Kind of straight to the point, eh?

It’s been hard the past few weeks. I’m tired, my sleep pattern has gone all to crap as I’m now awake all night and sleep most of the day. I’m angry, I’m stressed, and I honestly think God has taken to picking on me.

The crisis of faith thing is perhaps a bad way to put it. It’s not that I don’t believe He exists, it’s that I’m sick and tired of Him kicking me to the ground every time I think things are on an up turn.

So it’s not that I think he’s not there, I’m just angry at Him. And honestly, I think I have a right to feel angry at Him. Everything has just fucking spiraled on me and it’s done nothing but gotten worse. Now I could sit here and bitch to you guys about how hard my life is, but that’s not really going to help anyone and all you’re going to think is “God I wish he’d shut up.”

So instead, I’m just going to be angry.

Honestly, what is the point? If this is it, just constantly being thrown to the ground over and over and over again, then I don’t care any more.  Listen, I understand part of being in a communion with You is going through trials and tribulations but You need to ease the fuck off right now. You’ve been holding me under water for three weeks and it’d be great if I had a chance to catch my breath.

What did I do to piss You off man? I’m a good person, and that’s not being self righteous either! I do good things for people, I’m there for people, and it’s fucking horse shit that this is the repayment! I’m there for people and I’m willing to help in anything so I should just spend the rest of my life struggling!? Just treading water or drowning!? FUCK YOU!

I’ve been there nearly every time you’ve called, I’ve put my freaking LIFE on the line to save people. I work hard! I give it everything I’ve got! I’ve gone through hell for the past several months and now I’m drowning and I need You to get your foot off my neck. I get it, okay? I get that you’re God and I’m not and this is your deal but… if I mean anything to you, give me a hand.


Just… just five minutes even. If I can just have five minutes of not fighting for every inch that I get… that would mean the world to me. Just… five minutes.

You’ve always been there for me… always. I can… I can feel you in every ounce of who I am I just… I need you to help me okay? I need you to keep me from drowning because I am so far into it right now I can’t get out on my own. You put me here, so please help me get out. I know that sounds pretty bad after I swore at you and got mad at you but… you can’t do this to me… I just… Why? How does it help you to rub my face in it? To rub my face in the ground and just feel like garbage all the time? How?

I can’t believe how depressed and angry I am right now it’s just… unreal…..

Cripes I’m tired.


EDF story continued…

June 4, 2009

“Why did you come for me?” She hadn’t said anything since Justin had set a course, and even before that hadn’t said much. Justin and Derek had both figured that it was from the trauma of only have fragments of her memory restored, but neither of them could say for sure. They were fighters, and healers.

“Are you serious?”

“…Yes” She answers quietly and weakly.

“You were in danger, plain and simple.”

“There were a lot of other people-”

“What do you want Maddy? I put you in danger by bringing you into EDF and I knew your life was in danger so I came to save you, alright? Christ, can’t just be grateful can you?”

“When a man who looks like you,” A wire frame of a man with a shot of red hair standing 10 yards from the pair in the middle of the bazaar starts, “who caries guns like that, and raises his voice to a lady… It can attract all manor of attention.”

Justin kicks himself for noticing the man in the poncho carrying the two large irons before, now he’s close enough to do some serious damage. “We don’t want any problems.”

“I don’t make problems, I solve ’em. The names Garrette, I’m the closest thing to a police officer you’re gunna get on this station.”

“Garrette? Dreggs Garrette?”

The man grins and walks within handshaking range, “I’m honestly surprised you’d remember.”

“You were an Engineer weren’t you? Served under Gilmore on Drimba 5.”

“Worked directly on Laredo, designed most of ‘er automated defenses while the Iron Man project was still undergoing scruitiny.” The two men shake hands, and Madison also joins in.

“What’s a guy like you, doing with shooting Irons like those?”

“Heh, out here you don’t need fancy to do damage. They’re cheap to use and maintain and I don’t have to worry about gettin’ any damned batteries charged. Besides, energy shields don’t block .45s.”

Justin smiles, “I don’t imagine they would, but that’s not what I meant. You were an engineer, not a soldier.”

“You know the motto, every man a fighter. Naw, I ended up working with a blag bag crew call signed Derringer before and after the Resurrection of Drimba 5. Our job was front line stuff, we infiltrated enemy bases and turned their own automated systems against them. Admiral Vargus didn’t let anybody in his crew who couldn’t hold their own in a gun fight, so it was either learn or stick with fixing ships all day. Surprised you didn’t know that.”

“Most of Vargus’ stuff was off the books.” Justin replies with a little more bite than he had intended.

“Must ‘ave took a lesson from you and General Briggs.” Dreggs replies with a lighthearted smile.

Justin chuckles, “I suppose so.”

“General Bragg’s told me about your situation, and I’ve already sent updated programming to my droids standing guard, but if any of ’em give you trouble just tell ’em to contact me or my men.”

“Droids?” Justin cocks a brow.

“Bragg don’t much feel like payin’ people when he don’t have to, so guys like me who’re talented with a wrench and a computer make a decent living here. Pretty much all the security is robotic, save for five or six security personnel, and then two of ’em following the good General around at all times.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Now, you two have yourselves a pleasant day.” The man tips his imaginary hat and walks between them. He’s almost out of mind when he turns around and says, “Oh by the way Captain Nemo-”

“Name’s Bear now.”

“Well, that may be so, but that’s not who the lady on deck three is askin’ for.” He replies with a wink before walking off.

They’re coming for me, I know they are. I have to get out of here. I have to.

His hand shifts nervously under his poncho as he watches one of the bartenders eye the other, reaching under the bar for something. Odds were more than even it was a gun, probably a sawed off 12 gauge. Might ’cause some property damage, maybe even take out some of the innocents just wantin’ a beer at the cantina, but they don’t much worry about things like that this side of the border. As long as you’re paid up with the right people you can do as damn well as you please, including amputating a guy from the waist up. It’s that look on his face that really gives it away though. Banditos, mexicans, everyone born south of the boarder gets that look when they’re about to kill. A dangerous ferocity in them that gives them this kind of tunnel vision and something resembling invincibility. But something like, ain’t close enough.

The Westerner draws his twin rugers and moves to his right all at once firing a couple rounds off before the shotgun can even get to waist level. The two bartenders fly back against the wall as the The Westerner slides across one of the tables and lands hard on the dusty wood floors.

Landed too hard. Dislocated something, shoulder’s on fire. Gotta fight past it. There’s more of ’em in the back, and some of the customers might look to take matters in their own hands.

He’s not far off the score as two of the customers take to throwing their beer pitchers, while a third much younger and brasher than the rest draws a pistol of his own. Two to the chest without hesitation; The child may have been too young to know this, but you never point a gun at someone unless you plan to kill them. More employees from the back counter, reaching for the sawed off, but stumbling over each other trying to grab it.

Your mistake.

He doesn’t risk it, he unloads what remains of his ammunition into them watching them fly back, one into the kitchen, and one against the wall in the corner behind the bar. But he’s not out of the frying pan, he can hear them outside and he knows he’s in the fire. Mexican army is organizing outside, screaming something in mexican he can’t understand. He’d been worried they’d find him, he did his best to blend in, but a gunfight in an otherwise peaceful cantina was bound to attract attention. No ammo to speak of he takes up the sawed off shotgun and chuckles to himself as he sees a second holstered in a docker’s clutch. He’ll make his stand.

It ends here. Now. Either they’re going down or I am.


Customers at the Taco Time Cantina had themselves a brief scare with an armed gunman – thankfully he chose mostly harmless air-soft guns as the weapons of choice. It’s uncertain what prompted the assailant, one Greg McConnell, to go into this violent outburst. Several eyewitnesses say he seemed disoriented, unsure or unaware of his surroundings. Constable Falkner was the one who made the arrest, and exited the building covered in sour cream and salsa, rumored to have been shot from the large guns used to dispense the condiments on tacos. While no serious injuries were sustained, Cranbrook Crown Prosecutor Bill Henderson says “We know he’s commited a crime, obviously, we’re just not sure what we’re charging Mr. McConnell with yet.” Longtime friend and room-mate of the 25 year old says “This doesn’t surprise me at all.” saying “He’s always been off his [mind] it was only a matter of time before he grabbed a condiment and did some serious damage.”

Tod Demchuk – Cranbrook Daily Townsman

Read the rest of this entry »