My fingers are beginning to strain against the bowstring.

Less than a minute and I am feeling weakness seeping into my hand, my forearm, my shoulder.  In my youth this would have been virtually effortless.  The arrow, notched and eager to fly, would stare upon its target with motionless focus.  My limbs would hold fast, as still as marble while I sought the perfect moment to loose.  But those days are gone now; fled from me as has the color from my hair…and the light from my world.

His Majesty was the closest friend I had ever had.  We fought alongside each other in the Glacier Wars, and led soldiers of our own in the Siege of the Woodlands.  He bestowed his blessing upon the marriage between myself and his only sister.  As we left our youth in the historical records, I advised his rule of the land with care and conviction.  I taught my four sons to learn their skills from me, but learn their principles from their King.  Their Godfather.

When that same King drafted all my heirs into his army, to fight a campaign that could never succeed, I felt 40 years of brotherhood tear away from my soul like a moth-eaten sleeve from an old, old garment.  It was the moment I realized that the King deserved no loyalty, no sacrifice, and no breath.  When I spoke to the Priest of my dark intentions he reminded me that God is the only one who plucks the life from his people, not the people themselves.  I told him of my sons, and of how His Majesty stole them from their destinies.  The Priest wept the bitter tears that had since run dry in me.

So here I sit, atop the parapet overlooking the Royal Dais.  My old, gnarled fingers want nothing more than to release the last arrow my bow will ever sling.  But I cannot loose this arrow and send it on its flight into the skull of the King.  The skull of the King rolls across the stone floor, painting a stark crimson curve…around the feet of the Priest, his blood-stained axe still gripped tightly in his fists.

There once was a little boy who had a bad temper. His Father gave him a bag of nails and told him that every time he lost his temper, he must hammer a nail into the back of the fence.

The first day the boy had driven 37 nails into the fence. Over the next few weeks, as he learned to control his anger, the number of nails hammered daily gradually dwindled down.

He discovered it was easier to hold his temper than to drive those nails into the fence.

Finally the day came when the boy didn’t lose his temper at all. He told his father about it; and the father suggested that the boy now pull out one nail for each day that he was able to hold his temper.

The days passed and the young boy was finally able to tell his father that all the nails were gone.

The father took his son by the hand and led him to the fence. He said, “You have done well, my son, but look at the holes in the fence. The fence will never be the same. When you say things in anger, they leave a scar just like this one. You can put a knife in a man and draw it out. It won’t matter how many times you say I’m sorry, the wound is still there.” A verbal wound is as bad as a physical one.

The open war had been going on for nearly 15 years, and already most people had forgotten how it got so far.  America had turned into what its movies had always imagined, but never truly believed, it would become.  True dystopia.  Cities had become battlegrounds, with the rural and suburban areas serving as safe havens for citizens, and staging areas for the invading forces.  By this point none of the survivors cared how the enemies had managed to bring the fight so deep into their homeland.  No one blamed the government.  No one blamed the different ends of the ideological spectrum.  The only concern since the insurgency began….was survival.

Anthony was an excellent survivor.  After the first three years of fighting for his life, he began keeping track of the number of enemies who died by his hand.  Each one in his journal, a hash mark for each body with the word ‘enemy’ written beside it.  No survivor Anthony had ever met boasted a higher number of kills.  But by the same token, no survivor he knew with a body count approaching his managed to handle the emotional strain very well.  Some of them asked him how he was able to stave off the despair, the guilt, the loss of his humanity.  His answer was always very simple.

“I imagine they’re the same people who made my life a living hell when I was a child.  After that, pulling the trigger is surprisingly easy.”

It was because pulling the trigger had become so easy for him that on the day the cease-fire was signed, Anthony made one last hash mark in his journal, and pulled the trigger a final time.  The hash mark had his name written next to it, and the word ‘enemy.’

Okay, so I already missed a day.  I beg for the forgiveness, which should be easy since there is probably about 2 people who will read this.

I will write more when I do not have to run away to bed, but in the meantime, go check out this fine podcast at www.tobolowskyfiles.com

It’s pretty awesome.  That is all.  Away with you.

It is a horrible, hollow feeling when you wake up one day and realize that you are right; You’re not moving your life forward.  You have long suspected it, but now it is undeniable.  What’s worse, there is another realization right behind it.  You must….MUST….do something about it.

You’re 30 years old.  You want to be an artist.  A writer.  A creator.  You may even believe that you are all these things.  But you’d have some trouble proving that.

I am going to start proving it.  Now.  Right now.  Right now.  Write now.

Write.

Now.

Beginning here and now, I will make a post in this blog every day.  Maybe some fiction, or a rant on some news topic.  If I knew how to cook I might post a recipe.  But I burn cereal when I try to make it, so don’t hold your breath.  Regardless, it is time to give my life a shove, and see if I can’t get it moving in the general direction of anywhere.

This is my entry for the most recent photoshop contest at www.cracked.com this week.  The topic is Worst Disaster Movie Plots.  Check out the link to my Flickr on your right to see previous contest entries, and other images.