Hailmaster, the Superhero

If I was sitting on the beach with the love of my life and a hail storm came suddenly, this is how the situation would be handled. 

My wife, the lovely and intelligent women that she is, will panic. And not your normal, “oh no” panic, I am talking full on, “Oh sweet Lord Jesus, we are all going to die. I am convinced this is the apocalypse” panic. The kind that makes you want to grab a fish from the ocean and fish slap her until she gets her wits about her. Lucky for ol’-panicy, I am calm, cool and collected. I just so happen to be a superhero.  Hailmaster the name, and handling hail storms with a clear corse of action and precision accuracy is the game.

Like all well qualified heroes I since the danger and jump into action without a seconds hesitation. Since my superpowers are obviously getting control of hail related situations, (and super speed) I am in my element. It’s not everyday I get to use my powers, in fact my identity had been a secret, up until now. I can only hope no one calls upon me, because I don’t have insurance and can’t really help anyone else.

I grab all of our stuff, so quickly it as if we never had anything on the ground to begin with. I am talking so fast it makes peoples heads spin causing massive nose bleeds in anyone within a 50ft radius. Now that I have all our personal effect neatly stacked under my muscular arm, it’s time for me to get the wife. I give her the old ‘get a hold of your self woman’ and tuck her under my other, too large for my body arm. I scoop her up like it’s nothing and run for the car.  

By now my super speed has kicked in and I am the first one from the beach to the parking lot. I open the passenger door so quickly it sends a gust of wind knocking a few seagulls off a perch. Of course I take a second to laugh at the dumb birds. Then I get focused. I throw my wife in the car  (gently) and buckle her up. I super speed to the drivers door and throw the things in the back seat, and get in. The car goes in gear and we drive away.

That’s how a superhero handles a hail storm. Don’t try this at home folks, I’m a professional.



A Blanket for Us All

Insecurity … my  my security blanket.

I was surrounded everyday by people that seemed to have fallen out of the beautiful tree and hit every branch on the way down. While they were hitting these beautiful branches, they decided to break every single branch taking them with them as they landed softly on a pillow lined ground, so that us mer mortals wouldn’t even get to feel the gentle brush of a single leaf on our skin. So my teenage self sat back and watched people talk about how amazing everyone else was. I sat with my acne covered face, too large for my face nose and hair too wild to manage, and listened. No one ever chimed in on the radio talking about me. (It’s didn’t help being a lesbian and every single person I was in love with was in no way shape of form in love with me, but I digress.) I never quite enjoyed looking at photos of myself. I always found myself to be moderately appealing at best. This feeling followed me for 23 years.

None of that matters now. While I may still have a firm grip on insecurity the warm security blanket, I now have someone to rip it off of me and show me how much I don’t need it. I may not be the definition of the most beautiful person in the world (that’s goes to my wife in my opinion) but I know that I am not ugly. I didn’t fall down the ugly tree, I fell down the normal peoples tree and hit the kick ass branches on the way down, and landed in awesome sauce. Looks are not important anymore, I’m too in love to care I guess.


*pic is the wife and I at time square. I’m wearing the awesome glasses and bacon shirt



“I’ll stop wearing black when they make a darker color.” -Wednesday Adams

Have you ever seen those paintings where everything is all mixed up? It looks like the artist spilled paint on the canvas and just ran their brush all over and exclaimed ‘My Masterpiece.’ I never understood those works, until now. It’s not about the color, it’s about the chaos. You have so many feelings inside you and you can’t tell which one you’re feelings at the moment. It’s all built up and ready to explode out of you, and so it does, in greens and reds and blues all over. Now there is nothing you can do but run your brush over it and try to fix the mess. There is no fixing the mess, there is only turning it into something to be proud of. 

My painting would consist of all the colors I could find all mixed together, in large sweeping strokes. My painting would be chaos, beautiful and shocking chaos. 



an excerpt from the book i’m writing.

-when asked why she bombed a city-

Add: Choice. (This was said so simply and with such intensity it was impossible to respond) This was a matter of choice. The people of the sections all had a choice to make. See the government oppressors for who truly they are, or continue to be willingly blind to it all.

Me: So go against your government or die

Add: Not die, be made to see the truth. We are bringing the light to those in darkness. We are sacrificing the few for the many. This is what Revolution is all about, its art. You tell them of the picture you want to create, and if they don’t accept it than you do it anyways. You paint it so big, and bold they have no choice but to look at it. Only this time it is not soft and smooth as it would have been. It is corse, it is brash, it is harsh. You put it in their faces. You offend them. They will turn their heads, but when they do, it will be there in their line of sight. You make them look at it everyday until it is seen. You put it everywhere until it is so engrained in them that they picture it every second. You make it so apart of them, they no longer see it as bad. Then corse becomes fine, brash becomes timid, harsh becomes peaceful. The idea becomes accepted. It is in them now. They see it, and they want it, they need it. And you are there to give it to them.

The mansion

The drive to the country side wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Though I say as bad to spare the feelings of the driver. I gazed out the window more than half of the time, the other time I spent looking down at my iPod. The music played in my ears at a volume most would consider too loud, but at that moment I didn’t care. 

“Here’s good.” I shouted at the driver before he reached the the garage  door. “You can just let me out here.”

He set the parking break to his vehicle and proceeded to unload the bags from the trunk. “Is this house yours?” he asked in a think accent.

I nodded my head. The music still playing, this time only in one ear, the other bud hung close to my chest. “It’s the families house. It’s been here for longer than I can remember.”

“You are lucky.” he said with a smile.

“Some would think.” I said returning his smile half heartedly. I handed him a twenty dollar bill and picked the bags up off the ground.

“Thank you miss.” He said cheerfully. “Do you need help inside.”

“Thank you but I have got it.”

I saw my mother standing next to the large wooden door looking at me. She was watching me as she always did. Her hair was pulled back tight in a bun, as it always was. She stood so straight, it hurt my spine just looking at her. She made no attempt to help me.

I listened to the driver close the door of the taxi and drive away. I stood at the doorway of my new home, my mother next to me, offering no help. Even the door was larger than life on this place. Not to mention it was hanging off it’s hinges. I tried to open it fully with my foot, because my hands were full. I managed to crack it open before bags came flying out.

“You should have let him help you.” My mother exclaimed pushing past me and entering the house.

I watched her look around the foyer, as I picked the bags up. “Thank you mother, I’ll take that into consideration for the next time i stay at a giant mansion with a busted door.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t become you dear.” she said with a smile.

I grabbed the bags and mumbled something under my breath. I was soon inside letting the bags fall to the floor. The dust flocked up into the air, choking me as I tried to breath.

“Has anyone ever cleaned this place?” I asked coughing.

My mother, now standing in the door way replied. “It’s called abandoned for a reason.”

“Arn’t you the smart one.” I said with a wrinkle in my brow. “How long has it been like this?”

“Twenty years.” she had a look in her eye like she was picturing the past. “It’s been twenty years since a soul stepped foot into this mansion. I couldn’t bare it after your father died. I was the first in so long. You came here once with me as a child, but you were too young to remember.”

“Why am I here now?” I asked staring up at the grand staircase that seemed to go on forever.

“It’s yours Amanda.” my mother said happily. “This is all yours now. I wanted you to see it before you made the finale choice to sell it. I wanted you to know it even just a little before you get rid of it. It’s part of the family. I thought if you saw it, if you spent the night here, you would learn to love it.”

“I think if I spend the night here I will end up with some kind of mold.”

“You never could appreciate the finer things in life.”

“I don’t think a giant house, with cracked walls, and enough dust to make my own dust monster that eats other dust monsters is a finer thing. This place is a dump mother, I can’t stay here.”

“You must.”

“Why?” I exclaimed. “What is it about this place that is all of a sudden so important to you.”

“It’s our family history.” she said sadly “We don’t have much else left.”

“It’s not our family history. It’s no ones history. Its an old house with too many rooms, and no one to take care of it.” I could see that I was hurting her. “I don’t want it. I don’t need it. I don’t need you telling me what to do anymore. If you want to stay here be my guest, but don’t expect me to. I’m calling the cab, I’m going back to the hotel.”

“Amanda please, see what you have here.”

“No mother, for once I am doing what I want.” I got my cel phone out of my pocket and dialed the taxi. “I can’t stay here.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I remember that trip.” I said out loud. It was the first time I have ever said it to her. “I remember that time you took me here. We stayed an entire week. You sat in that room up there and cried. I remember the sounds of you sobbing. I can’t stay here, where he died, where you….” I stopped myself.

“Amanda, my love it’s okay.”

“No it’s not okay.” I kept my tears to myself. “You left me.” I whispered. “It’s not okay and it never will be.”

She ran off up the stairs and slammed the door to a room unknown. I looked up after her, but dared not to climb the already broken down stairs. 

I looked around the foyer, at the grand ceilings and hand scrapped floor boards. I walked into the kitchen and admired the cabinetry. I touched my hand against the cold travertine floor. I leaned against the marble counter top. I walked into the dinning room and touched the hand made table and chairs. I marveled at the crystal chandler.

I remember my time as a child in this place. I ran up and down the stairs so many times I lost count. I ate alone at that table. I sat in the window and read books waiting for my mother to come down stairs. I spent a week in this place, hoping things would work out. 

After my father died, my mother disappeared. She wasn’t my mother any longer, just some tired woman telling me what to do. But I wasn’t going to let her tell me what to do this time. I took one more look around. This wasn’t my home. 

A honk came from outside. I peered out the bay window and saw the same yellow cab in the driveway. I made my way back to the foyer and picked up my bags.

“Mother I am leaving.” I shouted up the stairs. “I know you are not happy. I know I promised I would spend one night her, I just can’t. I’m sorry, but this is too much for me. I don’t understand how you ever expected me to stay here. I know you are disappointed, but I have to do what’s right for me now. I love you.”

I marched outside not expecting a word from the pouting women upstairs. I put all my bags back in the trunk of the taxi. The same driver smiled back at me as he opened the door to the back seats. I stood outside the car for just a second to take another look at the house. I wished my mother would come outside with me, but I knew better.

Getting into the cab I put one ear bud back into my ear.

“I thought you were going to stay the night?” the cabi asked

I stopped the music for a second. “I just couldn’t bring myself to stay.”

“It’s such a beautiful house. What will you do with it, if you won’t stay.”

“Sell it I guess.”

“You won’t keep it in your family.”

“No.” I said sadly. “Mother can stay there if she wants.”

“How will she stay if you sell it to another?”

I put both earbuds in. “I suspect ghost can do whatever they want.”

I watched through the rear view as the mansion grew smaller with distance. If I left her there, I would never see her again. This was for the best. My mother left twenty years ago. She was gone the day we left that mansion when I was a child. She left herself there long before today. It was time to let her rest, and let the memory of her and the mansion go. I peered out the window and let it all wash away. I turned on the music, it was a volume most would consider too loud. I let tears fall from my eyes. I was hurting but at the same time, for the first time, I was okay.


Thoughts of a Mad Man?

I’m not saying my cat is as smart as a human. I mean I wouldn’t be surprised if he began speaking to me, probably in better English than I use myself. Though I would have to question where he learned to speak so properly, seeing as I am the only one who has ever spoken to him. I’m not saying my cat has the intelligence level of a college junior majoring in English, I am simply saying he has the intellect to pull off a job like this. I know he stole my beach towel. This may seem ridiculous to all of you out there with mediocre cats, but mine is far from ordinary. I struggle to bring up the time he knocked my hot bowl of soup on my lap after I mentioned, in passing, he should try to loose a few pounds. Vindictive? I say yes! Thief? I wouldn’t put it past him. I am sure he has taken my beach towel, just because I told him, for his own good, that he should lay off the catnip. I guess I am taking a regular towel to the beach. I bet he is laughing right now imagining my feet hanging off my short towel. I bet he is laughing on my beach towel.


Chapter 1 of my new story (unedited)

To whom it may concern:

I want to start off by saying you have picked the right citizen for this job. I sincerely think you could not have picked a better person for the task that has been set before me. I am sure you know who I am, and my ability to not only preform this task with precision and accuracy, but je ne sais quoi of the mostly highly trained agent you have on staff. I understand my patriotic duty and am proud to serve.

Let me say I was raised properly. I understand others might not be as fortunate as myself, to have the genes that I do, but I don’t see that as an excuse. My parental units are true patriots down to the letter. I feel comfortable saying if either one of them were in this particular situation they would not hesitate to react in the exact way that I am. After all they, like myself, live their lives in service to the government. It gives me great pride to say I have the sensibility of both my mother and father. It’s not everyday you find someone my age that is prepared to do the right thing over everything. Integrity is hard to come by in a teenager. With humility I say, I have it in spades.

I feel as if a bit of my life history will give you a good look into the type of citizen  you are dealing with. It’s understandable that reading a letter written by someone so young might seem a bit discouraging, but I can comfortably state the fact you are dealing with one of the top young minds in this section, as you undoubtedly know. I am aware government officials such as yourself are purely fact based individuals, and so I will give you the facts of my life, so your faith in me can be sealed.

I was born to a government official parental unit. My mother is chief of staff to Section One President Adams, and my father is  chief of staff to Vice President Collar.  Both have served their positions for well over twenty years. When the population fell below levels, they decided to reproduce. After all top minds such as there’s should contribute a child to society. I was born a year later.

From day one I was taught by touter that specialized in infants. I was learning at the level of a second grader before I could speak. I had a grip on not only the English language but the French as well. It wasn’t long before I grew and was ready to take care of myself.

At the age of five I was sent to Section 1 Subsection A to boarding school. My parental units were of course too important to be in charge of a child. I, of course, understood who my parental units were, and was more than happy to be in boarding school so they may continue to honor their commitments.

My school is filled with the children of the top minds in the world. Only those that had shown an advance intelligence level were permitted to send their child to this school. With that I have received a top level education. I receive top marks in everything; I give credit to my eidetic and photographic memory. I have been told by several well noted officials I am being groomed to be one of the highest posted government workers, particularly in politics. After all my parental units are chief of staff, and nothing less is expected of me.

I participate in several educational extra circular activities built not only to keep my mind sharp, but to socialize me with only the best and the brightest the school has to offer. I am proud to say I am the leader of all of these activities. I was given the positions to prepare me for my future in politics. I execute my duties with the up most of ease. I have been told on several occasions that it is my organizational skills and my ability to lead that make it so easy for me. I am a firm, yet open minded leader. It instills confidence in those below me that they are free to have ideas, and I will put them into motion in the best possible way. It’s been said on several occasions I show the true signs of a great President.

With this I bring you to my fifteenth birthday, which as you already know I was assigned a partner. It’s always fascinated me that your partner is picked from a pool of people that were born within your birth month. I would be lying if I didn’t mention I got my hopes up when I found the perfect boy born in my month that I wanted to be partnered with. After all it would be a waste to not let my procreate and this boy is the perfect specimen to be the other unit to a child from my gene pool. Never the less I understand how partners are picked, and I am sure The Sorter does not make mistakes. I was shocked however to find that I was paired with another female.

I was handed the file of one Adeline Roxanne Henderson, a fifteen year old born and raised in Satellite Section B. The second biggest shocker, just below her being a female, was the fact she was born in Satellite Section B. I didn’t think people were born in the Satellite Sections let alone raised there. The only thing I know about the Satellite Sections, is SSA is at the very tip of the world, and no one really lives there, and SSB is in the old state of Hawaii.

The most fascinating thing about SSB has to be annual summit. It’s held on the large island for one month. I follow it on my computer every year. I enjoy seeing our law makers at work. I enjoy seeing what I will be doing with my life as soon as my schooling is complete.

I had no idea a child unit could be born, and be raised in such a grand place. I would think someone of my gene pool and caliber would be the first picked to be raised where politicians made laws, but I don’t question the system.

After a days’ worth of contemplation on the subject of my duty to procreat and the fact that it was no longer on my agenda, I went straight to acceptance of my new partner. I told myself that this is for a reason. I told myself that The Sorter has paired me with someone from SSB, the very place I am destined to end up. I was convinced she had to be as well educated I was. I got it into my head that maybe she and I could take my parental units place as chief of staff. Maybe after a few years, if she was as good as me, we could be President and Vice President. We could return to her home section once a year and help change the world. Excitement  began to pool up inside me. I couldn’t wait to meet my new partner.

It wasn’t until the next day when Adeline Roxanne Henderson (Citizen Number 587-283-4545) stepped into my life and my relationship with her began.

She proceeded to tell me her name and how she would prefer to be called Add and so for the rest of my letters I will refer to her as Add. She is, what the more vain citizens, who base things off of aesthetics, would consider quite beautiful. Her long brown hair the color of Section 2 dark chocolate, and her eyes can only be described as the exact color the word blue was assigned to on the spectrum. She was tall and had tanned skin and an athletic build. There was no doubt that if a persons status in this world was based on looks, Add would be President.

I immediately began to ask her question, to judge the person I would be spending the rest of my life with. When I asked her how she enjoyed growing up on Satellite Section B I was hoping for detail on the politicians and the Annual Summit. Much to my dismay she only went on about the beaches and how clear they were. Instead of hearing about the Section President, I was hearing about the temperature of the water, and how soft the sand was. I began to think maybe this was not the best partner for someone like myself, but like I said I am aware The Sorter doesn’t make mistakes.

I, trying to be polite, continued the conversation with Add trying to steer her to the subject I found most interesting, politics. I asked her about the annual summit and this was the conversation that took place.

Me: If you live in SSB it must mean you get to see the annual summit each year.
Add: Its not so much that I get to see it as I am forced to help out.
Me: You mean you actually get to meet the officials and everything.
Add: If by meet you mean get to clean up after they are done, then yeah sure.
Me: That must be so exciting for you. I could not imagine being in the same place as the officials not to mention actually getting to be at the summit.
Add: (Laughing) All I know is that once a year for one whole month my life is interrupted. The worst part of it all is that it’s in the exact point in time when the best surf appears. The beaches couldn’t be any clearer, the waves couldn’t be higher, and I am filing papers into little black folders in a room with no windows.
Me: You get to see the notes from the summit?

Add: You care a lot about the summit.

Me: Of course, it’s where laws are made. Don’t you care about the countries laws.

Add: I care about missing the surf.

It was at that point when I realized what type of person Add truly was, a Post Thinker. I had never met a Post Thinker before, but I studied them in political science, and history. It always amazed me someone would still be carrying the thoughts and notions of the people in the past.

It was explained to me that Post Thinkers wanted the world to go back to the way it was before the Sections where made. I could not then, and still do not understand how anyone could carry those notions with them. The Sections keep us safe, they keep us in order, they remind us of what the government has done for us.

I have never been outside of Section One before, but I have heard stories about what it is like beyond the wall. I am not one to spread rumors, but my best friend Sherry has a brother unit that is a soldier in the sections military. He has been beyond the wall for transport duty and he said it is a disaster out there. He said animals run wild, and everything is in ruin. He didn’t mention if people still lived out there, but just the thought is enough to keep me far away from the gates. When I am mature enough to leave the section, it will be by plan, and that plan will land in another section inside the walls. A world without government protection seems like it would be chaos.

Back to the subject at hand. I had realized then that my new partner Add is a Post Thinker. She was more focused on the land then the people in front of her. She continued on for the next hour or so telling me about fruit trees and birds, and other things I was not interested in. I continued to question why this particular person was put into my life. It took me a lot longer than I am comfortable admitting, but it occurred to me that maybe Add was put into my life in order for me to change her thinking.

At that moment I decided to participate in her conversation, she was unnoticeably having with herself.

Me: Can I ask you a question Add?

Add: Of course, I mean we are stuck together forever, we should be able to ask each other questions.

Me: Right, well my question is, do you follow politics in anyway.

Add: (Laughing) The only time I check into politics is when they make it harder for me to live my life.

Me: How do they make it harder for you to live your life?

Add: Restrictions. (this was said with conviction)

Me: Restrictions are there to keep us safe.

Add: (started laughing, then stopped when she realized that I was serious) Oh wow you actually believe that they are on our side.

Me: If you mean the politicians, then yes I know they are on our side.

Add: You are a true believer, arn’t you?

Me: In the government? Yes I am.

Add: Why

Me: Because they protect us.

Add: (turning her back on me) I can’t believe I am partnered with a fucking Chala.

Me: What’s a chala.

Add: Someone like yourself. It’s what we call brainwashed ‘officials in training’ like you. All caught up in the government and their rules. You drank the water. They got you. The funny part is you don’t even know it.

Me: I am brainwashed? (I tried to keep my pose even though I was highly offended.) And I take it you are not, that you have not drank this so called water. That ‘they’ have not gotten you?

Add: I drink the pure water of mother Hawaii, the milk from her coconuts, the juice from her fruit trees, the water from her oceans purified in the sun, the fresh rain waters straight from the leaves on her great trees.

Me: It’s call Satellite Section B, not Hawaii.

Add: You’re government people can call her by a different name if they want, but it doesn’t change Hawaii.

Me: You’re a Post Thinker and a naturalist

Add: I am a surfer, and a nature lover.

Me: Call it what you want, I know what you truly are.

Add: And I know what you truly are too. You’re a Chala. (there was a long pause) Looks like we are stuck with each other.

Me: Looks like it.

As you can see from the transcript of our conversation not only is Add a Post Thinker, but she is part of the naturalist of the world. I can assure you, because of my remarkable memory that my transcripts are accurate down to the last letter. My mind is a steal trap and I am reporting everything exactly as she said it.

The fact that this person has been sent into my life, at first was a mystery to me. But I say now, it is clear why The Sorter would put someone so drastically my opposite into me path. They knew only someone of my caliber would be able to smoke out a Post Thinker. The government, being as fair as they are, have no reason to spy on children. You all have no reason to question a teenager on their views. Putting Add as my partner is your way of finding all the Post Thinkers.

You must have suspected that Post Thinkers were living right under your noses in SSB, and so close to the Presidents at the summit. In order to remain within the rights you gave to all citizens you have sent them to people such as myself to help you catch them. I understand there would be no way of telling me something like this, so it was up to me to figure it out. Why else would you give me someone like Add as my partner, when Jeremy (the boy I mentioned in the top of my report) was so perfect for me. This is top secret work hidden even from the agents themselves.

I tell you now, I accept my role in this great task. I am humbled by the confidence you have in me to preform such a weighing task. I am sure you know, just as all my teachers do, I am the best person for a job of this magnitude. I will not fail you.

I will continue to write reports on Adeline Roxanne Henderson, and send them to headquarters. I will collect as much evidence as I can on the Post Thinker, and include then inside my reports. You will get only excellence out of me. My work has always been and will always be thorough and well organized.

Again I thank you for your confidence in me, and reassure you, I will preform this task to the best of my ability.

Signing Out.

Citizen Number: 789-045-0122