The Desserter and the Kitten (Part 1)

Duck Park had become a sort of sanctuary for Wilhelm.  As the war had localized itself in a battle in the nearby town of Bulls Creek, Wilhelm would walk as far as he could during his R & R.  He would walk until he no longer heard the unmistakable sounds of battle.  It was a calm place near an isolated water fountain.  As fighting raged on, he found sleep to be a distant fantasy, but on his one day of leave per week, he managed to allow sleep to take him near the isolated water fountain.

Years ago, he was a strong, proud soldier.  At the very moment he stopped to question why he was even fighting, his sense of purpose began to erode.  Bent and miserable looking, he let his hair grow out into a salt and peppery mess.  He had been walking back from Duck Park when he noticed a small black kitten had been following him, although his attention had been stolen away as he approached the southern gate to Bulls Creek.

"You always look ten times more cheerful when you return from leave," said Sir Neal.  "Where is it that you go?"

"If I told you that, I wouldn't be so cheerful when I returned," Wilhelm replied with a grin.  "It's the solitude for that one day a week that makes me cheerful."

"Looks like you brought a friend," said Neal, pointing to a stray cat.

"Yeah," puzzled, Wilhelm scratched his head looking at the cat.  "Weird."

Neal was the pride of the regiment.  Not as tall or broad shouldered as Wilhelm, he was able to glow with confidence which was seriously lacking in his long time friend.  Once upon a time, they both were glowing representatives in her majesties army in a distant land, in a distant war.  Neal shooed that cat away while Wilhelm approached the encampment. 

For weeks, the battle was a stalemate.  It felt to Wilhelm that he was destined to fight this battle until his death and in the end, how will he be remembered?  In the end, that's the most important question, right?  Will we be remembered as heroes or villains?  Or worse, thought Wilhelm, will we be remembered at all?

As he sat on his cot, he felt something rub against his leg.  It was that darn kitten.

"This is no place for a kitten," he said picking her up and stroking her head.  She purred and pushed her head back against his hand affectionately.  "Let's get you somewhere safe, ok?"

In the darkness, they stole off into the night.  He carried her through the forest to the east of Bulls Creek.  He walked her halfway back to his favorite place to relax and then put her down and walked away.  Within fifteen paces, he had forgotten her and began to focus on the upcoming battle the next morning.

When he returned to camp, no one had noticed he was missing.  He walked past a tent where Sir Neal was preparing strategy for tomorrow for some of the other commanders.  Wilhelm thought back to the days when he was a commander.  When did he change, he asked himself?  When did he become amongst the defeated?  Sir Neal would occasionally share tales of the "Great Wilhelm" single-handedly holding off an oncoming hoard.  Neal always seemed to conveniently leave out the part where Wilhelm also was wounded so severely in the onslaught that it was near fatal.  With a sardonic smile, he continued walking back to his tent for some much needed rest.

The Unavoidable Journey

Silly thoughts and casual glances.
Eyes averted with a shy smile.
All senses have heightened awareness.
Our brain begins to catalog what we hope will be our greatest memories.

Security without compromise.
Two minds, two bodies, but one soul.
Angsts has been soothed into comfortable state.
With a clarity of purpose, we achieve together what we could not alone.

Annoyances tally.
Yearning for freedom.
Weight of two bodies worth of troubles.
Awaiting a rebirth, free of the shackles.  Free of those memories.

Those memories...
Those greatest of memories...
Forgotten.

Every tattoo tells a story (Continued)

Almost three years ago, I had a chain and cross tattooed around my neck.  I was inspired by an old cross I once had which had become worn over time, but it was my niece's baptism that put it into motion.  One of my pet peeves is seeing people with crosses made of gold and diamonds around their neck.  The cross, or crucifix, was a method of execution two thousand years ago.  I'm rarely caught entering a church, but I do know that Christ was not all about the bling.  About ten years ago, I bought a cross made of leather and pear wood.  It was simple and plain.  My son use to chew on it when I held him, as a baby.  I could think of nothing better than to have it tattooed around my neck once it had become broken beyond compare.

It was almost 100' F, on a sunny July morning.  I was a walk-in and was lucky enough to be seated right away.  It lead to some very interesting conversation.  Other Christians wonder why I don't go to church.  Atheist's wonder why I even bother.  I'm not hear to change anyone's mind, but I wear my tattoo proudly and never mention a word of it to anyone curious enough to ask.  "It's between me and God", I'd generally be caught saying.

My tattoo is finally finished.  Mike Bee (from Bound for Glory) put in the final touches and added color.  It's amazing!

I think this would be a good marketing tool for selling my book mainly because, I'm not the type of guy who likes to bring up the fact that I'm an author in regular conversation.  I feel very awkward even trying to say nice things about myself, so my "Elevator Pitch" has always been lacking.  I've spent the entire 30 seconds stammering before ever saying anything about my book.  My logic (which may be way off) is that people always comment on tattoos.  Another fact of life (like it or not), is that people do judge a book by it's cover.  I'm thinking that if they like the tattoo, then they'll like the book cover.  At that point, the awkwardness may be alleviated and I'll just be able to tell them that the book is a Sci-Fi\Fantasy that reads like a movie script.  It's a story about a magical fantasy planet in which wizard's dominance is about to fall to the high-tech might of cyborgs and robots.  Who knows?  Maybe they'll even buy it?

The songs of Scars and past Glory

It's only when you first get cut that your journey truly begins.
Anyone can plan out the steps to a journey.
Anyone can work hard and sweat.
It's only when the flesh breaks and the crimson stream of life begins to flow, that your plan has failed.
Don't get me wrong, the plan is still useful, but you didn't plan on bleeding did you?
Some of us will trace our steps back to when we felt the plan begin to fail.
Others will battle on.
There is no right way.

When the blood begins to flow and the seeds of doubts are being
sewn into your mind is the time to find yourself.
When we first set out to play this game, we saw this day coming.
We're counting on you.
The susurrus begins and the whispers of doubt become so loud you can barely think.
And yet the game continues.
Battling on, you find your team no longer follows you.
Retracing your steps, you find your team questioning your judgment.
The anger is rising in you.
The whispers of doubt from without are being overwhelmed with a roar of anger from within.
And yet, the journey continues.

It's time to remind the team that we are stonger together than apart.
Remind them you lead from the front.
You will shield them from the obstacles that gave you your crimson mask.
Adorned with the preborn scars synonymous with leadership, remind them that you take this pain so they don't have to.
The journey has an ending, whether they like it or not.
Turn your motivation into action.
If rage drives you, turn it into the positive energy of success.
In time, they will sing of your greatness, as long as the next steps you choose will lead to victory.
Otherwise, you will sing your own song.  The song of scars and past glory.

Every tattoo tells a story

I can only speak for myself when I say that writing is a favorite form of self expression, but sometimes, it's just one small path towards that self expression.  In March of 2006, the pressures of a new baby, born under difficult conditions, overwhelmed me.  In the darkest hours of the night, I asked a nurse for a few sheets of paper and penned the final chapter in my book Alorya.  I remembered the process being painful because it just wasn't enough.  I would have preferred going out and doing something reckless and dangerous, but on planet earth, that's generally something a brand new dad should not do while his newborn son is in NICU.

In 1998, I went to a tattoo parlor with my brother so both of us could get tattoo's before he got married.  It wasn't much of a bachelor party.  We went to 7-11 and got Slurpee's and then headed off to Gothic Soul, which was a pretty cool tattoo shop on Staten Island, at the time.  It was the only time I had ink done, in which I had zero self expression.  I wasn't sure about the whole tattoo thing.  I always imagined those with tattoo's to be real baddasses.  I was too skinny to be a badass.  I ended up getting a panther on my right shoulder.  It had no soul, but it was nicely done.  The only bad part about it was the fact that it wasn't me.  In fact, the panther on the shoulder during the 90's was the most cliche' tattoo in America.

By 2002, I was getting a little more imaginative.  1976 was the year of the dragon, so I while I was in El Paso, TX I got a dragon symbol on my left forearm.  It was still incredibly cliche, but it wasn't your typical dragon, so that made it better.  Still, by this point, I didn't have any tattoo's that are truly me.

 

I had wanted to get a tattoo of a snake eating it's tail on my ring finger in 2005.  It was the symbol for infinity or eternity and I thought, "What better tattoo to show my love and devotion to my wife?".  Right about now, I want to bring up the fact that you should really choose your tattoo artist wisely.  I went on a recommendation that this guy was good and the artwork he had around his shop would agree.  The thing I should have been looking for, but I had not, was how he typically drew snakes.  Afterwards, I noticed they all had that "Cobra about to strike" look about them.  When I looked down to my ring finger, the tattoo didn't actually look like a snake eating its tail, but a cobra about to strike its' tail (for some reason).  I really thought it was a great idea, but was poorly executed.

 

 

I have just gotten my book cover tattooed on my left shoulder in quarter-sleeve fashion.  So far, it's just the outline, but I think the potential is infinite.  The artist is really talented and the work he's doing is fantastic.  On that night, back in 2006, I wish I could have run out and gotten the tattoo.  The one I've got on my left shoulder hadn't been completely formulated just yet, but sitting in that chair, going through the pain of getting the tattoo would have really hit the spot that night.  On the other hand, as I had mentioned in referencing the above tattoo stories, it would have mostly likely been a disaster.  You should never run out to get a tattoo without first knowing what you want to get, AND having a copy of the artwork you want done with you.

 

 

Next week, when I've completely my tattoo, I'll post the finished product, along with some more stories of my other tattoos.  As you can probably tell by the pattern of tattoos I had done through the years, the more recent tattoos are better thought out and more meaningful for me.  Here's a sample of what I have so far...