Rednecks? Where?

Billy Bob's son, Bart

Fall

We've all heard the alarms sayin' it's time to let go
We stood tall through the fire, we caught each other mid fall.
We've run our courses and we'll surrender to life.

This is all I've got to offer though it ain't much
A little too scared a little too wounded to care
We're leaving for good but it don't feel good at all
They never prepare you in high school for the fall.

Soon

The sounds of summer surround the atmosphere. The warm air feels good against my skin as I stand outside my small house in Burns Lake, British Columbia, Canada. I stare at the Acorn colored, chipped wood of our house. The nails are slowly peeling their way out of the walls, which I will have to repair soon. The floors creak, dust is collecting everywhere, and some of the furniture is older than my grandparents, but this is still our ideal home.

            I make my way up the small, cold stairs and turn the handle on the door. I drop my backpack, avoiding the large hole in the tile. The house feels empty, then again, it usually does. I walk out back to see my mother in a small, plastic lounge chair reading her romance books again.

            Over in the corner there is a rusty old swing set left from the previous owners that is just glazed with rain. The chains are breaking, the seats cracking, and bee’s nest adorn the underside of the slide. We won’t be able to use it for much longer, but a shiny new one just won’t fit in here.

            My mother looks up at me and smiles her pearly white smile, the only nice looking thing in our lives. I walk forward and give her a hug.

            “How was school Sean?” My mother asks calmly.

            “Its fine, I've gotten all my work done, so same as usual.”

            “Oh Sean, I’m so proud of you! You don’t know how much it means to me that you provide this example for your sister.

I smile and slither to the swing set. The rusty chains feel rough against my hands, but I hold on, as I sit there motionless on the swing. A breeze wisps around and whispers my name. My mother walks inside, her curly, strawberry blonde hair bouncing, and I follow, knowing we will be going to the lake soon. I can't wait for soon to come. 

Bad Luck Bo

Croy entered the ballroom, enthusiastic as ever. Usually he’d be moping around, complaining about how boring everything was, but today was a special day. The building was filled with people all dreamily staring at the new governor as he gave his gratitude speech.

“I can’t express enough thanks to you, citizens of region sixteen! Though some would have us believe that we are the lowest ranked region, I believe we can build ourselves up and become the best! As your new governor I will-

“World peace!” Croy mocked quietly in the back of the room. A security guard glared in his direction.

He’s got one heck of a security force in here. Croy thought. My only chance will be when he leaves the ballroom.

Though not much of a fighter, Croy considered himself great at his job. His ideal way of life included hopping from town to town, capturing people and turning them in to whoever offered a reward. The amount for Governor Slade was so high he’d never have to do another job in his life.

Croy brushed off his dark suit and grabbed a drink, mapping out every possible way he could complete his job. He scanned the room, finding the people, guards and every escape route. He noticed one of the windows at the top of the room had been broken, though it didn’t matter much since it was too high up for anyone to get to.

Meanwhile, everything was silent on the other side of town.

“This shouldn’t take long.”  Bo said, pulling on his gray and yellow hoodie. 

The streets were rather quiet that night, though Bo knew the silence wouldn’t last for long. The closer he got to the capitol building, the louder the crowds got. The fact that nearly everyone in region sixteen was attending the celebration party upset him a little. Not because it would make it harder to kill Slade, no, he didn’t care about that. He only cared about the huge uproar that it would cause. 

As soon as Bo reached the capitol, he saw the broken window on the side of the building. Thankfully they hadn’t had the time to fix it after some kid hit a baseball through it the night before. The building itself was old and poorly made, as were all of the buildings in the region, allowing him to easily climb his way to a ledge just below the window.

The governor had just finished his speech and took a seat on the stage. He sat there, comically watching everyone dance. Bo probably would have been entertained by their clumsy moves too, were it not the perfect moment to get Slade.

He gripped his gun, pulling it from his belt. Carved into the side was the number thirteen. Without hesitating, he pointed it straight at his target.

Croy couldn’t stand himself. Why couldn’t he figure out an escape plan? He’d covered all the other details, but getting out was going to be extremely tricky. He brought his hand up and made an L shape with his forefinger and thumb, pointing it at the governor like a gun.

If only life was simple. He thought, pretending to pull the trigger with a slight bend of his thumb. A gun shot went off. The musicians stopped playing, their violins creating a squeaky tremor of sound. Everyone looked around, trying to understand what was happening and suddenly, the governor fell. 

Partners in Crime

You're gonna leave someday,
but I hope I stay
Inside your heart,
even though we're miles away.
Cause what scares me
is the thought that you'll grow up
and you'll forget that I'm waiting,
the same I ever was.
The same I ever was. 

Blowing Bubbles

It was the eleventh day of the month twice after January, twenty-three minutes, scratch that, twenty-two minutes to the hour after five in the afternoon with some uncertain amount of seconds having passed when I first realized: bubbles are evil.

Manipulative, selfish, little creatures, bubbles are. And I'm not even talking about the searing pain, twice the heat of a thousand white hot suns, when the little devils pop in your eye.

No, I've always thought of them as a protection from the outside world, a shield. But if you go on thinking like that, they'll return the favor by locking you in instead.

That's why you and I will never be important. 

The inside babies the prideful. It praises the selfish, the rationalizers, the pretenders, the judgemental, and most of all, the liars.
And the outside lets loose the dirty, the sinners, the the rationalizers, the work-a-holics, and the reckless. At least they're honest about it.

So it doesn't matter who's life you save, or the amount of money you make, or the quality of your latest blog post. You will never make it to the hall of fame.

It's all because you're inside. You're the pride being babied, and so am I. 

But who said you couldn't pop the bubble? The splash might sting a little, but no one ever got anywhere without a little opposition.

If you're still breathing you're the lucky one.

Death is the permanent cessation of all biological functions that sustain a living organism.

"[But] suppose that people live forever. . .

With infinite life comes an infinite list of relatives.

Sons never escape from the shadows

of their fathers. Nor do daughters of their mothers.

[With life] no new enterprise is new. All things have

been attempted by some antecedent in the family tree.

[With life] no person is whole. No person is free.

Over time, some have determined

that the only way to live is to die. In death, a man or

a woman is free of the weight of the past. These few

souls, with their dear relatives looking on, dive into

Lake Constance or hurl themselves from Monte Lema,-

ending their infinite lives. In this way, the finite has

conquered the infinite, millions of autumns have

yielded to no autumns, millions of snowfalls have

yielded to no snowfalls, millions of admonitions have

yielded to none."

Death is the permanent cessation of all biological functions that sustain a living organism.

Life is the general or universal condition of human existence.

Infinite life is chaos.

A chaos that never ends.

So through the eyes of one living an infinite life, through the eyes of one who knows all, who has seen all, heard all, tried all, been all, there is nothing quite more relinquishing

than death.

Funny, seeing death as relinquishing when through the eyes of one who lives a normal life, death is adorned with pain. Every soul breathes its last breath, heaving through corrupted lungs before it joins the choir invisible, and perishes.