them balancing in the air like two doves coming together. She thought he had the most beautiful body she had ever seen. Every muscle, long and sinewy, was made to catch her if she fell. The look on his face prompted thoughts of pleasure, of rapture, of pure carnal satisfaction. He loved her, had loved her since they were little children. Having never gone to school, they did not know what it meant to have cliqués and friends or even how it felt to date.

The love they felt was true, there was no space for puppy love in the circus ring. You love only once and if it did not happen, you end up like Madam Zorna, the crystal-ball, future-reading spinster. Jenna surely did not want to end up like that. Paul was perfect for her and she wanted nothing more but to be with him, forever.

As they prepped and stretched, Paul shot her a wink and blew a kiss at her. Ring Master Perkins was going to have him whipped for that, she knew, but he obviously thought it was worth it. That was what true love was; to stand brave in the face of punishment, to feel the pain of separation, to cherish each moment together and to find comfort in each other’s arms. They both knew the only time they could touch each with such affection would be when they were up in the air, with no one else to stop them from truly loving each other. They were one, they were meant to be.

Ring Master announced their act with extreme bravado, the crowd cheered and then, possibly to punish them or to put the fear of death into them, he announced that they would be performing without safety harnesses and the safety net would be removed. The crowd cheered, some were stunned, some were awed by the extreme situation. The four members of The Walkers climbed the ladder that was hoisted. The crowd was again reminded to stay calm at all times and that flash photography was prohibited.

Once they reached the top, they did their customary prayer and wished each other “life, luck and loose limbs”. Layla was a wonderful gymnast. She had balance, poise and most of all, she was stunningly beautiful. The crowd loved her. Jude was made by some divine power, for Layla – just as Paul had been made for Jenna. As they began their act by waving to the crowd, the boys prepped for the “first cross”. Paul would meet Jenna midway, as he had done at least a hundred times before.

Jenna would climb onto his back and stand on his shoulders as they balanced. She was never afraid. Not once had she doubted Paul. He was so strong, so well-balanced – perfect. He was perfect. As they met midway, Paul winked at her again. He bent his knees and she grappled to get on top of him. They were perfect, as usual. The crowd clapped and murmurs of impressed mothers and children could be heard.

Next, was the difficult part, she had to dismount and they would walk back to the “space station” together, hand in hand, since it was a lover’s act. As she bent her knees and placed her hands on his shoulders, she saw it. He was distracted by the flash of some idiot’s camera. He blinked, twisted and she began to fall. Still she was not afraid; she knew he would catch her and it would look like a great, big act to impress the audience.

As expected, he caught her by the forearm. He winked at her and whispered, “I love you, Jenna Perkins. I will love you forever, we are doves meeting in the sky.” He intentionally lost his balance and they were falling, arm in arm, eyes locked. It seemed to last forever. He smiled at her, loving her with his eyes and they knew it was fate for them to be together, forever. It really was true love.

They would never have to say goodbye to each other. They were meant to be. As their bodies crashed to the ground, their eyes filled with sheer joy and satisfaction, arm in arm, heart with heart, body with body and soul with soul, the circus crew rushed to the centre of the ring. The moment their physical beings crumpled and their souls were set free, they were happy. The dawning realization that they had passed hit the circus crew in waves of terror as the lights went off and screams began.

As promised, chapter 23!!

Missed older chapters? Catch them here!

“So we’re supposed to go back to Somerset, then?” Jake broke the silence a few hours later.


“Yes, brother. We’re going back. For the next ten days you’re going to go back to work at the shop. If anyone asks, you and Jo went to Vegas for a holiday, ‘to get to know each other better’ – say whatever you need to say,” James replied, all business. Fallon was snoozing, leaning on the dog. It was a sight to behold.

Jo did not have anything to say, it seemed. “Yes, but where did you and Fallon go? Everyone knows Fallon – especially after the party,” Jake asked, if only to get the story straight so no one got caught in a lie.

“Fallon and I flew to New York for work – that’s all. Jake, I have a really stupid question. Do you have a passport? I don’t recall you ever leaving the States. Have you ever left the States?” James queried, ignoring Jo’s sudden interest in the whole conversation.

“I, uh, yeah, I have a passport. No, I’ve never been out of the States,” Jake was completely embarrassed. Here he was, part of a team of trained militants that made weapons of mass destruction, and he had not even been out of the States. Not even to Canada. Face awash with pure shame, he tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

“Oh, Jakie-poo. You poor thing. Why haven’t you gone anywhere – for a holiday? To visit some strange land and have wild sex in a back alley with a woman who can open a beer bottle with her va-jay-jay? Nothing? Nowhere? Never had dysentery from lentils? Never been drunk ‘down under’? Nothing? OH MY GOD!” Jo exclaimed – unconsciously making the whole situation worse. “Now you’re about to embark on a journey – into the unknown, to a land where everything is dark and mideval?” she spoke loudly with so much bravado that Fallon and Hootch were woken.

“What’s this shit about the dark and unknown? Devil woman, could you shut up? The damned dog and I are trying to get some sleep!” Fallon snapped irritably while Hootch whined a little. Within seconds they were settled against each other again, with Hootch resting his head on Fallon’s lap. Fallon was a first-class jerk most of the time, but to Jake, Fallon could not have looked anymore innocent when he was asleep – with Hootch.

“Yeah, I never really could find anyone to take care of the shop and well, it’s really quite expensive to get tickets to Europe and Asia,” Jake fumbled.

“You’ve actually seen a girl open a beer bottle with her va-jay-jay then, Jo? I suppose it was in Bangkok,” James said, diverting the conversation easily.

“Oh my, my. You have to go to Bangkok when you have the chance. Most Americans – sorry, not most Americans, but most white people bypass the city and stupidly waste their time lounging at the beach and sunning their fat assess on Thai islands, but no sirree, not me! I know that city inside and out. I also have a couple of buddies, but I’d rather Jake not know them... mostly because I don’t want him to sleep with a pros-pros! He should be sleeping with me, dammit!” Jo said, raising her voice again.

Fed up with all the commotion, Fallon came alive and began to speak – through his teeth, “Listen here, you raven-haired pain in the arse, I will seriously force Jake to pull over and throw you out if you don’t tone it down a little.” He smoothed Hootch’s fur and began again, “Now tell me, what’s all this talk of pros-prossies, huh? I do want to know. The moment sex comes into play I’m all ears,” Fallon said with a regal air.

“Sorry, guys. Pros-pros?” Jake had to ask before the conversation changed and he would be left in the dark.

“Geez, Jake, prostitute? You couldn’t figure that out? Good thing you’re easy on the eye, if not you’d be one dumb, ugly motherfucker,” Fallon replied.

Never one to be openly insulted by a man with a moustache and purple shoes, Jake replied, “Yeah, well, at least we all know that I have never needed a pros-pros before! And furthermore, I’ll have you know that I am one good looking, dumb motherfucker. Two words, melon. Fuck. You.”

“Whoa. It’s getting interesting. The Builder talks back now. The Builder talks smack now! The Builder uses words like ‘furthermore’ now! Ooo, you’re classy. But, I have the benefit of knowing The Art of War. Bait me further and feel my wrath!” Fallon laughed out.

Just like that, the atmosphere in the car improved and everyone was back to being rude to each other, everyone was playing again, everyone seemed happy. Jake would have to wait to speak to Jo properly – and seriously – about her father. He wanted to know more about her, and he had no intention of giving up. He may hate what she was involved with, but he was in love with her and nothing would change that.

With another full day of driving left, the four of them continued their banter within the confines of the Hummer. It was actually better that the U-haul had been abandoned. Jake figured it would probably be sterilized and sent back to the rental company by someone inconspicuous. There were arguments about Jo’s trance music, Fallon’s moustache, and Hootch’s breath. The drive home was going to be easy, it seemed.

***

Half a day later, they passed the dodgy motel where they had been attacked. Fallon insisted they go back there, just for reminiscent purposes. The vending machine was still there, the bullet hole evidence of a violent scene. There was a small patch of mud which was ruddy with blood – where they had piled the bodies. Apart from that, no one would ever know what had happened there. The families of the poor soldiers who were acting on protocol and orders would be told that they died honourably, defending the country. Jake stood at the vending machine again, empty save for the occasional candy bar that Jo did not fancy and had not stolen.

He thought about the poor American soldiers in Afghanistan and Iraq, how they followed protocol and orders, only to be court marshalled for doing what they did. He hated America and everything it stood for. A couple of weeks ago, he was the happiest, most patriotic American he knew. He used to supply fireworks for the Fourth of July parade, had made Jordi hang a flag on the front porch, listened to every single speech given by the President since he was seven. He used to love his country. Dynaco changed all that.

Jo was running around repeating her Psycho act, Fallon was Norman Bates again. This time he was stabbing Marion Crane in the shower – all the while pretending to be a woman. Jake wondered if they ever got tired of fooling around. They were brilliant, they deserved to play the fool like normal people yet Jake somehow could relate to how the General felt when Jo was doing the whole Ultraman act. It was a very serious and stressful moment, and she was fooling around. Jake began to wonder if her nonchalance and flippant behaviour had anything to do with the way she handled stress.

“Good job, Foster. Psycho-analyse the poor lady. Good job,” he muttered to himself.

James was on the phone again blathering something about how stupid the Jessup County folk were, they had not jammed the mobile phone signals when the “take-down” happened. Was he giving advice to them? It sure seemed so. As Jake washed up in the toilet which ironically had no running water, the other three prepared to continue the journey. Fallon would be driving, so everyone agreed that they had to stay awake – because Fallon, it seemed, “drove like a woman”.





Look out for a new series of flash fiction pieces I'm writing! The first one was Percy The Great. I'm calling the series of short stories "The Circus". Also worth your time if you're not into reading entire stories like The Builder. Cheers!

Ooooo an award!

It’s like finding a cheque in the mail, like getting a free ride home when you have no money or being told someone actually reads your stories. Cynthia P awarded it to me!! Check out her blog here, this young nurse writes with heart, I tell ya and everything she writes about is very easy to relate to! Never a boring moment with her. Her blog also happens to be the FIRST blog from the Phillipines that I have read! She made my day today, most probably my week. She handed me THE VERSATILE BLOGGER AWARD! Thank you thank you thank you so much! As such, keeping with the rules of the award, I must now tell you seven things about myself and then nominate other bloggers for the award followed of course by the fact that they need to be informed!


1) I have mild OCD. I clean stuff. Like crazy.

2) I HATE COCKROACHES

3) I prefer studying to working

4) I write alot (yea, like you didn’t know that already)

5) I like MATH. ALOT.

6) I exercise every other day

7) No matter what I’m doing, there’s an inner monologue going on in my head, which is why the stories get churned out so fast – I talk to myself 24/7.

There! Now... for me to choose someone else to be awarded this fancy thing, I think I’d have to say Aheila  - who also writes fiction and as far as I have read, is well on her way to being published!

Vee  – she has not updated in quite a while, but trust me, I’ve known her for a long, long, long time and when she does have the time to write, it’s full of depth.

Now, I don’t really get the chance to read very many blogs, but some have stuck with me. Cynthia’s blog is definitely one of those blogs that deserves my complete attention. Once again, thank you so much! Much love!

Awww.... *shy* A new chapter of The Builder out tomorrow! Also, may I introduce a new character. Apart from Hamster Wong, I haven't mentioned anyone else, right? Well, today I'd like to show my appreciation for Captain Penang Plastics(you know who you are!) who has been a loyal reader, from the early beginnings of Flash Fiction And The Idea Fairy. Thank you, Captain Penang Plastics! Much love!

The Apocalypse

Rivulets of sweat flowed down his back and soaked his shirt; his hands were wet, his legs shaking. He was tired and he did not know how much further he needed to go. It was supposed to be a marathon, but why did he no longer know how far he needed to go before he received affirmation that he had won?


He tries to concentrate on placing one foot in front of the other, attempting to make each step count. He never signed up for a marathon so why was he running? He did not ask to be placed in the rumbling crowd of runners or for the stupid registration number to be taped onto his shirt. He was there not by his own will, he was placed there by some indefinite power and now he was supposed to just run? They handed him a booklet and whispered paltry advice, and he was supposed to make it happen - just like that?

His throat had long since dried out, the stitch he felt in his sides had long since turned into a numb tumour, his feet weighed a tonne and yet he still trudged on. There was an allocated distance and he needed to complete the race in order to be deemed a winner. He was slowing down – he knew it. Tears stung his eyes, his breathing was becoming faster, he was becoming more laboured, he was getting distracted and losing sight of the goal that he had never seen to begin with - but had always dreamed of.

It is always easy in the beginning. You crawl then you walk and finally you run. Somewhere in the middle, you are supposed to know where you are running to. He still did not know where he was going or how much further he had to go before some kind of a sign showed him the way. All he knew is that he needed to keep running. Everything would eventually fall into place. He needed to achieve something – anything – at the end of the infinitely long marathon. It was painful, it was dreary and worst of all, it never seemed to end. He kept running, seeking comfort in the fact that everyone else was still running.

He did not notice when things began to change, when he had made twists and turns. As darkness enveloped him and he tried to take one last step to wherever it is he was supposed to run, he realised he had been running for nothing. The world became quiet and he was all alone. Just like everyone else who had been running. A knowing voice whispered, “Now you have arrived. There is no winner. There’s just you and them.”

The marathon was pointless and running was moot, he was sad. He never had any direction. He never had any future. He never had any purpose. He was just like “them”. Running, not really racing, not really walking - not really anything. They all just ran just as he ran; for nothing. The numbers pinned on his shirt disappeared, the crowd dissolved and he was left alone. He no longer felt the pain in his thighs, his eyes were dry and the burden of running was lifted.

Born without purpose and further fuelling purposelessness, human beings just know how to run. Find solace in the fact that everyone is running, just like he was - just like you are. Go forth and run to wherever it is you will find the darkness, run your purposeless life as it has been routed out for you and bask in the knowledge that mankind was never meant to amount to anything.

The Raynes Way

A little insight for you...

1) I enjoy writing; it’s like therapy for me. It is actually the ultimate dream for me to write for a living – ain’t gonna happen, but what’s wrong with trying anyway?

2) I want to share it with you. I want people (anyone) to be able to read the stuff I write, anytime, anywhere, for free (yes, you should not have to pay). I also appreciate your comments and ideas. Some of you have actually contributed to certain phrases/ideas in The Builder. I appreciate it and love you for it!

3) Whether it’s horror, fantasy or plain ol’ nonsense, fiction is a creative avenue for me. I am extremely scientific and sterile (not to mention anal) about everything and this is the only creative skill I have (okay, so maybe it’s not that great a skill, but I still try). So bite me.

4) Writing is a form of discipline for me. It ensures that I spend a certain amount of time not thinking about rubbish, watching telly, reading girly magazines and fussing about strange things like the dust bunnies I cannot remove from under a heavy cupboard.

5) In order to write, I have to have a certain amount of knowledge in certain areas. Writing allows me to read and learn new things which are unrelated to my current vocation – which is medicine and healthcare.

6) I write under a pen name because it gives me a certain level of anonymity. For those of you who do know me, you know it’s not because I’m afraid of judgement but because I consider Reading Raynes to be a better version of me. Less inhibited if you like.

7) I place stories in the form of a blog for a couple of reasons:

a. “No commitment” reading – you can stop by any bloody time and pick up where you left off with ease.

b. Each piece will take up no more than 5-7 minutes of your time

c. You can flip between chapters easily, without having to bookmark pages

d. You can leave comments

e. It’s accessible on all internet platforms

f. I’m lousy with HTML coding and Blogger is easy to use (for dumbshits like me)

8) The blog layout is such because it loads fast, has minimal advertisements and it’s easy to read. How funny would it be if the page was black, the font was blue and there’s a butt load of ads telling you where you can meet hot single chicks? Care to read entire stories (most articles are no less than 1000 words) like that? No. I didn’t think so. Some may find it bland and uninteresting, but how many story books are full of things that are unrelated?

9) I do not claim, at any point, to be an intellectual. I write these seemingly fluffy stories because I want to enjoy myself. I probably will not attempt the impossible act of writing extremely complex stories which will go on to win Pulitzer prizes. As such, try not to knock me for not being smart enough or lacking in depth or whatever it is. I just want to entertain you and on occasion, make you laugh/cry while delivering a story or addressing an issue that has struck a nerve with me. It’s simple. Take it or leave it.

10) Target readers: anyone, mostly. But I think the content and language is most suitable for teenagers, young adults and adults. Why? For example, The Builder. The main story provides them with a lot of pretty accurate information on a very “in” topic, but the main message behind everything is that a man encouraged is a man capable of great things – it’s all about Jake. Freedom to have aspirations for more than what has been set out for someone young is pretty good, whichever way you look at it. Of course, it is not suitable for children. The language is often crude and the content can be incredibly unsettling. (Coffee, The Perfect Man, Epic and some others are absolutely no fly zones for children)

11) My sources of inspiration: can be anything. From cutting onions to watching a mother interact with her son, to strange people at Bing! right down to music and current events. I also get really inspired when you call me and say something about one of the stories, or comment (almost never happens – but I can’t ask for too much, heh)

12) Music is incredibly important to me. I listen to different kinds of music. Many of my stories (the flash fiction ones) are written while/after listening to a particular song. I have a playlist on my iTunes specifically for writing. RUN DMC, The Servant, MUSE, Lilly Allen and Evermore are some of the bands/artists included. Most of the time, I place a song on ‘repeat’ if I really need to keep the juice flowing. Spiderbait’s “Black Betty” has been used in at least 7 chapters of The Builder. Why? It fucking rocks. Enough said.

13) Why is everything from Jake’s point of view? Who the fuck is Jake? Why don’t you write about how Fallon feels or something? Why can’t we know more about Jo?! My answer: calm the fuck down. The entire story is based on Jake’s EXPERIENCE. In reality, you cannot shine a light into someone else’s mind. Neither can Jake. This is HIS story. Leave Jo alone. You are reading about Jo, James and Fallon through Jake’s eyes. Deal with it.

14) How Jake was created: funny story. I started writing fiction in med school. I was reading alot of books (mostly trashy romance because it was bloody fun and I went through books really fast), and inevitably, the most gorgeous male had to have the name “Jake”. I merely ‘humanized’ him.

15) How Jo was created: ahhh, she is a special character that somehow has a life of her own. I never, not once, have planned what Jo would say/do. I thought her up and she did the rest. Most of her weirdness comes from certain female friends. You know who you are ;)

16) Where I hope this blog and my stories will go? Good question. I don’t actually plan for it to go anywhere, actually. I do have some loyal readers (you know who you are – much love) and I do have many ideas, but until I reach the true end of The Builder, I probably won’t be sending out manuscripts or anything. My only hope is to get more readers, people who actually bother to read (not those of you who scroll down right to the end and write me off as a boring person - though I am pretty fucking boring)

Okay, so there you have it, folks. A little bit of info. A little bit of light. It’s not all dark, I tell ya. Remember, it never really is dark.

Chapter 22 - Pfffttt.

The Builder is back! Catch older chapters here: Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21

“Roar!! Like a monster from Ultraman, we’re about to bomb the shit out of that fake town! This is me knocking over buildings in Tokyo!” Jo squealed, moving her hands like a robot and spinning around to bump into tables, chairs and poor technicians seated at main control. James paid her no attention, but Fallon jumped to engage in battle with Jo – ignoring the disapproving looks from General Bloomsfield.

“Your kaiju* looks stupid, villain! I am Ultraman!” Fallon danced about, doing the classic Ultraman battle stance. Jo did not back down and moved to pretend that she was smashing a tower – which was some poor tech’s head. Fallon extended his arms in a move to subdue her and the two of them did some kind of martial arts dance.

Jack Broomsfield was already well up in the air and it seemed as though the whole world was waiting to see DARPA’s baby in action - everyone except Fallon and Jo. Fallon was chanting out the names of his “moves” while Jo made what she thought were monster sounds. Fallon spewed ridiculous sounding names like ‘spacium ray’, ‘ultra slash’, ‘dynamic size change’ and finally, the worst of all – the one which seemed to “injure” Jo the most; ‘ultra eye spot’.

A voice crackled through the room, “Flight control, this is Viper. Clear skies, current speed 497mph – will not attempt full speed, over.”

Techs responded appropriately and the General gave the ‘nod’. The voice crackled again, “Flight control, this is Viper with query.”

“Viper, this is flight control, go ahead,” a tech responded – he had to be the head technician since he was flanked by a stiff-looking James.

“Is Jo doing the Ultraman monster dance? Please affirm. Over,” Jake could not believe his ears when Jack said that; he tried not to laugh. Jo did have a way of making everything seem less serious and daunting.

“Viper, this is flight control. Affirmative. Currently engaged in battle with Melon,” James said after yanking the headset off the poor tech’s head.

“Flight control, it’s going to be a good day, over.” Jack said and ended all conversation. General Bloomsfield looked so angry that Jake thought he was going to spitting at everyone.

“You heard that, you evil Bemular**! Captain Toshio Muramatsu^ is going to assemble the Science Patrol to KICK YOUR ASS!” Fallon said, a little too loud. He had to be referring to Jack.

As DARPA’s baby homed in on the town, the two of them continued to play and prance around, not caring one bit about the ‘big test’. Jake could not decide which was more interesting; the Ultraman fight or the actual test. The commotion the monster and Ultraman were making was far too loud. As coordinates were read out and “green light nods” were given, Jake only saw the contact the bomb made with the ground, the earth shook a little and then a tiny plume of smoke went up. That was it. The big test was over. He should have watched the Ultraman battle instead, he decided. Feeling absolutely dissatisfied with the result, he ignored the techs and General Bloomsfield, all clapping and shaking each others’ hands. What did he expect? A huge mushroom cloud? James slapped him on the back, people started to shake his hand.

“You did good, son. You did good,” the General said. James was beaming and still no one paid attention to Jo and Fallon. Fallon was doing a victory dance while Jo pretended to be severely injured, making mewling sounds to indicate that the monster had been fatally injured. As Fallon prepared to lift off, he turned to Jake and in a tone that supposed to be a superhero’s he said, “Good job, Hoshino Isamu^^. Good job!” and flew away.

Jo straightened out and said laughingly, “What are we celebrating, dammit? We knew it would work! We ran simulations all night! And we all knew Jakie-poo did a solid job! Fuckers!”

The General lost his cool. Slamming his palm onto the main control table, he said, “This is all it’s ever been to you, Jo. A game. You don’t care for anything! Not for science, not for Jack, not for me! Grow up will you. You make weapons of mass destruction and act like it’s nothing!”

Jo did not appear to be stunned by her father’s outburst, or if she was she was hiding it pretty well. Fallon immediately moved to start packing up all their paperwork and spec sheets, James began to say goodbye to the techs, shaking their hands one last time and Jake was lost. He did not know what to do. He was just The Builder.

The General gathered his wits and apologised meekly to his daughter, who did not bother to look at him. He promptly left the room with his accompanying MPs. James nodded at him and Fallon dashed to the truck to wait for them. He obviously wanted to go to the hanger to wait for Jack’s arrival. Jo sidled up to Jake and put her hands in his. He knew better than to question the sudden affection and just held her hands. She tugged him and they left the control centre in silence.

As the four of them piled into Magdalene, James said, “Time to go home, guys. We fly to Prague in two weeks. The plane and pay load carrier will be delivered after we seal the deal. We’re going to sell it lock, stock and barrel. The plane and the pay-load carrier. Let’s go see Jack, shall we, Jake?”

“But then what about the whole ‘versatile’, multi-fittable thing? Shouldn’t we remove the pay-load carrier?” Fallon asked, suddenly confused.

“No. No time to remove the welds. We’ll sell the whole fucking plane,” Jo said curtly. Jake had never, not once throughout the whole project seen her upset. Her melancholic state actually affected Jake. “Let’s just leave, shall we?”

They set off to the hanger in Area 17, again in silence. Jo still looked unhappy, but Jake figured it was not time to offer comfort – yet.

*monster costume
**giant space monster featured in Ultraman’s first-ever episode
^ Head of The Science Patrol in the Ultraman series
^^a little boy who is the unofficial mascot of The Science Patrol



Yes, folks. I researched Ultraman. Hope you enjoyed it! More chapters of The Builder coming soon!

Percy The Great

Woot! Woot! Not a chapter of The Builder! Recently was told my stories are creepy... creepy? I'll show you creepy, dammit! Nyuk nyuk.

***

He hated humans; he hated them almost as much as he hated the whip. Sure, it was supposed to be humane, they claimed that the small “signal whip” was purely used to make that cracking sound he hated almost as much as humans itself. What they did not realise it that he was a slave to no one and will never, ever, ever be “trained” into sitting on a blasted chair like some daft human. How he hated them. How he loathed them.

He knew it would soon be show time and wanted nothing more than to lie on the ground and feign death. He always tried – and never got away with it, mostly because Ring Master Perkins knew him all too well. He could smell them, the rancid, gut-churning smell of little children waiting in line to enter the huge high-top circus tent. If he was not in a cage, he was in the “ring” and Sheila would be cracking the whip, nudging him to get on this chair and that. He did not hate her - not much at least.

The smell of popcorn wafted to his cage, causing his whiskers to wiggle. The monkeys were going crazy. They loved that smell and waited for those filthy children to pass by their cage and throw popcorn at them, so they could nibble it – hopefully to their death. The children would jump around in excitement; try to stick their tiny hands through the cage if only to poke the monkeys while they chomped on the popcorn – hopefully to their death. They would scream, “Look, mommy! Mr. Monkey likes popcorn! Look, mommy, look!” Blasted children. He should eat them.

He felt grumpier than ever as he saw some kids milling around, slowly making their way to his cage. He prayed that one - just one - stupid little child put his stupid little hand in his cage. He would give them the “show” of a lifetime. Behind him he heard Sheila rolling the transport cage towards him. Sheila smelled nice. She did not have that strange flowery lavender or whatever odd plant scent most female humans had. Sheila smelled particularly delectable after a long day. The sweet smell of her sweat almost intoxicated him. How wonderful would it be if he could just have a taste?

She was making that “cluck-cluck” sound he knew too well. She was calling him, “Percy! Percy kitten!”

She was mumbling sweet nothings at him, urging him out of his cage. He knew better than to move out before a piece of fresh meat, preferably cow, was given to him and she knew better than to dangle it in front of him. This time, she did things slightly differently – the meat was placed in the transport cage. Kids were standing around, waiting and watching, hoping to get a glance of the “Percy the Great” chomp down on some pre-cut game. He wanted to chase down and kill his own game, not eat some sliced meat that smelled of cow but looked nothing like it off the floor.

He had decided today was the day he wanted to die. He knew there was no way he would escape the circus. He had been doing it for almost two decades now. He knew other tigers only lived half that time. Why would he want to live so long anyway? Today he was going to make his move. He purred at Sheila. She was the closest human, at least the closest a human could get to him. She knew him well and had been kind to him. Today, all that would change.

As the lights dimmed and Ring Master Perkins announced – with great bravado, “Welcome one, welcome all! We’re about to start the show! Jesters!”

As a spot light right in the middle of the ring came on, two smelly, odd looking humans came out and cajoled the crowd. They wore so much make up. Percy knew biting them would not be pleasant. They teased and made those awful children laugh, reminded mothers to keep their children beside them at all times and told everyone to make sure their cell phones were turned off. Percy knew what a cell phone was. One of the monkeys had stolen one, threw it around and caused it to land in his cage. He had chewed it and pawed it until it no longer made that strange sound - it was quite tasty actually and the strange vibration made his tongue tingle.

As he was released into the ring, he saw Sheila. She was cracking the whip, telling him to sit on a high stool. He was, after all, the most revered and feared animal at the circus. He would show them how much they should fear him. He listened and followed, as usual.

As she “clucked” around and cracked the whip, as little children peered at him through eyes that were covered with their disgusting paws, as Ring Master Perkins told everyone how dangerous the Great Tiger was, Percy prepared himself. Flexing his claws, licking his chops and angling his body for attack – which of course no one noticed, they were too busy looking at the “big kitty”.

It happened so fast, there was nothing anyone could do. He leapt through the air, his huge, long body landing firmly on top of Sheila. She smelled wonderful. He felt empowered. He had not been so free in so long. He roared and the crowd fell silent. Other humans, stupid circus humans, began to encircle the big, round cage in an effort to distract him. He was so focused, nothing could stop him now. He wanted to die, but he would feel like a real tiger just once more.

He roared again, not to threaten the other humans but to let them know he was a real tiger, not some hairball-eating mini-feline. As tranquilizer guns were pulled out, as Ring Master Perkins began to shout at the crowd and tell them to calm down, Percy lifted his heavy paw and extended his claws. With great resolve, he tore at her neck, killing her instantly. To prove a point, he bent and tasted her. Her vacuous eyes were open, staring at him, her face frozen in shock.

Sure that he had not done enough damage, he roared again, showed them his blood-covered fangs and began to tear at her abdomen. He did not even hear the first shot – did not even feel it. As darts pummelled his thigh and neck, he continued to rip poor Sheila to shreds. He felt like a real tiger again. The lights went off and the screams began. Percy was free. Percy The Great was free.




Inspired by Percy, my neighbour's obese cat. He rocks! He bit me today while I was doing my sit-ups, in a place I'd rather not talk about. I totally did not deserve it. 

I am Percy, HEAR ME SNORE!

Yes.... that's Percy, alright. Lookin' good. ROAR!!! SNORE!!!

By the way, I nearly shat myself watching this video. I am sooooo inspired. I am just sooooo inspired Please watch the video. It really rocks... or not. Please keep toilet roll handy, she's going to blow your pants off.

Chapter 21 - A family affair

Woot! Woot! Chapter 21 is out and ready! I have changed the name of a certain company mentioned below, if only to protect myself. Missed a chapter or two? Catch the links on Chapter 20! Enjoy. More characters to come, more to be revealed.

***

Looking even more beautiful and ominous than ever, DARPA’s baby – Jake wished it had a real name – was ready for the big test. It had taken hours to weld the pay-load carrier onto the left wing. The specifications were such that the weight of the carrier and whichever load it would carry would not disturb the flight of the plane. Now Jake understood why Jo had said that the weight of any payload should not exceed 2.4 tonnes. It was brilliant.


Jo and Fallon were fussing over the pilot, who just had to be tall and disgustingly handsome, with patches all over his coveralls, giving him a fancy “Ice man” or “Maverick” look. Jake hated Top Gun. The whole movie made him feel incredibly inadequate. He often wondered if pilots really did behave the way Tom Cruise and Val Kilmer did in the movie. Now that he was actually looking at one of those fancy fighter pilots, he knew they actually possessed the charm and earthy good looks. Crow’s feet spanning from the corners of his eyes, jet-black hair, and a sure and confident gait coupled with a smile that Jake was sure women died for, he hated him.

More than anything else, he hated the way Jo was looking up at the bastard with such reverence. He scoffed, thinking that a pilot had to be a glorified bus driver if nothing else. He was The Builder and that surely counted for something, did it not?

James’ eyes were locked on the main control screen; he was making sure everything would go perfectly. There was no way the test could fail. They had already used up all their allotted time for the project, and unfortunately, it was Jo’s fault that Jake had been brought in so late. There was only this one, single pay-load carrier and failure was not an option this far in the game. The “sell” was in two weeks, and it would be in Prague. Which meant that Jake would be travelling out of the States for the first time in his life – to the last place he would have thought of visiting.

The altered BLU 116 would have an optimized GPS trajectory with laser guidance making the accuracy very much less than ten metres. Jake read the flyer from PAVEMAKER*, the company that produced such deadly GPS and laser guided bombs, with their ridiculous tagline: LETHAL ACCURACY – ANYTIME - ANYWHERE. “Fucking crazy,” he thought to himself. Everything was commercial, everything was about money and worst of all, and everything was all- American. Even more gut-wrenching were the names of certain American missions like, “Operation Iraqi Freedom” and “Operation Enduring Freedom.”

So this is where all the tax-money went. Not to cleaning up the mess that Katrina had left, but to paying companies to make bombs, so we can all stick our fingers in other people’s pie. Why was he getting so riled up? He had agreed to be part of this sick adventure and now he was regretting? No. He was getting riled up because the pilot was trying to get cosy with Jo. Bastard. Not sure what was the cause of his new found anger and not quite sure where to direct it, Jake left the hanger in search of food. If anything could cheer him up it would have to be food.

Just outside the hanger was a makeshift canteen serving vomit-worthy burgers, but Jake was too hungry to argue with the burly cook. There was no way he was a chef. The burgers looked at least a week old and reminded Jake of MREs (meal, ready to eat), as though the entire burger had been pulled straight out of a hermitically sealed packet. As he wolfed down the food, he thought about the test. What would the explosion look like? Would there even be an explosion? Was it possible that since it was a bunker buster there would be more of an “implosion”? He chugged down an entire bottle of mineral water and thanked the sour-looking cook.

Suddenly the hanger doors were pushed open to the hilt and people started streaming out. It was time for the big “test”. Jake saw Fallon and Jo saying their final few words to the pilot – who as it turned out had to be a weapons specialist as well, he had gathered as much from all the complex firing systems that James had hooked into the plane. They were probably giving him last minute instructions, wishing him well and Jo was most probably offering to have sex with him – she had to be, the way she was leaning into him, smiling at him, damn near cuddling him.

“Builder-cum-driver! Jakie-poo! Come meet my brother, Lieutenant Colonel Jack Broomsfield,” Jo chirped as she dragged the pilot along with her to meet Jake. Jake’s face paled instantly. He should have known that the whole thing had to be a family affair. He felt like a royal idiot for thinking that Jo was flirting. He should have been able to tell they were related just by the jet-black hair, sharp features and height. He called himself twenty kinds of fool. “Jake, meet Jack. Jack, meet Jakie-poo. He built this baby we’ll be testing. I quite fancy him. But he doesn’t like me much, thinks I’m a potty mouth. He also thinks that I talk too much – judging by the look on his grumpy face!”

“I think she talks too much too. Pleasure to meet you, Jake, uh, Jakie-poo or whatever it is this runt calls you. Everything looks real good! Let’s hope she lets one rip on Area 17,” Jack said, as he grasped Jake’s hand firmly and shook it thoroughly.

“Nice to meet you too, Jack. You’re awfully young to be a lieutenant colonel. It’s cool,” Jake felt like looking at him and saying “you’re a superhero!” but stopped himself from talking - again. “Uh, Jo taught me everything I know, actually. The three of them have been very supportive. Especially Fallon,” he continued, blabbering for the first time in his life, saying too much too fast.

“Yeah, the Melon rocks, actually. Jo-Jo here tells me you have tried to spy on her with a home-kit. Fucking brilliant. If only she weren’t so smart, huh?” Jack stated – almost as though he was angry with Jake for spying on Jo.

“Uh, yeah. I don’t know why I did it,” Jake replied, red faced and unable to maintain eye-contact.

“He likes me, that’s why. Only he doesn’t to admit it, shy motherfucker!” Jo chirped as she poked Jake in the gut.

“Okay, would love to stick around and watch you abuse this poor man, I need to go bomb a ‘pretend’ town, okay? Later Jo-Jo. Jake, again, a pleasure to meet you. A word of advice, keep doing whatever it is you’re doing. She likes it. She likes you,” Jack said, winking at Jo while speaking to Jake.

Jack immediately turned back and returned to the hanger and an MP came around to them with Magdalene, Jo’s monstrous yellow Hummer. The MP handed Jake the keys and Jo, Fallon, James and Hootch piled into it. James sat in front, with Hootch and Jake, so he could give him directions to the Pahute Control Point in Area 18 – where they could watch the test in the safety of a bunker with triple enforced concrete and 2 metres of lead shielding.

It was a short drive, and Jake felt safe knowing that they would be shielded from the evil bomb. As they dismounted and went in, Jake saw multiple milling around, waiting to usher them in. Jake was sure they were General Bloomsfield’s men. Again, Jake wondered why Jo did not have the same surname as her father and brother. Once there were safely inside and settled, Jake greeted the General. James was stationed at the mission control panel, and he would be communicating directly with Jack.

It was about to go down, and all Jake could do was sit back and watch as the beautiful plane carrying the beautiful pay-load carrier designed by the beautiful Dr. Johanna Lester bombed the crap out of a no-name town.

 

The big 2-0!

Here's Chapter 20 for you, inspired by the White Stripes song "Blue Orchid"! Sigh... I could share everything with you people. The learning involved with The Builder is incredible. I love researching about all these things! Missed a chapter or two? Catch them here: chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19. Much love! Drop me a comment!

***

Jake had never seen anything quite like it – vast land, complete with buildings, a gas station, the occasional house, street lamps, parked cars, proper roads and not a soul walking around; the proving grounds truly were amazing. No sign of military vehicles, troops or anything. It was basically a well-kept ghost town. Jo directed him to the bunker site in Area 17, where he saw the first signs of life – decorated military folk, starched suits and military police. The test really was going to happen.


He was nervous, undoubtedly, but took comfort in the fact that Fallon, James and Jo were there. They looked almost as out of place as he did, only they seemed thrilled. Fallon was particularly energetic. He reminded Jake of a mosquito – always in everyone’s ear.

As they dismounted and MPs carted the pay-load carrier out of the U-haul, Fallon began buzzing around, his purple sneakers moving so fast it was just a lavender blur.

“Ah, she’s beauty, ain’t she, Builder? We’re gonna mount ‘er! Arr,” Fallon said as he ran up to Jake.

“What are you, a five year-old pirate? Shut up and calm the fuck down. No one will take us seriously – especially after they see your damned sneakers. Idiot,” James snapped. Obviously, James was tired and worse for the wear.

“Aww, come on, Jamesie, The Melon means no harm. He’s just an excited little melon, aren’t ya?” Jo defended. “Plus, everyone takes me seriously. I’m smart as shit!”

Jake scrubbed his hands over his face and ran them through his hair, “I don’t belong here, guys.”

“Nonsense, minion. You are our spy. Whether the object be to crush an army, storm a city or to assassinate an individual, it is always necessary to begin by finding out the names of attendants, the aides-de-camp, the doorkeeper and sentries of the general in command. Our spies must be commissioned to ascertain these!! You are the spy, and that is the general! Go fourth, little spy. Remember every face you see, report back to Sun Tzu!” Fallon said, his eyes pointed at a man in a green military suit, covered in little colourful badges.

“What the fuck? No, no, no, Jakie-poo. You’re not a spy. Fuck Purple Barney Sun Tzu over here. Yes, that’s the General. Holy cock and balls, he’s coming over. Look like you’re not interested. All geniuses feign disinterest. The candy-coloured fucker wants to shake your hand. Pretend it’s nothing,” Jo whispered to them.

James was off talking to the techs, who were definitely soldiers as well, and Jake did not know if he should put his hands in his pockets or leave them dangling. He did not know what to do with his entire body, for that matter. The General was smiling at him. Should he smile back? He was an impressive sight. Could not have been a day over sixty, he was tall and sharp looking, the hair at his temples grey and his buff arms and chest covered with badges and pins.

“So, you must be the rookie builder everyone is talking about. Good to meet you, son,” he said, grasping Jake’s hand firmly and shaking it with purpose. Jake quelled the urge to smile up at him and say something stupid like, “Wow! You’re a superhero!”

“My name is Charles Bloomsfield. You can call me General Bloomsfield, son. The Pentagon sends their regards. You’ve done an impressive job, son. No one has ever done what you’ve done,” Bloomsfield said, smiling at him, nodding at him, looking at him with praise.

“I, uh, thanks?” Jake stuttered. “Sorry, Sir, I mean, General, but what did you mean by no one has ever done what I’ve done?” He wanted the sandy ground beneath him to open up and swallow him.

“What? Come now, surely you knew that no one has ever built a pay-load carrier like this with absolutely no experience or training! And with such good time!” the General replied, with great ardour.

“Heh. And survived to tell the story,” said Fallon under his breath, which had the General turning to him and laughing. “Good to see you again, General Bloomsfield. I’m sure you’ve missed me!”

“Uh, no, Fallon. I haven’t. Now, where is my little girl? My little genius-in-shining-armour?” the General asked, with banked jubilance.

“Hi, dad,” Jo replied. It was the first time Jake had seen her so uptight and unhappy. “You ready for this test? Let’s get it over with. Jake, let’s go help mount it,” she replied so curtly that even Jake felt sorry for the General.

“Okay, then, little one, if that’s how you want it. I’ll see you in there,” the General said, looking more dejected than ever.

They were escorted by MPs, along with the pay-load carrier which was being ferried by a forklift – he did not know why; it really was not that heavy, to what looked like a giant hanger. As the large doors were slid open, a magnificent, solitary, black plane with odd-looking wings stood before them. Sure that this was the most amazing thing he had ever seen, Jake tried not to cry at the sight of it. It was beautiful. Matte-black, with a fearsome looking nose and awkward wings, it reminded him of Jo. Her black hair, sharp features and long, almost freakish limbs. They were both two of a kind. Both amazing. Both incredibly beautiful.

Noticing how awe-struck Jake was, Fallon idled up to him, “She’s DARPA’s baby. I guess I need to explain what DARPA is, don’t I?”

“Uh, yeah. Darpa?” Jake questioned, still unable to tear his eyes away from the sheer beauty of the plane.

“Defense Advanced Research Project Agency, the military’s lab. DARPA, dammit, DARPA! They’re cool, I guess. This baby is an alteration of the Nighthawk F-one seventeen. Yeah, the 117 was a beauty, but this baby, whoa. She be blowing with a bigger pay-load, reduced EM-emissions – that means lower electromagnetic emissions, and here’s the killer part – she’s coated with the government’s super cooling shield. You’ll have to ask Jo-Jo, but it stays cool enough to reduce the chances of being detected by infrared scanners. She’s covert, baby!” Fallon explained excitedly, not stopping to find out if Jake understood anything.

“Uh... okay. Where do we mount it? And who’s going to mount it? I sure as hell have no idea how to,” Jake replied. He studied the wings and was sure that they looked too fragile to hold the weapons delivery system. James was at the fuselage attempting to jack up some wires. Fallon made his way to the cockpit, mostly to set up the electronics and wiring. What was Jake supposed to do? Jo was off in a corner, pretending to look at schematics, but Jake knew she was sulking. It was as though her unhappiness mattered so much to him.

He wanted so much to walk up to her and find out what was troubling her. Sure, he had not expected General Bloomsfield to be her father and for the life of him he could not understand why her surname was Lester instead of Bloomsfield. He wanted to comfort her. He also wanted to check the plane out. Torn between the two beauties, he gave up and went to the drinks stand to quench his thirst.

“Jake, could you show the techs how everything is supposed to look? I just need to get the software uploaded and Fallon is busying himself with all those damned wires. What’s left is the pay-load carrier and mount. Turns out this is it. This plane is going to be the weapon of silent, mass destruction. We’re going to have to weld everyone on. It’ll take about a day or so to get everything hooked up and up to speed, so let’s get cracking, shall we?” James said, stunning Jake and causing him to sputter and spill his soda all over the floor.

Jake nodded in response and moved to get the schematics, brushing Jo’s arm intentionally – if only to let her know that he was there. She smiled at him in response and turned back to the plan schematics without a word. Schematics in hand and with a look of resolve, Jake walked over to the left wing.

Staring up at the beauty that was formerly known as the F117 Nighthawk, he idly touched the aileron and fairing strips. He decided he was in love not just with Jo, but with DARPA’s baby. It was going to be a lot of work, but it was going to be fun. He had no idea of what he was doing, or what he was about to do.

Chapter 19 - out so soon??!

Guys, put on your reading glasses, we've got shit to research. Most of what you read is true. I cannot say which parts are fictional/factual (some asshole might sue me, or even worse accuse me of all sorts of evil ideas - and you're definitely an asshole if you plan on suing me) but do read up on your own if you're interested. My disclaimer has to go on the bottom - everytime I mention Dynaco I get freaked out! I'm on a roll! Let me know if you're liking it thus far. Check out Chapter 18 for older chapters. It's just too damned hard for me to keep linking... must think of a better way, yes? Someone suggest something (yes, I'm talking to you, one of my two readers. Idiots)

***

Once they crossed the border into Nevada, Jake was told to slow down to eighty miles an hour. Not sure where he was heading and having never even been to the gambling state before, he obediently listened and trudged on. They slowly made their way onto route 15, heading north.


He was sure that the “testing” was no longer in use – there were even tours conducted in the testing area. He could not figure out where exactly they were going to test the payload carrier but he refrained from asking – if only because he knew Jo would offer an explanation eventually. Everyone looked worse for the wear, even Hootch. They had a few hours of sunlight left still and as far as he knew, only a few more hours to their destination.

Drawn out of out his ruminations by Jo choking in her sleep, which was incredibly amusing, he nudged her awake.

“You were choking in your sleep. It was funny,” Jake said evenly.

“Hah. It was not a funny dream, let me tell you that much, Jakie-poo,” she said between yawns.

Itching to ask her about their destination but not willing to appear desperate, he started talking to the dog to distract himself, and then she began to stretch. She started twisting about and nearly kicked him, but he was so taken by the act. It was even more tortuous than watching the “stir-lick-lick”.

“You know, Jakie-poo, it’s rude to stare... without touching,” she purred. He wanted to slap her again but kept both hands on the wheel. She laughed and reached behind to grab some of their vending machine loot.

“So, any idea about where we’re going, or are you going to wait for me to tell you,” she asked while wrestling with the wrapper of a candy bar.

“I was waiting for you to tell me. And by the way, it’s never rude to stare at someone who’s begging to be stared at. Touching doesn’t interest me, just so you know,” he lied. He knew it was a terrible lie and she would see right through him.

“I’m going to ignore that last statement. As for where we’re going, that’s just too easy. There’s only one thing the American’s know how to do – keep secrets, even if it poisons their people. It’s like feeding a dog medicine, we deceive them by placing the pill in a cheese roll. Hah. We’re going to the famed land, the nuclear testing site, the infamous proooooving grounds,” she crooned mysteriously. “Yes, it was actually called the proving grounds, but they changed the name, pretended that we haven’t done any testing since 2007 and capitalised on the waste land. Tours my ass, we’re still using those grounds!”

“What do you mean we’re still using those grounds?” Jake asked, knowing how to get the best answers out of her, after having spent those weeks learning everything he knew about weapons from her.

“We’ll be testing at Area.... wait for it... 17! Yes, it has never been previously been used for nuclear weapon testing. How cool is that? Virgin land, about to be fucked by a bunker-buster!” she chirped annoyingly.

Jake was proud that he knew what a bunker-buster was. Only he did not know whether it was going to be nuclear or non-nuclear. EPWs (earth-penetrating-weapons) are able to penetrate virtually any bunker, underground facility and other things poor humans may use to protect themselves from the wrath of whichever angry country. He realised that Jo definitely had to be a genius, having been able to design such a crafty, versatile and beautiful pay-load carrier that was, essentially, multi-purpose.

“We’ll be using a non-nuclear bunker-buster, in case you were wondering. The BLU 116. Smart bomb I tell ya, it can penetrate more than three metres of re-enforced concrete. Only we won’t be using the exact same bomb, we’ll be using a juiced version – one with GPS, eh? Cool shit, huh? So now we’re looking at anywhere between four and six metres, with the help of perfect aiming and hypervelocity. Ah, physics turns me on,” Jo said, still purring like a cat.

Jo then turned to the dog and complained about her brilliant thoughts being wasted on someone who stared but did not touch. She fiddled with the transceiver and spewed curses to wake Fallon up. Jake could not help but laugh. He recalled calling her a potty-mouth; it was one of the first few things he had said to her. He actually liked that she was disgustingly rude. He remembered how she had belched once, mid-sentence, intentionally to shut Fallon up. No one wanted to hear about China’s vast experience with war and Sun Tzu.

“Did I ever tell you about the great, big plan to build a high-level nuclear waste storage facility? You know the one here in Nevada? It’s supposed to be at the south-west corner, by the Yucca Mountain. Blah. Talk about garbage guys for the military!”

“A high-level nuclear waste storage place? What does that mean? Isn’t there some guy that does something to all that nuclear waste, some kind of government super instrument that zaps nuclear waste, like ‘spot-be-gone’ or something?” Jake asked, finding himself interested in whole issue.

“Ahhhh, first of all, one would have to know what high-level nuclear waste is. Then one would have to know what vitrification is. It’ll take hours to explain all this, but in a nutshell, here’s what high-level nuclear waste storage is about – listen carefully. Damn, I should’ve been one of those professor types. I’d rock as a teacher. Though I think I’m more musically inclined. I’d rock at being a rockstar. What do you think?” Jo asked, completely distracted by the lost mouse running around in her head. She even asked poor Hootch what he though.

“Focus, Jo-Jo,” Jake said, stunning her with the affection in his voice.

“You heard that, Hootch? He called me Jo-Jo! Have you played that game called Jo-Jo’s Fashion Show online? Heh. It’s a no-brainer, but it’s fun. Yes, yes, back to radioactive crap,” Jo then settled in comfortably to explain everything to him.

“Starting from the top. The Yucca mountain repository idea was supposedly axed by the Obama administration, but don’t you worry, Dynaco has a hand in it. We want to play with deadly nuclear waste, and we want to do it right next to our people, so we can kill off the dumb, gambling folk one-by-one. Building was supposed to start in 2013, but Dynaco is going up in flames, so for now, the official statement is that the plan is axed.”

She continued, “The waste we’re talking about is the by-product of fuels used for the creation of nuclear weapons. Vitrification is, simply put, the art of mixing sugar into high level nuclear waste and turning it into something stable and non-degradable. Are you following? After the sugar is added, we simply pass it through a hot, hot, hot tube and turn the fucking lot of it into glass. Funny, no one knows about these things. It should be taught in schools, ‘How to manage high-level nuclear waste’ will be the name of the subject. I hated school; I was always bigger than everyone. Did you hate school, Jakie-poo?”

“Jesus, Jo. Stay on topic, will you?” Jake rasped, wanting to know more.

“Fine, fine. Of course, the Russkies have better ways, and the Australian Synroc, which is a synthetic rock program, is way better and more sophisticated than our methods. America does love to pretend they’re more advanced, but we’re as good as monkeys in trees. Oh well,” she sighed.

“We still store liquid nuclear high level waste in underground tanks, thanks to the Manhattan Project and the Cold War. We’re way behind, Jakie. It’s sad, actually. Anyways, once Dynaco blasts the shit out of some poor nation and blames it on someone else, they’ll be offered the land at a discount price - them being the saviours and all. They’ll have the money to build a fancy waste storage system wherever it is and everything will be just peachy. The technology for the eventual neutralization of fallout land will come, perhaps in a couple of decades. I hope to be having many senior moments and plan on driving with my left blinker on permanently when I’m that old,” she said, all in the same sentence.

Stunned at everything he had just heard, he could not understand why everything seemed so simple to her. Why was it all so factual? How could she be part of something that seemed so evil? Did she really plan on driving with her left blinker on permanently?

Chapter 18 - Shoot first, talk second.

Why helloooooo there, my darlings (I know no one reads my blog anymore. Fuckers) Finally after a long, long, long time Chapter 18 is out and ready. I was in Calgary and then I was down with the flu. Poor me. Have some sympathy, will you? I'm back home and The Builder is back on track. Ideas are flowing and this story can only get better, but you need to let me know what you think, okay? I also have a few good flash fiction ideas, but let's leave that for another time, okay? Enjoy! Catch older chapters of The Builder here: Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17..... wow that's alot of chapters.... but not alot of substance, nyuk nyuk.

***

Minutes after leaving the motel parking lot, tires screeching and the backseat of the Hummer filled with the contents of the vending machine; Jake was beginning to calm down. He was confused, with a million thoughts and questions buzzing in his mind. For how long had they been followed? Who followed them? Was the military not aware of this project? Was anything he had been told even true? Too afraid of what he might hear if he asked, Jake resolved to keep his mouth shut. Glancing through the rear-view mirror, he saw James on the phone – barking at someone, obviously. Who he was barking at, however, was a completely different issue.


Jo was whistling. She had chosen the perfect time to pretend that nothing had happened. He was driving, Hootch seated comfortably between them and she was whistling. He quelled the notion to slap her, understanding that she was still buzzing from all the action at the motel. She reached out and flipped a switch next to the radio, and like something out of a sci-fi movie, the radio panel retracted and flipped inwards, revealing a complex two-way radio transceiver. Impressed at himself for knowing what it was, he remained silent, waiting to find out what she would attempt to do.

“Yessss,” she hissed between whistles. “You see, Jakie-poo, the folks at the Jessup base must’ve picked up on the movement of something that ‘appears’ to be a ‘bomb’. Hah. Dumb fuckers. You’d think that they would stop to ask before shooting. Not in America. Shoot first, talk second. That explains everything that’s wrong with this country. Idiots,” she explained frankly.

“Uh... but how would they notice the ‘movement’ of something that ‘appears’ to be a ‘bomb’?” Jake asked, knowing that whatever she said he probably would not be able to understand anyway.

“Ah, easy-peasy-mc-squeeze-me! Each military base in America is equipped with what I like to call... drum roll... The Crapper! Hah! It’s a fancy satellite system that tracks all moving vehicles. Only you can’t get HBO off it – it has infrared and thermal scanners. Fancy, huh? So, imagine what some fat dude sitting at the monitors must have seen! A Hummer with two humans and a dog followed by a U-haul with two humans and a single, large ‘suspicious’ object being transported travelling at a constant speed without stops,” she explained enthusiastically. “They probably picked us up when we were closing in on the inter-state.”

Not one to let her silly statements slide, “Oh, I see. That wasn’t too hard for me to understand. But why do you call it...drum roll... The Crapper?” he asked, mimicking her ridiculous monkey-drumming action.

“You’re funny, Jakie-poo. It’s actually called the PITS. Pie-in-the-sky ring a bell? NORAD sent that fucker up in the 60s. I call it The Crapper because of its primitive two-dimensional scanning system. The person looking at the sat-images only sees a plan-view and has to guess. It’s like looking at a picture while you’re on the crapper. Get it? I think my name for it is pretty apt, actually. Heh,” Jo quipped.

Still unable to fathom what actually goes on in her enigmatic mind, Jake gave up and concentrated on driving. Jo began fiddling with the transceiver and made jokes about how she wished she were a truck driver so she ‘toot’ the horn while swapping jokes with other ‘mutha-truckers’. Funnily, all her flippant statements and jokes made him feel better. He was close to forgetting that he nearly died just minutes before.

Suddenly a blast of static, white noise broke the silence in the truck. He heard a familiar voice saying, “Encrypt the fucking signal, devil woman.”

“Gotcha, boss,” Jo said. “By the way, tell Fallon he shoots like a fucking sissy. Sun Tzu my ass,” Jo retorted, laughing.

Jake suppressed his laugh when he heard Fallon mumble something about introducing Sun Tzu’s sword to her ass. Jo continued to fiddle with the tuner after she jacked her lap top into the transceiver. Who would have thought top-secret government transceivers were IPod friendly, what with a handy USB port?

After she was satisfied with all the fiddling she had done, she turned to Jake, “Ch-ch-ch-check it out! We can listen in on Jessup’s frequency and those fuckers won’t know a damn thing! I’m bouncing all our signals off an Indonesian satellite. Heh. I do me proud. Nyuk nyuk!”

“Uh, okay then, Jo. So when do we start listening in? Are they following us? Do I need to speed up or slow down? Are we going to change course? Are you sure you work for the government?” he asked, all in the same breathe.

“Now I see why you’re so tense. You think you may be colluding with enemies of the state? Rubbish! We have explained everything to you already! Dynaco is owned by America. Jessup County was just following protocol, and the three dead soldiers will be given the honour they deserve for protecting their country - don't you worry about that. James probably has called in and the dogs will leave us alone. As for your other questions, James will be listening in, stick to the current speed and no change of course. Got it?” she asked, appearing slightly irritated.

“Hey, no need to get mad. I was just asking, Jo. I have the right to know, remember?” Jake said, attempting at a soothing voice. Her eyebrow rose at the sound of his voice.

Knowing he should not have done that, he felt a hand snake its way up his thigh. She was smiling - practically beaming. He also knew he would be a goner if said hand got any higher. Taking one hand off the wheel, he seized her distracting paw and placed it firmly on the dog.

“One, I don’t think that’s appropriate, Jo. Two, I’m not in the mood for your antics right now,” Jake said, going for a stern, no-nonsense look.

“Why Jakie, trying to protect your chastity? Don’t you worry, your virginity is safe with me,” she winked.

“Oi, you idiots, stop trying to make-out while driving, will ya? It’s grossing us out!” James said, sounding more relaxed now that the crisis had been averted.

“No, no, please. Continue. Nothing like good ol’ audio-sex. I’m lovin’ what I’m hearin’. The troops will be happy, and by troops I mean my balls. Fuckers,” Fallon said, sounding a little put out.

Jake knew his face was red, awash with embarrassment. Jo had to have known that Fallon and James could hear everything that was going on in the truck. She had goaded him into saying something that would give them away. Conniving little bitch.

Within only a couple of hours to daylight and less than half a day to the Nevada borders, Jake settled into his seat and set the truck on cruise. Tomorrow was going to be just as trying and frightening as the motel incident. He just wanted to go home and fall into bed – it would be nice if Jo were in that bed, too.

***

 

I, Reading Raynes, do solemnly swear to write some shit that's worth your time. Much love.