Every fabric of my being wished for this Wednesday to simply pass. No commotion. No stress. No sitting here typing words…no blog. I’ll admit I’ve been slightly frustrated by the current status of the blogging on the forum. There seems to be a format change occurring, and being the artsy bastard who wears his heart on his sleeve….I tend to take things way out of context and create scenarios that simply do not exist.

When I step back and look at the bigger picture however, I see the new “journal” direction this thing we have called blogging is taking. With that in mind, my outlook on the future of this end of the forum is much, much more positive. At times I simply have to laugh at the negative Nelly that lives in the back of my mind…and pray he doesn’t offend too many people.

So with that in mind, I will say this…there will not be a J/M story next week… I see the new direction I must take with this, and I have quite a few things to do between now and then. But I can’t leave people hanging for three weeks… So here’s a section that may or may not appear later, if it doesn’t…you’ll know where it fits in.

Jogger/machete cont.

“We’ll need to get gas somewhere within the hour, your trucks only got half a tank.” Butters said

“It’s not a truck, it’s a SUV.” the Mother said

She stares out the window, watching the town she has called home for the last three years flash past her. They are probably lucky that they were on the outskirts of town. Had they been more toward the center of Wilmington, who knows how difficult it would have been to get around traffic. Butters decided he would be better as the wheelman considering the state she was in. He made the correct decision. She wasn’t ready for it.


Shock seems to be the best way to describe her mental state, the kind of emotional shutdown that clears the mind of all other emotions and leaves only the pain, or absence of pain in this situation. The helpless feeling of knowing the only thing you can do is run. With this feeling comes an inner clarity she doesn’t wish to have. This is the thing she’s run from.
Just how many years now? She wonders to herself. How long have I been slowly jogging away from my problems? She puzzles over what brought her to Wilmington in the first place, that’s an easy one. She was running, running from Jacobs’s father.

Their breakup had been a little on the messy end. His compulsive nature is what originally began their torrid romance, and in the end, when she wasn’t the object of his compulsion. She ran. And what had running from Him gotten her? She’d gotten a dead end job as a human resource manager, a lonely existence, fearful of her own natural feelings and her stupid, “attracting the assholes” love life. You certainly can’t have that when you’re a single mother of two. And now, now she’s not even a mother of two… She’s a mother of just one. Her Amy is gone, at least the Amy she once knew and loved.

So here they are, traveling south toward some Hermit character. This Butters kid seems to think he knows something. She wants to believe the kid. She thinks to herself, I really shouldn’t call him a kid; he looks to be what eighteen? Hell, he’s not an altogether bad looking kid. Ten years ago maybe… she feels herself blush slightly at this. Why the hell did she even think that? For God’s sake, the world may very well be ending and here she is eyeing the teenager! Aw hell, guess it really doesn’t matter anymore does it? Rules are out girl… she thinks. As she looks away from Butters, he checks the radio. A whole lot of nothing comes out of the speakers. He digs through her CDs finally deciding on some Willie Nelson. He doesn’t seem the type for Willie. She thinks, Shit, that’s Claire’s CD, wonder if she knew I still had that?

Her thoughts go back to the direction they’re headed. This road south is surprisingly painful to remember after all these years. The trip will surely be filled with many familiar landmarks; surely not much has changed down there in the last five years. For some reason she has the feeling she may know exactly where they are headed and this scares the shit out of her. Something about the way Butters described this Hermit sounds familiar. If they end up in the spot she fears they may, she will have to tell him… But she’ll cross that bridge when they get there.

For now, she knows she needs to find some type of resolution. Some closure to her situation, a way to remain focused. She thinks of the last thing she was doing before it all went down. Jogging. How appropriate she thinks. That’s the last thing I should have been doing. And with that, she has her resolution.

No matter what happens, no matter where they end up, the LAST thing she will do is run away. Even if it means facing the worst of her fears, facing her deepest nightmares made flesh, hell… facing HIM. She won’t run. She will stand her ground, if for nothing else, for the sake of her son. Her son and this strange man who calls himself “Butters”. After what those two accomplished to get them into this SUV and get it on the road, she owes them that much. It’s time to deliver.

Of course she still owes Butters one other thing.

She looks over at him.

“My name is Maggie.”

---------------------------End Scene--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Many of my works of the past have dealt in at least a subconscious way with choosing a path, or a crossing of paths. Paths, or patterns, seem to be the governing force within the universe I have within my mind. One of the paths I continually try to place myself on would be the path of the emotional recluse. We all have our “inner demons” our things we constantly fight within ourselves to control. Maggie’s natural urge to run from confrontation is just one example of the truth many of us face on a daily basis… We each are our own worst enemy. We each are the embodiment of the paths and crossroads our minds put us on. No matter how hard we try to fight, to rage against the inner struggles that we all must face, those struggles ultimately shape the people we become. Perhaps the old adage; “the enemy of my enemy is my friend” takes on a whole new meaning in this context.

For myself, I find compassion to be the toughest enemy I’ve ever faced.

And with that, I bid you all adieu….for a little while at least

Todd out