Silent in the night, the rain begins to fall
onto the half shaven head of a young college student,
much like the eyes of a Father above Whose gaze falls upon this same student;
His son, however misfit, adored.
As the child is met by well-dressed passers-by,
he wears his second-hand shoes, his second-hand clothes with a second-hand jacket, patched in many places.
The night becomes silent still.
The child walks alone, save for the romantic couples clustered in the streets. The child feels lonely, having no significant other to spend his starry, winter nights with. The child continues to walk, now with his head hung low with the damage of rejection bottled within.
The child, always clinging to this rejection. The Father, always asking to take it from him. The child, never listening.
So I have this story in my head, and it’s been there for quite sometime. It’s about a Satanic planet trying to enforce an interplanetary religious dominance. It’s been cooked up in my head for at least a year now, and this story will hopefully span to be a full length novel… or possibly two.
This is a huge project, and it’s extremely intimidating to me, This story will hold a lot of truth for a lot of people and it’s something I strongly believe I should write. I am trying to buckle down and get this thing started, since all the brainstorming for it has been done.
Prayers are appreciated, thank you.
I’ve been neglecting this blog a little bit more each and everyday. I do not think it was intentional, but it has done me some good. This blog often times takes a lot out of my life, and therefore, when not using this blog, I do not have this distraction.
I’ve been doing a lot of homework and studying for school, I’ve been doing more and more socializing as the days go on, and I have gotten involved in many other activities on campus. But I’m not writing this to talk about my routine schedule or anything, no. I’m hear to talk about what God’s been doing in my life.
God has began to make me feel very uncomfortable in the place that I am. It’s like trying to get comfortable on those old school pews you find in some churches; they just were not made for comfort. I have, over the last few months, began to grow stagnant in my spiritual walk with God. It’s hit me hard how much I have not grown (and digressed) from the spiritual walk I had only last year.
I now have people coming to me for spiritual advice, for accountability, and to just be an all around good influence. I am not going to lie: I suck horribly at all three. It’s scared me how much I cannot help these people that are looking up to me. It’s scary that people are looking to me to be a good influence in their life. Now, I am not a particularly bad influence, I try my hardest to be good. But my fear of slipping up has grown so much these past few weeks. There are people here on this campus that need to see what it really means to have a relationship with God.
Anyways, God has been speaking to me these past few days and I love it. It is a bit overwhelming, however. I had a rather spontaneous conversation with a friend of mine tonight about our spiritual walk and how to maintain a good one. We also spoke about changes that would be lovely to see in the church (after reading the letters in Revelations). Through the interaction, God has shown me that He’s wanting to do something really big and something very impacting. I’m not quite sure what it is just yet, but He is preparing me for something monumental. I just pray that I can have the courage and perseverance to do whatever it is when the time comes.
On a side note:
I haven’t been painting or drawing lately, and God has gotten onto me about that recently. It wasn’t that I was neglecting my art purposefully, but with my busy schedule, my motivation and time for art has seemed to drown in it all. However, I will make time to do some new artwork. I never really thought God wanted me to focus on that area of my life; I have never been confident in my skill as an artist. But now that I have taken a break from art, I see that God is still calling me to that area of life. It’s cool knowing that God wants me to do art. Knowing that God’s calling me back to that area is motivating in and of itself. God gave me the talent of being artistic. And not only that, but He rejoices whenever I do art for His glory. How rad is that?
So I want to encourage you all: do not become stagnant in your faith! Pursue God as much as possible, even to the most miniscule amount. Because God has pursued you endlessly, and still continues to do so!
Also, if you have discovered a talent that God has blessed you with, don’t let it go to waste! God gave you that talent because He wants you to use that talent.
I love you all. Keep me in your prayers, as I will do the same for you.
Here’s a silly idea I got for a story. This short introduction is all I have written, and it’s been months since I’ve even opened the file on my computer. It will probably be a long time before I elaborate on this idea, if I ever do decide to extend it into a full story.
It’s the things that go bump in the night that awaken us in our slumber. These things often possess us and we know it not. We become controlled by something that we may not even think exists. These dark forces at work around us never stop. We become slaves to these things, some of use break free, but of course, some of us never do. The minds of those who do not break free become a den for evil things, the dwelling place of despair, and the bed of things we want to be dead. But I am afraid that wishing all of it would stop does not do the trick. What I am talking about is Sinevil Plasm. Sinevil Plasm is a living organism that finds whole life within a human host. Without a host, Sinevil is a nocturnal organism, plasma-like in its true form, and it roams freely across the grounds. But when it finds a host, the plasma breaks its usual nocturnal habits and acquires the same habits as that of its host. To the host, it feels as if nothing has happened, Sinevil does not leave a lasting mark.
Humans are the only desired host of the plasma, because humans are an intelligent, strong species. And though intelligent, we are easily swayed, especially to an organism like Sinevil that directly attacks our brain. Sinevil cannot be controlled on a mass scale, though scientists are doing careful, extensive research on the plasma to find how it can be eradicated.
Several months ago I started this story and posted the introduction to it here on this blog. After completely forgetting about it, I’ve finally decided to end it’s neglect and finished writing it. It’s a silly story, a lot sillier than the other things I write. This is not a horror story, like most of my writing, so now you have no excuse to be turned off from reading it. Well, here goes.
My name’s Ronald, I’m 17 years old. If you know me at all, you probably know me by the name of Ronald Raygun. It’s a bit of a nickname that the kids at school have given me, I don’t much like it but everyone has taken it upon themselves to call me that. It all started because of my belief in life on other planets. Extra terrestrial beings, aliens, little green men, whatever it is you call them, they are out there.
There’s a guy at my high school, Rick Spurks, he’s the football player type. Everyone wants to be his friend, the girls are lined up for a date; he always has a crowd around him wherever he goes. Well he’s the one that came up with the name.
I always did well in math class; it just came to me easily. But for some people, some people like Rick Spurks; it does not come so easily. He would always get me to do his work for him, and if I didn’t he would always beat me. So I learned quickly to just suck it up and do the work for him so that I wouldn’t be going home with bruises and blackened eyes.
Even after doing Rick’s math work, he still managed to work up a failing grade. Soon, he was begging me to tutor him. If he were to fail the course, the football coach would be sure that he stayed on the benches for every game. And you know how football players are; they can’t stand to be on the benches. So I agreed, knowing that if I didn’t, I would receive the beating of a lifetime. He came over to my house that day after school for tutoring. That’s when I got this cruddy nickname.
Whenever Rick came to my house and saw my room he had a good laugh. I have posters, flying saucer models that I’ve built, and all sorts of other things supporting the existence of aliens. He knew I believed in aliens, but when he saw my room he went over the top with it. After he settled down and I started to tutor him, he began again. He was shouting and carrying on, saying he saw a space craft flying around outside of my window. He kept it going for quite a while, the whole time trying his hardest to keep back the mocking laughter. He shouted remarks about how the aliens were coming with ray guns. About that time I tuned him out, told him to leave. Before he left the house, he coined the name Ronald Raygun.
And that’s where I got the name. That has been almost a year ago now, and the name has still stuck with me. I still believe in life on other planets, and I still get mocked for it.
So here I am, my senior year in high school and still getting called Ronald Raygun. I’m used to it, I still don’t like it, but I know it’s never going away. So I accept the name. People call me crazy for believing in aliens. One day I’ll show them proof that I am right; I will show them that aliens do exist.
That day came sooner than I had expected, and I can’t honestly tell you that I was ready for it.
I entered the school on a day just like every other. It was a cloudy, rainy day. I was sitting in my 2nd class of the day; English. We were going over the homework and it was then that the shattering of glass sounded throughout the room. Everyone’s attention was directed towards the window. Nothing could be seen for there was a bright light, bluish in tint. Two figures emerge from the light, tall, lanky figures. The light caused them to appear distorted.
One figure then steps through the window and scans the room, looking for something in particular. It appears to look right in my direction and it begins to speak in a loud, clear voice.
“Ronald Scott Harris?” It says. My heart rate sky rockets, and hesitantly, I arise. I step forth and the being points to the light. “Follow us” the tall creature says.
I walk blindly into the light and I find myself in some kind of control room surrounded by many similar creatures. They all look the same except for one, there are lines drawn on its face.
“Ronald Scott Harris? We need your help. We know that you study much of extra terrestrials. We saw you as the best fit for helping us. We are from Mars. Your people call us Martians in their text and in their moving pictures. We have come simply to take the world under our command. Our race is expanding to greater and greater numbers and we need further space for living. We have come to destroy your race. In helping us, we will spare your life as well as the ones closest to you. So what do you say?”
Standing here in the midst of the creatures I am absolutely thrilled. Here I have my proof! Life on other planets does exist, just as I thought! Oh, wait until Mr. Rick Spurks gets to see this! I was pretty sick of getting bullied my whole life, and more than anything I was excited to see that I was right about aliens. I decide to help the Martians.
“We know little of your world’s cultures. All we were able to understand was your language of English. We took to learning the language because we saw that this is the dominant of all languages here on this planet. We need you to tell us where to start our eradication of the human race. So Ronald, where do we start?”
I think this through. I think how great it would be to show the people in my school that aliens do exist. Even if it is the last thing they see before they die, it is worth it to me. I tell the Martians that the first place they should start is right here in this school.
But I hope you understand, it’s so hard to not to post so much about my favorite band in all the history of punk rock.
I sat down and listened to The Monster Who Ate Jesus tonight for about the hundredth time in my life. I have only come across two albums in my life that have had such an impact on my life. An impact in which, not only my perception of music changes, but also my perception of the world changes.
The first album I’ve heard that affected me in such a way is (as cliche as it’s going to sound) underOATH’s They’re Only Chasing Safety. I stumbled upon the album when my music taste was limited to pop punk music. Getting my hands on this underOATH album has probably been one of the most monumental moments in my life (after my salvation in Jesus Christ, of course). It was then that I was opened to the world of what to me seemed like an alternative Christianity. Before I thought the life of a Christian was to be reserved and, well, boring. But my introduction to underOATH, and the similar bands that followed, showed me that Christians didn’t have to lead a boring life, and they most certainly didn’t have to have a crappy taste in music.
Blaster the Rocket Man’s The Monster Who Ate Jesus has had just a substantial impact on my life as They’re Only Chasing Safety did. By this time, however, I have already found an interest in punk rock music, so it isn’t as though it introduced to me a whole new genre of music or anything, no. In fact, I was quite familiar with their song content already. Their album is heavily based on C.S. Lewis’ Space Trilogy, a series that I have read prior to the discovery of BTRM. It was because of the song, Ransom vs the Unman, that made me click on the video on Youtube; an act that I had no clue would change my life.
The months that followed, my computer was only used to track down all things Blaster, and to listen to every possible song that could be found. I even found Daniel “Otto Nobott” Peterson (BTRM’s vocalist) on Facebook. Since then, I have spoken to him many times, and believe it or not, he’s actually been a huge influence in pretty much everything (he has even given me advice on my amateur writing ventures in the genre of science fiction/horror).
Blaster the Rocket Man has taught me a great deal. Before, I would hide my interests in horror and science fiction before my fellow brothers and sisters in Christ, simply because I have been shot down so many times for it. It’s BTRM that showed me how closely relatable science fiction, horror, and Christianity actually is. Because of The Monster That Ate Jesus, I have become much stronger in my faith, and I embrace it in every part of my life now. I no longer leave my Christian faith laying on the floor while I put in a horror/scifi movie, I now embrace it and see things through the eyes of a believer. Once you do this, your mind begins to open, and such things within the genre have a whole new and deeper meaning.
The dream I had last night was one of those “dream-within-a-dream” things (Not quite Inception) but rather, it was a “nightmare-within-a-nightmare,” something that I have never experienced myself.
I will not comment on the first nightmare in my dream, for personal reasons. But after I awaken from this first nightmare in my dream, a real horror we can all understand begins to unfold, a nightmare with most beautiful imagery, I believe.
I awaken from the nightmare, and once I understand it was only a dream, I come back to my full senses. I am in my bed. My room is eerily accurate, even to be a dream. This felt nothing like a dream, rather, it felt like I was awake. I look to the corner of my room, where I have a clutter of amps and guitars. My room was dark, and the sun had yet to rise. But through the calm, still, black that filled my room, I could make out a shape that stood in front of my dim-lit window. It was not the usual shape my guitar case makes against my window, no, it had been replaced with a much larger, seemingly human shape. I let out a scream.
My hand immediately goes for the lamp that’s placed beside my bed. As I click it on, I wished that I hadn’t. What stood in my room was no less than a demon. The demon’s name was Addiction. He stood there immobile. He had no skin, he was simply comprised of muscles. The tendons and muscle were not visible, however, because Addiction was covered and dripping in vibrant, red blood. It’s left eye was missing while the other shown white, piercing through the red. The demon stood frozen as if it was in mid-step toward my bed. I look to my bedside table and see my cell phone. As I begin to reach for it, I see Addiction begin to move out of the corner of my eye. I quickly glance up at him, and he pauses once again. I glance over to my bedroom door, to check that it was open for an easy getaway. It is not. Addiction begins to move once again, but is turned immobile again when I set my eyes on him. (I said “Addiction,” not “Weeping Angel”).
At this point, I wake up from my nightmare[s] with a loud gasp for air. My room is much lighter now that I’ve woken up, and the corner of my room holds no bloody demon. My initial thought is that some dark entity had come upon me during my slumber. It was the only logical explanation for such gripping horror to come to me. The fear I felt had to be supernatural, for I had never felt such a fear. But then a thought came to me.
Addiction does not control people, Addiction simply finds the vulnerability within a human being and extracts that. With that vulnerability brought forth, Addiction makes us do whatever he wants us to do because at this point, Addiction is so much more powerful than we are… especially when we are attacked in our weakness. The Bible, however, tells us that God is a God that delivers. Even when we feel weak, even when Addiction is coming for us in our own, nightmarish bedroom, God delivers.
God delivers us from our addictions.
Laden with gore, violence, animal cruelty, rape, and a load of other unpleasant things, Cannibal Holocaust is one of the most infamous, horrifying films of all time. However, it is still a movie in which a good meaning can be drawn from. How? Click here to find out.
Whether you have seen the film, have no desire to see the film, or have just plain never heard of it, this that I’ve written is still meaningful. And in all honesty, I’m impressed with myself for writing this out and finding meaning in such a title.
So today I went to work with my mother. She works for a property management company, she deals with many different apartment complexes throughout the upstate of South Carolina. Since I was in elementary school, my mother has had this same job. When I was younger I would always go into the empty apartments on the complex and help fix them up, so that new residents could move in. It’s been a while since I’ve done that, but today my mother asked me to come with her to a particular complex in Ninety-Six, SC. So this is where our story begins.
It was a bit of a long car ride to the location, much longer of a car ride than I prefer. We picked up breakfast from a small coffee shop. I had a breakfast sandwich with sausage, egg, and cheese, so by the time we got into the empty apartment I was working on that day, I had to release my bowels. Being sure to grab my iPod for entertainment, I rushed to the small, uncomfortable bathroom. The bathroom itself was not in bad shape as far as cleanliness goes, save for the dead cockroaches on the floor. The pest control guy was nice enough to blow up the place for bugs, but of course, the dead insects are left behind. Sitting on the toilet playing Army of Darkness, a thought came to me: nobody has lived in this apartment for a month, therefore, it’s most likely that no one has used this bathroom, or toilet, in a month. That’s when I realized how foolish I was. While in my frenzy to get to the bathroom, I forgot to grab toilet paper.
Sitting on this rather uncomfortable toilet, I felt defeated. I pondered what I might do to come out on top on this situation. The napkins I had in my pockets just moments ago (leftover from the coffee shop) were left in the car. There was no sort of papers in my pocket, and there was nothing but dead critters in the bathroom. I was running out of options. I was considering just jumping in the shower but then it hit me. My mother gathered supplies from the maintenance shed, supplies that I might need for sprucing up the apartment. She told me she’d left them on the counter in the kitchen area, which was down the hallway and nearly on the other side of the apartment. So I did what any man would do. I waddled to the kitchen with my pants around my ankles, all the while humming along to “My Parents Manage Apartments” by Destroy Nate Allen. Scared to death that someone, like my mother or another employee of the complex would burst through the door and catch me in this vulnerable moment, God so graciously kept that from happening.
When I arrived to the counter, I discover hidden among the brushes, paint, and all-purpose cleaner, the answer to my problem- heavy duty paper towels. Whether that’s what they are actually called, I do not know, but I thank the human being for inventing it, whatever the proper name for the object is. Thick, blue, and a lot rougher than Charmin Ultra, there was only one sheet here. But believe me, one sheet was more than enough. This is my story, and I’ll choose to stop here, before we get into any further details.
I struggle with a lot of stuff in life, and often I give into temptation and sin. The agony is unbearable at times, but it’s never too long before I’m reminded of someone who took that agony away from me. He bore all of my failures so that I could live freely and use the remaining life I’ve got for His purpose. Jesus Christ has redeemed me; He’s brought me back to life. Not only has He restored me, but He’s also brought true freedom to my life. I am living proof that such a savoir exists. He exists within me. He strengthens me. If it were not for Him, I could not go on from day to day. This same savior is here for the least of us all. He’s here for murderers, prostitutes, sex addicts, drug addicts, homosexuals, and anyone else. His love and forgiveness knows no limits, He will never reject you. In fact, it’s the rejected that He earnestly desires. No matter how many people hate you, no matter how many people tie you to a stake and burn you alive, Jesus Christ is always standing watch and waiting for you with arms wide open. Broken, wretched, dirty, heartbroken, and abandon, Christ is the cure to all.
I mess up a lot, I fall away from God a lot, and I sin an awful lot. Sometimes I am absolutely broken. But there are no words to describe the amazing moment when I, once again, am restored by Christ.
I saw my father die when I was just a boy. It’s something one can never forget, especially when you’re the one that did the killing.
I was nine years old, old enough to know better; old enough to know that when a person falls into a fire, that person burns. It was my ninth birthday party and all of my friends from school were there. I was born in February, therefore, the weather then was a bit cold. For the party, we dug a pit in which we filled with wood, paper, and of course, fire. It was a very big fire. I remember it being a monstrous fire, but I was only a child, and children tend to exaggerate things, even in memory. My father was putting more wood into the fire when I pushed him. He was already bent over the fire, so I only had to push with little effort. He toppled over into the pit and was instantly eaten by the mass of flames, wood, and paper. He screamed while his hair and skin burned all about his body. The children that were around the fire were all very scared. They ran around in circles, crying and screaming. The smell of the burning flesh, it’s something a person can never forget.
In my free time, I come with characters and scenarios for that character. My current character I’ve been writing about is a young man named Daniel who is fresh out of high school. His whole life he was treated badly by his fellow classmates. He then gets revenge by killing his class. If you read my short story ‘Senior Year’ you know the story (http://kyleromain.tumblr.com/post/23446272191/senior-year). Anyways, here’s a short poem I wrote
Now all my friends are dead,
though so much as friends they weren’t
I axed them all in the head
I killed them all, but my heart, it never hurt.
God bless the class of 2012
For my graduation is remembered by what I shelve
The heads of my classmates, severed by me
Now with their death, I can breathe free
They call me Daniel, for that is my name
I’ve been brought much heartache and pain
And in return I’ve dished out the very same
You can pray for me, but it will be a wasted prayer
With bags under my eyes and messy brown hair
I killed them all and I do not care
If I were a cannibal I’d eat them all
But that’s not my thing; instead, I store them in the hall
I hated those kids for the way they treated me
But now with them dead, I can finally be…
One’s senior year of high school is often a sad, nostalgic time in life. This is not the case for me.
“Well Daniel, this will be the last day I’ll see you, at least for a very long time.” Jared spoke these words as he approached me with an outstretched hand. Shaking it, “Yeah…” was my only response. Jared was always very rude to me, among many others. As he turns and walks away with his friends and family, I stare at the backs of them. I cannot help but think sick and twisted thoughts.
Bullied since my early school years, I’ve never found even a single student worth befriending. The bullying has only escalated up through my high school years. Now, directly after our graduation ceremony, these students which I have spent 12 years with are now attempting to show me hospitality for the first time. Already this morning I have had 2 different girls shoot me a smile. As pretty as they may be, they are still always ugly whores to me. Insulting me on a bell-to-bell schedule, their boyfriends always behind them, they’ve attempted to show me kindness today for the first time. It’s as if my fellow classmates have waited until this day to be nice to me. Most likely due to the long, school-free break that is falling upon us, these classmate are now trying to make amends.
That day is the day I decided that not of those people were worth a heck. They ruined my life, so now I was well ready to ruin theirs. And what better way to ruin a life than end it? So that is what I did.
Over the course of that whole summer I spent my time hunting down and killing each and every last classmate that I graduated with. Needless to say, no one showed up for our class reunion. Heck, we didn’t even have a class reunion! The class president was one of the first to be killed by my hands. I don’t regret a single death, either, they all deserved what was thrust upon them: whether it be a chainsaw, axe, hammer, or knife. It was a bloody mess I’ll admit, killing them all, but it was well worth the numerous clean ups.
But don’t think I did this without keeping a souvenir. After each classmate I killed, I made sure to cut their head apart from their neck. The head of each student is now kept in the closet of my hallway, there solely for my viewing pleasure. I take pride in the collection.
The following is a true story that happened to me; it’s a bit of a memoir, if you will. This has been a joke within my family and close friends for quite a while. They’ve always teased me to write a story about it, since I repeat the tale so often. Finally giving in to writing it, here is the story. I hope this entertains you, if only for a moment.
I was young, though I cannot recall my exact age these many years later, I only know I was much less than the age of 10. However, I do remember the weather was warm, I was wearing shorts. The entire neighborhood was filled with the shouts and laughter of children playing, as well as the harmony of the birds’ song. Sitting on the steps of the front porch, I was busy strapping my feet into a pair of cheap, plastic roller skates. The blue skates were worn so much from the years of use; the skates having been a hand-me-down from an older sibling. I spent the early afternoon outdoors, skating up and down the narrow, cement walkway that stretched the length of the front of the house. That short distance seemed like miles to a wee lad like me. Not long after sweat had found its way from my glands did my mother arrive. “There is a box of toys in the back seat” she said, “If there is anything you’d like, you may have it. What’s left is going into the church yard sale.” Being just a young lad, I was quite fond of similar plastic toys; I spent almost every day accompanied by such things. I make my way to the car, open the back seat, and smell the leather interior. I recall how hot the seats were to the touch. Being careful not to touch it with my bare skin, I squirmed into the backseat of my mother’s car. Peering over the edge of the brown, cardboard box, I beheld the toys that slept inside. To my disappointment, all seemed to be pink, feminine toys, either that or books; such things that did not interest me at the time in my life. Turning around with disappointment in my mind, I began to exit the backseat of the vehicle. Suddenly I realized there was a peculiar urge rising within me. But not peculiar, because I have felt it before, but rather it was sudden; the feeling that I had to relieve my bowels. This was quite an inconvenient time for the urge, seeing as I was still strapped into my cheap, plastic roller skates. Nonetheless, when you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go. I continue to exit the car, with the release of my bowels in mind, when all of a sudden, an obstacle appears in front of me: the car door. I then hear the click of the car doors locking. I look out the window to see the maniacal face of my older brother, laughing. My teenage brother, being the bully he was, had shut and lock the door in the face of his younger, panic-stricken brother. The car door was easily unlocked, but it still added less time to my race to the bathroom, and I think it got the job done; nearly halfway to the house; I seemed to have relieved myself before ever making it to the steps. With my bowels release, and my shorts acting as a bit of a diaper, I slowly made my way back to the house, humiliated and dirty. I still wore the roller skates, but was too afraid to skate forward; instead, I resorted to a sad sort of waddle. I was young, though I cannot recall my exact age these many years later, I only know I was much less than the age of 10 when I pooped my pants on roller skates.
Now that I’m pretty excited about that, I don’t think I really want to go to sleep. But I guess I should probably force myself to anyways, seeing as I have a long day of school proceeded by practice for the school play.