muck boots

The air was rife with the deafening hiss of a dozen torches and the clamor of dropping metal plates. It was cold, damp, and -- aside from the dizzying display of sparks -- it was dark as well. Is this hell? I wondered, as I trudged through the ankle-deep muck on the floor. It was so early in the morning as to feel like it was still late at night, yet those who toiled away in that dismal place couldn't be concerned either way.

Hot sparks shot up my arm and clung to the crevices in my thin gloves as I cut away with my torch. Not only am I freezing, but I'm getting burned as well, I mused, as a cluster of fiery debris clouded my vision and stung my hands. The hole punched and the piece ready to be hauled away, I moved on.

"That one's punched, and what's next?" I called as I collected the burning line in my hands.

Later, pushing a steel-laden wheelbarrow through the mud in the dark, I laughed to myself. This is too ridiculous to be miserable about.

"When was the last time I played with a torch anyway? I can't believe I remembered how to use one at all," I said aloud to myself as I continued on my merry way.

Relief

So there it was, the answer to all of my hopes. 

A little blue circle and a new unread e-mail. Just a few days earlier I wrote a quick  one of those myself, offering my support and volunteering my efforts. Now the ball had been tossed back and it looked serious.

 "Be prepared to be called up," was mentioned along with something about disaster relief. That's it, I'm going, I thought. My mind raced in circles and I couldn't get over the fact that such a response was forthcoming. When I had sent my simple e-mail just days before, I had never expected this. Although I sincerely wanted to go help and was truly pledging my actual support, I had completely imagined it would fall upon deaf ears. 

"I just wanted to let you know I got the e-mail and am willing to volunteer," was the tag-line of my overly eager voice message. 

Not expecting to hear anything on the subject for days, I tried to put it out of my mind, but the excitement persisted. Still I pushed it to the back of my mind as best I could and we headed off to the bank.

About half way to the bank the yeaowl of the phone caught my attention. It's that number, I thought anxiously. 

That was too fast. This is serious, I might be gone by Monday, I couldn't help but muse. "Hello....this is," I answered as patiently as I could manage. "Oh, absolutely.. that makes sense," I uttered as the conversation continued and my hopes were dashed against rocks. But, tell me there's a chance, I wished. 

"Like I said, whatever they need I'm willing to volunteer," I finished as I closed up the phone. 

"He said it could take weeks or might not happen at all," I passed on.

"I'm sorry," was the condolence she offered verbally. The hug and sympathetic eyes however meant much more than any words that could be said. We completely see eye to eye on this stuff, we thought.  

Walking back I was a wreck of emotions. Excitement, doubt, anxiety and confusion play for a pretty potent stew and I will be brewing into the foreseen future. Well that or until the phone rings again. 

Cutting

It was cold dark and silent, not a stir of the air could be noticed.

Slowly a humming made itself heard on the far side of that metal bulkhead. It started lowly in the background and seamlessly crept into the immediate foreground. The darkness gave way to the slightest of red glows, and it was perfect placidity. The hum and the glow were almost soothing and hardly congruent with my surroundings. 

As time passed the glow turned bright and seemed to emanate a powerful heat; the hum took on a higher pitch. Maybe it was a little more in-your-face, but it was still relatively pleasant. It would've made for an easy day, sitting in front of a glowing bulkhead. The heat was even an improvement from the dismally cold outdoors. 

Eventually the red glow had progressed through its stages and the faintest whisper of smoke could be seen trailing up towards the overhead from the center of the now bright red circle. It almost smells like a fireplace, I thought, as I watched the whisper of smoke climb into the air. The heat was getting pretty dramatic and I moved myself back from the surface a bit, so as not to get burned.

It's interesting that some seemingly smooth transition, which could've lasted for decades, gave way so quickly. 

As the humming continued to sharpen I noticed a bowing near the center of the now bright red spot. It was at this moment that the hum turned into a deafening hiss, and the bright red spot erupted into a fountain of burning metal. Within a flicker of the smoke trail, the space around me was engulfed in the most unpleasant burning smell and the shrill scream of the torch was unbearable.  

I watched in awe as this wholly miserable spectacle turned intricate and the violent flames began to dance and draw a bigger circle. Shortly the finely tuned torch flame marched straight across the bulkhead, drawing a red line as it went along. The flame was bright, but tightly grouped. It was not the quaint glow of earlier, however, it moved with determination as it sliced a distinguished path. 

Soon the path had come full circle -- the once glowing red spot ceased to be as the light from outside flooded the space and the bright cutting flame pulled away. 

The dismally diffused light penetrated the once-sanctuary compartment and brought with it the clamor from the yard. 

It's not even ten yet, that didn't last nearly long enough, I thought. 

portcall

I walked along, skirting the jumbled cobblestones of the ancient streets. The air was thick with humidity and the heat was nothing short of oppressive, but that didn't bother me because I was in transit. In all reality I knew I'd have to tolerate this place no longer than the next and wanted to take the time to enjoy the scenery. The narrow houses seemed to foretell cooling drafts and the street vendor seemed to peddle chilling beverages. I, however, tried hard to appear as unassuming as possible in this picturesque place. It seemed funny to me that someplace so physically inhospitable could be so quaint looking, but what could I do?

"I'll take one of those," I said, reaching into my pocket.

"Heat's getting to you today, isn't it?"

Presenting a wrinkled paper note, "Some days." I replied.

I had been there for three days, maybe four, and was getting used to the temperature. The drink in my hand sweated profusely while I fared much better today than the day before. As I walked down the shady street towards the waterfront, I couldn't help but wonder if those who lived here considered this place to be as unique as it is, or if they just thought everywhere looked like this. I also wondered if they considered this heat to be oppressive as well.

"What's that ya' got there?" they asked, almost in unison.

"Just some work stuff," I said as I looked up from my drawings.

"Wow, what do you do for work?"

"I work with ships," I responded, being as vague as possible.

We talked back and forth for some time while I sat there trying to make sense of the cooling system on the paper in front of me. I distinctly remember being slightly amused with the fact that I was actually able to accomplish any amount of serious work while sitting at a bench on a pier conversing with strangers, but such was the place. I couldn't be physically at my work for the moment and most restaurants in a busy city wouldn't tolerate this level of inactivity at any of their tables. With this in mind, I continued working.

"That was a pretty cool city," I mused aloud.

"It was alright, but I'd rather just be back already," he said, basically speaking for the entire crew.

"Yea, you're right," I added, completely sympathetic.

It was nice to watch the tall narrow houses, ancient waterfront and palmettos vanish quietly into the haze as we slowly slipped away upon the breeze. It wasn't quite the text book tour of the town, but I had my fill of aimless rambling and ridiculous humidity. Now it was time to return to the likes of Workstation Three and an extremely insular existence for the next few weeks.

Ah, underway.

Waves

It was dismal gray and the ocean was relentlessly pounding the rocky shores below us as I snapped away with my camera.

"Oh my God! Get your phone, call 9-1-1!" She exclaimed as I quickly looked away from the waves.

Heart pounding, I could feel my pulse in my ears. Breath-step-step-step, breath-step-step-step, I thought, controlling my breathing as I darted up the road. There were cars lined along the far side of the road, motorists diligently minding the brake-lights in front of them, but no oncoming traffic. Breath-step-step-step.

There's just one person inside, I thought as I quickly made my way back around to the drivers door. "Is he okay?" I asked.

"I'm going to release the seat belt, you got his legs?" she reiterated.

"I got them," I replied as he jolted quickly. There were two of us at the driver's door and one person helping guide his head through the back door as we lowered him down onto his back. He was now lying stably on his back and responding. Although I can't recall exactly what he was saying, I knew that he was going to be alright, whew.

The world started to open back up, and the claustrophobic black tunnel I 'd been running through started to clear up. The car was still running and the radio continued to blare. After receiving his teeth from another bystander, I clutched the keys and turned off the ignition.

Knowing the two people looking after him were E.R. paramedics, I felt better served directing traffic until the police arrived. So I handed over his glasses and walked back to the middle of the road.

Moments later, the sound of a wailing siren only slightly preceded the speeding Sheriffs' car racing towards the scene, which was shortly followed by another patrol car.

"Did anyone see this happen?" was asked with limited response.

"Alright, I need everyone to stand back and return to their vehicles."

Having nothing more to contribute, we hugged and made our way back to the car, dodging a Fire Engine along the way.

It was dismal gray and the ocean was relentlessly pounding the rocky shores below as I retrieved my camera and we drove away.

Incidental Creation

"In so many words, I'm sorry. I know the pain you're feeling, the doubts you have and the turmoil of your souls," he said as he stood there by the lone decadent podium.  The room was silent as he continued his rant. "Not so long ago our scientists set upon a bold venture. They worked towards, what they believed, was an end to suffering." A low murmur broke among the crowd gathered in the seats beneath him. "These brilliant minds, they worked with a diligence never seen before," he paused waiting calmly for the whispering in the crowd to settle down. 

Clearing his throat he continued, "These scientists and politicians pushed forward with an amazing agenda. They toiled day and night trying to find a cure to human hunger. Unfortunately in their quest to satisfy the needs of our species they had created your species." Having said his part he stopped and listened as the initial murmur of the crowd gathered before him turned first to a hum and then to a roar. Having felt the sudden spike in dissatisfaction of his audience the speaker tried vainly to control their emotions with pleas for reason, for understanding. The rabble in that great chamber would not subside. Rather the anger and frustration felt by those seated below him only spread as time wore on. 

They would not hear any calls for compassion, they couldn't form the words to a truce and they would never try to work it out. For them it was simple, "We 'ear you all the time. T'ease t'ings you talk about make no difference to us." The thing, a Expumure as they were called, moved from behind the bench it was near and glared at the frightened man behind the podium. 

Know

As clear as I can recall, I have never been ignorant of the fact that the world is spherical. From this end I distinctly remember the first time someone that I knew ventured any great distance from the particular place on the sphere I called home. I was young, but aware enough to know that tarantulas lived in warm climates. That my grandparents were traveling to California and there would be tarantulas there confused me, as I believed California to be far north along the border with Canada. As it turns out Montana borders Canada and California stretches along the Pacific coast. 

With the tarantula issue resolved, I was left with the gravity issue. Scientifically speaking, I knew that gravity pulled people towards the center of the Earth in a relatively uniform manner, regardless of where they stood on the great sphere. I knew this because I had read it in books and knew nothing to the contrary. However there was a part of my mind that couldn't accept this fact and I had fantastic ideas about how it would feel to walk upon another part of the Earth. For years this scientific knowledge went unchallenged and my fantasies went unrealized. Basically, I was left with a big "what if." 

Some time later I found myself traveling across the continent, through some choice of my own. As I progressed forward and the distance between myself and the old spot on the sphere increased I was keenly aware of the gravity issue. In due time I had ventured up near the Arctic Circle and well below the Equator. I had traveled from Bangkok through Malta and all the while paying close attention to how if felt to walk upon these new parts of the globe. Through my experiences I was able to determine that the text books were right and so far as I had observed gravity did in fact pull quite uniformly. I have yet to walk below the Antarctic Circle and cannot comment as to the pull of the Earth from that region as of yet, but some day I will. 

I greatly enjoy reading and have no qualms in accepting the knowledge I gain from books. However, to me, it has always made things more real when I can put my hands upon them. In my mind I knew there were deserts and I had known that the sun could set over the ocean because I read of these things and had never seen any proof to the contrary. However, my hands did not know the feel of desolate sand dunes and my eyes had never seen the sun sink below the Pacific. For me, knowing is more than a mental state, it is a physical sensation, a wholly unremovable imprint upon the senses of an undeniable reality.

I've read many books and and trekked as many miles to know what I've read. For me it is through direct experience that I'd like to know the world. 

Live Vest

“Live Vest under seat.”

What do they mean there’s a live vest under my seat? he thought as he began to settle into the slightly-less-than-comfortable chair near the middle of the plane.

Apparently this live vest residing beneath him was a furry creature with a thin little tail, sharp pointy claws, an interesting assortment of teeth and two incredibly darting eyes. The thing was not much bigger than a household feline, but it was incredibly fast and vicious. Dave had never heard of such a vest before, but that didn’t stop it from gnawing on his leg. Looking around, he felt small and helpless as he fruitlessly attempted to bat the bizarre animal away.

After looking about and fidgeting wildly for a bit, he was able to summon the help of a crew member. Creating a scene of epic proportions within the seating area, Dave was gasping for air as he saw the other blood soaked passengers nearby. What’s going on here, why is everyone so calm? Am I the only person who’s never heard of these stupid vests before? He was quickly ejected from the airplane and escorted to the airport’s security office.

“Seriously, I’m not crazy, you! You’re the crazy ones!” he shouted at the guard as he stormed out of the office and towards the airport exit where his taxi was waiting. Dave was so confused and upset that he didn’t even remember to get his luggage before leaving the place.

“That’s the second one this week,” said Saul as he stared blankly at the open door.

“Maybe its something in the peanuts,” supposed Kate.

Olives

It was still dark, I was soaking wet and it was freezing outside. I clearly remember the horrible taste of the whale’s belly and the feeling of pasty "delousing powder" on my skin. Yes, it was at this point that I was to pick up the olive, which was green, with my teeth and chew it while someone sprayed me down with a fire hose. I knew the end was near and soon I would be before King Neptune and the Royal Court, but for now I was miserable.

So yes I hate olives -- green or black, I won’t differentiate.