The Ridge
by Randall Johnston
(Starting Intro)
The Breaking of Wine Glasses and Bells Ringing from the Livestock - Excerpt
So this is a Callous remark of how I've shrugged at the night sky, figuring the lights are already out. I must've known the person that had paced towards me because they marched towards me with a stomp for each heel. She pulls me around by the shoulder and exclaims in distress, "Why are you so calm?" To which I responded, "It's just the end. At least we're here for the last one." He pats his dog's head. He seems so very calm right now. I take a swig of my wine and walk to the backyard, gazing into the dark night of our sky, out at the most magnificent thing I had ever bewildered come true. Soon there'll be no light. The girl had already whimpered off crying. "Wonder what's happening on the other side of the planet?" Throwing his glass at his house, he'd spent so much time and effort to procure only to have the other end of the barrel shoved down my throat weeks after. My gut wrenches.
"Will this side of the planet rush the cold over to their dusk?" Wondering out loud. He cleaves his stomach and falls onto the ground. "Oh, so I might not get to see the apocalypse, bastard." Viewing the constellations no longer foretelling our fate from birth to gullible youth and then shattered illusions like this delusion that they meant anything at all other than to fall tonight at the time when he should most enjoy his time. The dog tries to bustle him to get up. "I know it's the end." He brushes the dog away for him to kindly plop on the green grass. I wait for my constellation to have vanished as the pup sits and vocalizes a light-hearted tone. It never happens, and I'm left wondering what did he put in my wine? It's the only one of the night. I look up to the sky to see the two fish swimming through the milky way. Tied to a knot. "Okay, I have to get up and see the sunrise." Remember to count eight minutes after you see the sunrise.
(Initial Scene)
Tint - Excerpt
Filming two hoods at a transit terminal. Fog provides a nice eerie nuance of the blur against the bright lights shining outside the overhang. Fervently waiting on their minor audience to shimmer into a cascade of existence. "Hard to pull a following when." staggered in the middle of my sentence, startled by the white light clashing against the sky. An instantaneous boom as the bolt of the meteorite hits. The impact sends my brothers rampant, scrambling across the ground. Johnny asks… "Was the film online?"
"No, should we?"
"Yeah."
Thomas still setting up his improvised percussion box made in his high school. This project was partly due to his teacher thinking our class was languishing; this is how he planned to show the class is still appreciative. He kicks it to test the plywood on the back. "Sounds perfect for busking." He nods his head. Only to lift it enough to know we had already walked off. "Where are you going?" He calls after us. "Fog is thick, don't want to lose us," I yell, already ways away. The density of the humid air weighs down my coat as it blocks my vision, null and void. "How many crashes did you hear?" Considering that what we're searching for is not a meteorite. It just fell like one. "Just the one, right?"
"Sounded more like lightning." Johnny reciprocates. "Let's hope it's something special. Maybe we'll get something out of it at the very least." Rent next month will be high considering the heat will be on. Our parents, a long time ago, gave the boys the same last name. Embraced by and loved by the Halls.
"Like some fucking publicity, right." Thomas a bit of a foul-mouthed teen. Jogs to catch up. Currently, his favourite pass time in school. Really loves it when any class asks for anything creative, even the most remote. He'll embellish art into the project. If it's just a test, he has a signature that spells his name as an ambigram but only seemingly so. The upside-down letters are spelt displaying the words Auld Lang Syne. Part of why we've just passed the outdoor mall. Heading to the fringe of the tall wheat and unfed grass still clinging to the dirt. Held up by dry dirt. The hedges of nature's minor mild wind push off the last few leaves of orange and yellow for trees that will be here for many seasons. All of the trees were planted back when the lumber had been cultivated. We are only aware of this, and thought starts trailing passed us as we walk through the dead and faint grass because the available seeds were dropped and pressed under wet soil, circumventing a sublime desire, no stump but seasons apparent all around us. The leftover remnants are upright enough for us to brush away, pacing through them. Petrified standing up.
I look at his older brother Johnny and think about his faith, belief and doctrine. He just hasn't figured it out yet. Taoism has a more practical and fundamental depiction of reality and the hope that tomorrow's malfunction is maintained and can be slyly orchestrated almost entirely by us. When aware, the ecosystem will be urged to change and move on by the local fauna, animals and the humidity. I progress through, adding to my phone a gift idea, an hourglass. For him to listen to the grains fall and teach him to appreciate every grain that falls. Hopefully, if anything, he'll use it for brushing his teeth. A skinhead of a strong and well-regarded morality shows humility on his own without the concepts behind it. It's because of his parents. He never wants to disappoint them, so he always does his best.
His most appreciated words for faith and belief he'd read in his high school library. A large textbook with just one excerpt would send him down a similar path with a different connotation. Despite the affirmation others would have, he'll know early on what meaning he has found, continually exemplary. Due to his appearance. Bomber jacket, skull cap and patched-up jeans. You might get more or less of his personality by his drab likely to go unnoticed by a few, maybe even many. For instance, no insignia and no brand, not even on the patches.
Brothers estranged most of their lives and finally met at a shelter when they were old enough to have problematic personalities due to their parents being separated and then passing on. However, the guidance I've attained under the Hall house has them more in check than expected. The two social workers the two overheard were brought up to me at their last visit and were firmly deposed of any critical difficulties that would more commonly arise with troubled teenagers. So Tom came with John after strain and effort to Hall's home with foster parents. I keep them on track for more than a career as singer/songwriter and mention to Tommy a creative outlet with real tangible rewards and an art design class he may have overlooked. Instead of relying on an industry undermined by its own prowess of affordable equipment, the DIY ethic for cheaper stock, software, and its representation in a wide hit film convinced him. He bought an audio interface from a beautiful movie by an avid and fervent studio. So this little project of ours was a faint deception to use for the following class. Once he realized how it could all be integrated into his methods and preparation for studying, implementing and marketing for billboards, CGI representation for proposals and audio mastered by the highest echelon of his at the lowest price, an 8 track with MIDI and microphone capabilities. It might not be the best buy, but it's the circulation I'm convinced he could make.
I also preside at the very same. Helping with cleaning, general maintenance and assured academic growth of the two. In addition, I am a full-time caregiver for the Hall family. It's imperative with the tragedy that occurred.
Astounded at the outstanding act of John at 19, pushing Tom to pursue his desired goal for an entertainment career while he goes to university. Seems to of made good headway for an ambitious start for the both of them.
Our foster parents considered them their children, as well as law. Accepting both as guardians, well, Tommy anyways. Him being the only one still underage and somewhat suppressed with a few set rules. They were benign and ordinary everyday things like he had to be home on weekdays at ten. Unless John or I am there for him. If he wants to get a job for extra money outside his allowance, he has to put a portion to rent, savings, and a charity. However, the both of them would be the only others providing cash to him other than his Native treaty status recreational income and the well comparable benefits from the Government to help him along in most capacities, like sports.
Despite the loss of visibility, we went to find the meteorite hoping no others were on their way. Checking my camera for where it went down, 'Might've landed in the rough." Tommy stagnant, "I know you always have a weird way of saying things, do you mean the tall grass?"
Keeping our heads facing down while Tommy glimpses at a baby deer through the dampened brush of the weeds. He jumps back, "What the fuck?" I know it sounds like a question, but the necessary words are as well a damnifying rhetorical question. After inspecting the body, I hear those words you never want to hear during a predicament about what to tell the others. "What's wrong?"
I glance at what he was so shocked by, "It's a baby deer that's fallen to sleep." His eyes a little moulted for what laid down, and he never woke up again. "You won't puke, will you?" Johnny grabs him and pulls him out of the thicket. So the three of us out of the tall grass, shocked not by the deer's decay, while it still seemed well enough to be recently passed away. One of us freaked out, the other calmer and my sight more fixated at the presence of a boy sitting atop a rock, "How's that not burning?"
"I'm not entirely sure they're supposed to." He says, touching the side of the rock with his sleeve covering his hand.
"Hey, I figured someone would meet me here." He jumps off. I get credit, yeah? I'm the first one here. How the fuck do we move it?" I grumble, and Johns replies without so much as a wince, "What's the problem? I'll get my truck."
"No, I don't. It's not that." The kid, at this time. No. "How old are you?" He replies aloft of any shown concern, "I'm eighteen." Trying his best to cover his voice and casting his vision down upon us, hoping his meagre temperament would fool us in the utter belief that he could do it. "I don't believe that for a second." The kid sways, "Fine, sixteen." Tossing to each of our fragments of the stone. "I," Tommy's facial cue has him immediately respond, "I don't have a home." In a less than charismatic trying to address something important while conversing in a manner to pry a bit of truth out of him. A little irritated by the lack of thought, I turn in the reaction with a bilateral statement. "Let's stay till the morning." Jay is emphatic about this with thought and regard astride from my own without my meaning. "Yeah, that's what I'm thinking. It's not cold." Taking a seat on the dirt that had been bludgeoned. Entrenched on the green of a golf course.
"What's your name?"
"Stanley."
"No parents?"
"No."
"Okay, you'll stay with us till the fog clears." Just one thing we thought, when l catch the reflection of a spark of my lighter, it shows me an incomprehensible image of what is within. I hesitate to pull out my blue lenses. Thomas's yellow lenses might pick up more. A vague thought purely of curiosity. John grabs his shades while he undoes his bandana. "Here." Passed from John's, "what for?"
"Just in case you'd like to join the family. We'll help you, protect you and support you."
As he ties it to him, I think this might have already done the trick.
I hear the sonic booms of a very close and from above, explosive-like sound penetrating the stratosphere, then a few more and an unnoticed barrage of several further away just entering our highest peak and thin atmosphere. For what falls like shrapnel after being blasted apart by sonic waves. I tell the kid to shut and hide his eyelids, "Quick, blindfold." At the sound of a third meteorite descending towards us. I'm tempted to flee, but where the fuck do you go? John sparks up, "Hey, this might be the best thing that ever happens to each of us." I glance at him, thinking about what he's so calm for. Noticing my disgruntled face as it turned away from him is enough to say in proposal, "Let's assume that the chances of being struck by a meteorite are almost infallible in its statistic to not fall on anyone. It's better odds for us than surviving lightning than it is landing on us or anyone on the face of the earth."
"Yeah, so let's just sit atop the first and watch the meteor shower light up the fog. It might be entertaining. Take videos, please."
I look over at the three of them and nod, knowing that Jay had more thought than I. Moving through the fog, we'd increase our chances of being hit by the spread of the ground we cover and honestly, that disconcerting concept makes a bit more sense to me than it really should. Considering the view as they hop up, the kid mentions from on top, "My name is Stanley. This is about the coolest experience I've known."
He looks into the distance where I'm pointing, "Another few cubs. Isn't that interesting?" He sits down, and I ask for the yellow shades from Tommy while exchanging mine. "Might help." The flashes of lights spark brilliant white blare from thunderous sounds shaking the foundation of my own internal fabric. The kid though, he was exponential. Complete serenity showed on his face. Truly calm. Tommy leans over and says quietly, "The deer just fell asleep. Just as calm." Disturbed by the thought but glad somewhat at the notion. "I'll check in the morning." Seeing past the fog due to brilliant light shots, keeping the field alit to the brush line where a pack is leaving on the odd end of a migration, "Look, more. Visible with the yellow shades." I hand over the focal lenses to Stanley. He grins at the immense mad worthy herds of animals flocking through this endeavour, "This doesn't make sense, it doesn't make sense. These animals are supposed to be gone already. It's too cold to be in this area." Askew from what he said led me to the wildest of conclusions. It's on the tip of my tongue, but I bite and hold off on the idea for tomorrow's gain. I'll be back after others figure out what's been brought by the dissipating fog. Revealing how many are striding away and the forest mulch with the big expanses between tree to tree let you encompass many more bits of rock.
Wildly Misread's
The Ridge
By Randall Johnston
(Story As Is)
Excerpt - Anvil
An Anchor on The Ground
"Sink so I may see you do the same, anvil." I'm waiting for the crushed sarcophagus to break apart from the pressure. "You have been gone a long time." My eager waiting is weighing my mind down because of impatience. Startled abruptly by the small enclosure. At a touch, immediately knowing the surrounding encasement is brittle, the water will get in. "You have been gone a long time." Matches, damp. "Shit." It sparked, then sizzled burned out to carbon. Leaving me with the clear visual of a downed hope, "Okay, I've been drinking." Where the fuck am I? "Curious, you'd choose a frigate to cross the ocean." Kicking my enclosure for the coffin tin to open. "Hey, this isn't funny. I got fucking claustrophobia." I'd rather die than meet my old friend. This might as well be a trash receptacle rummaging about as much as I can within the meek container. They really didn't give me a chance. I feel the cold of metal near my ankle and start dragging it up. Shuffling and shifting the ammo casing up the side of my waist, grasping it and feeling jubilation at the relief of it being a flashlight. With me nearing the end of my plummeting wound weight. I'm worried about this doubt they intended me to have, reaching the bottom. "Our time is running out, but don't treat this as not a sprint." The man-made box, the coffin tin with nails in it. Hard seal to break, scratching at it, and some mucky soil covered the lid. I haven't the memory of an event that would land me here. I knew that they hated me. I just didn't think they'd leave me in less than a safe. The pressure weighing on my lungs. It must be deep, which means they didn't discount me on the living expense considering I had nothing of value to the crew, not above anymore. Angling the warmth of a lightbulb at my feet, I hope for checked batteries that are still full. Clicking the switch, it flashes, flickers and turns off. I grumble and hit the side of it. "Heavens." It was probably the gambling that did this one in. The last thing I remember is being dragged away from a flipped table. Yeah, that'll do it. "I didn't hear a thanks." The ominous tones of a crackling sparkler, "Darkness, how much time do I have?" I ask, thinking your not getting it. "Less now." Circumvented a way to reach what's left of your depiction and finally rid you from my own disaster you so selfishly fed upon. "I know what your thinking. I hear them plain as day, and you don't know what day it is, do you?" I know I have enough substance to go peacefully. The toxicity could turn this into a less than pleasant experience for him when I've reached the ground floor of the ocean, "No man may breathe." He'll have too much fun at the feast. And this isn't affordable to me. I shatter the glass to get at the filament inside the torch. "Calm? Closed eyes. Dirt, pungent." I open them to the dark cedar container while using my teeth with the space left for my hands. "Now you're with me, right? I'm not planning on going back up. I won't do it." Ripping the seams of my pocket, then shredded the sleeve of my shirt with my teeth. This is the only kindling useful within a stride of strife. The fuel, I need a flammable, "Hey, you reside in my head, right?" Searching my pockets that aren't ripped. "Entirely so." Gracious gratuity at the docks before joining the ship's crew for menial labour at a low price, I've lost more before. "Then I'll choose how we die." I spark the thread and thin cloth keeping me busy. I can hear drips at my feet and feel the water pooling up past my ankle dripping in quicker through the creaking boards. At some point, I'll be standing up and then choking on the water bottled up. There's that noise again. "Hey, what's outside circling me?" The faintest noise of gliding fish fins and then the impact, crunching the bottom boards filling up faster. "Do you think it's me?" They didn't bury me at the right place. The descent didn't last long. "Not in the slightest." I say unabridged and enthusiastic. The noise it's us. "Want to gamble?" Thwack, lint sparkles like his cackle and the crackle of his voice laughing and talking. "No." The sea creature splinters the wood at the smack off the side of this block of lumber. Limited time, the water spurting forth the pressure I'd expect of where I thought I'd land and the level already above my knee. Directly affecting my ability to breathe, pummeling my chest and waring down the lung. The drenched plywood dampened, this will give out, and it'll be the last needed. "If you had done less, would you be happy?" I consider the notion, while my blood flow spikes and I feel my heartbeat faster, "I'm a bit preoccupied. Enraptured by this being the end." I was right. No light down here. Not a shred of it. "I'd love to gamble. Do you see what I see?" I open my eyes to a fire still burning. Laughing at my adversary, I had tried desperately to get away from it. "This is the moment where you forget what you're worth. Can you feel my pain?" The skin roasting at the cuff of my sleeve smudged in kerosene, acting as the main ingredient, the basis for a shortened life span clocking out to the final edge of time. I hear him whimpering. Lasting as mine most alive. Still so bright, chock-full of esteem and the next part of this, I'll be careless enough to enjoy, "Hey, just wait till it's more than a burning s'more landing on us." I shout light heart saying what he doesn't want to hear. He wanted demise with no end. Now I invite chaos. Just about to suffocate, I keep breathing heavily for the short supply. Immense relief because of a thin space. Just about to suffocate, I keep breathing that short amount of air for immense relief from the desire of the toxins shorting out my lung. I hope this works...
"The chalk still fitted to my nails after spreading the clump. The smell of cloth burning to ash gives us a quick death, under the loss of consciousness." So I say with the fervour of a remarkable telling of the tale, Anvil. "Puking out my guts into three garbage bins next to my bed. Man, I'm still wasted. Oh, god. It's a boat. It's a boat." A few kids laugh while others are focused on me for how blunt the story is; they obviously haven't been talked to about subject matters like this. My s'more catches fire and drops in the firepit. Refraining to a silent curse, just in my head. "Hey, Reggie. What the hell? No, change the subject matter. "What? I ended it with them towing me up. It's not like a boat full of murderers...
(Bandon Bridges) Drunken Astronomer, Power Engineering Teacher
"What if I couldn't forgive the lights for dreaming?" I say pillage by my own kraft beer I made in the basement of my recently procured house. Pontificating that if stars are our representation for God's embankment of life, why does he not understand what has come full circle?
"Forgive me, when do they all go out?" My attention pulled from disarray and dizzying notion like my eyes were concussed with the lack of focus. Any decision even if a simple remark would be a loss of clarity for someone who should've been wearing his glasses his whole life. The only remarkable discovery I've asserted through what was published earlier this morning, I am now teaching my class how to not take it well.
"Some have already started to go out. We might be on the verge of an all inclusive Universal extinction for any planet that might've supported life." All of this, the only way to save ourselves is at the bottom of a bottle, or you know a cantine. Taking out my flask and pouring my most prized of possessions into the coffee sat on my desk. A disgruntled woman on faculty staff had taken the time to sit in on my class. "There isn't any proof." She scolds me, which invariably sparks within me to show her she's wrong. "If you'll look at the presentation it'll show the various stars that have already died stop shining giving us a thermal reading that's more bleak than astronomy has ever been." Now the projection above me running a one minute and twenty-five second video of the current stars and their expiration date. "You'll notice, most of these stars have stayed dark for more than our vision can entail, this is not a premonition. I've started the count and laid it out as best I could." I pause, considering the heavy weight of the new generation, "Will our star also go out? Will it matter when the rest no longer serve our rotation? As the rest of the universe has a will over our planet's subtle nuance."
Pocket Lint & Well Hidden Faberge Eggs
(Jenna Gannadee* & Sheena Kesley)
Hitting the graphite against the table after ticking it trying to follow the wallow of our teachers speech, till I look out the window to notice the men he'd said would come by, "Hey, can you say here when they call my name?" Picking up my knapsack with anticipation of it all to go wrong for our teacher. Sheena perturbed by my nonchalance ditch of the norm considering I could be kicked due to the failing grades, absentee boxes with no checkmark and the finished publication that with a stamp could stomp me forever. "Why?" She says seeming to think the class had picked up. As if it'd finally become interesting. "I want to get ahead of this disaster." I say chide to throw off any aspect of no confidence. "Don't think he's describing an event that will actually happen, Jenna." Ready to leave I save her the time and wave at the window, "No, I mean this one." She points at the men from CSIS, while picking up her bag. "You didn't have a bag." Sheena says confused. "Yeah, that's the point." Her expression didn't show me that she understood the situation fully, "Look, just say here to my name and they'll never know I'm gone. Out the doors, gone and willing to have the world come together at this, the most perilous of times. The end.