They Have Come Finally, they have come. You stand in the crowd with half awe, and half terror. The small, otherworldly creatures approach the group of people who stand with you, gawking. Apparently, they also have been awakened by the creatures on this dark, moonless night. Suddenly and simultaneously, you and your neighbors double in pain. A buzzing fills your ears. Through a haze, your eyes are drawn to and held by a small, bulbous-eyed creature. You feel a strange sensation of opening your mind to him. Soundlessly, he speaks to you. "Do not struggle," says a voice that up until now you would have called your conscience. "We are here," it continues. "There will be change. Conform or be destroyed of." A large man in front of you raises a clenched fist. "We are strong!" he screams, and swings a muscular arm in the air. "Strength is in the mind," It states. You see the man clutch his head which suddenly wells and begins to bleed. The man falls and writhes on blood-stained grass. Your gaze is still held by the alien. Once again, it speaks, or thinks, to you. "Resistance leads only to death," It states. "Conform or be disposed of. What is your choice?" You feel as if its attention is centered only on you. Your cringe at the thought. "What is your choice?" it repeats impatiently. "Anything but full cooperation will not be tolerated." You must answer. "But what if-" you stammer. "You have chosen." The buzzing fills your ears as your 'Gustavis' hat gradually tightens. Conformity Sucks You walk the "Northward Goers" path and stare at the uniformed back of the person ahead of you. You realize that through all the years you have gone to work this way, you have never seen the scenery. You have to fight off the urge to scan the area. Just then, a Watcher passes by your left. You inwardly shudder at the thought of the consequences of your whims. you concentrate on the back side of your predecessor. You continue to walk, in step, to where you will spend the next nine hours, twenty-seven minutes, and fifty-two seconds. From there, you will return to your home quadrant via the "Southward Goers" path. You long for independence. You wonder if being different, if only for a second, would be worth the pain of the punishment. With a sudden rush of courage, or foolishness, you decide it would be, one hundred times fold. Shifting your eyes ever so slightly you search for a nearby watcher. You see none. Then, at the peak of your courage, you flick your hand upward...and tile your glasses. Your heart triumphs, but sweat streams from your pores at the thought of the danger you are in. you realize that, by perspiring, you are adding to your uniqueness, and therefore, the severity of your crime. Suddenly, then man in front of your stops. He turns to face you, and seeing the Watcher mark on his forehead, you realize your fate. He places a hand on your shoulder. You realize that you will be punished horribly, but your will not be killed for your mistakes. Then you decide that your uniqueness is worth punishment. Maybe even death. "Conformity sucks!" you scream with a crazy grin. "Variety is life!" you shout. "For you, #456073," the watcher says, "it is death." Just Say No Joe heard his doorbell while washing his dishes. He swore to himself and dried his hands. before he went to the door, he peeked out the window. Yep. Two large, gray-clad men. He had been warned. People had told him not to argue, but to say "yes" without hesitation. Taking a deep breath, Jim opened the door. "Conform," the men said in unison. Jim looked at them both. He remembered the warnings to say "yes." He remembered them and chose to ignore. "No," Jim replied unwavering. The two men stared at him, then at each other. After a few moments, they turned and left. Feeling very unique, Jim went back to washing dishes. Relatively Paradise "By the gods!" the wizard exclaimed. "I have found it! I have finally found the gate to paradise!" The decrepit old mage threw down his spellbook and did a joyous little dance around his desk. He picked up his leather-bound magic book and scuffled over to a basin of water. "After all these decades," he thought, staring into the clear, still water. "I've discovered the words that will open the door to ecstasy." The magician began to recite strange words from his tome. He closed his eyes and touched the water with his fingertip. A ripple went through the basin and grew in size as the mage spoke. When the old man finished his chanting, the water began to churn and radiate with white light. A chill went up the mage's arm and for a second he wanted to withdraw his arm. "No...," he thought, "I've waited too long!" And he had. For 121 years he had studied. He had tried to create a portal to the celestial plane several times, but he always had the equation wrong. The failures had caused him unimaginable pain and the loss of his left hand, but it was a small price to pay for paradise. Now, he stood over the water basin-portal and prepared to enter. He could fell the power emanating from the gateway. In his mind, he could almost see the wonderful place. The mage put his arms into the water. Though the basin was once only three inches deep, the water now came up to his elbows. The old wizard reached farther into the portal and placed his face in the radiant pool. The old man felt himself being pulled through. Disorientated but still fully conscious, he traveled the planar pathway. The mage opened his eyes. He saw only darkness. He groped the ground. It was dusty, sandy, and rock-covered. "Hello??" he called into the darkness. "Is this paradise?" Two yellow, glowing eyes appeared before him. The mage stumbled backwards. "Yessss, this is paradise," said a deep, bestial voice. "Thank the gods!" the mage sighed. "I thought I had failed again and ended up dead." "No," said the voice. "You are quite alive and just in time to be my dinner." The mage looked fearfully at the bright eyes. "But I thought...but you said..." "Oh," said the guttural voice, "this is paradise." The mage could now see rows of glinting teeth. "But mine, not yours." Engage Captain's Log Stardate 4-0-3-8 It seems we've arrived in the neutral zone About three light years too late We received a vague distress call Well, more of a helpless little whine But our enemies have blown the ship Half-way to Deep-Space Nine! The bad guy ships are waiting Their phaser banks aglow These are extremely hostile races But they're the only ones we know The Klingons want to battle They wish to die with honor We sent Warf to calm them down But I'm sure that he's a goner The Romulans are a heartless bunch The Cardacians the same And the Ferrengi want to challenge us To a friendly "betting" game "We're in desperate need of allies!" Will Riller cries in shock "But we haven't seen a Vulcan Since the death of Mr. Spock!" "We've got to hold our ground" said Data "Cause Captain, this is war." Ensign Wesley jumped from "Ops" and yelled "Contractions! That guy's Lore!" Data...Lore...whoever he was Dashed to Science Station Three "You can eat them now my friend" He said to the crystalline entity Dianna grabbed a phaser and fried His positronic brain "A battle of five armies?" she cried "Captain, it's insane!" The Klingons are approaching The Ferrengi wouldn't dare Here come the Cardacians and Romulans And the Crystal thing out there I looked at Will and nodded he said, "I'm afraid we're out of luck!" We both knew we'd have to set The ship for self-destruct Then there was a sudden flash That made us jump in fright Then I saw the source of this Bluish amber light "Q!" I yelled in anger Yet I was very much relieved He was the only one to save us Though it was so hard to believe He snapped his fingers and sent our foes Into oblivion Then he smiled sarcastically and said "Aren't we having fun?!" He snapped his fingers once again And we hurtled into space "Where did you take us?!" Riller said With anger on his face He said "I've taken you three billion light years From that boring little war Don't you want to boldly go Where no one's gone before?" "No," I said. "We're going home" Q vanished in his rage I turned to Ensign Crushed and I calmly said "Engage." ????? What do Alaskan lifeguards wear? Do they swim around in sweaters? It the polar ice caps melted, Would it make the water wetter? If we brought along a sack of air, Could we populate the moon? If the black sea mixed with the red sea, Would it be a deep maroon? Did Superman use pen and ink Cause he couldn't see through lead? If the Beatles had been women Would they be the Lady Bugs instead? If California disappeared? Would there be a Western Coast? And if everybody likes it, Why not sell and package toast? Will I ever learn how to spell ON-A-MON-A-PE-A? Will this poem stop abruptyly If I run out of ideas? If you smash a black and white TV, Would it be a bunch of gray? If my teacher likes this journal, Do you think I'll get an A? About the Author I was born far away In a land long ago The name of the place I'm quite sure you don't know My family had problems (That's in a different poem) So at a young age, I left my small home I wandered for decades Many stories I told At Inns on the roadside Receiving payment in gold Many songs did I sing And poems did I write Earning my dinner And ben for the night "My ballads," I told them "Every one of them's true" They didn't believe me I sure hope you do I hope you like my stories Don't jude them too hard And thus goes my story Say Heracio Bard Struggling to Get Ahead Noggen was born in a small village. He lived in a small wooden cottage just like everyone else. His family was poor, just like all of the other families in the village. Nogen was very strong for his age, and other than that, there was only one difference between him and every other commoner; Nogen didn't have a head. This was not a major set back. What he lacked in brain power, he made up for in athletic ability. The only bad part was that he made the womenfolk uncomfortable. For this reason, he had no hope for marriage. One day, Nogen was strolling through the marketplace. He was browsing through the weapon stand when he was grabbed by four royal guards. Being as strong as he was, he could have easily fought them off and escaped, but he considered the idea foolish. As he was pulled down the street, he asked where they were going and what he had done. The guards told him that the princess had taken a liking to him and he was being taken to the castle. Once inside the huge stone fortress, Nogen was brought to the king's throne. There, he was offered the princess's hand in marriage. Nogen was ecstatic. He never thought he would be married, let alone to the royal princess! This was his chance at power, wealth, fame, and a beautiful bride. He had never seen the princess. Was she beautiful? Nogen dismissed the thought and decided that he would marry her no matter what she looked like. When the princess walked in, however, he changed his mind. She was beautiful, in fact, more than he had imagined, but when he saw the look in her eyes, he saw that it was not true love. He realized that the princess only wanted him for his body and as headless as he was, he didn't blame her. Nogen decided he couldn't bring himself to get into a relationship based on looks alone, even if it meant giving up being the heir to the king's throne and fortune. He left the king's daughter in tears and started for home. On his way through the marketplace, he started to have second thoughts. Marrying the princess would make her happy, and maybe they could learn to love eachother. Nogen was on the verge of turning back, when he saw the most beautiful face he had ever seen. He fell immediately in love with her. She gazed back at him from her window sill and he could tell that the feeling was mutual. She had long golden hair, big blue eyes, and a great smile. Best yet, that's all she had. This mysterious woman was nothing more than a head! Finally, someone who could relate to the trials one has to go through when missing an important part of the human anatomy! Nogen introduced himself. She said her name was Sarah Bellum. They began dating and were eventually betrothed. Over the years, they had several deformed children. Nogen lived headlessly ever after. As a Bear, A young, healthy salmon was splashing through a shallow mountain stream, gleefully enjoying the warm, midday sun. He didn't even notice his fish friends suddenly flee in terror. A strong clawed paw ripped the salmon out of his watery bliss. The terrified salmon felt the grizzly's knife-like claws slashing through his thick, muscular side. The salmon flipped with all it's might and for a brief second came loose of the monster's grasp. At the second powerful swipe, the salmon felt itself being lifted from the crisp spring water. Although it struggled greatly, The salmon could not free itself once again from the bear's cartilage-crushing grip. The grizzly's sharp teethe ripped through soft flesh, tearing a considerable chunk from his reluctant meal. With the new pain, the salmon leaped even more vigorously. When the many-toothed jaw clamped onto his scull, however, he knew the end was near. He had no chance of survival. His leisurely life of swimming upstream and back, was over. The salmon no longer struggled. He lost the will to live. Now all he could do was cling to his last hope. The hope of being reincarnated as a bear. A Good Day To Die He was right in front of me just outside a spear throw I flung one off anyway but it went way too low The shot nicked him behind his left knee He turned around and stared right at me My hand instinctively went to my belt I loosened the strap around my broad sword's hilt He cracked a grin and spit in the mud And then went for his dagger stained with my father's blood I held my ground and looked in his eye He silently wispered "Is it a good day to die?" I turned my sword around in my hand He said " You will soon be joining your stupid old man." I took a step forward with a quivering eye And yelled out my father's battle cry I ran straight ahead toward my dastardly foe Ready to make up for my origonal throw He got ready to dodge and turn in a flash And then use his dagger to turn me to hash But I stopped in my tracks and fired my crossbow My target fell backwards from the powerful blow I looked down at my enemy and let out a sigh Gravely I whispered " A good day to die." Yit'taahh! Cautious and fearful The stormtrooper walked He kept his light rifle Electronically cocked His boots crunched loudly In the dry forest grass He hoped that the natives Would just let him pass He snapped his head right What was that noise? He shifted his stance To a firing poise He growing fear gave him An adrenaline rush He fired randomly At the thick forest brush A spear head flew out From behind a charred tree With a pain in his chest He fell to his knee Somewhere far off Shrill voices cried "Damn little Ewoks..." He said as he died The Mirror of Beauty Simon was born 1379 in Thoesburrow, England with the name Maynard Dingleberry. His parents were two beggars. He had a younger brother named Wendel. Maynard, unlike the rest of the Dingleberrys, was very handsome. He looked nothing like his kin. His parents and brother all had lice ridden brown hair, dirty scarred faces, warty, calloused hands and big crooked noses. Maynard had long wavy blonde hair, fair skin, and sparkling blue eyes. He hated being poor and everything to do with it. When he was thirteen he decided he was far too good looking to live with the family he had so he went to live with two rich nobles who had no children. Maynard decided that his name was far too ugly sounding. He chose the name of his only childhood friend, Simon the sewer rat. He grew to be a tall, strong and vain man. While Simon was 27, still living with his adopted parents in Thoesburrow, he was out riding his beautiful white and golden maned steed Randall, he came upon an old man. Seeing the rags the man was wearing Simon thought he was a beggar and immediately sped to a gallop. The old man leapt in front of the horse. Simon stopped Randall in his tracks. He had just bought a set of golden horseshoes and really didn't want them coated with the remains of the old man. The old man was wearing a dark tattered robe. His face was hidden in a hood. The man reached inside his robe and pulled out an ancient looking scroll. He threw it a Simon with surprising force. Simon gaped in horror as the dusty rolls hit his spotless silver breastplate. He looked up, ready to break the man's neck for soiling his armor but he wasn't there. He had vanished. Simon shrugged and threw the scroll with two fingers. When it landed he saw that it was some kind of map. He dismounted and crouched down to read the yellow paper. He carefully flipped it over, touching it as little as possible and saw writing. Simon skimmed over it until he read the words " A magic mirror that makes others see you as the most beautiful thing in the world." Simon was instantly interested. He knew he was the most beautiful thing in Thoesburrow, but he wasn't sure about world wide. Now he could be! He looked at the map and decided to set out for it. Simon went home, told his parents about his quest and ordered his servants to pack supplies and load them on a donkey. He also went to the village and grabbed the first beggar he saw to be his traveling aide. In three days he set out for the Plain of BO. Simon, his horse Randall, the old donkey and the beggar named Bill, traveled along at an easy pace. They had traveled ten miles when Simon said it was time to eat. He handed Bill a dead chicken and told him to fry it. Bill only knew how to grill chicken. Simon could not bring himself to eat something as common as grilled chicken, so for the first time since he was 13, Simon went without lunch. As for Bill, it was the biggest meal he had ever had. They continued and soon came to a wooden sign. It was weathered and the words couldn't be seen, but by the strange aroma, Bill knew they had reached the plain of BO. Simon, just now realizing what BO stood for, shuddered at the thought of 25 more miles of the horrid odor. Simon spurred Randall ahead. The horse reluctantly obeyed. The day passed by. Bill set up camp on one of the rolling hills of the endless prairie. Bill grilled another chicken. This time Simon had a bite or two. He ate with his back to Bill so he wouldn't see him eat commoner food. The next morning they continued on. The terrible smell had gotten into Simon's clothes and he was constantly rubbing fragrant herbs on himself. Bill didn't seem to notice the odor. After riding a few miles they came to a deep chasm. When Simon looked into it, he couldn't see the bottom. It looked like an endless sea of blackness. They found and old rickety bridge. Simon told Bill to lead the donkey over and he would catch up when he knew it was safe. About halfway across, Bill let out a gut-wrenching scream. Simon rushed ahead, fearing that the donkey might drop the luggage. When he reached Bill, Simon saw a hand wrapped around his leg. Simon grabbed the only weapon he had. He began slapping the hand with a dead chicken. Just as the hand let go of Bill's leg, another one popped up and grabbed Simon's ankle. He started whacking it with the chicken. Bill too grabbed a chicken and threw it a hand that had grabbed the donkey. It let go and sank into the darkness. Simon clawed a hand that attached itself to his boot. It let go, but got a good grip on Simon's hand. Simon dropped to the ground with a thud. With a sudden burst of strength, he rose to his knees and yanked the hand with him. To Simon's surprise, the hand came up easily and along with it a hideous forearm. Simon began pulling the arm up like a rope. It was as if it continued forever. He spun around when he heard Bill shout. They were surrounded by dozens of arms that reached to the sky. Both men ran for the other side of the gorge followed by the frightened animals. Simon could feel dozens of hands brushing him as he ran. Probably dozens of filthy hands. When they somehow made it to the other side, they collapsed from exhaustion. The foul-smelling air made it hard for Simon to catch his breath. After a few minutes they continued. When the terrifying chasm was out of view, Bill set up camp. They had no chickens left, so they skipped supper and called it a night. It felt good to relax after their close shave at the arm pit. When Simon awoke the next morning he found Bill whittling on two thick pieces of wood. Bill said they might make better weapons than dead chickens not to mention they'd keep fresh longer. Simon saw Randall munching oats out of his silver tasseled oat bag and realized how hungry he was. Bill made breakfast. He told Simon it was the king's own secret recipe. It was oatmeal. They moved on and after a few hours they came to the entrance to the Canyon of bad habits. Sitting next to the path was a small, run down cabin. They saw chickens running around outside. Bill grabbed one as it passed and stuck it in his jacket. Simon was shocked. He was about to scold Bill when he heard an angry roar. A man about twice his size stood in the doorway of he cabin. He was hard to understand, but Simon thought he said something like "How dare you steal from Grendal the Perspirant!" The man ran at them. Bill tried to hand Simon a wooden club, but Simon grabbed the chicken. Simon swung with all his might and struck the giant on the forehead. Both Grendal and the chicken fell dead. Chicken still in hand Simon leapt on Randall and sped away. He soon realized that Bill was on foot. He stopped and waited for Bill and the donkey. Eventually Bill rounded the corner with donkey and luggage. He opened his jacket revealing four dead chickens. Seeing the toothless grin on his face, Simon had to laugh. They pressed on until the full moon shined above the canyon walls. Bill once again set up camp. He grilled a chicken and Simon gladly ate it. He was starting to get sick of the king's secret recipe. As he lay in his gold plated sleeping bag, which was very uncomfortable, he wondered why this peaceful place was called The Canyon of Bad Habits. He suddenly realized he was biting his finger nails. He tried to stop but he couldn't help it. He put on his gloves. It helped a little. He eventually dozed off. In a few minutes he was awakened by Bill's loud snoring. Simon didn't understand. Bill had never snored before. He rolled his pillow around his ears to muffle the annoying sound. The left side of his face felt wet. Simon grimaced. He realized he had been drooling in his sleep. Now Simon understood the meaning of the canyon's name. Simon awoke the next morning with a start. His sleeping bag and clothes were soaked. When he realized why, he screamed and ran to his water bottle. He emptied over himself and changed his clothes. He took his wet clothes and threw them in the fire. He realized his mistake when the odor got into the breakfast Bill was cooking. They traveled without a word. Simon found himself constantly twirling a finger in his long golden hair or gnawing his gloved fingertips. Whenever he glanced over he'd see Bill picking his nose or scratching himself. Simon grimaced in disgust. He knew the poor guy couldn't help it but it still grossed him out. They stopped for dinner and Bill prepared a chicken. Again Simon ate without showing any shame. For the first time he complemented Bill. The two men were becoming good friends. Lately Simon had noticed that if Bill was a little cleaner, they might look somewhat alike. In fact, give him a bath, a hair stylist, a new wardrobe and some teeth, and he might pass as a relative. For some reason, that thought startled him. He concentrated on following the path. At supper time Simon actually helped Bill set camp. According to the map, they were almost out of the canyon. That night Simon again slept uneasily. Simon woke with a familiar feeling. Cursing, he ran out and drenched himself with water once again. At breakfast, Simon became suspicious when he noticed the similarities between what Randall was eating and the king's secret recipe. They again set out in silence. The sun was high in the sky when they at last came to the canyon's end. The stone road soon turned into a moist dirt path. Bill refilled the water bottles in a small creek. There was a warm summer breeze which was a welcome change from the windless Canyon. As they continued they noticed a slight decline. Soon there was a drastic change in the weather. It began to get humid. Even the animals noticed the hot, stickiness of the air. They camped and had a troubled sleep. The humidity was intense and there were biting flies everywhere, not to mention Simon's sleeping bag reeked. In the morning, they trudged on. Immediately the ground began to get soggy. By noon, they saw patches of standing water. For dinner, Bill made stew out the moss floating on the stagnant pools. Simon actually liked it but he didn't let Bill know that. By dusk they were far into the bog. When the moon rose Simon thought he heard a wolf howl. He soon realized it was actually some one belching. He heard it again, but closer. In minutes the air was filled with the sound of belches. At first Simon didn't want to stop moving. He wanted to get out of this as soon as possible. Eventually, the ground became so wet they couldn't set camp. The travelers became exhausted. Even Randall didn't walk with his normal elegance. They continued into the night. The belching got so bad Simon stopped and stuffed pond scum in his ears. About dawn the path came to a steep incline. They set up camp at the first dry spot. They slept until dusk. When they woke they could barely hear the far off belches. They were finally out of the Belching Bog. After a while, the incline leveled off and they could see trees in the distance. They set camp again and waited until morning. At noon the next day they reached the edge of The Forest of Ugliness. They entered the shade of the trees. Simon saw flowers, withered, brown flowers. The trees were also ugly. Their bark was gnarled and black. Their leaves were dark green and had sharp, jagged edges. After a few hours, they came upon a clear, sparkling spring. Simon wondered how something so beautiful could be in such an ugly place. In the middle of the spring was a stone pillar. Resting on the top of it was a small gold handled mirror. Simon gaped in wonder. He finally made it. He dismounted Randall and made his way to the spring. Suddenly Simon felt a jerk on his shoulder. He spun around and stood face to face with the ugliest man he'd ever seen. They were about the same size but the ugly man was in rags and had creatures crawling all over him. Simon screamed and ducked away. The man just stared. Simon asked him what he wanted, slipping his hand toward his club. The man just stood there. Simon raised the club. The ugly man dropped to his knees. Simon demanded he stand up and explain himself. The man rose and explained that he was the guardian of the mirror and could not let anyone pass. Simon didn't come all that way for nothing. He threw down his glove as a sign of hostility. The man grew angry. He stepped forward and Simon swung his club. It hit the man in the side. He went down with a thud. Simon stood over him. Between sobs, the man said something like "Maynard, don't you remember me?" Simon was shocked as the man told his story. Apparently, the man was Simon's long lost brother Wendall Dingleberry. After Simon left his family, an old man in an old tattered robe and a hooded face told him to guard the mirror. The old man gave the beggar riches to stay ugly. Wendall was 11 when he came to the forest and had lived there since. Wendall begged Simon to spare his life. Simon lowered the club and walked to the spring. He waded out to the pillar and picked up the mirror. He looked into it and admired himself. The mirror showed him with golden hair and fair complexion although he knew he was dirty and ragged from his journey. He walked out of the spring with the mirror in hand. He looked at Bill. He was shaking his head with disappointment. Simon had not changed. Simon was just about to smash the mirror when he saw an inscription on the handle. The words were: "look into the glass and speak: The Ugliness of beauty". Simon did. The mirror began to glow with radiance. The small pool quaked and churned. The cement pillar crumbled. A shaft of blinding light went from the surface of the mirror to Simon's face. He looked up and saw the two beggars moving toward him. They had crazed looks on their faces. Simon didn't understand, the mirror was supposed to make others see him as the most beautiful thing in the world. He suddenly remembered what it was like to be poor and hungry. The most beautiful thing in the world was a hot meal. Simon was never forced to eat grilled chicken or oatmeal again. Drunken Prime I stumbled from the barstool my vision somewhat blurred I vainly tried to reacount for the events that had occured "Where the blazes am I, berk?" I asked an nearby drunk The man sat chomping on some bread and he offered me a chunk I reached out and grabbed the bread and threw it 'cross the bar I tried to rush the drunken man but didn't make it far I grew dizzy, swayed around, and heavily, I fell The drunk came over, spat, and cussed " Another Prime, Ah hell!" Then he laughed and scoffed at me and at my euphoria "Ya got too damn drunk, ya stupid Prime, You're in Arborea" The Reeper The warrior drew his sword and dismounted his steed Death approched with unnerving speed He didn't even walk, he'd much rather fly And with him he had the dreaded soul sythe The fighter yelled strong and loud Into a grinning skull under a black shroud "Back to the pits demonous scum, I have more muscle than you in my thumb" He stepped forward as the spector replied "I can't wait to hear your screams as you die" "It is you who will perish," cried the young man "Haven't you noticed the magic sword in my hand?" Death raised his hand and the man started to choke He fell to his knees as the black demon spoke "You have too much confidence, you ignorant boy. Compared to my weapon, that blade's just a toy. They call me The Reeper and I'll harvest your soul And take it with me down the bottomless hole." The warrior stood up and swung with such force When his sword touched the demon, he felt the pain coarse Through his body and limbs and into his eyes And from deep under ground there rose fierce mournful cries He saw thousands of black shapes, he thought "Am I going blind? Or is the problem within, am I losing my mind?" Then someone grabbed him and up he flew He scratched at the hand but it stuck like glue He looked down and saw Death and was filled with dismay He could feel his very soul being sucked slowly away In the demons hands he twisted and moaned He started to fall then hit the ground with a groan He was filled with sadness and utter depression Then he looked up and saw the hideous procession Faded black spectors lined up for a mile Each one the same and terribly vile He looked at his hands and saw a shadow of black He looked at his chest and felt down his back His own hands went through him as if he weren't there Then all of sudden he became quite aware He was a ghost, a spector, a demon somehow Then it him, he was one of them now He moaned mournfully and looked at the others Then he quietly got into line with his brothers Colonel Sanders There was a man, about 60 years old Name was Sanders as the story's told Retired from the army and settled down Started a restraunt in an Iowa town He didn't serve hamburgers, Cokes, or fries Or apple, cherry, or bluebery pies He named the place Iowa Fried Chicken And you take it from me it was finger lickin' The locals thought he was an awsome dude He was known throughout the county for delicious food Then someone told some Iowa jokes that weren't very funny People stopped comin' and the Colonel lost money Needless to say, Sanders got mad He balled his fists and swore just a tad "I don't understand" He said "The food's not to blame!" "People were makin' fun of that stupid name" He thought to himself, "It's not too late!" "I'll just relocate to a different state!" "Where should I go?" he asked Bob Fred and Sally He soon consulted Rand McNally He paged through the map with an anxious flick He thought "It'll be pure fate which state I pick!" He closed his eyes and hoped to get lucky He dropped his finger on old Kentucky What he said next rang out like a bell "Kentucky Fried Chicken? What the ...heck!" The colonel loaded up his oven and moved way south He brought a brand new taste to the everyone's mouth He moved his place to a piddley little town And soon became nearly world renown He kept making chicken 'till he was 90 years old Including my personal favorite, Rotisserie Gold From down in Orlando to up in Nantucket They all cried when he kicked the bucket He passed on but his memory won't die He'll live on in our stomaches as the years go by Now every tub of chicken has a picture of his head And don't he look good for being dead? Time Heals All Wounds I was on a 7-47 about to leave for Houston. The Pilot announced that there were slight engine troubles and take-off would be delayed. It was late and the few other passengers were sleeping. I was engrossed in a great novel, reading by the light of the small overhead lamp. The sudden feeling of someone watching me wrenched me out of my book. I turned and looked to my left. A man in a trench coat was staring back at me with obvious interest. Without a word, the man took a seat next to me. The first thing I noticed about him was the gruesome looking scar running from the middle of his forehead to his left cheek bone. The grotesque mark looked as if it might have caused considerable pain. He appeared about ten years older than me, and I realized that, if he were younger, and had no scar, he might look a lot like me. This fact startled me, yet it seemed to make perfect sense. The man was studying me, also. He seemed especially interested in my face, particularly my forehead. The stranger's hand kept straying to his scar, as if remembering the past. When I asked him if I knew him, he answered no, and in a dead serious voice, asked me to keep my head down. I was about to ask him what he meant but at that moment, my seat started to shake. I looked around and saw that the whole plane was convulsing. I frantically searched for an explanation, but found none. The other passengers were sharing my panicked state. The small section was filled with cries of terror. I looked back at the stranger for some kind of reassurance. I disdainfully discovered that he was no longer there. The plane's shaking was now accompanied with a threatening rumble. I looked out my small window only to see the ambulance and fire crew racing toward us. I forced myself to put my head down. Immediately, I heard the explosion. I felt the rush of air tug on my clothing. I felt the flames sizzle the hair on the back of my neck. I heard the grating sound of steel crunching. I heard the mournful wails of my fellow travelers as they were consumed by the raging fire. Then it was over. The shaking had stopped, along with the wind, the rumbling, and the screaming. There was only me, fire, and death. I got up and scanned the wreckage. My eyes were drawn to my seat, untouched among the carnage. There, in the tan, cushioned seat, embedded into the thick, foam padding, was a spear like rod of steel. My hand traced an imaginary line from my forehead to my left cheek bone. The future had been changed. Dent hurried to form ranks with the rest of his patrol. He couldn't wait. The adrenaline burned through him like Firewine through a half-elf. He clenched his hands on his huge oak mallet with impatience. Once the group of fifty men had gotten organized, the gates were open. The skilled knights left the tower and entered the battlefield. Dent was towards the front with the most experienced veterans. It was an honor for anyone, but especially someone as young as Dent. Dent had only been in the Biverian Borderguard for seventeen months, but he had already earned the respect of even the most revered war-heroes. So far, he had killed thirteen Biverian Dograts, a local record. Now the elite fighters were on the march to a small village that was recently attacked by a pack of the wild beasts. Dent wondered if he should use his sword this time. No, he was saving it for a Rankkor. The huge two handed weapon stayed in its scabbard. For now, Dent would keep using his huge mallet. Both weapons were equally huge and almost equally effective, but Dent had saved his money for years to buy the sword, and it deserved more than ordinary battle. The mallet, however cost Dent nothing. Long ago, he had pulled the wooden shaft out of a rusty axe that someone discarded, and stuck one end through a small oak stump. The big war hammer was now well stained with Dograt blood. Now, these weapons could not be used easily by the average man, but Dent wasn't the average man. Dent was big. He stood nearly seven feet tall and weighed close to three hundred pounds. In fact, he was so big that he couldn't find a breastplate that he could fit his muscular arms through. Finally, he took the largest he could find and pounded the arm holes bigger. Next to his sword, his armor was his most valued possession. The blue breastplate bore the insignia of the Borderguard and despite the fact that it was battered and bent from his adjustments, he wore it proudly. That's actually how he got his name. But that didn't bother Dent, he knew that what people thought of you or how you looked or even your race didn't really matter. The only thing important was how well you fared in battle. The soldiers approached the small town. They could see from a distance that it was in ruins. Food, furniture, and bodies littered the streets. Dent's blood boiled. He couldn't wait to break some Biverian skulls. The soldiers separated in search of the enemy. Most went in pairs. Dent went alone. He could handle himself. Dent approached a deserted alley. Snuffling sounds echoed into the street. Dent peeked around the corner. Sure enough, a large Dograt sat rummaging through a pile of trash. Dent gripped his mallet and charged into the alley. The Dograt's skull crumpled under the force of the hammer. Dent stood over the body in triumph and placed his hand solemnly over the Borderguard insignia on his breast, as he always did. Then, a movement caught his eye. Four sets of eyes glowed from a dark doorway. Dent turned just in time. He was able to deflect the first attack. The Dograt slammed against the far building and stood in a daze. Another beast lunged at Dent, this time catching him in the armored chest with a huge paw. Dent staggered at the blow, but recovered in time to deal the Dograt a powerful blow to the ribs. This one fell with a yelp and didn't get up again. There were now two Dograts in front of him and one behind. Unfortunately, they all decided to attack at the same time. Dent was pushed to the ground under the weight of the Dograts, each twice the size of a large dog. Dent wrestled and beat them until the one left standing fled down the street. Dent lay in the alley, soaked with as much of his own blood as the Dograts'. The pain was too great for him to walk away, so he stayed there clutching his bloody mallet until his companions found him. When they did, they saw his condition and rushed to give first aid. One soldier saw blood oozing from a crack in Dent's plate armor. He tried to remove the armor, but Dent refused to let him. He shouted and struck out at them. It took four men to subdue Dent enough for the armor to be removed. And when they finally got it off, they stepped back in horror. It wasn't the blood that shocked them, it wasn't the exposed ribs, it was the thick, bark-like skin that covered Dent's abdomen and chest. Some men backed away, some spat in disgust, some even drew their swords. "A half-troll..." someone hissed. "Kill him!" someone shouted. They kicked him in the side and spat in his face. No one came to his defense, not even those he had considered friends. Finally, they tied his hands and feet and left him there for the Dograts. Dent didn't know how long he laid there. He was never more than half conscience. All he remembered was that a man in a green cloak and big hat came treated his wounds, cut his bonds, and gave him food and water. When Dent came out of his daze, the man was gone. Dent didn't care. He had other issues. He placed his breastplate in the bare street and poured lamp oil over it. When he sparked it, the surface burst into flames. He stood staring into the fire, deep in thought. He had always fought for the cause of good. He remembered being taught that humans were good and Biverians were evil. But now he new that the only true evil is injustice. Dent laughed despite of himself. "How ironic," he said to the flames, "that of all things, prejudice knows no race." Afterward, he put the armor back on. Dent place his hand over his chest. What once was a proud symbol of goodness was now a blackened stain of justice. Appliance or Diety? It sits alone, unnoticed Its armor always glistening It stands alone unmocing Just watching us and listening It is almighty, powerful Its intelligence supreme We place all our faith in it And its metallic gleam Every morning when we rise from bed It helps us break our fast The bread pops up unfailingly Oh, its power is so vast I know it's unconventional My theory's rather odd But there's no denying truth, my friends The Toaster is a god Slug Girl The young girl walked home. The neighbors she passed had no idea that the brown hair and blue eyes were ony a disguise. All they saw was a 15-year- old girl who liked to wear sweatshirts and blue jeans. What they didn't see was that she was a spy. They didn't know that the world's population of garden slugs had been secretly breeding humans for their own wicked ways. The supposedly lesser species was out to conquer the world. Now, with human education and technology at their disposal, they would succeed. The Innocent Snake There once was a village who's only food source was cheese. One year, snakes invaded the cheese bins. They devoured every last cord. The people were devastated. They killed every snake in the village. The next summer, the cheese started to disappear, little by little. When the villagers found out, they were outraged. They hunted for the their. After many days, they found a snake a few miles outside of town. They brought him back to town and imprisoned him. The next day, they found more cheese missing. Many people still believed that the snake was behind it, despitethe fact that he was locked up all night. That night, the peple posted guards at the cheese bins. In the morning, the guards came out with several dead rats. The villagres realized the the rats were stealing their precious cheese, and the snake was innocent! The people shamefully released the snake and apologized for the misunderstanding. As the snake left, he lookedback at the villagers, and said, "Jude me not on the actions of my brothers."