Good Afternoon all,
I will be moving this website over to bluehost in ten days to help upgrade the style of the site and also the usability. Please bare with me as we initiate the process over the next few days.
Thanks for your patience!
Charlie.
Thursday, April 23, 2015
Friday, April 17, 2015
Firebird Part IV
I know where we can go" I repeated
as I trudged across the street, not paying much attention to whether
or not my mother was following me. I hunched down and got into the
Firebird and turned her over. The engine roared to life, still
happily warm from the long drive from Tennessee.
My mother stopped dead in the middle of the street. She recognized the car. I knew it from just an hour or so before. A single tear started to roll down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away and stomped over to the passenger side of the car and hopped in.
She looked straight ahead "Let's go"
I slapped the car into gear and drove away, a bit of tire squeal coming off the pavement from the hot mid day sun. I drove straight out of town and onto the back roads. I was sure that if i kept driving out of town I would figure out where to go next. What to do with my mom. How we could run from her captors....my employer. I got the car into high gear on the highway, slipped over into the fast lane, and set the cruise control.
After about thirty minutes of silence, my mom looked over at me. " John" She said with a smile in her voice. "where are we going in my car?"
I looked her dead in the face. I nearly forgot about the road and had to slow down. "Your car?!" I exclaimed. "I woulds swore it was dad's"
"He told you?" she said, amused.
"No." I said, looking straight ahead, swerving between two semi's. "It was the first thing I divined..."
"Right before you met me?" She said, shifting in her seat to face me.
I let the silence sit for a minute, not sure what to say next. I accelerated to match the speed in the fast lane. "I just wanted to see what you looked like before...before I met you"
"oh honey" she whispered, touching the nape of my next with her palm. She held it there a while. "I'm so sorry"
I drove along the highway, heading west with not much more on the road than a few semi's and some station wagons loaded with kids and luggage. The A/C lulled us into silence for the next few miles. Finally my mom asked the questions I hadn't answered before.
"so where are we going honey"
"Don't rightly know at the moment" I said, shifting in my seat. "I'm hoping that my buddy Greg will be at his shop in Nebraska, but he's usually off up north this time of year, hunting at his Camp in Alaska. If he is there we can get a new set of wheels that they can't trace, some new identities maybe. I'm not sure"
"and how did you meet Greg, John?" She asked. looking me straight in the face."
From work.
"Well, he was the mechanic that they assigned me for that region of the country...But Greg and I have been friends for 10 years or more now. He's always looked out for me, helped me with my driving logs if they were off, kept my tickets off the books at the company. He's a good guy"
"we can't trust anyone associated with them. Are you insane?!"
"insane enough to drive cross country with a woman who is claiming to be my mother, and sent me a book on reading the future."
I downshifted and crossed 2 lanes of traffic to make the exit. "We're going to Greg, he'll know what to do"
About three hours later we arrived at Greg's shop. It was down a dirt road that only went to his shop, and was a good 10 miles away from the main road. I figured we'd either pull up there to a bunch of black SUV's ready to snatch us, or not a soul would be visible. Fortunately for us there wasn't a soul there.
The shop was a part of an old farming estate that got sold off. This portion used to be a large grass field that the previous owners used to pasture their cattle when they owned a few hundred more, and also to land small planes as it was flat, and the ground wasn't much good for anything except growing grass and landing planes. Right smack dab in the middle of the lot was a huge aircraft carrier, which was the location of Greg's shop. He had been working out of the building for the better part of 20 years, and had built up quite a clientele even though he was so far out in the sticks. He lived in an apartment he had built himself up above the hangar, inside the loft. He would either be home and we would have a chance, or we would be stranded out here, and the men in black would be here any moment to snatch us up.
"This is the place." I said, unbuckling and hopping out of the car.
"Greg?!" I hollered toward the hangar. "you com on out now ya hear?!"
I started to mosey on toward the hangar doors, and they started to slowly slide open as Greg hit the mechanical openers and the slow open from the center. I put my head down in thanks to the Lord as I walked toward the hangar doors. My mother didn't get out of the car.
"John, what in the hell are you doing" Said Greg, he didn't sound like his usual happy self.
"I can't have you here right now and you know it, the entire cavalry is out looking for you."
I looked over Greg's shoulder to his laptop on a picnic table behind him. thee on the screen was a flashing picture of me saying WANTED, right next to that was a picture of my mother with the same words.
"John, they're trying to get you listed as terrorists with the government. shit's gonna get real hot before it cools off, you need to leave the country. NOW."
I looked at the pictures. I knew my mother could see them flashing form the car seat, even if it was some 50 feet away. I pulled the old pack of cigarettes out of my pocket and lit one up.
"Smoke?" I handed the pack to Greg.
"you know i don't do that shit, John."
"Yeah well me either, desperate times."
Greg took a cigarette and lit it. He coughed horribly from the first drag.
Greg was a short stocky guy, who had always been a hard working, nervous guy. He knew his way around most of the systems that I worked with, though, and always kept my nose clean. I had never seen him not in full denim, nor without grease all over him. He was constantly working on something. It wasn't always a customer's car either. He had build himself quite a few scratch built cars. Some made for off road, some for track racing. There were several race plaques hung up all over the hangar: showing first place trophies for many different types of races. Greg built his way to victory, and he was damn good at it. You could see the skill he had simply from the way he kept the hangar. Every tool had a specific place, every car sat in a spot that you knew was custom made around it. It looked like a museum exhibit, and a damn hard worked shop all at once.
Greg paced down the length of the shop once, took another drag, coughed, and duffed the cigarette out on the floor before picking it up and putting it in the trash. "Who smokes this bullshit?" he said under his breath. He walked back towards me as I laughed silently.
"John, I love you my man, but you gotta get the fuck out of here, you and that hot fuckin car of yours"
I looked over at the screen again, there on the screen, now cycling was a picture of us, and then a picture of the firebird.
"Well, looks like its time for you to do what you do best, Greg" I said with a smile, finishing my cigarette and putting it out in the gravel outside the hangar. "I'm gonna need the rat"
Greg looked at me like I had just insulted his mother, then he slowly smiled and nodded.
"No VIN, great off road....huge motor." He said as he walked toward a large pegboard that held all the keys. He snatched a huge Bowie knife off the pegboard that had a single short key on it. Scrawled down the blade of the knife it said RAT.
"We're gonna need to fill the reserve tanks if you want to make it to Mexico, though" he said, handing me the knife.
"We ain't going there." I said, grabbing the key from him. "Let's get them Jerry cans filled"
Monday, April 13, 2015
Firebird: Part III
The Firebird over revved as I took her around a corner a bit too
fast and stayed on the power to keep it pointed down the road. These
back roads had been paved just last year, so the trip was a good deal
faster on them when heading toward Alabama than the highway. This was
fortunate as I wasn't giving myself much time to make it to mom. The
summer sun was just coming up over the trees as I headed South to
Alabama. I was damn near triple the speed limit most times. Thank God
there were no cops to stop me.
I kept the car pretty well on line thanks to the new pavement they had put down all over the back road the year before. It was a great drive to be honest: the sun off to my right, clipping through the trees. My Car popping through the gears easily as I handled her through the turns and we sped toward Alabama. The GPS was almost completely silent: on this road, it was a straight shot to the cafe. It was like my mother knew. I suppose she probably did.
The morning sun kept clipping through the trees. I checked the dashboard clock and it read 6:30. It looks like I'll make it there in time even if I keep it under the limit. I hit a couple more turns at speed, and then slowed her down to a reasonable speed to keep the cops off my tail and the townsfolk happy. I cruised her the remaining hour into Alabama.
This was the first time I was able to think about my mother. I literally couldn't remember her face. I couldn't remember what she looked like, or how she wore her hair as before she left. There were no pictures in our house of her: dad said he couldn't bare it, and I never inherited any from him, except for one small one in his wallet, which was worn at the edges from sitting in his billfold for so long. It looked to be a picture from her senior high school picture. Didn't feel right keeping that. That picture was something between them, not something between us.
How would I recognize her? I had been spending so much of my life pretending to be this new man, that the boy I was was all but completely gone, along with his memories. I thought slowly about what she looked like when I was just a boy. Then I remembered the book:
"divining a memory is the most simple of beginning divination, and it is a great way to start your career as a diviner"
I pulled the car to the side of the road. The GPS blinked warnings at me that I would be late if I stayed at this position for more than 3 minutes. I rummaged through my bag, looking for anything that might be a tether to my mother. I had almost nothing from my old life. I looked through everything in the back seat: looking for an old toy, a belt buckle, anything. everything I touched was absolutely something new. No memory as old as that, and no memories of mine.
I grabbed the e brake to pull myself around in the seat. I held onto it as I wished that I could remember what she looked like, closing my eyes and tilting my head up toward the rising sun.
The next thing I felt was like being pulled toward the moon by a jumbo jet through my belly button. The rush was in intoxicating, but I could still feel my butt on the seat in the Firebird, I could feel the E brake still in my hand. In fact, I couldn't let go of the e brake if I tried. It was as if the E Brake handle was the thing creating this sensation. I flew until I felt the motion around me level out, and I opened my eyes, expecting a head rush from how little sleep I had gotten the past few days. Instead I opened my eyes and saw myself looking at my mother and father. They were young: younger than I had ever seen them, even as a boy. They were kissing. Kissing in a Firebird. Parked on this road. Their long, passionate kiss finally stopped, and I stopped looking away out of respect, and I got a good look at my mother for the first time.
She was short, with tight curls in her light blonde hair. She had eyes so big and blue you wondered how they stayed in her head. She had very slight features, and was a generally small person. My father was always a large guy, and seemed to be fully twice the size of my mother in every regard. They seemed to giggle over this fact as they cuddled eachother in the car, and snuggled down in some blankets in the front seat with the seats laid back to make a bed. Did they live in the car? Did they live in MY car? The car my father helped me rebuild? Is that why he got it for me?
The side thoughts snapped me back into the car, and the pain was incredible. It was like being fired from a cannon 100 feet above the ground and landing in a car seat. I leaned out of the side door of the car and vomited from the pain. I knew I couldn't pass out right now, so I took some good deep breaths and got to my feet. I rummaged around in the trunk for a small bottle of Jack I kept around in case I got in a wreck or a fight while out on the road and I needed to take the edge off. I took a large swig of it, and slowly walked back to the driver's seat, leaning on the side of the car the whole time, and hit the road again.
It was nearly time when I pulled up in front of the cafe we were meant to meet at. I looked at the large sign above, which was written out in pallet wood impact nailed across the brick front of the cafe:
THE CHOP SHOP
I looked through the big glass front of the cafe and just inside at the bar against the window there she sat. I saw her first and instantly knew it was her. The vision I had just a few minutes before had definitely helped. I slowly walked across the street, hands in my pockets, never taking my eyes off her. My legs still felt like I had ran a marathon, so the effort of just walking across the street made sweat well up in my face.
She caught sight of me and almost jumped out of her seat. She looked away again, after she was sure I had recognized her, and sipped her tea.
She still had that same blonde curly hair, although a bit more frizzy than what I had seen in my vision. There were smile lines across her forehead and at the corners of her eyes, indicating that she had been a laughter all her life, just like in the vision. Her eyes still seemed ungodly big for her face, but It just made her all the more expressive. It seemed as though she could have a whole conversation with you without opening her mouth. She could just use her big expressive eyes. She locked eyes with me again as I came to the sidewalk and looked over to the front door, indicating it was safe for me to come inside and sit next to her.
I leaned heavily against the doorjamb as I stepped up into the cafe. My mother looked at me and knew I had divined something and not disconnected properly. you could instantly see the concern on her face. Concern mixed with pride, and joy, and sadness, and so many other feelings a mother must get after seeing her son, grown, alive and well after so many years. After being out and free, ready to get a coffee with her son for the first time.
I ordered a large black coffee and walked over to sit next to my mother. I got up onto the stool with a sign, and looked straight out he window, waiting for her to speak. It wasn't my first time talking to someone without needing to have it noticed. this was the most common way I got my jobs given to me. My mom must have known that.
"Johnathan, I can see you attempted to divine something recently, and apparently didn't disconnect from the vision appropriately" She said with equal parts of scolding, loving, and cold fact.
She sipped her tea from a ceramic mug "how long ago"
I sipped my coffee and enjoyed the first taste of caffeine I had since I had woken up. "about an hour ago, little less."
She looked straight at me. I didn't look back as to not raise suspicion "what are you doing." I said, sipping my coffee again.
"Nobody recovers from a poor disconnect that quickly" she said, finally realizing what she had done and looking out the window, staying silent for a full minute before continuing " It usually takes three to five days before you can walk again."
"Well, I sure as hell feels like I should be in bed right now" I said with a cough. I sipped my coffee to relax the pain in my chest.
"This must be one of the reasons why men aren't allowed to divine...." she said trailing off "a man's strength allows them to flip in and out of visions more rapidly than women. I Imagine you could divine in real time, once you got used to the pain"
"that's a pain I don't want to ever get used to." I said looking out the window.
My mother did the same for a few minutes "I have missed you so much" She said, closing her eyes for a long time, trying to hold back the tears. "I'm so proud of what you've become Johnathan. So very proud"
She broke character after this point and looked straight at me. I could see the weakness in her face, she must have just divined the perimeter of the building to ensure we weren't being tailed. " I know that we've broken many laws, both magical and conventional to get here, but we need to. The company that we both work for has been looking for women like me to divine major political evens for personal profit. I have been able to give them just enough information to stop them from killing me, but its been very difficult. Most women can't withstand the pace at which they want us to work. They don't understand that divination takes a long time for both connection and disconnection, especially when divining someone whom you've never seen or spoken with before. Many women die from the pain of rapid disconnection, which they bring on after they get the information the receive. Sometimes by flashing a light in the room, other times with a bucket of cold water if the woman takes too long to disconnect herself.
I remembered the pain I was in from the one small vision of my mother: I couldn't imagine being forcibly removed from the vision time and again. They must have killed so many diviners....
"Johnathan, you need to help get me away from here, with the book. I'm the last one left. I've been able to keep myself alive for a year, long enough that they decided to reduce security since I was the only one left...." She sipped her tea and looked off into the distance.
"I suppose its not fair to say I'm the only diviner left alive, now there's you" She looked at me, not sure how to feel about her son being the first male diviner in ages.
"So what do we do now?" I said.
"I was hoping you could answer that" She aid with a giggle "I've made it this far, which is a good deal away from the facility I was held at. So let's get out of here and try and decide our next move.
I sipped my coffee again, looking out at the street. an old lady passed walking her dog. I thought about my mom getting old enough to do that.
"Alright, lets get out of here" I said, finishing my coffee.
" I know where we can go. "
To Be Continued
I kept the car pretty well on line thanks to the new pavement they had put down all over the back road the year before. It was a great drive to be honest: the sun off to my right, clipping through the trees. My Car popping through the gears easily as I handled her through the turns and we sped toward Alabama. The GPS was almost completely silent: on this road, it was a straight shot to the cafe. It was like my mother knew. I suppose she probably did.
The morning sun kept clipping through the trees. I checked the dashboard clock and it read 6:30. It looks like I'll make it there in time even if I keep it under the limit. I hit a couple more turns at speed, and then slowed her down to a reasonable speed to keep the cops off my tail and the townsfolk happy. I cruised her the remaining hour into Alabama.
This was the first time I was able to think about my mother. I literally couldn't remember her face. I couldn't remember what she looked like, or how she wore her hair as before she left. There were no pictures in our house of her: dad said he couldn't bare it, and I never inherited any from him, except for one small one in his wallet, which was worn at the edges from sitting in his billfold for so long. It looked to be a picture from her senior high school picture. Didn't feel right keeping that. That picture was something between them, not something between us.
How would I recognize her? I had been spending so much of my life pretending to be this new man, that the boy I was was all but completely gone, along with his memories. I thought slowly about what she looked like when I was just a boy. Then I remembered the book:
"divining a memory is the most simple of beginning divination, and it is a great way to start your career as a diviner"
I pulled the car to the side of the road. The GPS blinked warnings at me that I would be late if I stayed at this position for more than 3 minutes. I rummaged through my bag, looking for anything that might be a tether to my mother. I had almost nothing from my old life. I looked through everything in the back seat: looking for an old toy, a belt buckle, anything. everything I touched was absolutely something new. No memory as old as that, and no memories of mine.
I grabbed the e brake to pull myself around in the seat. I held onto it as I wished that I could remember what she looked like, closing my eyes and tilting my head up toward the rising sun.
The next thing I felt was like being pulled toward the moon by a jumbo jet through my belly button. The rush was in intoxicating, but I could still feel my butt on the seat in the Firebird, I could feel the E brake still in my hand. In fact, I couldn't let go of the e brake if I tried. It was as if the E Brake handle was the thing creating this sensation. I flew until I felt the motion around me level out, and I opened my eyes, expecting a head rush from how little sleep I had gotten the past few days. Instead I opened my eyes and saw myself looking at my mother and father. They were young: younger than I had ever seen them, even as a boy. They were kissing. Kissing in a Firebird. Parked on this road. Their long, passionate kiss finally stopped, and I stopped looking away out of respect, and I got a good look at my mother for the first time.
She was short, with tight curls in her light blonde hair. She had eyes so big and blue you wondered how they stayed in her head. She had very slight features, and was a generally small person. My father was always a large guy, and seemed to be fully twice the size of my mother in every regard. They seemed to giggle over this fact as they cuddled eachother in the car, and snuggled down in some blankets in the front seat with the seats laid back to make a bed. Did they live in the car? Did they live in MY car? The car my father helped me rebuild? Is that why he got it for me?
The side thoughts snapped me back into the car, and the pain was incredible. It was like being fired from a cannon 100 feet above the ground and landing in a car seat. I leaned out of the side door of the car and vomited from the pain. I knew I couldn't pass out right now, so I took some good deep breaths and got to my feet. I rummaged around in the trunk for a small bottle of Jack I kept around in case I got in a wreck or a fight while out on the road and I needed to take the edge off. I took a large swig of it, and slowly walked back to the driver's seat, leaning on the side of the car the whole time, and hit the road again.
It was nearly time when I pulled up in front of the cafe we were meant to meet at. I looked at the large sign above, which was written out in pallet wood impact nailed across the brick front of the cafe:
THE CHOP SHOP
I looked through the big glass front of the cafe and just inside at the bar against the window there she sat. I saw her first and instantly knew it was her. The vision I had just a few minutes before had definitely helped. I slowly walked across the street, hands in my pockets, never taking my eyes off her. My legs still felt like I had ran a marathon, so the effort of just walking across the street made sweat well up in my face.
She caught sight of me and almost jumped out of her seat. She looked away again, after she was sure I had recognized her, and sipped her tea.
She still had that same blonde curly hair, although a bit more frizzy than what I had seen in my vision. There were smile lines across her forehead and at the corners of her eyes, indicating that she had been a laughter all her life, just like in the vision. Her eyes still seemed ungodly big for her face, but It just made her all the more expressive. It seemed as though she could have a whole conversation with you without opening her mouth. She could just use her big expressive eyes. She locked eyes with me again as I came to the sidewalk and looked over to the front door, indicating it was safe for me to come inside and sit next to her.
I leaned heavily against the doorjamb as I stepped up into the cafe. My mother looked at me and knew I had divined something and not disconnected properly. you could instantly see the concern on her face. Concern mixed with pride, and joy, and sadness, and so many other feelings a mother must get after seeing her son, grown, alive and well after so many years. After being out and free, ready to get a coffee with her son for the first time.
I ordered a large black coffee and walked over to sit next to my mother. I got up onto the stool with a sign, and looked straight out he window, waiting for her to speak. It wasn't my first time talking to someone without needing to have it noticed. this was the most common way I got my jobs given to me. My mom must have known that.
"Johnathan, I can see you attempted to divine something recently, and apparently didn't disconnect from the vision appropriately" She said with equal parts of scolding, loving, and cold fact.
She sipped her tea from a ceramic mug "how long ago"
I sipped my coffee and enjoyed the first taste of caffeine I had since I had woken up. "about an hour ago, little less."
She looked straight at me. I didn't look back as to not raise suspicion "what are you doing." I said, sipping my coffee again.
"Nobody recovers from a poor disconnect that quickly" she said, finally realizing what she had done and looking out the window, staying silent for a full minute before continuing " It usually takes three to five days before you can walk again."
"Well, I sure as hell feels like I should be in bed right now" I said with a cough. I sipped my coffee to relax the pain in my chest.
"This must be one of the reasons why men aren't allowed to divine...." she said trailing off "a man's strength allows them to flip in and out of visions more rapidly than women. I Imagine you could divine in real time, once you got used to the pain"
"that's a pain I don't want to ever get used to." I said looking out the window.
My mother did the same for a few minutes "I have missed you so much" She said, closing her eyes for a long time, trying to hold back the tears. "I'm so proud of what you've become Johnathan. So very proud"
She broke character after this point and looked straight at me. I could see the weakness in her face, she must have just divined the perimeter of the building to ensure we weren't being tailed. " I know that we've broken many laws, both magical and conventional to get here, but we need to. The company that we both work for has been looking for women like me to divine major political evens for personal profit. I have been able to give them just enough information to stop them from killing me, but its been very difficult. Most women can't withstand the pace at which they want us to work. They don't understand that divination takes a long time for both connection and disconnection, especially when divining someone whom you've never seen or spoken with before. Many women die from the pain of rapid disconnection, which they bring on after they get the information the receive. Sometimes by flashing a light in the room, other times with a bucket of cold water if the woman takes too long to disconnect herself.
I remembered the pain I was in from the one small vision of my mother: I couldn't imagine being forcibly removed from the vision time and again. They must have killed so many diviners....
"Johnathan, you need to help get me away from here, with the book. I'm the last one left. I've been able to keep myself alive for a year, long enough that they decided to reduce security since I was the only one left...." She sipped her tea and looked off into the distance.
"I suppose its not fair to say I'm the only diviner left alive, now there's you" She looked at me, not sure how to feel about her son being the first male diviner in ages.
"So what do we do now?" I said.
"I was hoping you could answer that" She aid with a giggle "I've made it this far, which is a good deal away from the facility I was held at. So let's get out of here and try and decide our next move.
I sipped my coffee again, looking out at the street. an old lady passed walking her dog. I thought about my mom getting old enough to do that.
"Alright, lets get out of here" I said, finishing my coffee.
" I know where we can go. "
To Be Continued
Thursday, April 2, 2015
Firebird: Part II
I woke up the next morning on a cot in the garage that I left out
there for just such an occasion. I seldom slept in the house in the
summer as it got too hot, and I used the cot in the garage often as I
would always be working on the Firebird.
I stumbled over to the coffee maker and got it working. I slid the garage door open and looked outside at the early morning sun. The wind was lightly whipping through the trees as the birds chirped their good mornings to each other. Dew was still on the leaves and the grass. The yellow early morning sunlight was shining directly into the garage. I had intentionally built the garage with the door facing east so I could wake up like this all summer long.
The Book.
I had almost forgotten about it while working on the Firebird last night. The Note. The Chop Shop Cafe. Alabama.
I wasn't sure what to think. Should I trust this hocus pocus burning page that wrote to me? was it just some type of parlor tricks some kids down the street were playing on me? No way. Nobody knows that much about me. Shit, it had been so long I had nearly forgotten about all that. Took me a minute to remember my real name.
My real name. Nobody alive knows that name except her. It must be my mother. And she's in trouble. I need to help her.
If there's one thing my father never did, it was talk ill of mom. Whenever I asked he would say that she loved us very much, but she had to go away, and he missed her. I think he wasn't lying either. I think he didn't want to tell me what happened just for this reason as well.
I think he's rolling over in his grave if I'm working for the same sons of bitches that did this to us. to our family. To me.
I grabbed my coffee and stomped inside and threw open the book. No more notes. I read on from the first page.
The art and science of divination has been known to a select group of people for many years. It is based around the simple usage of certain objects (called Anchors) to affix certain points in time to certain outcomes. Utilization of these anchors, once created appropriately does not only allow you to foresee the future, but to alter it to your will as well.
I looked up from the book
"no way in hell"
I walked away and dug in the back of my closet to get a pack of cigarettes I kept hid. I lit one up and sat back down in front of the book.
"Creation of these Anchors, then, can of course cause massive changes in the future, and must therefore be used with extreme caution. As your Master has already told you, you must read this entire book before attempting any of these spells. Your master has entrusted this ability to you, and She will expect you to have read this book in its entirety before she teaches you any more. Be sure to meet with your Master directly after finishing reading this book, as it will become unreadable to you in three days time.
I see my mother hasn't given me much space to learn all this. The damn book must be 600 pages long.
"As a young woman starting out in Divination, first you must learn the nature of Anchors. Anchors will be something significant to the situation at hand. As you only practice Divination for the good of others, and not for personal gain, the Item you choose to make an Anchor from will need to be of emotional significance to the person whom you are working with.
Young Woman? Why do they only talk about girls in this book?
"The Anchor you use will determine the power that you have to Divine what you wish to see, or change. A seeing anchor can be far weaker than a Change Anchor. For instance, a Seeing Anchor can be something as simple as a T Shirt the person owns, whereas a change anchor will need to be something specific to the situation that they wish to change, and also something that is very significant to the person whom you are working with. It is your duty as a young diviner to appropriately select the correct Anchor For your client.
So this is why Mom can't get herself out, its against their code to Divine for themselves. She needs me to divine for her.
I turned the page.
WHY NO MAN MUST PRACTIVE DIVINATION
"Men are well known to possess no natural caring nature as women do. They also cannot control their urges to Divine for themselves. The last, great male diviner was Merlin, who worked directly for King Arthur and no one else. It has been recorded in the old texts that he himself was quoted in saying that women only should divine, and he was merely passing on the art to new woman apprentices as the art had become so injured during the dark ages with superstitions running so high. Never, under any circumstances teach a man to Divine, as the last men who were known to divine have caused massive turbulence in the flow of time, causing such tragedies as the Great World Wars, and the Holocaust.
I looked up from the book. I took a long drag from the Camel 100 I was smoking, and put the rest of it out on the metal side of my kitchen table, letting the ashes fall to the floor. Well, the book's open to me now, I can read it for 2 more days or so. Better finish it at least.
I sat in my garage for a day and a half, reading that book as fast as I could, taking notes, and making as much sense of the book as I could. Then, as I finished the last page, writing appeared on the second to last page.
"Noe that you have completed your reading, the book will be open to you as a reference. Simply speak your full, true name while having the book open to the second page, and you will have it available to you as a reference. only those who have had the sight passed down to them may do so. Practice you divination thoughtfully, and carefully as you grow into the new Order of Diving.
Good Luck.
The text in the book disappeared, and the red color seeped from the covers. The book looked as if it had been left in a dump, outside in the rain for years now. The leather became cracked and old, and the bindings looked incredibly weak, although the books till held together well enough. I was surprised the covers didn't disappear, Mom must've cut the covers off in an attempt to hide what she was mailing.
Mom.
I looked over to the Firebird. I had tuner her up well that first night the book came in, but now I had barely a half day to make it to Alabama. Looks like I'm taking the back roads.
I stumbled over to the coffee maker and got it working. I slid the garage door open and looked outside at the early morning sun. The wind was lightly whipping through the trees as the birds chirped their good mornings to each other. Dew was still on the leaves and the grass. The yellow early morning sunlight was shining directly into the garage. I had intentionally built the garage with the door facing east so I could wake up like this all summer long.
The Book.
I had almost forgotten about it while working on the Firebird last night. The Note. The Chop Shop Cafe. Alabama.
I wasn't sure what to think. Should I trust this hocus pocus burning page that wrote to me? was it just some type of parlor tricks some kids down the street were playing on me? No way. Nobody knows that much about me. Shit, it had been so long I had nearly forgotten about all that. Took me a minute to remember my real name.
My real name. Nobody alive knows that name except her. It must be my mother. And she's in trouble. I need to help her.
If there's one thing my father never did, it was talk ill of mom. Whenever I asked he would say that she loved us very much, but she had to go away, and he missed her. I think he wasn't lying either. I think he didn't want to tell me what happened just for this reason as well.
I think he's rolling over in his grave if I'm working for the same sons of bitches that did this to us. to our family. To me.
I grabbed my coffee and stomped inside and threw open the book. No more notes. I read on from the first page.
The art and science of divination has been known to a select group of people for many years. It is based around the simple usage of certain objects (called Anchors) to affix certain points in time to certain outcomes. Utilization of these anchors, once created appropriately does not only allow you to foresee the future, but to alter it to your will as well.
I looked up from the book
"no way in hell"
I walked away and dug in the back of my closet to get a pack of cigarettes I kept hid. I lit one up and sat back down in front of the book.
"Creation of these Anchors, then, can of course cause massive changes in the future, and must therefore be used with extreme caution. As your Master has already told you, you must read this entire book before attempting any of these spells. Your master has entrusted this ability to you, and She will expect you to have read this book in its entirety before she teaches you any more. Be sure to meet with your Master directly after finishing reading this book, as it will become unreadable to you in three days time.
I see my mother hasn't given me much space to learn all this. The damn book must be 600 pages long.
"As a young woman starting out in Divination, first you must learn the nature of Anchors. Anchors will be something significant to the situation at hand. As you only practice Divination for the good of others, and not for personal gain, the Item you choose to make an Anchor from will need to be of emotional significance to the person whom you are working with.
Young Woman? Why do they only talk about girls in this book?
"The Anchor you use will determine the power that you have to Divine what you wish to see, or change. A seeing anchor can be far weaker than a Change Anchor. For instance, a Seeing Anchor can be something as simple as a T Shirt the person owns, whereas a change anchor will need to be something specific to the situation that they wish to change, and also something that is very significant to the person whom you are working with. It is your duty as a young diviner to appropriately select the correct Anchor For your client.
So this is why Mom can't get herself out, its against their code to Divine for themselves. She needs me to divine for her.
I turned the page.
WHY NO MAN MUST PRACTIVE DIVINATION
"Men are well known to possess no natural caring nature as women do. They also cannot control their urges to Divine for themselves. The last, great male diviner was Merlin, who worked directly for King Arthur and no one else. It has been recorded in the old texts that he himself was quoted in saying that women only should divine, and he was merely passing on the art to new woman apprentices as the art had become so injured during the dark ages with superstitions running so high. Never, under any circumstances teach a man to Divine, as the last men who were known to divine have caused massive turbulence in the flow of time, causing such tragedies as the Great World Wars, and the Holocaust.
I looked up from the book. I took a long drag from the Camel 100 I was smoking, and put the rest of it out on the metal side of my kitchen table, letting the ashes fall to the floor. Well, the book's open to me now, I can read it for 2 more days or so. Better finish it at least.
I sat in my garage for a day and a half, reading that book as fast as I could, taking notes, and making as much sense of the book as I could. Then, as I finished the last page, writing appeared on the second to last page.
"Noe that you have completed your reading, the book will be open to you as a reference. Simply speak your full, true name while having the book open to the second page, and you will have it available to you as a reference. only those who have had the sight passed down to them may do so. Practice you divination thoughtfully, and carefully as you grow into the new Order of Diving.
Good Luck.
The text in the book disappeared, and the red color seeped from the covers. The book looked as if it had been left in a dump, outside in the rain for years now. The leather became cracked and old, and the bindings looked incredibly weak, although the books till held together well enough. I was surprised the covers didn't disappear, Mom must've cut the covers off in an attempt to hide what she was mailing.
Mom.
I looked over to the Firebird. I had tuner her up well that first night the book came in, but now I had barely a half day to make it to Alabama. Looks like I'm taking the back roads.
Wednesday, April 1, 2015
Firebird
The open road had always taken good care
of me. I had been into driving my entire life. It seemed like a great
way to escape. When my mom decided to leave me and my dad when i was
about 3, dad drove for 3 days. He said he was looking for mommy, but
now I know he just needed to drive. So we piled into his old diesel
pickup, and we rolled out on the vast Arizona roads and headed east
to the flatlands and just drove. Drove until the bank account got a
little less flush and we had enough for the couple of tanks of fuel
we needed to get home. I remember him filling up from gas cans for us
to make it back to the house.
This is my first memory.
My next memory is my dad selling the house for an ancient Peterbuilt Semi. He straight traded that old Ranch house in The outskirts of Phoenix for a 20 some odd year old Peterbuilt and started doing local jobs. We would sleep in the rank old sleeper area in the back at night. The door didn't lock so well, so he would hold it shut with his foot at night, sleeping with his arm under the pillow. I didn't figure out until years later that he had a colt revolver with a single FMJ loaded into her underneath that pillow. I would just stay up and play with my cars all night long. all of my cars.
I remember him receiving a call, patched through the CB while we were doing a big regional run. My dad insisted that I did school, so it interrupted the CB radio school lesson I was listening to while we were driving out to our destination. I heard the Arizona State Police get on, asking my dad something about a hidden room in the house we sold, and that he was technically still the owner as the Deed wasn't transferred appropriately. Something about Coming back to Arizona for questioning.
My dad disconnected the CB radio and told me with a big smile that school was all done for the day. I cheered and bounced into the back of the truck to play with my race cars.
My Dad finally saved up enough cash for us to buy a small trailer in Tennessee. Way up in the Blue Mountains. I grew up there, and fell in love with girls, and rode bikes, and had a Nintendo. Except for that First few years of my life, I grew up fairly Natural. Things were great. I got into cars at around 16, once I got my license, and started building an ancient Firebird that my Dad had dug out of the junkyard down the street as the motor spun free. My dad took a month off Hauling to get her running with me before my License Test. I passed the first try. In my New Firebird. I loved that car. I still drive her. She keeps me close with my dad, God rest his soul.
Nowadays, I still live in that trailer up in Tennessee, though I never stop home much. I do transport of a different kind. I've been running small, important packages back and forth across the country in a somewhat legal courier service for years now. I had built up a good clientele, and the folks I worked with trusted me well enough. Contraband never seemed to be drugs or anything of the like, least I never seemed to get attention like the drug runners would. We usually parked our cars to sleep in the same rest stops out in the middle of nowhere, so I knew that I was doing something a little different. But the pay was good, and it kept m on the road in the Firebird, so I never much worried about anything else.
Company I work for is a corporation called Applied Logistic Technologies LLC. They're a pretty large outfit, though nobody has ever heard of them. I got a pension, good benefits...hell, they even pay for my car repairs. I've gotten myself some damn good parts for the Firebird thanks to them. I even ended up building myself a damn nice garage out behind the trailer with the pay I get.
Then the other day I stopped back home to grab my mail and get any bills paid I might not have the last time I rolled on back to the homestead. I Pulled the Firebird into the garage, and pulled the steel door shut with a slam. As I walked bock over to the house to check the mail, I noticed that there was quite a substantial package in the mail box.
Inside of the mail box was the usual junk mail, a few bills I needed to pay, and a large manilla envelops that seemed overfull of papers. Was this some type of bullshit training booklet from work I needed to read? There was no return address, and there was a note card packing taped to the front with my Address. Nobody knows my address save for my boss.
Scrawled across the bottom, in marker, different from the pen used to write the address it said "OPEN IMMEDIATELY"
Not sure what it was about that package, but it made me feel uneasy. Not just the fact that nobody knew my address, but more like it was sent by somebody in trouble. The address seemed to be written hastily by someone who was in no place to send mail. The marker made it all the stranger. It looked like the same handwriting, but it was written seemingly at the post office, just before it was sent. The lettering was slightly smudged like it got rubbed against other mail after it was dropped din the box. The Envelope looked like it had been used about 50 times before, maybe to mail things, maybe just to hold this same pack of papers.
I set that package on my table, dealt with my other mail, and sat across the room from it, drinking beer staring at it for what felt like the entire night. I know it doesn't make a damn lick of sense, but it seemed like that package had something ominous about it, like it had a life of its own.
I finished my beer, and laughed at myself. What am I doing, being afraid of a damn package? I laughed out loud a bit, stood up, and went over to the package and cracked it open with my Bowie Knife, cutting it along the far edge near the top flap that was taped shut. I slid out the stack of paper.
It was a book, but the covers had been cut off. the spine was gone as well. Just the glue that held the pages together remained, some of it falling off in strings along the sides. The title page read "Applied Divination, Volume 1"
I laughed out loud "What a pile of horse shit" I said and went to the fridge to crack another beer and paw through this ridiculous package my secret admirer had apparently sent me.
I turned around to look at the title page again to have another laugh.
It read "SPEAK YOUR FULL NAME" In bold, block letters. directly below the title on the front page. It hadn't been there before. This was only my second beer, no way I missed that.
I stood there for a long time, looking at the words and finished about half my beer. I turned off the TV in the other room, and turned the lights down. I'm still not sure why, but It felt like what needed to happen. I sat down in front of the book.
"John Able"
nothing Happened.
I smiled and finished my beer. What a stupid book, must have had some time release ink on the front page to make it seem magic. I turned the front page and went to the next one.
"YOUR REAL NAME"
I stared at those words a long time. I felt my stomach drop. Nobody had ever expected I had another last name since I was about 4 years old. My dad had changed our names to Able right after that call from the AZ police.
I cracked another beer, and grabbed the Jack off the kitchen counter. I set them down on either side of the book, making it look like some kind of weird hillbilly shrine.
I took a swig of the Jack, and set it back down softly next to the book. I cleared my throat, Not sure why, I guess so the book can hear my real name well enough.
"John Arnow" I said under my breath.
I took a sip of my beer, not taking my eyes off of the book. Nothing happened.
I laughed at myself for believing in this kind of bullshit, even if just for a moment. I took another sip of my beer to get the burn from the Jack out of the back off my throat.
Then the covers of the book regrew. They seemed to just slide out of the nonexistent spine. They were blood red, and made of solid leather. There were brass rivets down the spine as it appeared. It looked like the book was one of those books rich folk put on their bookshelves as collector's items. On the spine, burned into the leather, and still warm to the touch it said in block letters "APPLIED DDIVINATION: VOLUME ONE"
After the book stopped shuffling on my table, it fell open to a page about halfway through the book, the pages were empty. Then they started writing like someone was drafting a letter to me somewhere else. The letters appeared in beautiful curling cursive which looks very similar to fine calligraphy.
Dear John,
I know this is hard to believe, but this is your mother writing to you. I know I've been gone your entire life, and I'm sorry, but I had to be. Hopefully we'll meet soon and I can explain everything to you. I don't know how long I can write to you so I'll be quick.
The company you work for is after you. They've already captured me, and I'm writing form their testing facility where the run tests to see If I have any type of magical power. I don't. I simply know how to use the sight, just like you can learn as well. this book is the book that taught me everything I know. The company hired you doing something that you're good at because they want to keep an eye on you. They make money using these magical powers to create military weapons. You have nothing to offer them, just like me. Now that my book is gone, I have only memory to work off of, and I'll quickly become a failed experiment. Hopefully I can escape. Hopefully they don’t realize that The book is what's missing. Hopefully we Can find each other. If you want to meet me, I will be at the Chop Shop Cafe in Addison, Alabama in three days time. Tear this page from the book before it starts to burn, the page mimics whatever I do to it, and I'm going to burn it now.
I love you.
There was no signature. The page started to burn slightly at the corner of the page, and I tore it from the book and threw it outside as fast as i could. I stood at my doorway and watched it slowly burn as I finished my beer.
I went inside and cracked another beer, and went out to the garage to work on the Firebird, and to think.
TO BE CONTINUED
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