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  1. Kyle eyed the sleeping man suspiciously. He watched the man's chest rise...and fall, rise...and fall, in a slow, steady pace. He'd been gazing at the stranger for the good part of ten minutes now and found him utterly fascinating.

    “He must be the one,” Kyle muttered quietly.

    In response came a soft “Hoo hoo” from a tiny feathered creature perched on his left shoulder.

    “I know, I know, but remember our orders. He must be alive or else we won't get anything from him” Kyle told his feathered friend.

    “Hoooo”

    The small burrowing owl cocked it's head to the side as if contemplating the man's words. Despite the huge blue open sky the park presented, the little bird chose Kyle's shoulder as it's perch. But Kyle was more than simply a perch. He was the little birds flock, and while it was only a flock of two it was home.

    The bird cooed softly and Kyle brought a hand up to quiet it, “Shhhhh Rowdy, shhhhh. You mustn't let him know of our plans.”

    Kyle patted the small bird named Rowdy lightly, barely touching the tops of his feathers. Rowdy was quiet, realizing the motion meant silence. Kyle absolutely loved the bird with every piece of his being. He would do anything for Rowdy, even take a bullet for him. Ever since he saw him trapped in a back alley dumpster he knew they would be friends for life. The poor little thing was half starved with a broken wing and missing left toe. He had been thrown away and forgotten but it wasn't too late. Kyle had brought Rowdy home and fixed him up, made sure his wing healed in place and got him ready to be set free back into the wild. But when the time came, Rowdy never left Kyle's shoulder. Turned out the little bird liked Kyle as much as Kyle liked him.

    “He really does sleep quietly for a sleeping man....” pondered Kyle aloud. His nose was inches from the mans face before he ducked down again.

    The stranger lay horizontally across the park bench seemingly gone to the world. Kyle's face slowly rose from behind the man's head like a submarine breaking surface.

    “I wonder...” Kyle slowly raised a hand just over the man's face. He was about to wave it once when the stranger's arm snapped up, grabbing Kyle's hand in a vice-like grip.

    Kyle jumped,“He-Hey!!”

    The stranger's eyes shot open. He growled low,“wondering will get you nowhere my curious friend.”

    Kyle gasped in shock. The man was awake! Awake the whole time! He must have everything!!

    ~~pov change to Jason~~

    Jason watch the man squirm in his grip. A grin crawled across his face, growing from one corner of his mouth to the other. The genuine shock on the man's face was so amusing..

    “Unhand me you faker!!” the man squealed in anger.

    Jason did. But it didn't seem to help the mans disposition. He started on some long rant about spies and WWII and about how the government was really under the Russian control. Must be some vet with PTSD. Will probably start screaming about bombs in a few minutes.

    Jason rolled over onto his side to block the man out. He closed his eyes to continue his nap. The man would stop eventually....

    A hand jabbed him firmly in the side making his eyes jump open. Okay, now that had just crossed the line. Anger flared to the surface. This stranger was going to be sorry he ever laid eyes on Jason.

    Jason's eyes flew open in cold calculation, already planning what he would do. He would start with the thumbs....

    The stranger began yanking at his shoulder and had actually managed to pull him half off the bench before Jason sent him sprawling to the ground with a broken nose. Something, must be a bird, had jumped from his shoulder and took refuge in the trees above.

    All this didn't seem to faze the man. He was too concerned with something he saw just behind Jason. But Jason didn't care enough to look at the moment.

    The man scrawled backward, pointing and screaming, “Woman! Evil woman!!” his eyes grew wider as his fear approached, “We must get out before she becomes nuclear and kills us all!”

    If Jason wasn't so mad he might find the man amusing, but not now. He stepped up to the man and picked him up with a fist, holding him up off the ground. The man weighed nothing, literally. Jason was thin but he had muscle, this guy was just skin and bones. The torture would hurt even more for him...

    A sultry voice stopped Jason dead cold, “Oh sweeeeetie,” he could feel her hot breath on his neck, “Don't hurt it.”

    It was her.

    He barely noticed the struggling screaming man in his hand or the bird that was now flying and diving in circles at his head, or even the crowd of confused strangers who had gathered. All he could hear was Rikki in his head.

    Rikki smiles deviously behind him, “I think I've hurt this one enough already.”

    She reaches out from behind Jason and strokes the man's face. He cringes at her touch.

    Jason drops him and he crumples to the ground only to bounce up again and run away in a full panic. Jason watched the man flee if in a daze. Rikki's sweet perfume filled his nose and it seemed to consume him from the inside out.
  2. Alright so not a blog entry so much as a start to a story but here it is nonetheless:

    World of Grey

    I live in a world of grey. Where black and white collide, creating a rare mix of beauty and blindness. Where white is sight and black is not and grey is complicated. Where messy emotions make life both dreary and captivating on the same day and absolutes seem lost in yesterday.

    I open my eyes to see the world of my dreams but find only color. Giant green trees sway to a gentle breeze against a backdrop of blue sky dotted with long wispy clouds. A babbling brook bubbles just to my left just as a sweet smell drifts to my nose. It triggers an onslaught of emotions I am not ready for and to my horror I feel a tear slide down my cheek. I catch it as it falls from my chin. The salty liquid glistens on my fingertip and my eyebrows rise in surprise. There is no memory to match the strong sadness I feel clutch my chest, only confusion. But then, there is much I do not remember. My past is just one of many things that have been stolen from me. Ever since the Organization took me away from my home ten years ago I remember only what they want me to. I’m seventeen and cannot remember anything before I was seven.

    I roll onto my side and feel the cool grass that sends goosebumps pricking my skin. With that small movement, I notice the cause for the aroma that soaks the air. It is a flower, one I do not recognize. It has dark blue petals speckled with tiny white spots. In the center is a creamy white circle, reminding me of a full moon against a dark midnight sky.

    I bring the flower to my nose and inhale. My vision is filled with a forgotten memory. A boy, no more than six or seven sits beside me smiling. We are sitting on the bank of a small stream, dangling our feet in the cool water. His eyes are filled with childish laughter and I instantly feel a strong bond to him. He says something but the words are distant and I feel myself being torn away. His face blurs out of focus and I try desperately to hold onto the vision but before I can do anything it’s gone. I open my eyes and I’m back in reality.

    I sigh in frustration. My past seems to haunt me even now. I suppose it’s good to learn something while I still can. After all, this might be the last couple of hours I have left. My life might easily be cut short today. The thought sends a tense shudder rippling across my muscles.

    I stand to my feet and survey the area. A warm breeze drives the canopy of trees above me into a flurry. Sunlight dances across the green ground and I vaguely recognizing a small brook no more than five feet from where I stand. It’s the same size as the one from my memory. I step up to it and walk down the bank. I find a spot where the water collects into a three foot deep pool and a smooth rock juts out over the edge of the pool. I climb onto the rock and sit, my feet dangle just over the waterline. This was almost exactly my vision minus the boy. How is that possible? If the memory was true then this brook would be over ten years old and not moved an inch from its path in all that time.

    I sit there for a few moments taking it all in before deciding it’s time to get to work. I must focus on the test if I’m going to survive. The Organization has trained me for the last ten years to become the perfect soldier. Well, perhaps not a soldier so much as their own personal mercenary. I was “adopted” by the Organization along with over fifty other young recruits under the age of eight. It trained me and the others in everything imaginable. I am highly skilled in all kinds of weaponry, hand to hand combat, and capable of surviving in any climate. I know complex math in all forms including programming and science and history. I am effectively the ideal human to accomplish anything they have need from me. Of course this will only be proven correct after I incapacitate my competition.


    So i can't stand everything from "This was almost exactly my vision....Of course this will only be proven correct after I incapacitate my competition." It doesn't say what I want it to very well and I'm having trouble re-writing it in a way that does.

    I know there's a ton of other tech. errors but right now I'm not looking to write a masterpiece, just something that the basic reader can understand and enjoy and maybe even get them to question life a bit. I want them to care about the characters and I want that feeling of disappointment when it's all done because they want more. If I can accomplish that then I'll be happy.

    I'm not expecting anyone to read this so I guess it's more of a journal or milestone for myself.

    Hmm... now I have the vague feeling of talking to myself in a room full of people when no one is listening.

    Ha!