On Rest in Paradise, Lexa

Yesterday, my dear friend, Lexa passed away after a nine day battle with an aneurysm. She was an amazing person, and had her whole life ahead of her.

She was Fifteen.

What makes things like this happens?

Why are the young, vibrant, good, and loving, so often taken from us, while the abusive, murderous criminals are given long lives?

Someone once told me, "Some souls are too good, too pure for the evil of this world."

I'd have to agree.

Her death has hit me hard, has made me re-evaluate life, but I'll be honest. Right now, I'm too angry to take solace in those re-evaluations. I'm too angry to remember the good times, the positives. I'm too angry to be thankful she is no longer in pain.

I'm angry she's gone. I'm angry this happened to her, and that she'll never laugh again, or show such excitement when she's able to hold a handstand. I'm angry the doctors couldn't do anything, and that I never got to say goodbye. I'm angry her parents had to go through this, had to lose their child.

I'm angry, because it isn't fair.

Life isn't fair.

I'm angry the sympathy vultures have come out. The people who couldn't be bothered with her in life are suddenly so "sorry" she's gone. They post their 'love' for her in every public forum, and are the first to seek out grief counselors at her school. They want to make themselves feel better, look better, and get the attention they feel they deserve, for having known Lexa.

They didn't care about her, they didn't take time to get to know her. They didn't laugh with her, talk about dreams, fears, and goals. And now they can't.

Everyone grieves differently.

Some people go about life like nothing has changed, because if they don't, they'll crumble into a ball.

Some people think 'that's life' and move on.

I hold my grief tight and feel every bit of the emotion. It colors my life. It will always color my life, though each day the colors will change.

Lexa isn't the first person who touched my life and was taken too soon, and she won't be the last, because, life isn't fair.

One day, I'll be able to be thankful for the positives, not cry, but smile when I think of her. That day isn't today.

Today, I mourn for the young girl who told me I was her big sister, and that she loved me even when I was grouchy. I mourn for the girl who strutted her stuff, because she was beautiful, and I mourn for the girl who was also oblivious to the guys who watched her.

Today, I mourn for Lexa, may she rest in Paradise, where her love and beauty can shine on the world without pain, without hurt, and without judgment.

Rest in Paradise, Lexa. Until we Merry Meet Again.


R.S.

On Being Swamped

November is evil.

Between class, holiday preparation, the Marine preparing to deploy again, and Nanowrimo I haven't had time to think. I completely spaced that yesterday was Wednesday until I was finally getting horizontal last night. By that point there was no chance of me writing a blog post.

For the last week I've been eyeballs deep in research on gangs for a research paper that is due tomorrow. I just finally finished is, and I'm more than happy not to think of gangs for the next...oh however long I can get away without thinking about them for. Let's just say there is some pretty scary and gruesome facts involving youth gangs.

Tomorrow is my last day of class, and on this most glorious day I've got not one, but two tests. Yes, that's right I have two tests in the same class. I've also got a hair appointment. :) I'm going to have pretty pink streaks added to my natural strawberry blonde hair. After the month I've had, I deserve this.

As for Nanowrimo, I've done pretty well balancing it all out. I'm a little over half way to their word count goal. I've taken the past two days off because of the worn down feeling of my brain. My allergies have been killing me and have taken their tolls as well. However, I'm not worried. I'm pretty confident that as long as I get back on the 2k daily word count again in the next couple of days I'll finish right on time. I won't be early anymore, but finishing on time will just have to do. :)

How have you been this week? I'd love to hear. Please, let me think of something other than gangs, violence and death (the real-life kind, not the fictional variety).

R.S.

On Flash Fiction Friday: Karma's A Bitch, A Short

Karma's A Bitch: A Short

His name was Ken, and he was a prick. He knew this, and took great pride in proving it to everyone he met. In a few select cases, he'd pay extra attention to a person, and shower them with his personal brand of back handed compliments, superiority, and special training sessions guaranteed to accent their flaws and place him in the best light possible. He made sure those in his command never questioned that he was the best of the best of the BEST, and they'd never amount to more than the dirt he scraped off his boots.

What he didn't realize, was he wasn't the only person intent on screwing up the plans of other people, but he was about to get firsthand knowledge on the way it felt to have his dreams crushed.

In a very real, and permanent way.

Karma gazed into the mystical Pool of Choice and smiled. Today was going to be a good day.  

***

The sun was bright, and the sky was the clear blue it always was in the desert of some unremarkable third-world country. The temperature hovered in the mid-eighties, and there was a soft, cool breeze that hinted at the changing season. 

Karma leaned against the armored humvee, aviator glasses firmly in place, shading her eyes from the harsh rays. Her long black hair was tied back in an intricate braid and hung over her shoulder.  She remained where she was, booted foot resting against the wheel of the vehicle, when the man of the hour approached her.

"Get away from there. Who let you in here? Whoever it was, I'm going to have their rank."

"Now, Ken. Is that anyway to talk to a person with more power than you?"

His footsteps faltered.  "Who are you?"

She smiled. "Why, I'm Karma. Perhaps you've heard of me? They say I'm a real bitch."

His jaw clenched and a muscle twitched near his eye. "What the Hell are you talking about?"

She shrugged her shoulder and casually walked toward him. "You'll see," she said, patting his shoulder as she walked by. "You might want to beg for forgiveness, if you believe in that kind of thing."

The man cursed behind her, but she kept walking. She didn't turn when men in full riot gear surrounded him, weapons drawn.  As payment for everything he put out in the world Homeland Security destroyed his career, his life, and his dreams.

***

© R.S. Emeline 2011 All Rights Reserved. 

  

On Fight Scenes and Death

The first things I ever wrote were of darkness and death. Fights filled with smoke, sweat and blood. Terror and torture so detailed the reader was sucked in and had to fight beside the hero to get back out.

The hero always overcomes the circumstances, no matter how brutal and mentally damaging it could be.

After all, it's fiction. If it were real life I wouldn't want any part of it.

Some days the words of violence and battle flow like a river after the Spring Thaw.

Today is not one of those days.

The last week my stream has been more like a wash in the desert. Dry and cracking.

I'm two chapters from the end of the first book in my YA series. The same one I thought I'd finished a month ago, only to decide it had ended too abruptly. I guess that's why it's best to put it away for a while and come back to it later.

At the rate I'm going, I'll still be two chapters from the end when the Munchkin turns four..and I turn... well, I'll get older too.

This is unacceptable to me.

I live for the violence--interspersed with happiness, love, and sexual tension--but over all, I look forward to writing the battles.

Power amazes me.

Strength enthralls me.

I blame it on being married to a Marine--my very own Super Hero.

I've never been to a war zone, but I can write a scene like I'd been next to a Marine on the front lines.

Smoke burns my eyes as it blows on the wind, the copper scent of spilled blood clogs my sinuses, and the gritty  taste of desert sand fills my mouth. Gunfire rings in my ears, and the weight of my gear drags at my exhausted body.

Adrenaline is the only thing keeping me awake.

So, why then, can I not write the final battle of the book? It's not even a huge battle just the conclusion to the minor problems of the first part of the story.

It should be a cake walk.

It isn't.

Does anyone have any suggestions? I'm open to them.

What do you most enjoy writing? What do you do when the words don't come?

R.S.

On the Mysterious Lake Tahoe

July 10, 1994, a little over seventeen years ago, a man disappeared into the depths of Lake Tahoe while diving with a friend.

On July 27, 2011 his body was finally recovered.

You can read the article here.

Now that you've read the article, let's talk.

First, how wonderful--okay, maybe not wonderful, but at least there will be closure for Donald Christopher Widecker's family. After nearly two decades they'll finally be able to lay their loved one to rest.

Second, Holy Hell! Do you know what kind of secrets a lake like Tahoe could hold? A wealth of stories are lurking just below its frigid surface. Bodies, Treasures, Lost Cities... Aliens? The possibilities are endless.

I stumble upon articles like this, and my creative juices start flowing.

Because this is still so new, and the family's wounds are freshly re-opened, I don't feel it would be respectful to use a brainstorming session on who, what, and why, in regards to Mr. Widecker, but suffice it to say, I don't believe Lake Tahoe has released all her secrets yet.

May the inquiry into Mr. Widecker's death be quick and as painless for the family as possible.

Lake Tahoe... you and I have to talk.

Soon.

Thoughts?

R.S.

On America's Priorities

The other day I was perusing the never ending status updates on Facebook when I came across this one:

Another (booze and drug addled) celebrity dies and now the whole world is gonna talk about it, but quick question, who can name a single US Servicemen who died in the last week? We have had 14 KIA's since July 15th but they are not in the news I can clearly see where America's priorities are .... God Bless those that sacrifice so much for us.

Now, far be it for me to trust anything I read on a Social Media network, after all, they're not much different than the tabloids at the checkout stands. The ones screaming, "Elvis was abducted by aliens and now has squid-like love child." 

With this in mind I did a little research of my own and found the statement to be pretty accurate. In the six days between July 12 and 17, 2011, the United States lost eight citizens in the ongoing 'War on Terror' in Afghanistan. This information was not found in a national newspaper, or even broadcast on local news stations. Instead, I discovered it, after considerable research, in a tiny newspaper serving the Silicon Valley.

These men lost their lives fighting under our flag, for the rights and freedoms of not only ourselves, but those in a country without the basic benefits we're afforded simply for being United States Citizens; yet the barely rated acknowledgement. 

On July 23, 2011, admitted drug addict and alcoholic singer, Amy Winehouse died in her home under unknown and questionable circumstances. Unless you've been living under a rock, lack the ability to read, or have roommates and friends who have taken a vow of silence, you've heard of her death. 

On July 26, 2011 among family, friends, and HUNDREDS of people who knew nothing about her other than she sang and had a penchant for illegal substances and erratic behavior, she was laid to rest. 

Her death is still being talked about (Hell, this blog right here is spotlighting her death--go figure), and will continue to be talked about for days, weeks, months, and years to come. Every year on the 'anniversary' of her death, tribute will be paid her. 

Will those eight men be remembered by anyone other than their close family and friends? 

Not likely. 

What makes a single  celebrity's life so much more valuable than the lives of the men and women who are actually doing something more useful than entertaining us with their questionable talents and shocking public behavior? 

Every day more and more American Marines, Soldiers, Sailors, and Airmen, lose their lives in the continued battle under the Red, White, and Blue... and every day, their sacrifices are ignored, forgotten, or overshadowed because some rich socialite made their personal, private demons, public grist for the gossip mill. 

How many more American citizens need to die to over shadow one self indulgent entertainer? Two-thousand? A million? 

One more American death is too many.

I for one will not be offering remembrance to those whose lives were taken by their own demons, and touted in the public eye as martyrs to their art-- though I feel for their families, and the friends who actually knew them. 

I will hold each day, a special place in my heart for the memories of every man and woman whose loss is remembered only by those whose lives are now a little emptier, a little darker. In my world, they are the celebrities, the martyrs who died for a worthy cause. They deserve the moment of silence, the burning candle, and the tears shed. 

Sgt. 1st Class Kenneth B. Elwell, 33, of Holland, Pa; Pfc. Tyler M. Springman, 19, of Hartland, Maine; Spc. Frank R. Gross, 25, of Oldsmar, Fla.; Sgt. Lex L. Lewis, 40, of Rapid City, S.D.; Staff Sgt. Wyatt A. Goldsmith, 28, of Colville, Wash.; Sgt. Jeremy R. Summers, 27, of Mount Olivet, Ky.; Seaman Aaron D. Ullom, 20, of Midland, Mich.; Lance Cpl. Robert S. Greniger, 21, of Greenfield, Minn.; and all other Marines, Soldiers, Sailors, and Airmen who put your lives on the line each day, or selflessly gave your lives for the lives and freedom of those less fortunate-- I thank you. May your lives and memories never be tarnished. 

R.S.