The Beast

Our assignment was to write a story based on a child's interaction with a creature of our choosing, but without giving away what the creature was until the end. With that said, here's "The Beast".

The Beast
By: Michael T. Flanders


The boy was scared. He entered the cave in hopes of finding the butterfly he had been chasing around for the better part of the afternoon, only to find that he was now face to face with something nightmarish. The first thing the boy noticed wasn’t the horns or wings, but rather the smell. The entire cave reeked of overcooked meat and burnt hair. It caused his gag reflex to respond almost immediately, yet he was able to chew back the bile, if only to hold it in for something worse. Pushing past the urge to throw up, the boy finally took notice of the creature before him. Its scaly eyes were piercing, stirring emotions the boy didn’t even know existed, but also highlighting the ones he already had. Needless to say, his fear of the unknown never had validity until now. Slowly backing away, the boy broke for the cave’s entrance, wanting to get away from this mythical creature as fast as he could. The light from outside merely a few feet away, the boy’s escape was halted when a coarse fist wrapped itself around the boy’s torso. The boy’s mind went crazy. How was this possible? How could something of God’s creation have such a large hand? What would happen if he couldn’t get away? Feeling the pressure from the roughly plated hand, the boy took notice of the scales that encased the monster’s arm. Not just its arm, but its entire body. Pouring through different tactics of escape, the boy finally decided to attempt biting the creature. The attack however, was rendered completely useless due to the natural armor that the beast was covered in. On top of that, the thing tasted of rancid spinach, so it only ended up making the boy spill out some of that bile he’d been holding onto for such an occasion. Placing the boy on the ground during his fit of vomiting, the beast took a step back, arched its wings and let loose a magnificently terrifying roar. It was at this moment that everything the boy had known became forsaken. After all, how’s a child supposed to accept the fairy tales of old when a dragon dwelled in the world of today?

A quickie, but a goody!

Earlier this week we were asked to write a simile/metaphor poem based upon an ex. Here's what I pieced together within two seconds.

Untitled
By: Michael T. Flanders

My ex is the tampon anti-Christ, the embodiment of forgetfulness and unhygienic habits, and as tyrannical as Darth Vader, like a Dark Lord of Vaginal Control.

I hope you enjoyed this snipit of nothingness. Was it good for you?

The Fall of a Ranger

Here's a prose based upon my "first crush"... I was a child of the 90's, what do you expect?

The Fall of a Ranger
By: Michael T. Flanders

She was Rita Repulsa and I was the Red Power Ranger. Our skirmishes happening daily, there wasn't a time we weren't together at recess. A feigned kick here, a restrictive hug there, my feelings betrayed me. I was falling for the enemy, what worse deception of self is there? My heart erupted with a first grade infatuation, the object of my obsession being a girl who attacked my groin. Little did she know each blow inflated the attraction, making me step down as leader of the Power Rangers to confess my love. This was my undoing, sadly, for Lord Zed's Bride had a storeroom of treachery, and a former Blue Ranger turned leader to admit her affection to... She became the Pink Ranger, discarding her title of evil to be with the pretty boy forerunner... And I was left to pick up the shattered pieces of my self-esteem with the brats who played Beetleborgs.

The Jest

Here's a half-assed sonnet inspired by a fictitious event I half-expected to occur this week.

The Jest
By: Michael T. Flanders

A violent death awaits him tonight.
Awakened from my slumber, I'm distraught.
The douche is bedside, attempting a fright.
Now in my backyard he will sit and rot.
Granted, I may have overreacted.
But you don't mess with a man and his rest.
A horror scene getting reenacted.
Oh shit, it was just a perverted jest!
Looking back, it wasn't a snake in his hand,
But rather the half-inch stick he plays with.
It's still not my fault his head's now in sand.
Now I'll go down in history as myth.
A man who killed his friend over a small prick,
but it's still funny he died over his dick.

The Nightmare

Here's a completely (un)original piece written for class by yours truly.

The Nightmare
By : Michael T. Flanders

It's a realm of eternal darkness, fortified with the screams and cries of the forsaken. Although a close relative to Hell, the Nightmare Universe very rarely is full of fire or brimstone... Unless that's what you're afraid of. This is the place where the Boogie Man exists, where reality and logic are checked at the door, where HE dwells. Known only as the Entertainer, this man feeds off the agony of others. Your pain is his breakfast, your sorrow is his afternoon tea. Upon first glance you'll think this man is a saint, a person of virtue and truth. However, this only until his mascara runs, leaving a stained image of black leather, snakes, dismembered corpses and a top hat... You can never forget the top hat. The only good thing about this man is his lack of singularity, for he sees EVERYONE as an enemy, not just the righteous dreamers who accidentally invade his home, but the wicked and the damned as well.

This is where the story ends for now. As a rough map of something to work with... It still comes off as completely stolen from someone else. lol But hey, I'm writing about what I know, who can fault me for that, right?

The Morals of Morality

A few days ago a friend and I were having a conversation. Our topic of discussion (which comes up a lot between this friend and I) was why I wouldn't "hit that?", "hit that" being slang for having gratuitous amounts of sex with some chick. In a roundabout/back and forth fashion I told this friend that I couldn't do it because I wasn't that sort of guy, it went against my better judgment and how I felt as a person (laugh all you want, but Michael does have a sense of right and wrong). He laughed and brought up the ever-popular cliche', "Why play by the rules when all nice guys finish last?" Now I know I have my moments where I can be a decent human being, but normally I don't pride myself on my "niceness". When I brought this point up, however, it was quickly shot down as an argument, so I was forced to try a different approach. He asks me again, "what's the point of playing by the rules if all you're gonna get is life kicking you in the ass while everyone else is getting what they want?" After thinking about it for a few days, I finally have a valid (and obvious) response. If we don't follow our personal guidelines, our own morals, then what's the point of even establishing them in the first place? Yes, there will be times when we falter or bend the rules, yet it's important to stay true to one's self in the long run. No one is perfect and we all make mistakes, but if we start letting the negativity pour in, changing the very fabric of who we are, then we've missed the very point of life itself. To counter-attack a cliche' with another cliche', "it's not whether you win or lose, it's how you play the game." Life sucks, it's not always meant to be fun. I'm not gonna lie, this week has been shitty for me, today being the cherry on top, and there's nothing more I'd love to do right now than go have generously gratuitous amounts of "woo hoo" (a Sim reference, not mine) time, but that doesn't benefit me in the long run. Will this choice get me a gold medal in the Olympics of Life? Hell no. If anything, I'll be ridiculed and kicked out of the Man-Club. Such as life though, it's just not who I am (Oh how I'd love to talk to myself three years ago and hear the hysterical laughter "Past Me" would let loose).
In short, I guess I'm just venting due to lack of creativity and large amounts of boredom. I know life could be better, and it's always easier to look at things, wishing they were different (in this regard, actually having a girlfriend rather than just a person wanting a cheap fuck), but it could always be worse too. A lot of people overlook this prospect of the game called "Life" (real life, not the board game). Ok, so maybe nice guys finish last, but just remember there could be a guy "nicer" than you who's struggling a hundred times harder. Be happy with what you have, live life for "you", and don't be a tool of society's general machinations. K, rant over.