Yesterday morning I heard that the McDonalds three blocks down was looking for people, so I vowed that I would for once be proactive, get out of the house and get a real job for myself before my finances were in a crisis. Did amazingly well sticking to that vow; I made it out the door and down an entire block before I started to find ways to distract myself.
Said that the reason I was going into the park was so I could relax and clear my head before applying. Was just going to spend a short time there, only enough to walk a single lap around the park. Then, I would finally make my way to the restaurant.
Instead I spent the entire day wandering around the trails in the park. Had to take some of the more overgrown paths to avoid the walkers and joggers going around the place. Didn’t want to have to interact with anyone, even if it was just saying hello to a stranger. Lap after lap, each time telling myself that I was only going to stay for a little longer, each time delaying my trip a bit more.... By the time I left the park, the sun was setting. That gave me the excuse to go back home. No point in applying for a job so late in the day.
I hated myself for what I did there. The loathing hit the moment I stepped through my door. Was I really not able to just do this one thing? Was it really that hard just to walk over to the place? Another day, wasted away.
Didn't want to dwell on my new failure, so I began to do whatever I could to put my mind off it. Cooked more food than I could hope to eat, read a book, wasted hours on the internet. Soon began to run out of things which were distracting me enough, so I began cleaning (for the first time in months). Really threw myself into it; the layer of books covering my floor was sorted, windows were shined until spotless, rooms I hadn't entered in months were carefully cleaned and dusted, so on and so forth. This house is much bigger than I need it to be. I only really use three of the rooms (bedroom, kitchen, bathroom). The rest I only interact with if they happen to be on the route I take between any of those three. Those which aren’t on the paths remain exactly as they were when I moved in, furniture untouched and wallpaper peeling back from lack of repair.
My cleaning eventually took me upstairs, to the attic. The place was filled with old family heirlooms, dating back to when my ancestors had crossed the Atlantic to join the colonies. I'd gone through them all once, when I first moved in, but realized most of it was junk. I suppose I could have thrown most of it away, or sold it, but I never got around to doing that.
When I entered the attic this time, I felt a slight breeze waft past me. There shouldn't have been any wind up there; no windows. I may need to look around for cracks in the walls later. Would have done it then, but my attention was being held by the black box lying in the center of the room.
Of course I have a black box in the attic; why would I ever have said that I didn't? I remember it so clearly now, it seems ridiculous that I could have forgotten it. The weathered old wooden box, colored black not from any paint, but from the burn marks along its entire frame. Of course it's always been there. Like the post on this blog said, there was an envelope on top of the box, and inside that envelope was an old key. The envelope was covered in dust, as though it had been laying on top of that box for years. Can't imagine why I never thought to open it up before.
Took some time to get the lock to work; age hadn’t been kind on it. Not really sure what I expected; a part of me was really hoping for the box to be filled with solid gold bars, but the part of my mind more grounded in realism understood the unlikelihood of that.
What I did find was several pieces of very old paper, a torn up leather bound book, and a stack of yellowed envelopes. Not exaggerating when I emphasize how old the contents were; the dates on the envelopes were from the 1880s. The piece which drew my attention the most was a rolled up wanted poster, offering $800 for the capture of a woman named Elizabeth Wells.
First time I’ve heard that I had an outlaw as an ancestor. Knew the family moved out to the West after the Civil War for a few generations before coming back to the east coast, but never heard any details about it. The entire box is full of things relating to her; the letters are all addressed to her, and the book appears to be a journal she kept. Suppose it could be a coincidence, that she has the same last name and a box in my home is filled with her things, but she’s got a very strong family resemblance; the same black hair that I and every relative I know on her head, same narrow face. I’m becoming a bit fascinated by this; it may not be gold bars, but it’s something almost as interesting. Might post transcripts of what I find here. It’ll give me something to do with all the spare time I have.
-Lisa
Friday, July 22, 2011
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Rejection
Didn’t I say I wasn’t going to deal with this anymore? I’m terrible at keeping to my resolutions….
How sad is it, that the only thing which I can vent to is an account made for me by some crazy writer. A writer who can phase through walls, because when the police investigated the break in they found no sign of forced entry anywhere in my home. I just want to scream, and rant, and shout, throwing all the things I’ve been dealing with out for everyone to see…. But there’s no on to listen to me. Not anymore. This blog’s the closest I can find to a public forum for my emotions. And if whoever made this blog in the first place doesn’t like it, well, tough. You shouldn’t have set up an account for me in the first place.
I got another rejection letter today. I've lost track of how many I've gotten now. At first I kept count, but now it's turned into a long blur of failure. Nothing new about this one; “We’re sorry, but your story was not what we are looking for at this time.” I think I may have seen every form letter made by any publishing company by this point. One would think that I’d have become desensitized to rejection. But…. I haven’t. Every manuscript I send out fills me with a glimmering of hope, that maybe this will be the one. This time, they’ll accept it. That’s all I need, just one book accepted. Each story I write, I say that it will be the one.
It never is. Every time, that spark of hope which had been building is crushed. I suppose that’s what I get for dreaming.
This means I need to start looking for a job again, since I won’t be getting any magical life altering paychecks from publishers anytime soon. That’s something I should start doing soon. But of course I won’t. I’ll wake up every morning telling myself I need to go out and find a real career, only to spend the rest of the day under the covers of my bed, lights off and windows closed, with only a book and a flashlight. Maybe inspiration will strike me and I’ll write another doomed to fail novel. Then one day I’ll realize the refrigerator is completely empty, and the loose change I get from under the couch isn’t enough to buy groceries, and once again I’ll find myself scrambling to find a burger joint which needs someone capable of smiling and basic mathematics. And so the endless cycle of my life goes on.
-Lisa
How sad is it, that the only thing which I can vent to is an account made for me by some crazy writer. A writer who can phase through walls, because when the police investigated the break in they found no sign of forced entry anywhere in my home. I just want to scream, and rant, and shout, throwing all the things I’ve been dealing with out for everyone to see…. But there’s no on to listen to me. Not anymore. This blog’s the closest I can find to a public forum for my emotions. And if whoever made this blog in the first place doesn’t like it, well, tough. You shouldn’t have set up an account for me in the first place.
I got another rejection letter today. I've lost track of how many I've gotten now. At first I kept count, but now it's turned into a long blur of failure. Nothing new about this one; “We’re sorry, but your story was not what we are looking for at this time.” I think I may have seen every form letter made by any publishing company by this point. One would think that I’d have become desensitized to rejection. But…. I haven’t. Every manuscript I send out fills me with a glimmering of hope, that maybe this will be the one. This time, they’ll accept it. That’s all I need, just one book accepted. Each story I write, I say that it will be the one.
It never is. Every time, that spark of hope which had been building is crushed. I suppose that’s what I get for dreaming.
This means I need to start looking for a job again, since I won’t be getting any magical life altering paychecks from publishers anytime soon. That’s something I should start doing soon. But of course I won’t. I’ll wake up every morning telling myself I need to go out and find a real career, only to spend the rest of the day under the covers of my bed, lights off and windows closed, with only a book and a flashlight. Maybe inspiration will strike me and I’ll write another doomed to fail novel. Then one day I’ll realize the refrigerator is completely empty, and the loose change I get from under the couch isn’t enough to buy groceries, and once again I’ll find myself scrambling to find a burger joint which needs someone capable of smiling and basic mathematics. And so the endless cycle of my life goes on.
-Lisa
Friday, July 15, 2011
What the Hell is This.
I get home after being fired from my job at the library, and find that someone broke into my home so they could set up a gmail account for me, then leave a note on my computer with the login information. Then they were ever so kind as to invite me to this blog here.
I don’t know if this is supposed to be some kind of joke or something, but I am not in the mood to be dealing with bullshit like this. Had I not burned the last of my bridges last week, I’d assume this was a friend’s crazy idea, but now I just think it’s some creep who wants me to join their badly written sci fi storytelling group.
And one last thing. In regards to that last post: There is no box in my attic. I’ve lived in this house for years, and I’ve been up to the attic several times. I don’t have a black box up there; never had.
And that’s the last I’m ever going to have to do with this nonsense.
I don’t know if this is supposed to be some kind of joke or something, but I am not in the mood to be dealing with bullshit like this. Had I not burned the last of my bridges last week, I’d assume this was a friend’s crazy idea, but now I just think it’s some creep who wants me to join their badly written sci fi storytelling group.
And one last thing. In regards to that last post: There is no box in my attic. I’ve lived in this house for years, and I’ve been up to the attic several times. I don’t have a black box up there; never had.
And that’s the last I’m ever going to have to do with this nonsense.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
August 11, 2009-No idea where I am
2
HOLY SHIT IT WORKED!
I THINK!
I’m ecstatic, but I’m also terrified. The terror’s coming from where I wound up. A dark swamp, covered in some of the thickest fog I’ve ever seen. I can hear something moving under the water, and there's a slight breeze making the trees shake in disturbingly alive movements, and I can hear.....
Oh, fuck.
There is no wind.
What's making the trees move like that?
Shit, the fog's getting thicker.... I can barely see my own hands. This screens the only light I've got right now....
Don't look back, don't look at the sounds behind you....
Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck
it's here gotta go
I-330
HOLY SHIT IT WORKED!
I THINK!
I’m ecstatic, but I’m also terrified. The terror’s coming from where I wound up. A dark swamp, covered in some of the thickest fog I’ve ever seen. I can hear something moving under the water, and there's a slight breeze making the trees shake in disturbingly alive movements, and I can hear.....
Oh, fuck.
There is no wind.
What's making the trees move like that?
Shit, the fog's getting thicker.... I can barely see my own hands. This screens the only light I've got right now....
Don't look back, don't look at the sounds behind you....
Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck
it's here gotta go
I-330
Wednesday, March 19, 2003
March 18, 2003-Iraq
982
All these deserts are getting real annoying. I hate sand. Which may be why the universe sees fit to constantly throw me in seas of it.
My research told me I’d find whatever it was I was supposed to be looking for in an ancient Babylonian temple in the desert. Course the temple wasn’t on any map or in any history text, but I’ve come to expect that. Just look for the patch of empty land, the one with all the rumors about vanished archeological teams and evil spirits, or any other fucked up mystical shit, and that’s likely the place. The more old, fallen empires that lived there, the better.
I was dropped just over a mile from the location. Wanted to drop right on top of it, but dimensional fuckery never allows me to take the easy route. Had to walk across the desert to reach the site; least I was lucky enough to be making this trip at night. Even got a full moon to light the way for me out of the deal. Not very often I get such a good hand when it comes to timing.
First indication that I was getting close was the graveyard of planes littering the sand. The sensitive instruments must have reacted badly to this place, and caused the aircraft to go out of control. Whatever caused them to go down, it was affecting me as well; pain was burning in the back of my head, increasing with every step I took. Constant buzzing sound. No source, just buzzing, filling all the air around me. Feet felt heavy, weight pulling down on them.
I fought through it, pressing towards my target. After what I’ve been through, this was pretty low on my scale of eldritch defenses. Tried to distract my mind by focusing on something else. Looking at the wreckage of the planes was like walking through a flight museum. As long as planes have been flying over this patch of land, they’ve been crashing down. Plenty of World War II planes, even a commercial jet liner. Also several modern day jet fighters, which confused me for a moment. Confused me until I heard the explosions behind me.
Oh, yeah. 2003. There's a war going on here.
An uncomfortably close war, judging by the sound of those explosions behind me. No time for safety. Charging headlong into an aeons old ruin built to worship sleeping gods has a low life expectancy, but it's still higher than what I could expect if I stuck around while people were blowing each other up. Thanking Doc once again, I hit the switch on the boots he’d made me, and sped off.
The towering ruins soon were looming before me. Big things, much bigger than people with stone age tech should have been able to construct. Larger than most modern civilizations could build. I'd also rant about the impossible geometry. But honestly, I'm finding myself in places where up is left and down is yellow than I do in regular, more often than Euclidean locales. Course, things are never, ever easy. What was that sound behind me? Could it be the sound of battle, as Iraqi soldiers fled the rain of fire coming down upon them? Why, indeed it was! I guess smart bombs are scarier than whatever ghost stories had been told about this place.
Still had the advantage of knowing what the fuck I was doing, unlike those others. In whatever time it took for them to gape in horror at the towering structure before them, I hoped to be in and out, all quick and easy like. If I was lucky, they'd be so enraptured by the grotesque carvings which ran along the walls to even notice the obviously American woman running out of the temple with a bag.
The door was a huge, obsidian black gateway, covered in blood colored runes of an old tongue. Had I bothered translating them, I may have learned the secret to opening it. But no time for that, grabbed a bunch of explosives, and blew that thing off its hinges. Ignore the demonic wail which echoed out of the impenetrably dark depths, and ran inside. My flashlight didn't provide much help in the blackness, but it was enough to keep me from stumbling over.
I really feel sorry for any of the soldiers who also came inside. They'd have been lost in minutes. The lucky ones would have been devoured by the darkness; those less fortunate would have been doomed to wander the maze for the rest of their lives.
But I knew where I was going. No time to waste. Left turn, right turn, left turn, blow a hole in that wall and run through, jump over the booby trapped floor tiles, climb up the massive wall, blow aside another door....
The Orb was located in a small, circular room, atop a blood stained altar. The frescoes along the wall were no doubt elaborate, and I expect looking at them would have caused most men to become insane, gibbering messes. You’d think these people would have tried a new art style after the dozenth temple, but I guess the builders were the type who always stuck with what worked. Grabbed the Orb without even glancing around, and then began to sprint.
I’d only made it three steps out of the room before I heard a wet, sucking sound following me. Never look back when running. It slows you down. Focus on getting your feet to move. Don’t think about what will happen if you slow down too much, if you let up for even an instant, if you let those things catch you….
Numero Uno flaw with focusing entirely on sprinting: You forget those booby traps you were so careful to avoid the first time around. Stepped on a trapped tile, caused a wall panel to open, got shot in the shoulder by a dart. Within seconds my entire right arm had gone numb. Curse you, surprisingly fast acting ancient poisons!
The sounds from behind were coming even closer. That slimy, disgusting noise, accompanied by that sickly green light. I’d seen what happened to people who let those things catch them. Like hell that was going to happen to me.
Using my left hand, I fired a flare into the blackness behind me. That moment where I looked back gave me a short chance to see the beast; a shifting, grotesque gelatinous mass, covered in ever changing eyes, green glow coming from within its twisting body, pulling itself along the walls. Then the flare hit, right in one of its eyes. Black, tar like goo was flung all around the corridor. I didn't stick around to see how much damage had been done; at best, I'd just slowed it down slightly. More likely I'd only managed to give it a reason to be angry at me.
Clutching my useless arm, I ran through the maze, barely keeping ahead of the monster. Until at last, I saw the exit. There were soldiers by it; smart enough not to have gone into such an evil looking building, not smart enough to have stayed far away from it. This wasn't really the best time for me to stop and explain my situation to them, so I threw two smoke grenades through the door. They went off, and I ran past the soldiers and parked tanks.
The thing followed me out of the temple, into the crowd of soldiers. I tried to ignore the screams and gunfire behind me. There was nothing I could have done. None of their weapons could harm the thing, and mine weren't much better. I had to put the sounds out of my mind, and focusing on getting as far away as possible.
It was a success, though. I now have the Orb. Just a few more of these things, and I'll have everything I need.
I-330
All these deserts are getting real annoying. I hate sand. Which may be why the universe sees fit to constantly throw me in seas of it.
My research told me I’d find whatever it was I was supposed to be looking for in an ancient Babylonian temple in the desert. Course the temple wasn’t on any map or in any history text, but I’ve come to expect that. Just look for the patch of empty land, the one with all the rumors about vanished archeological teams and evil spirits, or any other fucked up mystical shit, and that’s likely the place. The more old, fallen empires that lived there, the better.
I was dropped just over a mile from the location. Wanted to drop right on top of it, but dimensional fuckery never allows me to take the easy route. Had to walk across the desert to reach the site; least I was lucky enough to be making this trip at night. Even got a full moon to light the way for me out of the deal. Not very often I get such a good hand when it comes to timing.
First indication that I was getting close was the graveyard of planes littering the sand. The sensitive instruments must have reacted badly to this place, and caused the aircraft to go out of control. Whatever caused them to go down, it was affecting me as well; pain was burning in the back of my head, increasing with every step I took. Constant buzzing sound. No source, just buzzing, filling all the air around me. Feet felt heavy, weight pulling down on them.
I fought through it, pressing towards my target. After what I’ve been through, this was pretty low on my scale of eldritch defenses. Tried to distract my mind by focusing on something else. Looking at the wreckage of the planes was like walking through a flight museum. As long as planes have been flying over this patch of land, they’ve been crashing down. Plenty of World War II planes, even a commercial jet liner. Also several modern day jet fighters, which confused me for a moment. Confused me until I heard the explosions behind me.
Oh, yeah. 2003. There's a war going on here.
An uncomfortably close war, judging by the sound of those explosions behind me. No time for safety. Charging headlong into an aeons old ruin built to worship sleeping gods has a low life expectancy, but it's still higher than what I could expect if I stuck around while people were blowing each other up. Thanking Doc once again, I hit the switch on the boots he’d made me, and sped off.
The towering ruins soon were looming before me. Big things, much bigger than people with stone age tech should have been able to construct. Larger than most modern civilizations could build. I'd also rant about the impossible geometry. But honestly, I'm finding myself in places where up is left and down is yellow than I do in regular, more often than Euclidean locales. Course, things are never, ever easy. What was that sound behind me? Could it be the sound of battle, as Iraqi soldiers fled the rain of fire coming down upon them? Why, indeed it was! I guess smart bombs are scarier than whatever ghost stories had been told about this place.
Still had the advantage of knowing what the fuck I was doing, unlike those others. In whatever time it took for them to gape in horror at the towering structure before them, I hoped to be in and out, all quick and easy like. If I was lucky, they'd be so enraptured by the grotesque carvings which ran along the walls to even notice the obviously American woman running out of the temple with a bag.
The door was a huge, obsidian black gateway, covered in blood colored runes of an old tongue. Had I bothered translating them, I may have learned the secret to opening it. But no time for that, grabbed a bunch of explosives, and blew that thing off its hinges. Ignore the demonic wail which echoed out of the impenetrably dark depths, and ran inside. My flashlight didn't provide much help in the blackness, but it was enough to keep me from stumbling over.
I really feel sorry for any of the soldiers who also came inside. They'd have been lost in minutes. The lucky ones would have been devoured by the darkness; those less fortunate would have been doomed to wander the maze for the rest of their lives.
But I knew where I was going. No time to waste. Left turn, right turn, left turn, blow a hole in that wall and run through, jump over the booby trapped floor tiles, climb up the massive wall, blow aside another door....
The Orb was located in a small, circular room, atop a blood stained altar. The frescoes along the wall were no doubt elaborate, and I expect looking at them would have caused most men to become insane, gibbering messes. You’d think these people would have tried a new art style after the dozenth temple, but I guess the builders were the type who always stuck with what worked. Grabbed the Orb without even glancing around, and then began to sprint.
I’d only made it three steps out of the room before I heard a wet, sucking sound following me. Never look back when running. It slows you down. Focus on getting your feet to move. Don’t think about what will happen if you slow down too much, if you let up for even an instant, if you let those things catch you….
Numero Uno flaw with focusing entirely on sprinting: You forget those booby traps you were so careful to avoid the first time around. Stepped on a trapped tile, caused a wall panel to open, got shot in the shoulder by a dart. Within seconds my entire right arm had gone numb. Curse you, surprisingly fast acting ancient poisons!
The sounds from behind were coming even closer. That slimy, disgusting noise, accompanied by that sickly green light. I’d seen what happened to people who let those things catch them. Like hell that was going to happen to me.
Using my left hand, I fired a flare into the blackness behind me. That moment where I looked back gave me a short chance to see the beast; a shifting, grotesque gelatinous mass, covered in ever changing eyes, green glow coming from within its twisting body, pulling itself along the walls. Then the flare hit, right in one of its eyes. Black, tar like goo was flung all around the corridor. I didn't stick around to see how much damage had been done; at best, I'd just slowed it down slightly. More likely I'd only managed to give it a reason to be angry at me.
Clutching my useless arm, I ran through the maze, barely keeping ahead of the monster. Until at last, I saw the exit. There were soldiers by it; smart enough not to have gone into such an evil looking building, not smart enough to have stayed far away from it. This wasn't really the best time for me to stop and explain my situation to them, so I threw two smoke grenades through the door. They went off, and I ran past the soldiers and parked tanks.
The thing followed me out of the temple, into the crowd of soldiers. I tried to ignore the screams and gunfire behind me. There was nothing I could have done. None of their weapons could harm the thing, and mine weren't much better. I had to put the sounds out of my mind, and focusing on getting as far away as possible.
It was a success, though. I now have the Orb. Just a few more of these things, and I'll have everything I need.
I-330
Tuesday, June 21, 1983
June 21, 1983-Yucatan Peninsula
990
I take back what I said about deserts. I’m fine with deserts. Deserts and I are cool now.
All my hatred is now focused on fucking jungles.
Barely had a chance to let my arm recover when I got word of a Mayan stone tablet which contained information necessary for my plan. But due to some ridiculous architectural features on the temple it was hidden in, the tablet was only accessible on the summer solstice. Luckily getting places at a certain time isn’t a problem for me.
What is a problem is the geography surrounding the place. I’d never imagined, after all those god damn living nightmares I’d gone through in woods, that I could ever bring myself to hate trees more than I did before. Then there was the pyramid itself..... I almost don't want to talk about it. I am beginning to get tired of this shit. No originality. A secret panel opened when the sun hit just the right spot on the pyramid, I went down into ancient caverns untouched by any mortal creatures for centuries, and had to fight a bunch of things with more eyes than feet and more feet than arms. Did manage to nab the tablet, and pull myself out of the place.
But from now on, unless absolutely necessary, I am staying the hell away from jungles.
On a positive note, if what I've translated from this tablet is correct, I only need one more item to complete my plan.... But acquiring it requires traveling further than I’ve ever gone before.
I-330
I take back what I said about deserts. I’m fine with deserts. Deserts and I are cool now.
All my hatred is now focused on fucking jungles.
Barely had a chance to let my arm recover when I got word of a Mayan stone tablet which contained information necessary for my plan. But due to some ridiculous architectural features on the temple it was hidden in, the tablet was only accessible on the summer solstice. Luckily getting places at a certain time isn’t a problem for me.
What is a problem is the geography surrounding the place. I’d never imagined, after all those god damn living nightmares I’d gone through in woods, that I could ever bring myself to hate trees more than I did before. Then there was the pyramid itself..... I almost don't want to talk about it. I am beginning to get tired of this shit. No originality. A secret panel opened when the sun hit just the right spot on the pyramid, I went down into ancient caverns untouched by any mortal creatures for centuries, and had to fight a bunch of things with more eyes than feet and more feet than arms. Did manage to nab the tablet, and pull myself out of the place.
But from now on, unless absolutely necessary, I am staying the hell away from jungles.
On a positive note, if what I've translated from this tablet is correct, I only need one more item to complete my plan.... But acquiring it requires traveling further than I’ve ever gone before.
I-330
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