dear gays and lesbians,

we're sorry for everything. we're sorry for labeling you, for insulting you, for killing you, for denying you marriage, and for making your lives a living hell.

we're sorry, but we know that we can't take back all the horrible things we've done to you, so we've come to a compromise. a truce, a deal.

we will leave you alone and let you marry and treat you like normal folks as long as you stop having sex with one another.

gays can have sex with lesbians and vice versa, but not gays with gays and lesbians with lesbians.

we're all for love and peace and sex, but not man on man or woman on woman. well, the woman on woman thing can work if there's another man involved, but that's complicated and we can figure that out later when we hit that road.

but man on man is just... you know gross. woman on woman just seems awkward if it isn't between two really beautiful blondes, or brunettes of course. we don't discriminate.

we'll even allow you to marry, but of course gays can only marry lesbians and vice versa. we have to be consistent.

we really believe that this will work because you can still be as gay or lesbionic as much you want, minus the whole sex thing, and you'll get your rights as real people. we want you to be as comfortable with us and we are with us. and we want you to be like us as long as you stay true to yourself because we're all for that.

we really hope that this will work out. look forward to your response.

- The Law Abiding Law Abiders (LALA)

the end

the world is funny.

i can't remember a time when people didn't fight over what they believed in. Allah, Jehovah, Jesus, Buddha, satan, Edward Cullen. leftists, rightists, extremists, nudists. everyone had a team to fight for. bombs here, a protest there, threats of nuclear attack every other full moon, hair pulling, screaming, and crying. everyone had a reason to be angry at everybody else. we were like this from the beginning of time.

but then something happened.

one day, everyone just stopped believing.

and i mean everybody.

republicans, democrats, liberals, conservatives, terrorists, hell even athiests, and as far as i know, they didn't believe in anything to begin with. but that's the effect it had on everybody because deep down in your core, you believe in something. it could be God, demons, the american dream, gravity, or yourself, but people believed in something. and that day, something was taken from us.

i don't know the exact date, no one knows for sure, and i don't think anyone really cares anymore. it was a long time ago when governments were still intact and when people actually cared about their "fellow man."

i heard about groups of people that used to help people "in need." people that were hit by a tsunami or earthquake, people that went hungry every night, people that were dying. pretty pointless. they should've just been looking out for themselves. dying people are best left alone in this world.

we're all heading towards death and now there are only two types of people left. those that want to prolong the inevitable and steal as much time as they can on this earth and those that see no point in delaying. this earth used to crowded as hell, i heard. over 6 billion people. i can't even imagine. last i checked, we were teetering around a cool million or so. and even that was declining.

old people were a big chunk of the declining rate and kids either found a way to survive or died trying. i was one of the lucky ones.

i was abandoned by my parents as soon as i was born. some woman found me and saw a use for me. she raised me to sell me as soon as i was good for something. turns out i'm not too bad looking and she sold me to a rich couple as a sex slave.

sex was the natural way to get high when things were dry around here. of course, people didn't see the point of it anymore because making kids was a waste of time. it was mostly for pleasure, if you can call it that. it was more of an escape.

a way to forget the world we lived in. sex was a dream inducing state that left people bittersweet because they knew the feeling wouldn't last. it would make them feel good and even hopeful, but hope was a dangerous emotion and it was best if you killed it as soon as it emerged from your naive mind.

i've been a slave for quite a few years now and it's safe to say that i don't feel a thing. that as far as i know, this reality around me could be a dream. i pinch myself, hit myself, and inject myself whenever i can hoping to wake up from this. the thing is, is that the hope is shattered as soon it starts because hope lies in waking up to something else. i imagine myself waking up to a bright light, but it stops there. the light fades and blackness swallows up the light. there's nothing to wake up to.

i don't know how this world began, but i know that i'm living in the end of it.

but sometimes, i do get this weird sense of maybe this isn't it. that if one day i close my eyes for good, then i'll truly awaken to something. i've been having these dreams lately of waking up. i always wake up before i can see what woke me up and i'm always in tears. but i feel like that there's something there, like this isn't the way things are supposed to be. of course, that's where my dangerous sense of hope lies in now. in sleep. maybe when i die, i can dream forever. maybe i can even see what wakes me up in those dreams. and that's what gets me. what makes me think that i'll even be conscious when i die. after that, i'll be nothing just like i was when i was alive. i'll be gone, just like that. i'll cease to exist, is what a lot of people say around here when they get to that age.

and they say it with absolute certainty because it's the only thing they're certain of.

Why the World Needs an Apocalypse

This is the prompt for the winter break. Write a story about your own vision of an apocalypse. It can be pre, post, or during the apocalypse and it doesn't have to be in 1st person. And to make it more interesting...the second person that posts will have to take something from the previous person's post and incorporate it into their own story, and so on. It can be the vision itself, an object, person, place, etc. Be creative guys and happy writing!

Laying Down the Groundwork

The most daunting task is always coming back. Any sense of familiarity is gone, and I find myself at a loss for words. Why? Words used to flow from my fingers with a melodic ease... I could spend entire nights to the rhythm of my fingers tapping away at the keyboard.

It used to be the easiest thing, to let go of everything that I keep balled up inside, but the more I've kept inside, the harder it is to let go. Let's lay down some groundwork and see if we can't make this into something, yeah?

The way I see it, I'm always just barely chugging along -- I'm not that old, but I've exerted my body far further than it should go. I'm not that young, but I find myself holding on to reckless ambition and too many dreams. Recently I've made this decision to hold nothing back. Maybe it's an overdue ambition from my youth, to be able to put everything out there that I've needed to, to live life in both earnest and honest; or maybe it's something that I should've done a long time ago that I've never learned to do.

There's a part of me that's scared -- scared of what's going to happen when I reveal who I am to myself; am I going to be more of a softy than I realize I am? Am I going to realize that I really am as much of an asshole and hard-headed as I'm afraid of? Or am I going to be the kind of person that I hate?

It's never going to feel like there's enough time in the world to do everything. But you're never going to really know the world unless you look at it through honest eyes.

The Rock Climber

The sun had yet to show itself. The rock climber gauged his next feat by surveying the unique structures visible from the baseline. Of course he knew that on his way up there were going to be moments where he would have to quickly change plans and reroute his ascending path. The surface of the rock was clever that way. The vastness of its façade, the texture that withstood time, and the sheer boldness of its presence gave the rock climber a deep feeling of reverence. Reverence was the ritualistic element that the rock climber had to submit before attempting his journey upward. No previous rock had allowed the rock climber to set foot on its summit if he was not humbled. The rock was a proud deity. The rock climber continued to engage in his cognitive surveillance. The climb would be easy at first. There were many small jagged edges that would allow him to reach about 20 km with grace. However, from previous experiences, he knew they could not be trusted. Every single grab and step must be premeditated. At first he would feel with his hands, the sturdiness of the edges, and then calculate the ability of the edge to support his weight. Superficiality had no place in climbing. In fact, all true rock climbers knew that eye sight had nothing to do with the success of a single step upward. Above the 20 km, the climber saw that the face of his adversary would change and become smooth. This is where the real work would begin. Using his tools, the climber would puncture the surface with harness bolts that would then be used to attach the screwgate carabiners. Most of the time would be spent manipulating the equipment. At a certain point, the rock climber saw that there would be a wide ledge where he could rest and gather his remaining strength for the finish. However, this ledge also prevented the rock climber from seeing the rest of the way like the rock was intentionally hiding its most dangerous secrets. The rock climber smiled to himself. The top was never the intention of the rock climber. And contrary to what most believed, it wasn’t about the journey either. In the deepest recesses of the climber’s soul he felt that he was communicating with the rock, a conversation that could not be replicated by modern trickery. To achieve this, the rock climber had to throw way his falsities and stand bare before the grand judge. He knew that a mere human like him had absolutely nothing the rock desired, except for the abandonment of self. The sun was no longer immature, announced the commencement. The rock climber was ready and with the smile on his face that could be interpreted as arrogance or excitement, and with the eyes of absolute determination, he began his ascension.

John (Part 1)

John found himself lying awake at what he thought was morning. His eyes weren’t open yet but he could feel the warmth of daylight coming through the window hitting his face. He decided it was best to try and ignore the calling of the morning sun and return to the dream he had emerged from.

“What was I just dreaming about” he thought to himself.

John let out a long irritated sigh, rolled over to his side and buried his face in his pillow. He had forgotten what he had dreamt about but he knew somehow that it was something good. The resonance of feeling that lingers after a good dream toyed with John but made the process of waking up all the more frustrating. He hugged his pillow tightly and continued to bury his face further into his pillow to help him forget that it was morning. Something, however, wasn’t right. The alarm clock that went off every morning at the same time wasn’t buzzing. No, it wasn’t that. Was it the absence of the smell of coffee? Had he forgotten to set his coffee maker the night before? No, it wasn’t that either. Consciousness suddenly flooded his mind and thoughts were rushing in and out of his mind. John felt something deeply wrong in his gut. It became a knotted feeling. And then, it hit him. John had absolutely no idea what day of the week it was.
John was a farmer. He lived alone on a small piece of land that had an incredible view of a mountain range. His farm consisted of nine pigs, one horse, two cows, and a dozen of chickens. There was a narrow gravel road that extended from his house for about 10 miles before it hit a local road. Every single day since John purchased the farm and his livestock, woke up at 5:00 a.m. not a minute too late, put some clothes on, went downstairs to his kitchen and poured himself some coffee that he had set to automatically start brewing at 4:50 a.m. the night before. He wasn’t much of a breakfast eater because it upset his stomach and he didn’t like the feeling of an upset gut in the morning. John would sit out on his porch on a bench he had built himself and took deep breathes while sipping his steaming coffee. John would return to his kitchen and wash out his cup and hang it on a bent nail above his sink. One nail, one coffee mug. He then put on his thick leather work boots and set out to tend to different chores around the farm depending on the day of the week. Every day of the week was different. Monday, John would go to the cows and check their health followed by gathering one pail of milk. Tuesday, John would clean out the pig pens. Wednesday, he would count the chickens. On Thursday, John would lay down fresh hay in the stable. On Friday, John would ride his horse to the river and fish for salmon. Saturday, John went into town to buy his bottle of whiskey. And on Sunday, John would sit in his house and stare at small picture frame sitting on the mantle of his fireplace and empty his bottle of whiskey. This was John’s pattern of living every single week. The moment John opened his eyes in the morning he knew what day of the week it was without having to look at a calendar or even think about it.
However, today John simply could not figure out which day of the week it was.

John frantically got out of bed and rushed down the stairs.

“Damn, I need a shirt” he thought to himself.

John rushed back upstairs to his room and grabbed a button up shirt that was hanging off a nail on the wall. He quickly put it on and rushed back down the stairs. He looked at the coffee maker; there was no coffee in it. John tore the lid of the coffee maker open and there were no coffee grounds or a filter. Anxiety overtook John. He then sat down at his small wooden dining table and began to think.

“What did I do yesterday” he thought as if it would clue him in on what day it was.

“Did I go into town? Did I have my whiskey? Did I clean out the…” he couldn’t remember.

The more John tried to remember, the more confused he became. John got up and started looking through his cabinets and drawers. Most of them were empty save some canned foods and mismatched utensils. He was looking for a calendar. In the cabinet right above his refrigerator John found a small black book that read “Planner” on the front of it. John opened it and flipped through the pages in search of the date. However, soon after John began his search he realized that he never kept track of the date, just the day of the week.

Feeling defeated, John slid to the ground with his back to the refrigerator and hugged his knees. He didn’t know what to do next. He felt anxious and afraid. After staring blankly into space for some time he thought of something.