Pictures

Um...this is a tad late...As most of you already know, I went to TDY's house a couple weeks ago. It was a lot of fun, but it was quite chilly.

Must warn you, though, that I don't have many pictures (as DIOMers can testify). So I'll give you two or three.

Here's TDY at his computer.--Oh, and TDY? How do you survive with that internet connection?

TDY's Dad

The best part of it being cold.--Guess before clicking!

Airport

I'm sitting in the Charlotte airport at the moment, waiting for my flight to Rhode Island. If all had gone the way it was originally planned, I would have been in the air a few minutes ago, but we can't always have things our way.

Oh, well.

My next post probably won't come until Monday evening or later. Y'all won't get pictures until a couple days after that, because I like to procrastinate when it comes to posting stuff. (There may be more pictures up on DIOM than on here. I don't know. We'll see. )

For ILH

This is an update. It's not much of an update, but it's an update nonetheless.

Testimony

I've never done this before, so bear with me, please.

As you may have seen, the idea of whether or not Christians sin is very important to me. But it wasn't always. For years (at home and in church), I was told that Christians would still sin now and again. It was okay, we all had a sin nature, and we weren't going to be freed from that until we went to heaven. I believed it, since I hadn't heard anything different.

Then, what is it, a year ago? Or longer, I can't remember. Anyway, a man whom I now consider to be my mentor and dear friend began to share his beliefs with me. He said that he hadn't sinned since he became a Christian, and that he didn't think Christians sinned. As you can imagine, I was put off by the whole thing. How dare he say I wasn't a Christian? Sure, he wouldn't go out and say it, but wasn't that what he was implying? It angered me, and for a while I dismissed what he said. Then when he brought it up again, I started looking in the Bible for myself, to show him where he was wrong. I knew I was a Christian, and I still sinned! Same with many people I knew!

But the expected didn't happen. The more I searched the Scriptures, I found in me a small, gentle push to listen to this new, ridiculous (to me) doctrine. As time passed, I found myself thinking it would be nice if what he said were true, then wanting it to be true. Keep in mind I had no idea these changes were happening to me at the time; it wasn't until I looked back and saw that my mind had indeed changed. Then it came time for the ultimate step: would I accept the sinless Christian doctrine, or would I continue to resist it?

The answer was obvious. That day I fully embraced it and told God that my life was His--crucify this sinful flesh and make me a new creation! I didn't say it exactly like that, of course, but that's what I meant.

The next few days, oh! how I wish I could describe them. I felt different. Now, I'm not one to trust feelings, and I fully expected the feeling to pass, which it did eventually. But I knew something had changed in me. Paul said that believers are no longer slaves to sin. Jesus said that those He frees are free indeed. I didn't have to sin anymore! I was freed from the bondage of sin! What a joyous thought!

And then I started reading the Bible like never before. This isn't to say I read it more often, but that I read verses in a whole new light.

My views were quickly denounced by my family and friends, and they still don't agree with me. My parents hope that it's "just a phase," that in a few months I'll be back to normal. I just have to think this through, that's all. But they don't understand. God gave me a taste of a sinless life. He showed me that through His power indeed all things were possible. He promised that He would provide a way of escape in every temptation. How can I fall back? Why would I WANT to?

Now, it is not through my own efforts that I no longer sin. It is only God, who is abundant in grace, who saved me from sin! Some misunderstand, thinking that one has to keep his mind so focused on not sinning that he becomes preoccupied and becomes useless, not helping people in need, like we're supposed to. That is not the case! It does not take the forefront of my mind, it is not a conscious effort. Living right comes naturally! I am truly a new creation in Christ Jesus!

That said, can you not see why I have to talk about it? Too many people don't know the joy of being free, and I want desperately to show them! I know people will resist me, ridicule me and tell me that I don't know what I'm talking about. And several of these are pastors! It saddens me to see them like that.

Original Sin

One of the most common beliefs in the church today is that people are born sinners. It started with Augustine, and John Calvin really helped to advance that theory. You can see it today in the TULIP acronym under “Total Depravity.”

The problem? That belief is completely, utterly wrong.

Let’s think about this. We know that Romans 3:23 says, “for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” That is one of the key verses advocates of this doctrine (known as original sin) use. And at face value, then yes, everyone who has ever lived has sinned. What they are doing, however is taking the verse out of context. Jesus is part of all, is He not? And He did not sin (Hebrews 4: 15). “But He doesn’t count!” my opponent says. “He was God!”

I’m not saying He wasn’t. But He was also fully man. Therefore, my opponent’s argument is severely weakened.

Another reason I cannot believe in original sin is this:

The Psalmist said God formed him in his mother’s womb (Ps. 139: 13). And since there is nothing that makes him special from any other man, it can be reasonably concluded that all people are created by God—this miracle begins at conception. (I’m not going to go into abortion here.) So if people are born sinners, what other choice do we have than to say that God created us sinners? But God cannot have anything to do with sin, so that poses a problem. Also, Genesis says we were created in God’s image (Gen. 1:26). God does not sin. He can be tempted (Deut. 6:16), but He cannot sin, as it goes against His nature. The original sin advocate is therefore forced to accept these two beliefs: “God created man in His image” and “Man is born a sinner.” These are contradictory. For if man is created in God’s image, and man is created a sinner, then God is a sinner. As stated, this is unbiblical. The more correct belief is this: “Man is born with the capacity to be tempted, and it is man’s choice whether or not he will sin.”

The doctrine of original sin also makes God a tyrant. If people are born sinners, and they are naturally inclined to sin, what right does God have to condemn them for the way He created them? He has none. So advocates of original sin have to come up with a way to decorate their cruel God with acts of love, saying that God, in His sovereignty, can act however He wishes. Which is true, but as God is also just, and condemnation of one who cannot help his actions is unjust, that claim falls flat.

Original sin advocates also say that Adam was some sort of figurehead for the entire human race, and since he sinned, we are all condemned as sinners because of that. What does the Bible say, though? Ezekiel 18: 20 says, “The son will not bear the punishment for the father's iniquity, nor will the father bear the punishment for the son's iniquity; the righteousness of the righteous will be upon himself, and the wickedness of the wicked will be upon himself.” In other words, we are all responsible for our own sin. Adam’s sin was Adam’s sin, not his descendants’. What Adam did, however, was open up the way for all to be tempted.

Before I go, I will include this last argument. If all are born sinners, then what of the babies who are stillborn, aborted, or die in infancy? The original sin advocate has no choice but to say that these must go to hell. They’re dishonest enough to come up with an excuse (age of accountability), but it’s a contradiction. Sinners, if they are not redeemed, must go to hell. The original sin position must include infants in this.

But infants do not sin. Those who have no knowledge of right or wrong cannot sin. They must be taught right and wrong, and before that time, they are innocent. It is when they are able to make a moral choice (“This is right and I will do it” or “This is wrong but I will do it”) that they are held accountable.

I cannot accept the doctrine of original sin. My sense of justice that God gave me recoils at such a thought.

Harry Potter (sorry--kind of a rant)

I picked up the last book, not with the eagerness some had, but not with a sense of dread, either. It was merely a book to read, something to pass the time.

So I was quite upset with the quotes at the very beginning of the book. In fact, I probably would have thrown the book against the wall, had I not been afraid it would have hurt the sheetrock. I looked at the quotes again, and I did not have that same reaction, but I still cannot help but feel disgust. And yes, most of the disgust is directed toward the “We sing to you/ dark gods beneath the earth” in the excerpt by Aeschylus. Frankly, anything that can be taken as a prayer to demons (which that displays) should make a Christian shudder, in my opinion.

But enough of that.

In this book, Harry is as far from a role model as one could be. This is clear in his exchange with the Dursleys. Now, I know some will say, “The Dursleys were awful to him. They deserve what happens to them.” Perhaps they do, perhaps they do not. But it does not excuse Harry from saying things like “Are you actually as stupid as you look?” to his uncle. By doing that, he makes himself no better than the others.

I could also mention the situation with Griphook. He manages to procure the goblin’s help through carefully choiced words and deceit. Griphook could have the sword after he helped them break into Gringotts, but he would not be told exactly when he could have it. It was a half-truth. In other words, it was a lie. And yes, I know Harry said he didn’t care much for the idea, but the fact remains that he did go through with it. That says much about his character.

But at the end, Rowling has the nerve to make him something of a Christ-figure. It’s not a direct allegory, but it is definitely hinted at. He goes willingly to his death, without a struggle, sacrificing himself to rid the world of the evil that is Voldemort. The thought of an unregenerate man taking on these aspects of Christ’s character disgusted me. And here’s why:

Harry is himself evil. Throughout the series, he lies, deceives, and threatens family. These are not the attributes of one who is good. Yet we are expected to cheer for him, the one who has wallowed in filth from the first book. I have heard one person complain about using the term “evil” to describe Harry, asking instead we choose “dishonest” or some other softer word. But I cannot. Our world is one of black and white, where you must be either good or evil. There are those who walk in the darkness, and those who walk in the light [1 Thessalonians 5:5, implied; and 1 John 2:10-11]. One whose actions fly against the will of God cannot be in the light, and as such has no business being treated as a hero.

Now that I have written this, I am going to remove the Harry Potter books from my shelf. And while I’m at it, Salvatore’s books can go, too (more on that later). C.S. Lewis’ and Bryan Davis’ books are much more filling.

Enan's Story

Okay, I enjoyed this story more. Let's see if it'll all fit. (Oh, and Enan, being Enan, doesn't always act the way he should.) Of course, the story makes more sense if you're familiar with the soap opera that is Ryu.

Enan threw the bag containing all his belongings down the side of the ravine and kept running. Letting them go hadn’t been his first choice, but it was a decision he realized he had to make; it slowed him down, and his pursuers did not seem all that interested in taking a break so the kitsune could gain a better lead. And with the unnecessary baggage out of the way, he could run much faster. Looking over it, there hadn’t been all that much there, anyway: just an extra change of clothes that he had with him at all times and more than a few rocks he had picked up while out to make a better wall for his shelter. The rocks had really slowed him down.

Enan knew this forest; he lived nearby, after all. He had spent a good part of his five centuries alive in the hundreds of acres that comprised these woods, and he knew everything there was to know about it. He scrambled across fallen tree trunks and bored his way through the undergrowth. For the second time that day he was thankful that he had splurged enough to purchase high-quality rubber-soled shoes in the town that one time he had been there. (The first was when he bolted across a beach coated with sharp shells and stones.) They served better than the worn moccasins he had worn for the past several years. While they were perfect for sneaking around unheard, they were not the best for running for one’s life, especially when the sole had been worn down so far there were holes in it.

He ignored the pain inflicted on him by the briars that lined the trail he was making up as he went along; they were nothing compared to what he had seen earlier.

“You are taking the proper arrangements?” Enan asked one of the town leaders, a kitsune with a weathered face and graying ears. The elder pulled an object from the folds of his burgundy robe and handed it to Enan.

“We’ve been training with these ever since the humans came,” he said. “Are you familiar with them?”

Enan held the L-shaped metal device in his palm. “Not really. What are they?” Then it clicked in his mind. “This is a human weapon! Where did you get it?”

“You of all people should know that we’re not the most passive of races.” The elder grinned. “We’ve been biding our time, that’s all.”

Enan shoved the weapon back into the elder’s hands and spat on the ground. “Biding your time while the rest of Ryu has gone to hell! Since when did we start caring about using their weapons?”

“About the time we got sick of our firefoxes being abused,” the leader replied. “Of course, there are those of us who would rather pamper our foxes than train them for war.”

“Shut up,” Enan said. He did not take kindly to insults about his firefox. His had never matured beyond the kit level, so while most self-proclaimed warriors had foxes that towered to four feet or more at the shoulder, he was stuck with a playful creature that would only pose a danger to those who dissolved in saliva. Cute, yes, but not the most effective.

A rumble filled his ears. He spun around, searching for the source of the noise. A glance at the elder told Enan that he had heard it, as well. “What is that?” His ears moved forward, and his tail twitched. He scraped the ground with his shoe, noticing that there were no shadows. He looked up. Cloudy. “Not thunder, is it?”

A foreign object appeared in the distance, flying closer. Several of them. “Gina! Teru! I want you to round up all our fighters and tell them to meet me in front of the city hall in the next ten minutes!” the elder shouted. A blond-haired and black-haired kitsune saluted before dashing in opposite directions. “Enan, get out of here.”

“What?”

“The rest of us will be moving underground before long. You’re not advanced enough to do any good.”

“Well thanks a lot.”

“The humans are surprisingly strong,” the elder rebuked. “You and your firefox would just get in the way.” With that, he summoned a four-foot-tall fox creature made of congealed flame and climbed on its back. “Take me to the square!” The fox growled its acknowledgment and raced to the center of town, leaving Enan behind.

“Leave? Yeah, right.” He summoned his firefox, only to have it yip with delight and run across the street. “Where are you going?” he asked. The kit returned with a bone, which it placed at Enan’s feet. “We’re not playing fetch right now.” The kit looked at him with a sparkle in its eye before snatching the bone and running off. It skidded to a stop thirty feet away from him and dared him to chase it. Cursing himself and the kit, he obliged. The kit scampered away as soon as Enan took a step toward it and stopped again. It was all a game.

This went on for several minutes, the absurdity of the situation not lost on Enan. The rest of the town was readying itself for an attack, and here he was playing a game with his firefox. He rolled his eyes and ran after the kit again, who was now running back the way they had come from.

A popping sound startled Enan and made him gasp for air. He finally noticed that the objects in the sky were much closer, and he could make out all the details of the machines. His kit dropped its bone and bolted for its master, leaping into the air and colliding with Enan’s chest. Enan grabbed the kit and held it close, covering its ears with his hands. “You need to go away,” he said gently. The firefox dissolved into nothing, leaving Enan with his hands free again. He raced for the town square.

Fighting had already begun by the time he arrived. He threw himself behind a stone wall and peered through one of the narrow cracks. Humans in their hunter green masks and uniforms and kitsune in their multicolored tunics battled it out. I didn’t know humans used fire, he thought. But their fire was different. It came from weapons similar to the one the elder had shown him earlier, and the only clue to the flame inside was the smoke. A group of two kitsune stood in front of Enan’s wall and launched streams of fire at the humans, who replied with explosions from their weapons. Both fell to the ground, and a small piece of the wall chipped away. Enan’s heart raced, and blood pounded in his ears. This wasn’t supposed to happen! The fire should have incinerated the humans. Unless they had learned.

He saw the elder collapse under the superior force of the humans, then he made up his mind and rushed from the scene as fast as he could.

He had been followed, apparently. Some of the humans from the town must have noticed a lone kitsune trying to escape with his life intact, and since that went against the orders of whoever they served, they needed to remedy that. Sighing to himself, he came to a stop and changed direction, choosing to hide himself in the undergrowth.

Enan heard them as they walked by, alert and at the ready. They were going to pass him.

Unfortunately that was the moment his firefox decided to summon itself and protect its master. The kit growled and lunged at a human, who fired at the creature out of surprise. The bullet passed through the firefox without causing any harm, but the human had managed to scare the kit witless. It had run back into hiding and was now yipping and growling at the humans from a safe place: between Enan’s legs. Enan wanted to strike his firefox, but he knew that would do no good. And it wasn’t obeying his orders, so that was out of the question, as well.

He looked up and locked eyes with the human when it approached him, or more correctly he glared at where the human’s eyes would be if they weren’t behind the mask. “What are you doing out here, kit?” the human asked, using the derogatory shortening of the race name. Enan resisted the urge to snap back. The human leveled his weapon at the kitsune’s chest and indicated that he was to walk out of hiding.

He obeyed without saying a word. He surveyed the humans who had come to capture him, looking for a sign of weakness but finding none. One of the humans said something to another and reached for the kitsune’s ears, stroking and pulling them.

That did it. “What do you think I am, a dog?” He pushed the human back several feet and growled. The other human shoved its weapon into his chest again. Enan thought he could smell smoke coming out of his ears. No one touched him there.

An orange creature roared and attacked one of the camouflaged humans, forcing him to the ground and tearing at its clothes with its claws and teeth. The human’s allies turned on the creature, an acceptably-sized firefox, and fired at it. As expected, the bullets passed right through, causing no harm to the fire-composed creature. It must have felt Enan’s shock, because it stepped away from its victim and faced Enan. He recognized it immediately.

All of a sudden he felt weak, and he staggered against a tree. The human who had first found him swore and jammed his weapon against Enan’s back, demanding an explanation. “I don’t know what happened!” he cried. He had an idea, though, but he wasn’t about to tell them. It would get them killed.

“It’s gone!” Enan let himself relax. It wasn’t going to be a problem, anymore. Then he sensed movement behind him and all of a sudden he blacked out.

They brought him to one of the many prison camps scattered throughout the region. They stripped him of his old clothes and outfitted him with the prisoner uniform: a stark-white tunic with matching cotton pants. Then they threw him into a cell of his own, and there was nothing he could do but wait.

And brood.

He already had a dislike of the creatures who had invaded his home, but the realization that not only did they claim to be able to conquer but actually had the means to back up their statement irritated him. For what reason did they feel it was their right to subjugate a foreign species? But the humans weren’t the only target. He still had not forgiven himself for his humiliation in defeat.

“Here! This way!” The voice shook Enan out of his dark thoughts. Whoever had spoken wasn’t speaking English, so there was the small chance that the kitsune had finally managed to muster the courage and resources to strike back.

The strangers’ steps clacked on the hard concrete floor and came to a stop outside his cell. Because his room contained no window to the outside, he could not check to see if his suspicions were correct. “This one!”

“You sure?” another asked.

“Yes, I’m sure!” The sound of a lock being tampered with made Enan’s heart jump. He leaped to his feet and ran to the door.

“I’m in here!” he said. He tapped on the door and swore. “I can’t help you, though!”

“No problem; it’s taken care of.” That was the second voice. The door slid to the side, and Enan got his first look at the two who had come to help him. His blood immediately went cold.

“What do you want, human?” The human reached in and tried to grab Enan’s arm, but he wouldn’t let him. “Stay back!”

“We don’t have time for this! As soon as the shock wears off, the humans are not going to be forgiving,” the kitsune with the human said. “I’d give us two minutes, tops.”

The human shoved a hunter-green uniform into the captive’s hands. “Change into these,” he ordered. He nodded at his helper, who reached into her pocket and pulled something out. Enan didn’t get a good look at it before she lunged at him and forced whatever it was between two of his molars.

Enan’s hand shot to his face while his tongue searched for the device. He found it, a metal chip that had been successfully wedged into place. “Don’t move it,” she said. “It’ll help you escape.”

“And how, may I ask?”

“You’re running out of time,” the human said. “Change into those things now!”

“Okay. You come barging into my cell, shove the scum’s clothes into my hands, make me feel like you’re ripping out a tooth, and you expect me to go with you?”

“Put simply, yes.” The sound of movement from above made the two kitsune and human look up. Enan saw that both strangers looked quite nervous about the whole affair. He decided to take it.

He tore apart his old clothes and forced his way into the uniform. “Hey, I’m not going to have room for my—” He felt the back of the pants, hoping that maybe he could stuff his tail down one of the legs. “What did you do to me?!” Was that a snicker?

“It’s only temporary. Come on, we have thirty seconds left.”

Grumbling to himself, the now-human-appearing Enan stepped out of his cell for the first time in weeks. Or was it months?

The kitsune nodded. “Looks good on you. Now come on!”

He followed the pair up the stairs and out into the courtyard, where the kitsune and humans were fighting it out. “What happened?”

“We got sick of having our side cooped up in cages, is what happened,” the human replied. For the first time Enan wondered if this human was another kitsune in disguise like him.

The three hurried outside the camp to the relative safety of the no-man’s-land. “Think you can stay human until we get back to camp?” asked the kitsune.

“I guess.” He didn’t know how he had changed in the first place, so he certainly did not know how to revert to his original form.

Once they arrived, one of the rebel kitsune approached the trio and engaged in a short conversation with the human. Enan’s English wasn’t that great, so he didn’t catch all of what was said. The kitsune told Enan to follow him, and after checking with his rescuers, did so. “I realize that was a tad unorthodox,” he said. “Sorry about that.”

“Hmm.”

“So you can take that chip out whenever, but unless you want your tail to be in a very uncomfortable position, you may want to wait.” The kitsune winced when he spoke.

“Personal experience?”

“You could say that.”

He followed the kitsune’s advice and stripped himself before removing the chip. It came out with some difficulty since it had been lodged in there rather well, but before too long he was staring at a strange metal object. “You can hold on to it if you want,” his host said. “Might come in handy later.”

“You trust the human?” Enan asked.

“Yeah. Considering he’s been helping us for the past several months. We wouldn’t’ve even found the camp if he hadn’t helped us out.” He pulled a loose hair from the top of his ear. “Unfortunately that made him a fugitive. His name’s Chris. He’s a nice guy; might want to get to know him.”

Enan had nothing better to do, so he wandered around the camp. He ran into Chris while he walked. “Oh uh...hi.”

The human flashed him a smile. “Good afternoon,” he said.

Enan grunted in reply and let his firefox out to play. It waddled over to Chris, who laughed and picked it up. “He’s cute,” Chris said. “You got a name for him?” The firefox licked his face, so Chris gently moved its head so it couldn’t attack him again.

“No. Never bothered naming him.”

“So listen. This is about the time that I apologize to a kitsune I’ve just met for the evils my kind has caused.”

“Don’t bother,” Enan said. “I don’t really care.” A buzzing sound filled the air. “What’s that?”

“Oh, it’s probably my parents emailing me again,” Chris replied. Moving the firekit to one hand, he pulled a small device from his pocket and began tinkering with it. “Yep, that’s what it was.”

“They...what?” Enan moved so he could see the device better. It was a small plastic rectangle with a colored screen. “What’s it say?”

“They’re asking me how I’m doing, that’s all. I’ll reply to them later.” He put it back in his pocket and cradled the firefox again. “So where do you come from?”

“Nowhere, really. I’m a wanderer. I already know you’re from Earth. How’d you end up helping us?”

“I came here to see something different, but I’ve been working for you since day one,” Chris said. He wouldn’t answer any more of Enan’s questions. “Anyway, nice meeting you.” He waved to another kitsune a few yards off and headed his way. Chris walked with a slight limp, Enan noticed.

Later on the kitsune rallied around Chris yet another time. He produced the blueprints he had used earlier, and he and the leader kitsune (who was a few years younger than Enan and was named Flair) began assigning tasks to everyone present. The humans had not followed them back, which as a shock in itself, but the current opinion was such that no one would tolerate the humans’ presence any longer. They would begin with this camp as a symbolic gesture, and hopefully this would begin a turning point. If all went well, the humans would either be dead or would return to their world.

So what would that mean for Chris? Enan had heard whispers of disappointment that their hero would be forced to leave. Chris himself had stated that he would return home as soon as the war was over, but some believed he was only saying that so others wouldn’t accuse him of working for his own gain.

They returned to the camp, a force just under fifty strong, ready and willing to sacrifice themselves for the redemption of their home. Both sides fought fiercely, but as time wore on the kitsune gained a definite foothold that they did not lose. Finally, the humans surrendered the camp.

That was an odd time. The humans and kitsune stood on opposite sides of the courtyard, the blood of both races mingling in the center. Chris and Flair approached Enan and asked him to come with them.

The three crossed the courtyard, and Chris began to speak. “We are going to give you a choice,” he said. “You can either be prisoners until we can find a way for you to return to your home, or you can join your fellows there.” He left no doubt that he referred to the bodies lying about.

Enan saw why he had been asked to come with the two. The humans had been disarmed, but at least two burned with hatred behind their calm demeanor. Should they try to attack the traitor human, Chris might need someone to protect him.

Chris nodded to his two helpers and backed away. Then blood came from his head and he fell to the ground.

“We would like to take his body with us,” the soldier who referred to himself only as Ashton said. He was one of the few who had helped restore order to the courtyard after the sniper had murdered Chris. And as expected, it had been the kitsune who had reacted the most violently to the event. Enan and Flair had not been enough to keep them under control.

“Understood,” Enan said. “Although, if you don’t mind...have all his valuables been taken care of?”

Ashton shifted on his feet. “Er, well, yes, they have. Why do you ask?”

“I was wondering if I could have something of his.”

Ashton paled and then turned red. “How can you even ask that?”
Enan held up his hands and took a step back. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. I would like to contact his parents, if you do not mind.”

Ashton frowned. “There’s going to be someone to do that,” he said.

“I know, but that person isn’t going to give the perspective that matters. Our perspective.” The official reports were that the human Christopher Bryce had fallen in battle, but the kitsune refused to allow the report to say anything about his defection. He would be just another number in the battle.

“He was a traitor.”

“He was a hero. Goodbye.” Enan left the human to his complaints.

He was able to inherit Chris’ PDA, and when the humans were arranged to be sent back, he grabbed the chip he had used to transform into a human and went with the defeated soldiers with the understanding that he would be allowed to return as soon as his mission was complete. It was difficult going from place to place with only a rudimentary understanding of the language, but he picked it up quickly enough.

Finally the day came when he stood outside the Bryce front door. There was a car in the driveway, so he knew someone had to be home. He knocked on the door three times and waited. After a minute a lady wearing a pink sweat suit answered him. “Mrs. Bryce?” He bit his lip. “I am a friend of your son, Chris. May I come in?”

She let him and to top it off called for her husband. He sat in a chair, and they on the couch, with only a dark wooden coffee table between them. “What was it you wanted to say?”

“I wanted to tell you what really happened.” He removed the chip from between his teeth and set Chris’ PDA on the table. “And to say, ‘Thank you.’”

Copying Julius...sorta

Well, since Julius put up a webcomic or two I thought I would, as well. I won't link to all of them. If you're interested you can look them up.

Spiky-Haired Dragon, Worthless Knight
Rating: PG
A generally unfunny webcomic following the lives of Vincent Worthless and his dragon squire Spiky. I like the story, though.
Related to this is Spiky's World

Sandusky
Rating: G mostly
A man and his pets: a husky and mountain lion. Only a few people know Sandusky's "real" identity. Quite funny.

Canis Lupus
Rating: PG-13 for violence
Completed. Modern setting. A werewolf and vampire find themselves partners in a science project...and on opposing sides in the war. Turns a little odd near the end.

Abel's Story
Rating: strong PG-13 to R (?) for violence and occasional strong language
Side story of DMFA. What happened to Abel in his past? Is there a reason why he's so much of a jerk? Very sad story, but good nonetheless.

Inhuman
Rating: PG-13/R for violence and language
A battle between the Pagans and Rulerists. No humans, but no characters are furries. Intriguing plot, and likes to raise questions.

That's pretty much it.

Gone

I had to write a story for Structure of Fiction, as many of you well know. Unfortunately, it was not my best work by any means. Nevertheless I will post it here for you to shake your head over.

The steady rain fell from the overcast sky by the gallon, slamming into the tender green shoots, bruising them and forcing them back to the ground. Thunder rolled across the land, a gentle roar that soothed and instilled fear into the hearts of man. The clouds performed a modest light show for those who dared to watch, flashing with white and blue streaks of energy.

One man, though, did not see this. He lay on the floor with a blanket over his head, the fabric held tightly between his jaws so it would not move from his face. He had stuffed the cloth into his ears as best he could, wanting desperately to drown out the sound of the rain and storm. He also could not see the lightning outside, and that was good. The man moaned and curled into a fetal position. He’d heard about the approaching storm on the news that night. The meteorologist had predicted an inch of rain for both the evening and early morning hours, with the possibility of a thunderstorm in some areas of the state.

When he had gone to bed that night, he had set his alarm for 4:30 in the morning like he did every day. The other side of the queen bed was empty again, still made up and untouched. How long had it been? No more than a couple days, for sure. It seemed longer. He turned out the light, and irritated by the glowing red digits on the clock, he stuffed his head between the pillow and mattress. It was dark here. He could sleep peacefully.

The first rumble of thunder had shaken him from the land of dreams. The basketball game beckoned to him, but the present time demanded his full cooperation. He groaned and turned in the bed, and that was when the storm made its presence known. He was curled up on the floor within a minute.

He reached out and brushed the edge of the dust ruffle before latching on to it. The fabric in his fist strained at its seams, and a few threads popped loose from their place. He didn’t care. Here in the midst of the storm, he wept.

Morris thought he saw a flash of color in his peripheral vision, so out of curiosity he walked over to that corner of the gym, white towel still around his neck. On closer inspection, the colored dot was a small, star-shaped piece of paper. “Jules is happy,” someone had written on it with glue and glitter. He flipped it over, not really paying attention to his action. The reverse of the paper was blank.

Where had it come from? He put a fist to his mouth and coughed, the sound echoing in the empty room. He ignored the slight metallic taste that registered on his tongue. He was one of the “preferred” members; he had a key and could come whenever he wanted. His job and lack of motivation in personal life had kept him away from the building for a while, and he was thankful there was no one here to see his flab. But back to the question: the children’s play area was on the opposite side of the building, and surely a child would not wonder this far on his own! It puzzled him.

He placed it in his pocket. He would decipher the meaning of it sooner or later. His mind filled with more questions. Who was the child? What did he look like? Was he upset now that he had lost this trinket? All this and more that he had no business thinking, yet his brain churned out thoughts by the dozen.

Overwhelming.

He breathed, taking in the faint musty smell of the gymnasium. He whipped the towel from his neck and cleaned his nostrils with the fresh warm scent of the water. Then the man rid the towel of the wrinkles beginning to form and folded it; each corner lined up perfectly with its companion, and the creases were so clean that someone not in the know would perhaps assume the man’s accomplishment to be the work of a machine.

His car was locked, an altogether unnecessary precaution considering that there were no humans living within three football field lengths of the gym. It was a habit of his, having picked it up after living in the bustling city for ten years. Every day, some car had been broken into or an unfortunate victim raped or murdered. That was why his wife had asked, no, begged to move out here, where all was quiet and the crime rates were low. He yanked the key fob from his front left pocket and without thinking pressed the only button missing its symbol—the paint had worn off some time ago, gone unnoticed by both of them until one evening over a supper of broiled pork with a side of canned green beans that she had brought it up.

He responded like the ideal husband should, with a grunt of acknowledgement and another bite of food.

“What am I supposed to do about it?” he said at last.

“Well...I thought you might want to know.”

He took a swig of water and sighed in contentment. “Thanks for the info. Should I get a new one?”

“If you’re going to be like that, then...!” She harrumphed and stabbed at a bit of lettuce. “Ginger and Stephen never have this problem.”

He dabbed his mouth with a paper napkin. He hated the cloth ones and told her so. They made him feel dirty. He smacked his lips. “Problem?” he asked. “What kind of problem?”

“I thought...” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I don’t know what I was going to say,” she said. “Never mind.”

“Sure.”

“Did you write much today?”

He shrugged. “A couple pages. I had a block.”

“That’s annoying,” she said. He knew she did not understand what it meant to suffer from his writer’s block. She could pretend to try, but all she ever did was offer half-baked suggestions that made about as much sense as a colorblind artist. Or even better, a deaf musician. But not one like Beethoven. He was an exception, albeit one that in his opinion was overrated. He could never listen to more than five minutes of his work without the urge to bolt from the room, bile threatening to erupt from his throat. “When you get the chance could you pick up Gerty for me tomorrow?”

Another sip. “Hmm?” His tongue rubbed against a shred of lettuce and performed some inhuman acrobatics as he spoke. “She’ll be ready by then?”

“They couldn’t find anything wrong. Apparently she’s pickier than we thought.”

“Ah. Sure, I can get her tomorrow. Did they give a specific time?”

Kaci tapped the stained wooden table with her middle finger, the contact between nail and table expelling a steady series of clicks. If he remembered he just might use the sound in his next story, but how could he describe it? Yes! Like the sound made when he typed on the keyboard every day...no, that didn’t work. He’d have to think about this a little more. “I think they said something about picking her up before noon, but I don’t think it’ll hurt anything if you’re late.”

“Wouldn’t think so,” he agreed.

Gerty had hissed at him all the way to the truck and all the way home. She’d behaved herself, or so the vet said, and quite nicely, too. “In fact, we’ve never had a patient as tolerant as she is!” The doctor went on and on about how great she was, and that he would be thrilled to have her as a patient again. Morris smirked and told him that he hoped she would never have to come back here.

The doctor looked like he had been punched in the face, but he recovered quickly. “Ah, yes, yes you’re right!” He beamed at the scowling cat in the crate. “That would be a good thing!”

Morris wondered what wonderful words the veterinarian had to say about him as soon as the door had closed behind him. “That jerk!” No, far too simple. “Did you see what that egotistical self-indulgent feline-loving man said to me?” Morris cracked a grin. As horrid as that was, it amused him. He especially liked the conflict of senses. Perhaps he could modify the sentence somewhat and let one of the villains say it. He’d get a laugh out of it, but probably no one else would. That was okay.

“Gerty, shut up!” He turned around to glare at the cat, who glowered back and started cleaning herself. “Fine, ignore me.” He turned around and faced the road again. “Ungrateful mongrel cat.” Gerty mewed from the back seat. “Oh, I hear what you’re saying!” He banged his hand against the steering wheel to vent his frustration. “You think you’re all high-and-mighty and that this is an affront to your dignity. And to top it off you have to suffer with the dumb human!” He took a deep breath. “Calm down, Morris. There’s no way that thing could have thought all that.” He sighed. “You need to get out more.”

Kaci had suggested the gym. He had joined that very week, not wanting to disappoint. She had looked him in the eye that evening when he told her the news, then she set her purse down on the worn chair and proceeded into the bedroom, not saying a word. He chased after her only to find the door locked.

“Kaci? Kaci, you okay?”

“Shut up, Morris,” she said. “This is not a good time.”

He searched his mind for the lock pick. If only he could remember where he had put it, then he would force his way in and demand an explanation. At least that was what one of his characters would do. Him? Never.

Gerty thought she deserved more attention than the human gave her. She was upset; her mistress had disappeared, leaving this thing behind to feed her and take care of her. Certainly not what she had in mind. Morris barely noticed that she had wandered off to another room.

The souvenir from earlier that day lay before him, the edges now slightly bent and one star tip ripped completely off. He smoothed it out, chipping away some of the silver glue-and-glitter mixture. He brought his hand up to his face in disbelief, seemingly horrified at what he had done. Then the odd emotion left him, and he brushed the soiled hand against the tablecloth.

Jules is happy.

Where had this come from? he asked himself again. Morris took the fragile paper in his hands and rubbed it between his fingers. Some of the dye in the paper came off when he did this, staining those two fingers a pinkish red hue. Curious, he stuck one finger into his mouth and sucked. Bitter, like the flavor of a pecan, but not as dry. Morris then took the finger out of his mouth, purposely popping his lip as he did so.

Morris stood up and stretched. His back popped, the sound taking with it some of the stresses of the past few days. “I got it!” Misplaced joy surged into his chest, spurring him on. He bolted up the stairs and into his office, where the computer waited. He slammed the door and began to type furiously.

The star soon joined him in the office. He had desperately needed a break, so when he passed by the table again, sandwich in one hand, he snatched up the paper trinket and returned to his work. He looked at it every few minutes, getting a new drive with every glance. Then he decided that it would be better if he could always be looking at it. “I know I have some tape in here somewhere,” he said to himself. And to the characters, who were waiting for him to continue their story. “Calm down, calm down, I’ll be with you in a minute!” One whiny character screamed for resolution. “There,” he said as he patted the paper which now hung on the computer monitor.

Gerty screeched from downstairs. Morris shrugged and continued to type, and page after page filled itself with words. The cat could wait. It could die, even. And still Morris wouldn’t care.

It stormed again that night. Again he could not sleep.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Morris.”

“Kaci!” He gripped the phone tightly. Please say what I want you to say!

“I was wanting to pick up Gerty tomorrow, if that won’t be an inconvenience or anything.”

“Oh, no, no, it’s okay. What time?” He reached for a pad of paper and a pen, ready to scribble whatever she said.

“Around four. I get off work early.”

“Okay, got it.” Morris almost capped the pen, then changed his mind. “Are you going to stay? For dinner or something?”

A sound like static on the other end. “No, Morris. I’m picking up Gerty and leaving.”

“Ah.”

“You holding up okay?”

Morris did cap the pen this time. “Yeah, yeah, I’m doing fine. Thanks for asking. You?”

“Coming down with a cold, but I talked to Tom today. I might be getting a raise, too.”

“Tom?”

“Never mind. You find a job yet?”

“No. Nothing until I can finish my book, remember?” To amuse himself, he threw the pen at the dull sky blue trashcan on the other side of the closet room. Hit the wall and bounced back. Missed by a foot. He never had been good at sports.

“Okay. Good luck, then. See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, sure. See you tomorrow.” He put the phone back in its cradle and reread the note he had just written: Gerty With Kaci @ 9:00. She had said four o’clock. He corrected his error and shoved the notepad away. He would probably forget, anyway. “You hear that, cat?” he called. “You’re being evicted tomorrow afternoon!”

Morris clambered down the stairs, already eager to find Gerty’s crate, food dish, and other accessories. He found them all and piled them one atop the other in a sizeable stack beside the front door. Putting the food in the dish was a nice touch, he thought. Orderly. The litter box could wait until the afternoon.

Now Kaci would have to come in.

Gerty mewed when he entered the bedroom. She was standing on the chair, acknowledging him for a second before returning her focus to the prey outside. Morris chuckled. Those blue jays would not lose a fight with her.

“Hear me, cat?” he said. A tear trickled down his cheek. He sniffed. “You’re gone.”