In 2001 or 2002, I conceived a story of two people who had overcome so much in their long lives that their love could not be broken. It was a testament to the power of love that they were able to remain as strong as they had, together, for all time.

This story went through many revisions, until I eventually entered a contest with it in 2005. Looking back at it, I would put it through another round of revisions, as some of the language is cringe worthy, but I feel the idea is universal enough for anyone reading to understand the passion behind it.

I present Old Love, a tale of two lovers on the greatest night of their lives, and the morning that follows afterward.

Old Love

His breathing was clipped and slightly ragged as he recovered from the exhaustion of passion. Sweat trickled down the side of his face. The soft sheets beneath him drank it with thirst. His eyes gazed at the wrinkled body lying next to him. Her wrinkles matched nearly all of his own. His lips curled into a boyish smile, though his outer-layer betrayed his true age. He felt her pale hands against his chest, her fingers running over the gray silken hair curled together there. Her hands were a stark contrast against his skin; his dark wrinkles made her pale hands seem to glow in the darkness. He felt her warmth, her spirit, her love as they moved closer together underneath the single sheet.

His thumb brushed the white hair back from her eyes, stroking her cheek gently. He felt the sweat on her too, a pure sweat from passion, lust, and love. Her storm cloud colored eyes gazed up at him. Her spirit flared brightly inside them. His heart leapt in his chest when he saw it, when her aura combined with his own. All of their years together had brought them closer as lovers and friends. The fire in her eyes reminded him of the first time he had seen her. The very thought twitched the corners of his mouth into a tight smile.

Moonlight pulled itself over the windowsill, poking its head into the room, and watched the two. Her back was to it, but his face was revealed in the light. He pulled her close, his arms wrapping around her, her own clinging to him. Their legs intertwined with the passion of the experience. Their love had been shared in the most intimate of ways, shared in the way they chosen never to share with another. They were together, for all time, and no one could take that from them.

She trembled. He knew why. All of the obstacles they had overcome, the hatred, the separations, the misunderstandings, all of them had been obstacles that should have torn them apart. But they endured. They fought. They lived, loved, and learned. They stood side by side against the staunchest opponents, never once flinching or faltering. And in the end they had won. He rubbed her back, thinking of the first time that he had comforted her. She cried, he soothed. And there had been many times his tears stained her shoulder and her hands relieved his burdens. Their devotion kept them strong. They truly were truly bonded.

Life had been full of challenges. Yet their love moved them through any obstacle. He combed his fingers through her hair, watching her with his dark eyes. She sighed in content, pressing harder against him, the moonlight tickling her face with its fingers. Their hearts beat in sync, the echo of emotion permeating throughout the room.

“I love you.” Her voice was small and sweet, filled with a hint of soft summer breezes. Her eyes watched him. Silvery tears glistened at the corners. He pulled her closer, feeling her warmth and love wrap tenderly around him.

“I love you too, angel.” She put her head to his chest and he combed his dark fingers through her hair. The moonlight’s gentle fingers entwined them in its loving grasp and the breeze blew through the open window, enveloping the room in a refreshing coolness.

They had endeavored their entire lives to do all the things that they had set out to do: raise a happy, loving family and acquire the key to happiness. They had completed both. Even in their twilight years happiness was theirs. Even in peaceful bliss of each others arms after a passionate night. Even then they accomplished all they set out to do.

He watched her glistening eyes and kissed her brow as she smiled. He waited for so many years, through untold hardships to be one with her. And she had done the same, enduring everything with equal ferocity and determination as he. And now they were one, a singular vessel of finality.

Watching her, he smiled and told her again of his love before his eyes closed. He knew hers had as well. The last thing he saw, the last image in his mind as he lay with her in his arms and he in her arms, was her eyes, with the ever-present beautiful soul burning in them. And then they drifted off to sleep as one, lying snuggled together under a single sheet with the moon throwing its luminescent fingers hands their bodies.

Their daughter came to visit them in the morning and unlocked the door. Nothing was cooking and the television wasn’t on. She went to the kitchen and called for them, opening up some of the windows to let fresh air into the house. She checked the coffee pot. Nothing was in it. Her father, though having not drank coffee for most of his life, had just recently needed the caffeine boost to wake him up in the morning. And if the coffee wasn’t brewed, it meant they were still asleep. She half laughed to herself. Her mother and father never slept passed 11 o’clock. She headed to the bedroom.

When her amber eyes took them in, she gasped. She gasped, not out of disgust, not out of the vulgar display, but out of fear. She knew. She choked back a sob. She knew. Railing against her self-control, tears rolled down her cheeks. They lay together, naked, with only a white sheet over them. Their eyes were closed and they faced each other, cradled in one another’s arms. Sleeping peacefully, she knew. 

She had been raised to understand sacrifice, to comprehend an archaic gesture that it was said only the greatest of men could make. She had seen it in her parents. The way their eyes looked at each other and their mouths whispered each other’s names. She remembered vividly the way her father watched her mother reading to her when she was only five. She remembered the way her mother smiled when her father tried to teach her how to play guitar. She remembered the way her father would take her into his studio, show her how everything worked, and let her listen to what he was working on. She remembered fondly how her mother would take her into her lap as she worked on the computer, telling her all about the stories she wrote.

She always marveled at the way her father was able to give her mother something new every week and how her mother was always taken by honest surprise and wonder. She fantasized about her own husband doing the things her father had done for her mother and the joy that would fill her own heart.

But she remembered most of all how they felt about one another. How her father would whisper and say the sweetest things to her mother and how her mother would make special knick-knacks for the sake of giving them to her father. And how her father treasured those special heart-given things.

She knew this was the way they would pass; resting in each other’s arms for all time. The tears fell away but not in sadness. There was only the happy clarity of understanding as she watched them lying cuddled together in the center of the vast bed. She smiled and slowly walked to the side of the bed. And she leaned over first kissing her mother’s forehead and then her father’s. She pulled the sheet up to their shoulders and smiled sweetly at both of them.

“I love you mom and dad. You two get some sleep now.” And then she walked out slowly, closing the door behind her, leaving them to sleep in each other’s arms for all time.

It would appear that, just as things really get started, the series I started writing in high school came to an end. I suppose that's the way of things. No doubt it had to do with my programming and video game work, as that took precedence over everything else, and we were starting to work on game engine itself. Those were very exciting times in my circle of friends.

Suffice it to say, I did have fun working on it. Granted, looking back it now, the entire drama would unfold differently, and the writing would feature a far more mature slant than what I put to paper in 1999, but there's something to be said for reading over this older work, and remembering the way my friends and I actual all those years ago.

Editing wise, I had an aversion to commas, it seems, or didn't yet know how to use semi-colons to any great degree. Sentence fragments, when used for stylistic reasons, can be fun and snappy, but in this piece they are very distracting. The adverb problem was still something I needed to fix, an issue that my current writing no longer features so... visibly. Overall, for the time period, and the knowledge base, this part of the saga was better written than the others. It's a shame that it came to such an abrupt end. I wonder where it would have gone next?

Enjoy this blast from the past. It was written on March 8, 1999.

Demons, Devil, Evil Things

Fiery flecks shifted endlessly through the green forest that colored his eyes. His skin was pale, much paler than normal. He hungered. Pulling a bloody leg from the plastic bag he carried, the vampire lifted it to his lips. A noise. He stopped. Perfectly still, his eyes darted. Nothing. Just a release of gas from the pipes above and beyond. He relaxed. Raymond bit into the sheep’s leg he held, draining the blood quickly, cleanly. An appetizer. He’d have to wait for lunch to get the rest. Three more periods. But he’d have to successfully skip the current period to make it to the next.

Skipping. In the boiler room. He reprimanded himself for picking such a dank, dingy spot to skip. A ping. Raymond was silent, a whiff of hair falling across his face. Just another gas pipe. His legs felt numb. He needed to move. Rising from the spot he was crouched in, Raymond looked around. No one. Creeping quietly from his spot, he darted across the room, ducking behind a tube two times larger than him.

Rhythmic clinks. Footsteps. They came nearer. Muffled talking. Two voices, one slightly lower than the other, but each exquisitely deep. Two men. The footsteps crept nearer. They faded into earshot, halted, then continued. An old cigarette butt bounced off the vampire’s head. They were smoking. Brushing a small gray dusting of ashes from his hair, Raymond peeked around the tube. They were gone. He grinned.

“Well, let’s see what these two do down here all day?” he said to no one, and shuffled from behind the tube, following the two men. The two led him deeper into the boiler room, pipes wheezing, gusting, spraying. Their laughter filled the boiler room, cigarettes filling the air with smoke. Eventually they stopped at a large, heavy steel door embedded into the gray stone wall, little trickles of water running in cracks at its side. Taking out a big ring full of brass and copper keys, they shifted through them, finally unlocking the door in front of them. The two pulled it open, stepping inside.

“Hm... interesting. Wonder where it leads?” Raymond whispered to himself, hands on a pipe in front of him, head looking over. His eyes gazed around for a moment before he quietly, smoothly slipped to the door the two men had gone into. Pushing it ajar just a crack, he looked beyond, eyes widening at what he saw.

Light reflected from its glistening molten surface, small beads of flame circling around it. The two beings standing in front of it were as mysterious, as threatening as the doorway before them. Muscles rippling, skin like molten lava, the one positioned on the left of the object in front of them appeared to be one of the two men Raymond had been following. The other, skin black as coal, hard as diamond, was the other man. Daemons. From Hell. The doorway, a passage to the beyond, the forbidden realm. Raymond grinned, moving a strand of his hair behind an ear. He had stumbled upon something big. He knew it.

“Well, the times comes,” a deep rumbling voice said, echoing from the daemon on the left of the passage. The other nodded. “He will be most pleased to hear that it is ready. Finally, this realm can be his realm. Shall we?” It rose, thrusting its red hand towards the passage. The other simply nodded. The two disappeared into the eerie redness before them.

Raymond’s back pressed hard against the damp stone. He shook his head. Disbelief yet curiosity threatened to crush him. His thin, pale fingers intertwined together. A trickle of warm sweat dribbled down his nose. He shook his head again.

“Get a hold of yourself, Raymond. You just saw two daemon walk into some passage to Hell. What do you do now?” His eyes watched the steel door to his left. It stood unmoving. “Go in, that’s what.” Laughing at himself, he pushed the metal door completely open, his eyes watching the reflections off the inter-dimensional doorway fifteen feet in front of him. Without a second thought, he leapt through it.

Sweat ran down his face in rivets. He peeled strands of hair off of his forehead. His clothes stuck to his back and he worked to peel them off. With his shirt and coat removed, he sat on the red dirt ground looking beyond. Fire, flames. The stench of death. Cries of pain and suffering. Hell. Raymond wiped his brow with the back of his hand. Aside from the heat, he liked it.

A rhythmic chanting came from the distance. It grew louder, stronger. Just beyond the cliff he sat on. On hands and knees, Raymond crawled to the edge, his sea tone eyes peering over. Thousands of daemons. Winged, non-winged, skinny, fat, muscular. All shapes, sizes, colors. United into one immense body, chanting. The realm beyond is ours - Release the Lords of Chaos. A wave of fright washed over him, followed by curiosity, then fright again.

In front of the daemons were seven pillars, each one a different color, all on the dark end of the spectrum. On each pillar, a transparent figure stood bound by chains, flames screaming all around. The daemons kept chanting, parting as a robed figure walked down the middle of them. Blond hair extended to his ankles, his robe so white and spotless that looking at it was like staring into infinity. The man strolled casually to the front of the crowd, standing just under the central, fourth pillar. He held his hands up, silencing the crowd. Only the omnipresent crackling of fire could be heard.

“Today, we begin our assault,” the man said, voice heavy with charisma. The crowd cheered. He silenced them once again. “Our realm shall be extended. Extended beyond this fiery home we have here. Today, we shall have the over world!” The daemons let up another cheer. The man eventually silenced them. “But, there are those who would try to stop us. Those we must kill.” A small murmur settled over the crowd and the man silence them once again. “And kill them we shall. But not by sacrificing your lives-” he lifted his hands, pointing towards the figures on the pedestals “-but by sacrificing theirs. Seven fallen spirits who’ve committed the seven deadly sins... they shall become the seven Lords of Chaos. With their power before us, the realm above has no chance.”

The daemon let up a long, loud cheer, a thin lipped smile spread across the man’s face. Raymond watched with increasing interest. When the daemon eventually silenced, the man went on. “The Lords of Chaos are the key to our victory! Rejoice in their darkness!” The man’s hand struck the air, and the daemon followed. They chanted Lords of Chaos over and over again. Raymond sulked back, sitting back on his ankles. Sweat dribbled down his chest, steaming as it hit the floor. He wiped a hand across his brow.

“Wait until Warren gets an earful of this.” He laughed, rose, and prepared to leave.

Back for another old tale, and like the two previous ones, this is part of the short mini-series that I began, but never finished, during high school. It follows a group of friends, Michael, Kevin, Raymond, and Warren (hey, that's me!), as they begin learning about the denizens of hell and their intentions with the school.

One of the best parts of looking back at my older work is the way I can rip it apart and judge it. As always, I try to leave everything in its original, horribly bad format as both a way to show you where I have been and how years, and knowledge, can help you improve your writing (compare these stories to those offered under the flash fiction section). Of course, I have a long way to go, just like any good writer.

This particular part was written on March, 3rd, 1999. Looking in the book, I skipped a particular entry that I will append to the end of the mini-series when I've finished with it. But, I want to immediately go back in time and give myself The Elements of Style by Strunk and White. Adverbs, over use of adjectives, and poor pronoun usage abound in this text. Even reading it today, and knowing who the core characters are, I found myself confused on some of the actions various characters were taking. Who is holding what? Who is purchasing what? From what perspective is the story? This is partly why I do this, to remind myself not to make these same mistakes twice, but to also see that though there may be an audience for my writing, I can never neglect improving my craft. You are only as good as the amount of effort you put into your work.

Enjoy.

Descent of the Dead

So which one are you gonna get?” Michael asked, his voice turning a little higher than normal. His white eyes gazed from the glossy cover of the multicolored box in his pale hand to the vampire that stood next to him. Raymond’s sea tone eyes looked up from the box in his hand, his skinny fingers rubbing over the cellophane wrapping. His other hand was pushed deep into his trench coat, fingering around for his money. 

“Well, how much does that one cost?” Raymond asked, taking his hand out of his pocket. He ran his fingers through his midnight black hair. Michael turned the box over, his face scrunching up to look at the price on the box.

“It’s $49.95... so’s that one. Which one though?” He gazed back at Raymond’s face.

“I don’t know... which one’s better?” 

Warren sat cross legged on the ground behind the two, his midnight black eyes dancing over the words on the page of the magazine he read. His faded hair hung depressingly over his face, brushing the page as it swung back and forth with the movement of his head. The busy murmur of passersby and shoppers came quickly to his ears; the sounds of the mall. The wizard’s eyes gazed up, playing across the covers of the magazines on the rack before him; game magazines.

“I don’t know really. Ask Warren. He knows more than I do,” Michael responded, pale finger pointing to the teen seated on the ground no more than a few feet from him.

“Warren, which one should I buy?” Raymond asked, turning only slightly to look at the wizard. He held both boxes in his hands, the multicolored titles facing the wizard. Red flecks shifted through Raymond’s sea colored eyes. The wizard looked up, his hair whipping across his face for a moment. He moved it aside, behind an ear as his midnight black eyes flicked back and forth, reading one title, then the other. His dark face wrinkled up in thought.

“Get the one on the right. It’s better. Better graphics, a better story, everything. But it’s way too short. Oh well, it’s better, though,” he said, his fingers pointing to the box he had selected. Raymond nodded, turning around a bit, putting the one Warren hadn’t selected back on the shelf. The wizard’s dark face bent back to his task of reading the magazine in his hands.

“Hey, what happened to Kevin?” Michael asked, leaning down, his face close to Warren’s ear. A blonde tipped black spike brushed against the back of the wizard’s head. Warren peered out of the corner of his eye, his dark head titling towards the store’s doorway.

“Outside sitting on the bench. Some girls came up to talk to him while we were coming in here.” Nodding, the psychic vampire rose, moving to where Raymond stood in line, waiting to pay for his game. Warren went back to reading his magazine.

Her eyes watched the wizard, hair cascading lustfully around her face. A glossy red dress accentuated her fair body, arms folded comfortably across her chest. Thoughts ran rampant through her mind. Thoughts about the boy she watched. The boy she wanted. She would have him.

The wizard’s midnight black eyes came up from the print he was reading. An urge. A calling urge. To look. Look for the calling. It must be her, the one watching him. He felt the urge to go, go and talk to her. He closed the magazine in his hands, setting it back on the rack. Standing, he ran his dark hands over his robe, dusting himself off, and walked passed Raymond and Michael into the open mall.

“Where’s he going?” Raymond asked, combing his pale fingers through his hair, eyes watching the wizard leave. Michael leaned over his shoulder, hands pushed into his ebony trench coat, silver ankh standing out against his chest.

“I don’t know. Probably to sit with Kevin or something,” the psychic vampire said, shrugging a little, looking at Raymond again. His hands rubbed over the glossy covering of the game in his hand, money in the other.

Kevin sat on a wooden bench, girls seated on both his left and right. A large rimmed hat sat on his head, covering his brown hair, a long black trench coat covering his body. He wore studded black gloves on his hands, a silver cross hanging from his neck. A white shirt covered his body, black pants covering his legs. Military boots were tied to his feet. Warren passed by Kevin, making his way to the calling, the source of the urge.

“Warren, where ya goin’?” Kevin asked, looking up from under his hat, his arms wrapped around two girls’ shoulders. They both had simple, playful grins on their faces. The wizard stopped, his head turning to look at Kevin. A piece of hair fell quietly, elegantly out of place. Warren left it, letting it dangle just to the side of his eye. Pushing one hand into the other robe arm, the boy’s face was clear of emotion. His body was poised.

“Just across the way. I think I might go into Hot Topics,” he lied, his voice deep, calm. It betrayed no emotion. The suave teen nodded a little, turning slightly to look at one of the girls. He winked, and she giggled. He was occupied again. Warren turned, moving towards the call again.

Her hazel eyes looked into his midnight ones. A small grin passed across her crimson lips. Her skin was fair, with just a touch of tanning. Moving closer to him, she placed her hands on his shoulders.

“I’ve come for you, Warren.” She knew his name. He asked no questions. “I’ve come to take you with me.” He wanted that.

“Why?” His question interrupted the air between them.

“Hell is coming and you’re not allowed to be here. Hell will open soon and you can not be here.” Two fingers touched the side of his face. Her fingers were smooth.

“Why can’t I be here?” he asked. Unblinking eyes looked back at him, the grin washing from her face.

“Because you can help stop it.” Her voice turned eerie, almost hard. The call still held him. “And for that, I must kill you.” Ivory teeth slowly grew from her mouth, growing longer, sharper, deadlier. Her eyes turned fiery red. Warren stood unmoving, the psychic link the two had still unbroken. Only Kevin realized the danger. The glint of the noon sunlight off of her teeth alerted him to the danger. He reached into his trench coat, hand groping around for the small, wooden hand crossbow he had tucked away into the folds. One shot, that was all he had. She bent in for the kill, her fangs bared, her breath wafting over his skin. One shot. To the neck. He drew the string back in one fluid motion, bolt already ready for the kill. She drew closer, saliva hanging off the tips of her teeth. The wizard didn’t budge, stood unblinking, unaware. Kevin fingered the trigger, pulling on the metal switch. The air whistled, a maddening thunk.

Heads looked down at the girl who lay on the floor in front of Warren. The wizard knew nothing. His mind felt blank, vacant. Kevin stood at his side, a tan hand gripping his robed shoulder. Warren looked over to the teen’s clear, brown eyes.

“What... happened?” Warren asked, his voice small, frightened. Small beads of sweat sat on his forehead.

“You see her?” Kevin’s finger pointed towards the dead body laying on the ground, a wooden shaft sticking out of its throat. There was no blood. The body wasn’t human. It was a daemon. The wizard’s eyes caught a glimpse of the body before looking back at Kevin’s brown eyes. “She tried to take your life.” Warren’s demeanor changed to quiet intellect. “I saved you. Shot her in the neck.”

Michael’s white eyes watched Warren first, then Kevin, then the body. His mind pieced together the puzzle. All he had heard was a scream. A loud, ear splitting scream. Then motion. Bodies moving, shifting towards the wizard. He and Raymond had both moved, pushing their way to Warren, who stood at the center of the commotion.

“You all right, Warren?” the psychic vampire asked, pale hands patting the wizard’s shoulder.

“What was that all about anyway?” Raymond asked, combing his hair over a little. The wizard looked at all of his friends in turn before he spoke.

“I have no clue... I think, thought, that this is only the beginning of things to come...”

Hell may have no fury like a woman scorned, but it pales in comparison to how much I want to go back in time and tell myself the do's and don'ts of writing.

Like last time, we venture to early 1999, when I was working on a small mini-series about demons in the basement of my school. This time, however, we take a look at the other characters: Michael, Raymond, and Kevin. What you will find are classic examples of terrible storytelling: character dumps, adverbs gone crazy, and sentence structure that needs clear direction. It wasn't until I began exchanging my work with professional writers that I learned what I was doing wrong. Like a few of them told me "you have good things here, but you need to tighten up the way the story unfolds." I took that advice to heart.

One of the things I do, however, like about this series of stories, is the fact that I was already looking long term when it came to my projects. Once this short series was finished (a feat that, unfortunately, never came about), I planned on writing stories for each individual character. Remember, there was a lot of creativity in the air during my junior year of high school, along with the re-releases of Star Wars and the release of the Matrix. Those were good times.

You will find stumbling blocks in the following text. I've left the majority of it in tack, but did change a few of the sentences, since there were far too many adverbs in one place for it to be anything but a hinderance. 

Hell Hath No Fury

Running his fingers easily through his hair, the wizard watched the screen with calm black eyes. An ebony robe draped over his body, devoid of all decoration. That was his symbol of power, the lack of ornamentation. Touching the ivory keyboard with dark, oak fingers, he began typing something into the computer program.

“What are you typing?” a deep voice asked from his right. He stole a quick glance to the side at the teen sitting there. A pair of milky eyes stared back at him. Contacts. Black hair stood out on his head, the tips blonde. His eyebrow was pierced, highlighted by the subtle face paint he wore. Dangling from around his neck was a dog chain, silver spikes protruding from the collar. A black, long sleeve shirt ended at his wrists, matching his fingernails and trench coat. Smooth, freshly ironed black slacks were tucked into shin high black boots, small ring chokers at the top of them. Michael, neo-gothic vampire.

The wizard kept an eye on him for a moment before he turned back to his work, continuing to type all the while. Almost a total opposite of Michael, Warren was a classic gothic, preferring the old ways to the new. Shoulder length, straight hair hung down, fading intricately from black to silver. A silver pentagram necklace swung around his neck, highlighted by the simple midnight black robe he wore. His eyes were ebony, his skin almost as dark. He was natural in almost every way. A draconic wizard.

“Something for S.E.E.. I’m trying to finish fleshing out a piece of the game engine,” he said, his voice easy and quiet. MIchael nodded, turning to look at his own computer screen. It was blank, just a turquoise emptiness with a few pointless icons. The clock in the corner ticked up another minute. Two more minutes before the bell rang.

Warren ejected his disk, concentrating intently on its structure, causing it to float. The vampire watched him display his power. The wizard enjoyed showing off every so often. In a small flash of light, Warren made the disk dematerialize, phasing its energy into himself.

“Show off,” Michael groaned, rolling his white eyes. The wizard grinned, shrugging a little. He never kept a backpack, only his robe, and possibly a few books. Everything else he dematerialized, pulling the energy into himself. An energy wizard.

“I do what I have to do. Book bags are just too damn heavy to carry around. I have a fragile back, remember?” Warren touched his back and yelped in pain, one eye on Michael. “See?”

“Yeah, my ass,” the vampire said. His eyes flicked, watching the clock on the computer screen. One more minute. “You’re lucky man.”

Warren’s head came up from fixing a spot on his robe. Pushing a stray strand of his hair behind an ear, his ebony gaze drifted to the vampire. “And that is because...?” He sat still, watching Michael’s white eyes play over his face.

“Your next class is across the hallway. Lucky ass.”

The wizard grinned, his pearl white teeth glinting in the ambient light of the room.

A high-pitched bell screamed, students in the classroom moving into the increasing mass of bodies outside. Warren and Michael entered into the stream, parting ways, each going to their own destinations.

The lights overhead glinted off his black sunglasses. An ominous midnight black. Beyond, his eye color was unknown. Dark brown hair was slightly spiked, an almost natural spiking. Blonde and light brown highlights ran unchecked through his hair. A pewter cross hung around his neck, a ruby plastered to its center. A spotless white shirt was tucked easily into a pair of jeans, pulled out a little ways for comfort. Tied around his waist was a belt, keeping his pants up at his waist, a small piece of it hanging off just slightly. A smile touched his face, a slightly tanned hand scratching his chin.

“Kevin, would you mind telling me exactly why you are still wearing those glasses, even after I’ve told you twice to remove them?” asked a high-pitched whine of a voice. The teacher stood leaning over her desk at the front of the room. Her cool blue eyes were locked onto the boy’s shades.

“See, what had happened was... and then... after that... then,” he said.

“Kevin, remove the shades. Now,” she said with a crack of authority. Her eyes narrowed, angry wrinkles creasing her face. Kevin reached up, putting two fingers to the sides of his glasses, and yanked them off, sliding them easily into a case in his pocket. Cool, suave, Kevin leaned back, grinning.

“Thank you.” The teacher turned back around, writing a few more words on the board.

Kevin, a seemingly normal teenager, was a bit more suave and high-class than most of his friends. His cool brown eyes played easily around the room. Boredom.

“So you’re going to let her say that to you?” a playful voice asked from the side. A grin danced across Kevin’s face. His eyes looked to the side, watching the figure that leaned towards him.

The boy wore his hair to the side, almost down to his shoulders. A pair of intelligent blue green eyes watched Kevin, fiery flakes shifting in its sea. He wore a trench coat, black with a dark brown lining. A tie hung down, complimenting his blue dress shirt, which was tucked neatly into a clean pair of black slacks. Raymond. Even the name suggested an air of authority, power, knowledge, and mystery. To everyone outside of his circle of friends, Raymond seemed to be just that, a classic goth vampire mixed with a business-like manner. To his friends, he was the complete opposite. He was a playful, caring individual who could befriend anyone who came close enough. Raymond’s eyes watched Kevin for a moment before he continued with what he had to say. “I suggest you tell her... you tell her I ain’t playin’ with your bitch ass.”

Kevin chuckled to himself. Just the simple thought made him laugh inside, let alone the way Raymond spoke the words. “Said like a true gangsta,” Kevin said, running a hand over his hair, watching the teacher out of the corner of his eyes.

“You ain’t bout it!” Raymond punched Kevin in the shoulder. The suave teen glanced at Raymond, then reached for his glasses. Yanking them from his pocket, he slid them back onto his face, his eyes hidden by the sea of blackness that washed over them. Light reflected from the lenses.

“I’m bout it enough to do this.” The arrogant teen smiled, pointing a finger at the clock that sat on the wall in front of the room. The school bell’s wail came forth, signaling them it was time for lunch. Kevin slid cooly from his seat, pushing his hands into his pockets.

“I still ain’t playin’ with yo’ bitch ass,” Raymond said, following, trench coat draped around him. He checked his clothes to make sure they were straight, neat. Moving from the classroom, the two made their way to lunch, where they would meet their friends.

“I ain’t playin’ wit’ yo’ bitch ass!” Raymond screamed across the chill noon air, heads turning to look his way. Kevin followed closely to the side, his hands stuck in his pockets, his body movement suggesting a touch of vanity. Warren looked up from the lunch he had finished creating, his black eyes watching the two. Michael pulled on his dog collar chain with his thumb, his white bulbs watching Raymond, then Kevin.

“Well, like my boy Mike has always said I have no love for you hoes!” the wizard screamed back, his deep voice resounding off the courtyard walls and breaking its silence.

“Oh hell nah... it begins yet again,” the psychic vampire, with black spikes for hair, commented, taking an unsettling breath. He was hungry. He needed energy. “Warren, please can I feed now?”

Raymond sat down on Warren’s left, Kevin to Raymond’s left. Raymond situated himself on the wooden bench, shuffling through his backpack, looking for his lunch. The wizard’s eyes flicked to look at Michael, then nodded.

“Yes.” A sigh interrupted the brief silence before Warren closed his eyes and concentrated, channeling the bulk of his energy into his aura. Michael leaned forward, his eyes closed as well, mind channeled into feeding. The only way Michael could survive was to feed off the auras of others. Warren didn’t want him to do this, so he allowed him to feed off of the wizard. It only left Warren tired, whereas others it would kill outright.

“So what are the plans for the weekend?” Warren asked, his skin becoming increasingly lighter as the energy drained from his aura. Raymond’s eyes flicked up to look at the draconic wizard, his mouth wrapped around a raw goat’s leg.

“Right now, I have no plans. Why?” Sunlight danced off of Kevin’s glasses as he looked at Warren. The wizard nodded slightly, taking a bite of his sandwich. Michael leaned back, opening his eyes, seemingly satisfied.

“Done.” The psychic vampire licked his fingers playfully. He grinned. “That was some good stuff.” Skin several shades lighter, eyes drooping from fatigue, Warren simply shook his head. He never minded the feedings, mainly because he was able to replenish that energy in almost no time, considering he was an energy wizard.

“Raymond?” Kevin looked at the feeding vampire. Raymond fed a different way than Michael. He drained blood.

“What?” His voice was muffled. A strip of bleeding goat flesh dangled from his mouth.

“What are your plans for this weekend?” casually folding his hands, the suave teen asked. Kevin carried no lunch, and no backpack.

“Lindsey and me...”

“Don’t wanna hear it.” The wizard waved his dark hand in the air. “Enough of the sex bound stories.”

“I wasn’t even going to say anything like that... I was going to say we are going to hang out on Saturday, so Friday’s free.”

“Oh, well, then, Mike’s spending the night over my house. Do you guys want to go to the mall?” Warren suggested with his hands. The three nodded synchronously.

“All right then, the mall it is.”

What a subject line. There's all kinds of connotations that can be pulled from it. Even though it never had that name, if I were to go back in time to rename today's old tale, I would give it that moniker for two reasons: first, it fits this story's plot line and second, it gives you all sorts of ideas of what it just might be about.

In typical fashion, we are journeying back through the old notebooks I used to write in called "Phunk Off." In high school, I was addicted to the word "phunk," and I thought it would be great to have a very stylized version of it on my notebooks. Of course, the first one I did this with was a short story notebook, thus the series was born. That's not really a great story, but the one for today's tale is.

In February of 1999, I was a junior still. It meant that most of my friends were still around. I lived in a place where a vast majority of those friends lived, and we all rode the bus. I don't know why they did, but I didn't have my license, nor did I have money for a car. That was fine, because it gave me a chance to write in my notebook on the way to school.

Of course, being the geeks, nerds, and weirdos that we were, we all had interests in fantasy, science fiction, the occult, and whatever else you weren't allowed to enjoy back then. I had a fascination with magic, and thought it would be neat if, for whatever reason, the magic you see in fantasy stories was actually real, but only the most studied of people could use it. I then fashioned myself a wizard, and my friends vampires, bounty hunters, and what have you... except, we had to go to high school, and we had to participate in polite society.

That's where the idea for this story comes from, and that is why I am a featured character. After reading it nearly a decade later, it strikes me as funny how I was able to paint my typical morning routine. I had even forgotten what time I typically left for the bus, and this brought it all back. There were some problems with the flow of the story, which I had to fix, but most of it has been left intact.

Originally, this was going to be an entire series, right down to the epic conclusion of a demon assembling the legions of Hell in the school basement, but I never got around to finishing it. For the next few Spinning Old Tales blog entries, I'm going to concentrate on this story, until it's run its course. The names will be changed to protect the innocent, except for mine, and there will be light editing, as I would like to keep the original intent intact. I hope you enjoy going back this far as much as I do.

The Devil in the Basement

Warren’s body ached. He released a deep seated groan. A pair of old, raggedy boxers sagged a little as he rolled out of bed, stood, and rubbed his eyes. The room was dark, an orangish ray of light pouring through the slits of the shaded window. Stretching awkwardly, he tried to relieve the muscle tension he had built up through the night, then trudged through the thickening mess that lay on his floor and out of his room.

Feeling his way to the bathroom, he waited for his eyes to adjust before he felt for the light switch. He still had to shield his eyes from the immense yellow glare that screamed all around him once he’d flicked it into the on position.

Tired, brown eyes stared back from within the reflected reality before him. They matched his own. Silver hair poured to his shoulders, seeming to glow in the aggressive shine of the light. His skin was the color of darkened toast, the way he liked it, and the goatee connected to his mustache was flattened against his face from sleep. Bags were under the eyes of the boy in the mirror. Running a hand over his face, Warren tired to wipe the sleep from him. The boy did the same.

“You are one ugly mother...,” Warren whispered. He grinned. “Looks like it’s time for another great day of school.” The sarcasm was thick enough to cut with a knife. He grabbed for his toothbrush, and the toothpaste, prepping for his day.

Pulling his head through the small opening of his robe collar, Warren’s eyes flicked to watch the latest Pokemon episode. He looked at the time -- six forty-eight. Five more minutes until he had to leave. He gazed down at his robe. The sleeves were laced silver, Celtic designs running through the fabric. The collar was a seamless gold, visages of dragons and drakes roaming endlessly on it. The base material was black, a color that seemed to drain all of the light out of the room around it. His wizard’s robe.

Warren was a wizard, having studied Magick since the age of six. Elemental and naturalistic Magick. His entire family knew, and nearly all of his friends. It wasn’t much of a secret. He made certain of that.

Grabbing his backpack and binder, Warren pushed his door open. He looked back at the clock -- six fifty-three. Time for him to leave. He made his way to his mother’s room, his eyes adjusting quickly to the darkness.

“You leaving?” she whispered. It was soft, groggy. She was still half asleep.

“Aye, that I am mother,” he said, kissing her on the forehead. “Love you. Have a good day.”

“You too.” She crawled back under the covers, resuming her sleep. Warren moved from the room, feeling his way down the stairs in the dark. Grabbing his keys off of the dining room table, Warren dodged a dark table in the hallway leading from his house. He pulled the chain from the door, and entered the cold morning air.

The moon’s cool luminescence sparkled innocently around Warren, helping to light the morning. The wizard slid both arms through the loops of his backpack, moving his hair behind an ear. After locking the door to his house, ensuring no one could get to his mother while she slept, he turned, beginning his short trudge to the bus stop. Turning the corner of the series of townhouses he lived in, Warren spotted Ray, one of his friends.