All posts by Angela Harrison

Angela is a writer and poet from the backwoods of Texas. She writes fantasy, romance, and horror. Not usually in the same story, but sometimes. She has walked through fire; therefore she may occasionally leave sparkles in her wake.
Writing

Tek

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At first there was nothing, then slowly he started to become aware of things. The first thing he became aware of was movement. Sometimes he could feel himself moving, and sometimes he was still. Sometimes there was warmth or light and sometimes there was not. Then he became aware of noise.

At first the sounds he heard were just a noise, a comforting murmur that came from all around. Little by little he began to understand words. He enjoyed listening to people talk. It didn’t occur to him, at first, to try and talk himself.

Slowly he added sight to his growing awareness. First he saw just blurs, vague outlines and shapes. Eventually he could see everything, people, animals, buildings, the sky. It was wonderful expect when it wasn’t.

Darkness was his enemy. The darker it became, the less substantial he felt. He would just begin to fade, the things he heard and saw and felt lessened until there was cessation of consciousness. He hated this because he would lose track of time, it was like he popped out of existence then back in and he had no control over it.

He gradually became aware that there was one person who was always there. Many other people came and went throughout the day, but Jared was always there. It was like they were attached. They were attached.

Everywhere that Jared went, Tek went too only he didn’t seem to have any control or choice over it. Tek got the feeling that when he disappeared, Jared still existed and that didn’t seem fair at all.

Jared was your average, run of the mill boy. He was of average height and average build, he lived in an average house in average neighborhood. He walked to school every day where he made average grades. The only non average thing about him seemed to be Tek himself.

Tek eventually realized that he was different than Jared and the people like Jared, Tek was what Jared called a shadow. Other people had them too, but if they were self aware as Tek himself was, he had seen no sign of it.

Tek began to notice when the light faded, he would focus all of his concentration on himself, over and over he repeated, “I exist, I exist, I exist!” It worked! At first, just a little, he would maintain self awareness for several seconds after it was full dark, then for a full minute and then several and eventually he was able to stay in existence completely.

He became fond of darkness then because in darkness he existed though Jared seemed not to know it. He felt more himself when he was in the darkness, but began to find being tied to Jared unbearable. So he determined that he must free himself of the intolerable existence that being tethered to Jared presented. He wanted to be free, to run and jump and fly if he wanted to, separate and of his own volition.

At first he tried gymnastics. He twisted and turned and wiggled and squirmed, but he just could not break free.  He stole some shortening from the kitchen and slathered it liberally between his feet and Jared’s and tried to wiggle free. Finally, in despair, he cried out to the darkness his frustration and the darkness answered.

He was free! He felt like soaring, so he did! He literally soared up to the ceiling, around the room and out the window. Escaping from his bondage he was now free to explore the world, and free to stay forever in the dark, where he would remain hidden from the world. Free to creep along dark alleyways, crawl across floors in darkened rooms and slink behind trees in dark forests. Free to be the noise that isn’t there, the shadow you thought you saw, the terrifying thing waiting for you under your bed, in the closet, behind the tree, always at the edge of darkness.

The Vessel, Writing

The Vessel: Food Edition

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Find the original story here.

Find Part 2 here.

She regarded the food in front her cautiously. It was green and gelatinous, like lime jello. Only it didn’t smell like lime jello.

“Frank! We talked about this!”

She had named the computer, or whatever it was that spoke to her and seemed to run the ship, Frank. It was easier than the ridiculously long and scientific name that Franks real name translated to in her language.

“You can travel the universe, speak every language known on every planet in said universe, have the sum of the knowledge of all civilizations from every part of the universe at your disposal. Why can’t you just make me a hamburger?”

Frank beeped, miffed. She could tell he was miffed by the way the lights ran across the control panel randomly. She sighed. Leave it to her to get on board a moody spaceship to escape her pathetic love life.

Not that she was complaining, she was having the time of her life really. Learning about space, Earth, human life and civilizations, alien life and civilizations. She just really wanted a cheeseburger.

“Come on Frank, I promise I’ll take the vitamin and mineral supplements and I’ll let you check my cholesterol levels later.” Frank worried about her health out here in space. Thus the nutritionally complete but utterly tasteless green blob in front of her.

“Catherine” came the condescending tone from Franks speakers, “you know that red meat is bad for you.”

“Yes,” Cat replied, “but it tastes good!”  She wasn’t sure if Frank was just stubborn or if he didn’t want to admit that he had no clue how to make a cheeseburger.

“Eat your nucohume (she had learned that stood for nutritionally complete human meal) and I’ll take you to a planet where they have something very close to cheeseburgers, but much, much better.”

“Where is that?” She asked suspiciously.

“In the Pegula galaxy, we were heading there next anyway. It’s a planet almost indistinguishable from your Earth, but a few twists I can’t wait to show you!”

She suspected she was being handled, but after securing a promise of a cheeseburger at their next stop, she complied. Sighing again, she reluctantly shoveled into the green nucohume.

The Vessel: Return to Earth

The Vessel, Writing

The Vessel: Night

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See part one here: The Vessel.

The ship slipped through the darkness of space with a quietness and stillness that belied its incredible speed. It was as if the ship was standing still and space was slipping by it. The light from a million stars streaked by outside the windows. The interior was dimly lit reflecting the early morning earth hour of 4a.m. which was displayed across the wall of the room.

Glancing at the readout, Catherine snuggled back into the warmth of her bed.  The temperature of her room was a steady 78 degrees, just the way she liked it. The quite background hum of the ships operations provided a perfect amount of white noise and the bed she was sleeping in was the softer than goose down yet still surprisingly supportive. She was pretty sure it was made of materials not found on Earth. She didn’t care. She had found paradise.

The Vessel: Food Edition

The Vessel: Return to Earth

Writing

The Would Be Thief

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Alexander stood in the jewelry store eyeing the necklace nervously. This would be the biggest test of his powers yet.

The necklace lay in the case with an almost imperceptible glow. He doubted anyone else noticed the glow, he saw it because he could sense its power, feel it calling to him. It was a large silver pentagram with a deep red ruby pulsing at the center. It was attached to a long chain. It was nestled on dark purple velvet in the display case.

He took a deep breath and glanced around the shop. The owner was helping other customers. A woman with a fidgety toddler was browsing on the other side of the shop. The girl who had greeted him when he entered had gone into the back of the store. No one was watching him.

His palms were sweaty, so he wiped them on his pants then rubbed them together in concentration. He had to get this just right.

Reaching out, he touched the glass gingerly and slipped his hand right through it. Ecstatic he stood next to the case, fingers to forearm inside the case, the rest of his body outside. It had worked, he knew it would! He was getting pretty skilled at passing through solid objects.

His hand grasped the necklace and he carefully moved his arm back out of the case. His hand passed through the glass again, easily as a hot knife moves through melted butter. He brought his hand up, turned it over and opened his fist. No necklace.

The necklace lay in the case, tangled in an untidy heap next to the glass. So he had moved it, but it had not passed through the glass with his hand. Disappointment surged through him.  He had not anticipated this, had not taken into account the mass of the necklace in his calculations.

Sighing, he stuffed his hands into his jacket pocket and walked out of the shop into the oncoming blizzard. Hurrying toward home, he wasn’t watching where he was going so he never noticed the girl.  He just knew that he had more work to do.

From a shop two doors down, she stepped out onto the sidewalk to follow him. She knew little about him other than that both The Society and the Astyrian Brotherhood were watching him. That was all she needed to know. Silently, she trailed him through the falling snow as the sun sank below the horizon.

 

 

Writing

Eviction

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The old man sat dejectedly on the edge of a tattered couch, surrounded by furniture, and watched as the movers carried his belongings out and piled them around him.

He didn’t quite understand when they told him the house belonged to the bank now. He didn’t understand a lot these days, his brain was a little muddled. He supposed that was normal for a 90 year old man.  He knew he suffered from foggy thinking. He remembered when his wife, Frieda, was alive. She always took care of things like making sure the mortgage payment got sent in on time.

Not that he had a mortgage anymore. One of his clearer memories was taking Frieda on a long overdue vacation to celebrate after the house was finally paid off. Kids were all grown, house was paid off, that was a good time in their lives. The kids all had lives of their own now.

The thought of kids brought a slight but confused smile to his face as he struggled to remember their names. Bob Jr of course and Margo, Mildred, Mitch and Sarah.

Mitch. The smile left his face as another memory tugged on his brain.

“Dad, just sign the papers! Don’t be stubborn, I need the money!”

Mitch made it sound ok. He had needed it, for some reason.

He sat as the sun sank behind the horizon staring at the house that had been his home for close to seventy years. The house where he had carried his bride over the threshold, where they had raised five children. Where one of those children had betrayed him.

Frieda was dead, he was long since retired, most of his friends were gone and now his home was gone as well. He pulled the pistol from his jacket pocket. The one he had thought to defend his home with, but in the end, he didn’t have it in him to harm another person. Even the ones dragging him from his home.

“Frieda” he thought, as he pulled the trigger.

Writing

Captured!

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Browsing through used bookstores was one of her favorite hobbies. This was her first time in this one and she had already found several books that could prove useful. Stepping back from a shelf with a book in her hands, she inadvertently bumped right into him. She was always bumping into things while reading. She mumbled an apology as she closed the book.

“It’s ok” he replied. She stopped, electrified. She recognized that voice! Looking up she saw him. The square cut of his jaw, the blue of his eyes, the shock of dark hair falling in his face. He smiled and she knew she’d been caught.

Sighing, she set the book down on a shelf and began preparing a spell, but it was too late. He murmured a spell of his own as he placed a thin silver cuff on her left wrist. A dampener, great. She was just going to have to get out of this the old fashioned way.

With a roundhouse kick to his face, she knocked him off balance and ran for the door. She didn’t make it far, he had brought back up. She looked around at the team of five magic users that had been sent to capture her and knew there was no escape. At least not today.

At long last, she would have to face the high council. That is, unless she could convince him to let her go. She had three days to prove her innocence.

“Lucas!” she demanded indignantly, “Is this really necessary?”

“Oh Gretchen,” he replied, “Of course it is. Did you think I had forgotten how powerful you are?”

“Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“Oh, but it did before.” He gave her a dazzling smile.

She squirmed uncomfortably. Well, yes, that was true. But in her defense, he was ridiculously hot. She was human after all. Well, mostly human anyway. Whatever.

Writing

Coffee Shop

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“I can’t deal with your shit anymore! You don’t respect me; you ridicule me in front of my friends. You tell me my dog doesn’t deserve to live in a house as big as mine! I don’t want to live like this!”

And with that, she turned and was gone from his life forever.

Eric sat at the small table at Starbucks, stunned. He sat starring down at the table, unwilling to watch her walk away. Well, she was fucking crazy after all.

Slowly, the other patrons went back to their own conversations and the noise level returned to normal. They graciously pretended to forget what they had just witnessed.

He sighed. It was too bad, really. He had been so sure this was the correct place and time. Oh, well. Time to move on and continue his search.

He snapped his fingers and vanished. One patron who had been staring at him, blinked, looked confused for a moment then shook her head and went back to her coffee unsure why she felt as if she had just forgotten something.

Writing

Ghosts in the Church Yard

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“Hello.”

She paused and looked around.

“Hello” she called back hesitantly.

Cecilia glanced around the yard she was standing in. She had just stopped by the church on her lunch break to check in with the pastor quickly about a few things pertaining to the upcoming ladies auxiliary luncheon that she was chairing.

It was such a nice day; she thought she’d have her lunch outside in the well kept yard behind the church. She walked through the greenness and sat down on a stone bench. She had just been preparing to pull out the novel she was currently reading when she heard the voice.

The voice was distinctively male. She glanced around again in confusion. There was no one else here and she had watched Pastor Evans leave the church, heading home to have lunch with his wife.

Suddenly there was a shift in the atmosphere around her. There was a loud buzzing noise and the world in front of her slid away as a new one popped into place.

She was now sitting in a lush and massive rose garden. The neatly trimmed hedges and multicolored flowers that had surrounded her were gone, replaced with a sea of blood red, gorgeous rose bushes.

“Who’s there?” A woman’s voice inquired.

Before Cecilia could respond, a young man stepped out from behind a tree. He was tall with light brown hair, a smile lit up his face. He was holding a cap in his hands and Cecilia was sure that the clothing he was wearing was some sort of military uniform.

There was a gasp of joy from the other side of her and Cecilia watched as a young woman in a hoop skirt ran swiftly, closed the gap between her and the young man and threw herself into his arms. He picked her up and swung her around happily, then sat her firmly on the ground and kissed her.

Then, just like that, Cecilia was back in the church yard again, alone. She stood up quickly, her lunch tumbling to the ground. Looking around wildly now, she quickly explored the entire yard.

She cleaned up the debris of her lunch, tucked her book away in her purse and gathered up her things to leave. She knew she would be taking the rest of day off work and heading straight to the library to do some research on the history of the church property. She had to find out why this was happening to her….again. What did these ghosts want?

Writing

Rebels

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She couldn’t see her hand in front of her face; she crouched low and moved carefully amongst the abandoned vehicles.

So this is what the end of the world looks like, she thought to herself. Well, it was about as horrific as she could have imagined. Bodies lay everywhere in the streets. Mercifully she couldn’t see them anymore, one of the up sides to the smoke. The smell though, and the noises, those she couldn’t block out.

She thought she was becoming numb to them though. Finally she found Finn and dropped down beside him, gun at the ready.

“Where are they?” she whispered.

He motioned toward one of the abandoned buildings across the street. Of course it was abandoned, they were all abandoned now. She remembered when this square had been full of people, the hustle and bustle of modern life and the happy sounds of shopping, talking, people having lunch together. She gave herself a fraction of a second to feel the loss then drew a deep breath and focused back on the present.

The building was barely visible through the smoke as it drifted lazily across the road. The haze was everywhere giving the whole area an otherworldly look. She heard the smattering of gun fire here and there but the battle was mostly over. Hell, the war was mostly over. Why was she even still here? Oh yeah, Finn. She wouldn’t leave him and he wouldn’t leave them.

Not that she blamed him. His younger siblings were among the nine children trapped in the crumbling building. She had been sent here with a detachment of American soldiers, a small, elite and unofficial squadron. She was the only one left. He was part of the resistance they were sent to support and arm. She knew what she was risking when she chose to stay. It’s not like the American government would help her anyway. Plausible deniability. She didn’t exist.

It was an insane rescue attempt, pure suicide and that’s what the government forces had counted on when they went after the rebels families and used those hostages to lure them here.

But really, what other choice was there? Let those nine children be slaughtered? She knew they would probably all be slaughtered anyway but she really didn’t want to live in a world where she didn’t try. With another deep breath she nodded at him and readied her weapon.

 

politics, Social Issues

Silent No More

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This is from my epic facebook rant yesterday. The backstory is that I had to unfriend someone who just would not respect my request that they stop bashing my friends who marched in the women’s march on Saturday. I even said that we could discuss the reasons to agree or disagree with it elsewhere, but in this ONE post, I wanted to celebrate them. I wanted ONE place that night where there was no arguing, just one. And it was my wall damn it.

Ok, hold onto your hats facebook friends because this is going to be long, and waaaaaaaay overdue!

I have bitten my tongue and held my tongue for far too long. Those of you that know me well and have been around awhile know that, in the past, I’ve expressed my frustration at the competing desires in my heart. The desire to stand up for what I believe is right and the desire to always be nice and to not offend others and to give the benefit of the doubt and to be reasonable, calm, articulate, to follow the examples of my idols, such as Gandhi, Mother Theresa, Martin Luther King, Jr , President Obama and his beautiful wife, Michele. To follow the advice that, “When they go low, you go high.” I WANT to do that! I WANT to persuade others with gentle, soft speech, with kindness, let them see by my example that I’m a good, caring person and that I’m intelligent, educated and that I think things through. I WANT them to know those things about me and therefore, to give the things I say REAL consideration, like I do for them.

But they don’t. (a few do, a very few). The problem is that being nice and quiet and calm and reasonable gets you walked all over. The problem is that there are those out there with exactly zero interest in understanding anyone else’s viewpoint. The problem is that there are those out there with exactly zero interest in understanding anyone else’s life, problems or situation. The problem is that no one ever got ANYTHING by sitting down and shutting up. Women weren’t GIVEN rights, Blacks weren’t GIVEN rights, Gays weren’t GIVEN rights, all of those groups had to FIGHT and BLEED and DIE to gain those rights!

And yet now, if you dare to voice a peep about your rights, you’re a “special snowflake” aren’t you?

Here’s the thing that’s really, really pissing me off. The same people who rant and rave about what THEY perceive as injustice are the very ones condemning the other side for doing the EXACT SAME THING! The very people that I bit my tongue for and listened and truly tried to see their side are the very ones screaming and bullying me into silence now. The same people who are CRYING and WHINING because they aren’t getting THEIR way are accusing the other side of crying and whining for not getting their way.

Here’s the thing. Last time I checked, this was still America. Protesting, debating with others, stating opinions is the RIGHT of every American! But when you are having a conniption fit over the protestors then you are doing the very thing you are accusing them of! What you want is for the other side to sit down and shut up and we aren’t and that pisses you off. So you name call, insult, degrade and try to shame them.

Please understand, I am not saying this about every conservative, if you do not do this, then do not worry, I don’t mean you. I have friends that I disagree with and we can have a conversation. I’m talking about those that refuse to have a conversation. And yes, I know that liberals do it too. I’m not condoning bad behavior on either side.

When my conservative friends said that they are tired and weary of being called racists, homophobic etc, I listened and I heard them. Even if you voted for Trump, if you do not express racists, homophobic thoughts and beliefs then I know you are not those things. I go out of my way to not paint all conservatives with one brush. I may have been guilty of that at one point, but I made a concerted effort to change.

And yet there are those who refuse to give me the same consideration. How is it any better to label and stereotype all liberals as unemployed tantrum throwing whiners who are sore losers? Let me tell you what I have been called in just the last 24 hours and let me assure you that the opinions I expressed were just that, opinions, I did not name call, stereotype or insult the people I was disagreeing with.

I have been called a whiner, a taker, a loser, unemployed, an idiot, a freak, a sheep, an imbecile, stupid, what’s wrong with society, retarded, autistic, someone who has never lived in the real world, etc. I have heard LGBT people referred to as animals, perverts, evil, vile, disgusting, pedophiles, misfits etc and told that they should all be expelled from the country, told that they should all be slaughtered.

And I’ve had enough.

I have been biting my tongue and not posting things because I don’t want to offend others but it has becoming blindingly obvious that the others I’m trying so hard to reach out to, have zero interest in not offending me. They have zero interest in what the realities of my life are. They have zero interest in my children’s lives.

This is the point I’m coming to. I will not be “leaving Facebook because it’s become too negative” as I’ve seen many say and do. No. I have every right to be here. I have every right to stay.

I will not be avoiding politics in order to keep the peace. No. I have every right to be involved in politics. I have every right to state my opinion on politics. I have every right to say when proposed policies will negatively affect my family. I have every right to care about that.

Please understand that when I am against repeal of the ACA it has NOTHING to do with whining and wanting a handout. My son was fully employed and insured when he had his car accident. He is now a paraplegic who cannot work, though I hope he can in the future. He obviously has no employer to be insured through. He does not currently qualify for Medicaid or medicare. But he is insured under someone else’s insurance policy thanks to the part of the ACA that allows you to carry a dependant. So you see, nowhere in any of that are your tax dollars going to help my son. Perish the thought! However, if the ACA is repealed he will not only be kicked off that policy, he will have a pre existing condition so in one fell swoop, he will not only lose his current coverage but be uninsurable. If this happens, he loses access to healthcare and the physical therapy he needs to walk again. So yes, this is personal to me.

So when I see you calling the women who marched today for healthcare whiners and losers and takers and say insulting things like “they should do something productive instead” I really, really want to reach through the computer and punch you in the face. It’s fine and well if you really just don’t care about what happens to my son. That’s your prerogative. But you are not welcome to spew it on my page.

I have this daughter, she’s smart and funny and talented and beautiful, inside and out. She a joy to be around.  She never gets in trouble, she helps out with her baby sister, she’s the only one of my kids to seriously never get in trouble. She has this great big heart that loves others and she cries at injustices and adopts stray kittens. There’s seriously nothing you could find objectionable about her. Oh, wait. She happens to like girls.

So when I see you calling the women who marched today for LGBT rights whiners and losers and takers and say insulting things like “they should do something productive instead” I really, really want to reach through the computer and punch you in the face. It’s fine and well if you really just don’t care about what happens to my daughter. That’s your prerogative. But you are not welcome to spew it on my page.

See, I have been holding back. Not many of you know that my daughter is LGBT because…because why? I’ve been thinking about that. Is it to protect her privacy? No, because she has told me, and I quote, “I don’t care who knows. I WANT them to know, I’m proud of who I am! I’m happy and anyone who isn’t happy for me, well, that’s their issue and not mine.” Is it to protect myself? No, because I can assure you that I don’t care. I mean, I care. I love my friends and family but believe me when I tell you that I don’t love my friends and family more than I love my children. Anyone that has a problem with my daughter can exit our lives, post haste. So, then why?

And then I realized, I have been keeping quite so that I don’t make OTHERS uncomfortable, so that I don’t have to argue with others who will disapprove, I have been protecting all of those people who do not care about offending me, who do not care if the most vulnerable citizens, like my son, are left without healthcare, who do not care if our vice president endorses horrific “therapies” for gay people, like my daughter, who do not care that a white supremacist was appointed to the president’s cabinet and what that might mean for people like my biracial nephews or my best friend, who happens to be, among many other wonderful qualities, black.

And I’m done.

I’m done worrying about being politically correct because no matter what I do, I’m going to be attacked. No matter how reasonably or articulately or gently I make my points, I’m going to be called a whiner and a special snowflake. And this isn’t new. Anytime I have ever spoken out to defend the most vulnerable, be it children with disabilities like the ones I work with or the LGBT community or any minority group, I have been called all of these things.

Productive discourse can only occur if BOTH sides are willing to listen and I mean TRULY LISTEN to each other. To my friends, both conservative and liberal, who are willing to do that, thank you, truly, from the bottom of my heart. Even when we still disagree on things, I appreciate being HEARD more than I can tell you!

But to the rest? To those that only want to hurl insults, to shut down reasonable discourse, to name call and insult? Bring it!