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Dexter joined the others in the living room once he was dressed, once again in his crown and coat. Darrien motioned towards the sofa, “Alright Dexter. Tell us what happened up until you woke up here.”
Dexter was pensive for a moment, “It started like any normal day…
It was the weekend and Raven and I decided to have a picnic away from school grounds where we could be alone. You know…some private time away from everyone where we could just talk and enjoy each others company. We set up our blanket and Raven started pulling some treats out of the basket she was carrying. Our friend Ginger Breadhouse made us some cupcakes and I couldn’t wait to dig in. But right when we started our picnic we heard something rustling in the nearby woods. We figured it was probably somebody snooping. I went to check it out. But what I saw was not anyone or anything I’d ever seen before.
It looked like a woman. She was dressed in a red swimsuit looking thing and she was hunched over a deer. I wasn’t sure what she was doing at first. But she must’ve heard me and when she turned her head I saw she was eating it, ripping chunks off with her teeth. Her face was covered in blood and she looked dangerous. Like a wild animal. She had these yellow eyes like a lizard and long sharp teeth like a shark. She and I stood looking at each other, unmoving for what felt like hours even though it was probably only seconds.
That’s when the winged demon walked up behind her. Her crossed his arms, smirked at me and said, ‘I suggest you run.’
I didn’t need to be told twice. I ran to Raven and told her we had to get back to the school. She kept asking me why and what did I see in the woods, but she got her answer pretty quickly. The animal woman and the winged demon were after us. The woman ran on all fours like a wild cat and the demon flapped his huge bat wings overhead, smiling like it was a game for him.
EverAfter High is protected by magic so everyone within its walls is safe from dangerous elements.”
“Like monsters?” Maxine asked glancing at Darrien.
Dexter nodded and continued, “Raven made it. She used some of her powers to hold them off. I wasn’t so lucky. I felt something jump on my back and knock me to the ground face down. I could hear Raven screaming as I was flipped onto my back. The animal woman was on top of me, dripping blood onto my face. I was scared and begged them not to hurt me. The winged demon leaned over, smiled his creepy smile and said, ‘I’m afraid my temperament has left me cold to your plea of mercy.’ And that’s all I remember.”
Darrien was silent but just from looking at him, Maxine could tell his mind was going a mile a minute. Evan looked at Maxine with a worried expression on his face. Bianca looked uninterested.
“What are you thinking, Darrien?” Maxine asked.
“We have to go to the land of EverAfter. Not only do we need to send Dexter back, but we have to get Damien and his cohort out of there.”
“How do we do that?” Evan asked.
Darrien crossed his arms and asked Maxine, “Do you have a full length mirror?”
There is one way in and in reverse the same way takes you out. Upon the morning of the Twenty First the Sun comes in to clear the old year out and at the setting Sun the last rays take our dead upon their many, many ways to host us around our campfires and welcome us along the routes they took over this place our earthly space and other dead seek out the campfires above that by night have joined us in lighting our fires into the great darkness. Each of us lights beacons each to the others, campfire to campfires showing that warmth and life is only a way away, only the light of one day away and always within reach. We have made our ways with their aid bringing new light in sight by Winter and Summer both, all of us working around the axle light of us all the central star campfire the only unmoving always constant light. Though Sun and Moon, Planet Wandering Lights and Stars Campfire each fixed in distance one from the other and all together, all move across the skies, only the centre star stays central the one true eye within the sky. The rising new stars, the setting old stars sing songs of new seasons approaching of new phases to be begun and of the harvest of just passed and old star months now no longer to be relied upon. The herds move to the way of the stars and they move away even as the stars come and go in circling motions making paths in spiral in our sky as we upon this ground all will make spirals with those stars wherever our spirit is to be found. You come in the warmth of the womb in the earth at birth and you revisit as you age and take new roles in your life. You are a part of the bones in their home of earth and the stones, you are a part of the life of blood til you return to the stars that sent you here and in bone not the flesh your star core rests and in the flesh not the bone your life on earth is given birth and breath for the span of your days ways here til death and star rebirth opens up all of the ways of both nights and days within the Many Mists and the Cosmic Haze.
PHH Sykes 2023
phhsykes@gmail.com
Unstan Chambered Cairn
www.historicenvironment.scot/visit-a-place/places/unstan-...
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Viny weeds and tall grass partially shrouded the entrance of the culvert, it took little effort to part them. The concrete ground was stained by nearly a century of dirty waterflow. Decades-old trash were scattered among pebbles along the corners. Moss colonies were prospering along the walls.
Just before they reached the end, Kelly thought she could hear a low-tone rumbling in the background. She raised the sensitivity of her auditory receptors. On top of the motorized rumbling, she also detected the sound of numerous footsteps, all moving toward them.
“Hold it.” she said, raising a hand across Brine.
“What is it?”
“Check your ears.”
Brine went silent, knowing what she meant and soon hearing what she heard.
It wasn’t long before a caravan of autonomous military foot-drones moved along the freeway lane, right in view of the pair. They both instinctively hunched down, though it was unlikely they would be seen.
US Military SF10 infantry drones. All together there had to have been six or seven of them. They all had the standardized army grey humanoid chassis, resembling plated armor. Their heads were a square shape with a cylindrical top, looking like a mailbox, with several long slots on the front and a small optical housing in the upper middle. They all stared straight forward, marching with their stiff toy soldier-like movements.
They were accompanied by a large support UGV; basically an autonomous APC. They were meant to provide transportation and escort in the rare case a patrol might come across any humans left behind after the evacuation.
The army didn’t have time to demilitarize the vehicles, or they simple chose not to. Each one was equipped with a remote weapons station comprised of a standard heavy machine gun, smoke dischargers, and non-lethal acoustic weaponry. The presence of one was fearsome enough for a proxy operative.
The pair remained unmoving until the patrol moved on out of view. They continued waiting until they were sure the patrol was gone.
“Alright, we should be clear.”
Kelly loosened out and continued forward.
“Good call not crossing over top.”
“I’ve learned to trust my intuition.”
The two crossed the swampy ditch to the next stretch of drainage tunnel.
“God I hate those guys.” Brine groaned. “ ‘Would’ve thought someone’d figure out how to turn them off by now. Automated shut-down or something like that. There’s no one left in the cities, 'only point they serve is to get in our way.”
“One way or another we’ll eventually wipe them all out. Its not like they’re being replenished.”
“Aren’t they? They’ve been marchin' around for how long now? We should’ve whittled them away years ago.”
“Hey, I don’t know. Maybe AI took over the military, and we just don’t know it yet.”
“Heh, well if that’s the best 'Skynet' is sending, they’re not sending their best.”
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カメラのおかげで、不動の滝は本当に不動です。
Fudou means immobile, or unmoving. A strange name for a waterfall.
Thanks to the camera, these "unmoving" waterfalls will stay that way forever.
2000 views on March 11, 2008
1. I, the pure, stainless and infinite Consciousness beyond maya, look upon this body in action like the body of another.
2. The mind, the intellect, the senses, etc. are all the play of Consciousness. They are unreal and seem to exist only due to lack of insight.
3. Unmoved by adversity, a friend of all the world in prosperity, without ideas of existence and non-existence, I Live free from misery.
4. Inactive am I, desireless, clear as the sky, free from hankering, tranquil, formless, everlasting and unmoving.
5. I have now clearly understood that the five elements, the three worlds and I myself are pure Consciousness.
6. I am above everything ; I am present everywhere ; I am like space; I am that which (really) exists; I am unable to say anything beyond this.
7. Let imaginary waves of universe rise or fall in me who am the ocean of infinite Consciousness ; there is no increase or decrease in me.
8. How wonderful that in me, the infinite ocean of Consciousness, waves of jivas (individual souls) rise, sport for a while and disappear according to their nature.
9. The world which has come into existence on account of my ignorance has dissolved likewise in me. I now directly experience the world as supreme bliss of Consciousness.
10. I prostrate to myself who am within all being, the ever free Self abiding as inner consciousness.
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Yoga Vasishta Sara - SELECTED VERSES - Meditation on the Self
Nothing beats a haunted moonlit night on All Hallows Eve.... And on this fatal night, at this witching time, the starless sky laments black and unmoving. The somber hues of an ominous, dark forest are suddenly illuminated under the emerging face of the full moon. ~Kim Elizabeth
“It is like the dew of Hermon, which falls on the mountains of Zion!
For there the LORD has commanded the blessing, life
forevermore” (Ps. 133:3).
“Showers of blessing.” “Rivers of blessing.” “Pour down Your
blessings, O LORD!”
Showers, rivers, downpours — that is the way we like our blessings.
Blessings that come in floods, deluges, inundations, torrential
quantities overflowing. That is what we seek and how we pray.
Not in drizzles and mizzles. Not light mistings of blessings. Certainly
not blessings like those oh-so-small droplets of dew.
Yet that last is a picture often found in Scriptures to describe the
LORD’s blessings.
“I will be like the dew to Israel,” the LORD promises His blessing
thus in calling for Israel’s repentance (Hos. 14:5).
“May God give you of the dew of heaven,” Isaac blesses Jacob
(Gen. 27:28).
“When the dew fell upon the camp in the night, the manna fell with
it” (Num. 11:9). The LORD’s provision in the wilderness came as
with dew from heaven, in Israel’s deliverance from Egypt.
“. . . the heavens shall give their dew” (Zech. 8:12). The LORD thus
describes the blessing of His shalom that would come upon
redeemed Israel, in her promised restoration.
What does this tell us of divine blessings, when they come
described as the dew from heaven? What is dew like?
a). Dew comes imperceptibly.
The LORD’s blessings do not always come to us in ways that we
readily perceive. Just as we do not see the dew when it comes in
the night, but only in the morning upon the grass, so also we often
do not see the LORD’s grace in the moment it appears, even in the
moments it is operating. But after.
“Surely the LORD is in this place, and I did not know it” (Gen.
28:16). Thus Jacob says upon waking up after his dream of the
ladder of heaven. Thus also we often realize the LORD’s blessings
only after we have “woken up”.
b). Dew nurtures quietly.
Downpours of rain may sometimes be good for the ground and for
some plants and trees. But not for all. For some, for the more
tender, downpours and heavy showers can overwhelm and drown.
Dew, in contrast, provides moisture that satiates without
oversaturating, nurture that quenches without inundating. So also
the LORD’s blessings may come to us in such gentle measures,
softly bringing us along that road of grace.
c). Dew penetrates deeply.
In our scripture for devotion this morning, the blessing of God is
pictured as the dew of Hermon. Why Hermon?
Witnesses explain that, while the region around Mt. Hermon is
generally dry, the base of the mountain has many orchards,
plantations, and groves. This fecundity of the land comes from the
dew that consistently forms there. No downpours, no deluges, and
yet, in the morning, the ground and the flora are all watered into
their depths from the dew, enabling lush growth.
So also the LORD’s grace and blessings. Grace does its work
penetratively. It is the soul, that deep part of us, that most receives
the impact of divine grace, that most feels the wonder of His
blessings. And that is most transformed by the deep work of Grace.
d). Dew forms in the silence and darkness of night.
Dew forms in the pre-dawn hours, in the quiet and dark of night.
God’s blessings often come to us in the silence and darkness. In the
dark times of our life, that is when we most experience the
blessings of God. Indeed the blessing that is God Himself.
Beloved, when you are in dark times, when God seems silent and
unmoving, do not be afraid — His dew of blessing is forming, and it
is nurturing and refreshing in silent and unseen ways.
“Be still, and know that I am God” (Ps. 46:10).
Be still as the night; know that the LORD’s dew of blessing is ever
forming around you.
May you be blessed by the dew from heaven, my dear family of
God.
Prayer: “O LORD, how precious are Your blessings. But none more
precious than Your Presence. May we be forever grateful, Father,
for all that You do, and all that You are. For Your glory, Amen.”
Ps. Ooi KB
This Great Blue Heron was standing unmoving in the still morning at Little River Marsh. Amid the tall reeds and grasses, perfect reflections and the sound of arriving Red-winged BLackbirds staking out territory. Absolutely perfect. (Best viewed large)
(I know, the horizon's a bit skewed. That's just how I roll.)
I annoyed a number of geese on this day, as well as two ducks and a duck-like bird whose squawk was not a quack and who made a sound I'd never heard any duck or goose or doose or guck ever make. I therefore declare that I have discovered a new species of waterfowl.
I shall call him the Quagmire Flarbler.
Part 2 of "Alligator and Turtle"
Shortly before this photo was taken this American Alligator (Alligator mississippiensis) was attempting to swallow this Redbelly Turtle (Pseudemys nelsoni). But the turtles shell kept it safe this time. The gator dropped the turtle once again and the turtle took off with the gator hard on its heels trying to get ahold of the turtle again. Unlike the other times the gator wasn't immediately successful and then after another attempt the turtle just froze in place, the gator right behind it did too. After a while of just sitting there unmoving the turtle extended his neck and started wobbling away except this time the alligator didn't pursue it. The gator seemed to have lost interest during those minutes when no one moved. The gator moved off to one side and the turtle to the other. I examined the turtle before it could reach the water and it was unharmed, the only sign of the life and death struggle were the grooves the gators teeth had cut into the vegetation growing on its back.
This is the dock at the Stephen Young Marsh at the Missisquoi Refuge. This is where I have had many morning cups of tea and a yogurt for breakfast......at dawn.
Last week, I arrived about 10:30. As I approached the dock, inch by inch, I was looking all around, so I wouldn't scare anything away. As I walked up onto the dock, inch by inch, I suddenly noticed a pair of shoes and a pair of pants on the dock! That stopped me dead in my tracks. What the hell was going on here. Did someone drown in the 3 feet of mucky water?
Then I noticed two eyeballs staring though the slats on the dock! A cold dead, unmoving stare. After a couple of seconds, I realized a guy was sitting there, meditating. At 10:30! In a public place, in some level of nakedness!
Well, I quietly said "Oh! I'm sorry. I didn't see you there."
More dead stare. After another few seconds, and more dead stare, I left. After another few seconds, I became really pissed. What an arrogant jerk. He really ticked me off.
In this picture, he was at the end of the dock and to the right, so I did not see him, at first. But his clothing was visible....if I had been looking in that direction at that moment.
"His name long since lost to time, the soldier still stands his post.
His unblinking eyes have seen the golden age of humanity and the end of their world as they knew it.
As the Earth reclaims the city he stands in, he refuses to falter standing watch on the land he fought to defend.
We must join him, humanity is on the brink. Besieged on all sides as the darkness comes to claim us all.
But we will stand defiant, unmoving and unblinking like the old soldier.
As humanity's Guardians on eternal watch"
This is kind of a proof of concept picture, at some point when the other Destiny figures come out I plan to try to build a small diorama around it.
My favorite parts of Destiny is the post collapse environments, seeing the earth take over humanity's old cities and the overall theme of hope despite it all, so long as people still take a stand humanity still has a chance, it's an old fashioned good vs evil story that I think we need right now.
Text style - Callsign/Real name
Bold - Pharaoh / Raymond Ellis
Italics - Juliett / Sirena Hunt
Underlined - OCULUS
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Alright. 5 more minutes left on the download.
"Juliet!"
She keeps her eyes focused on the outside of the building. Her rifle is laid on the table.
"Please watch the opposite buildings. I don't want any of them getting the jump on us."
Eve turns around, her red and grey bionic eye glowing despite the harsh light in the control room.
"Just calm down. I've got it."
Her thick Irish accent sticks to my mind like a bug on flypaper. She picks up her rifle and spins around towards the window, her eyes fixated on a certain point in space. Not long after, I manage to bypass the multiple firewalls that guard the server, allowing me access into the company's confidential files.
"OCULUS, contact Overlord and tell them we're ready for phase 2."
In a monotone voice, OCULUS replies.
"Affirmative. Prepare for export."
I gently lay my fingers on the laptop's keys, preparing to receive the file name we're looking for.
"ALFA - KILO - FOXTROT - CHARLIE - NOVEMBER - ZULU - ZULU"
I tap the keys into the search bar. Immediately, a file pops up with the name AKFCNZZ. Basically, just what we're looking for. I raise my augmented hand and pull the USB out of the top. After sliding it into the slot in the machine, I click a few things, allowing the file to download.
"5 minutes remaining. Make sure we've locked down this room."
Gun in hand, I stare at the machine, mentally willing it to hurry up. OCULUS is in the corner of the room, unmoving, while Juliet continues to face out the window, just as statue-like as the former. Without turning, she asks me a question.
"Not sure why I'm asking, but why'd you choose to replace all those limbs?"
Eyes locked on the screen, I decide to answer her question without turning.
"Well, I didn't actually replace them, I had to get them implanted. I lost my legs and a bit in Korea a few years back."
"When exactly?"
"2036. Battle of Daegu. We had to get 1 mil out of the city before the bomb hit.
"Damn. How'd you get out?"
I motion to OCULUS.
"You have the logs right?"
"Yes sir."
"Play the holo and watch the window while you do it."
OCULUS 's hidden eye shoots out a blue beam onto the floor. The beam quickly becomes a transparent blue disc on the ground, slowly raising up to show three things.
A friend, a broken shop, and a wounded, legless soldier.
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Hey guys! Hope you liked this issue! I'll be posting a synopsis pic soon, but I just wanted people to get the idea of the writing in this series first. Tell me what you think in the comments!
~ Zach
This Red deer (Cervus elaphus) stag settled down into the bracken and I was about 2 to 3m from it on a path. Despite me waiting it just sat there unmoving while I said "Good morning" to passers by.
Reminded me of the "Ostrich" song by Flanders and Swann, www.lyricsmania.com/the_ostrich_lyrics_flanders_and_swann..., where if the ostrich couldn't see you, you couldn't see the ostrich.
This is another animation made with the mech suit design I recently rigged. Right now I am focusing just on the legs and the walk / run cycle, so obviously the unmoving torso and arms look pretty unrealistic; I will improve this later.
I consider this a stop motion, since I didn't use any animation software to create the mech movement; I did it all by hand, one frame at a time.
This mech suit is fully articulated and free to move any way a human can. The limbs are held together with rubber bands (which I cannot render as of right now).
===Before===
“In other news, Arkham City’s Stryker Task Force made ten more arrests this morning. The controversial private contractors, headed by Priscilla Stryker, have been under fire for their increasingly heavy-handed methods-”
Jervis Tetch let out a high-pitched giggle, taking a loud slurp of Earl Grey tea, his favourite.
Placing the cup and saucer back down, he finished setting the table; placing several tiered stands onto the patchwork tablecloth; a selection of homemade scones, cakes and cucumber sandwiches placed atop each one. He wrapped his gnarled fingernails around the remote control and turned off the wall-mounted TV. Then, he stuck his pinkie fingers in his mouth and whistled at his two guests.
The man, dressed in a white suit and jacket, rolled his eyes, and walked forward, his arm around the woman’s waist.
As they approached the table, Tetch greeted them with a poem.
“The White Mask and The Carpenter
Were walking close at hand;
They wept like anything to see
Such quantities of sand:
If this were only cleared away,’
They said, it would be grand!’
If seven maids with seven mops
Swept it for half a year,
Do you suppose,’ the White Mask said,
That they could get it clear?’
I doubt it,’ said the Carpenter,
And shed a bitter tear.”
“That’s enough, little man,” Franco scowled. “Sionis wants his next shipment moved pronto. That Arkham strike force is already coming down on us, hard, as is. The boss can’t risk them stumbling on these warehouses.”
Tetch chuckled dismissively, pouring himself a fresh cup of tea. “Silly silly, Franco. He’s caught in such a daze. Little does the madman know, he’s but a passing craze.”
At this, Franco grabbed the teapot mid-pour, allowing Tetch’s cup of Earl Grey to overflow into the saucer. “I said, midget-” he began.
“I heard you sir. I heard your pleas, I heard you loud and clear. But don’t you fret my bossy friend, our time is drawing near.”
Franco relaxed, relinquishing his grip on the teapot. “Sure. Whatever you say, freak. Sooner this partnership’s at an end, the better.”
“Quite so, Mr Franco. Now there I do agree. For Wonderland is calling me, and there I’ll promptly flee.”
Suddenly, the double doors swung open and a pale man in a red shirt and blue waistcoat entered the room.
“Mr White,” Franco spluttered. It was rare that any of the bosses graced him with their presence, let alone The Great White Shark. Before he could welcome him with a patronising remark, White interrupted him:
“Those Stryker pigs nabbed the boss. They’re taking him to Arkham with the other freaks.”
The room was silent at first, save for the trickling sounds of Tetch returning the excess tea from his saucer back into the teapot.
“What does this mean for... this?” Franco asked at last.
White shrugged dispassionately. “Nada. Squat. We knew this was gonna happen, and we’ve got contingencies for it. The boss may be stuck in there, but so are our competitors. That means we can push our product, without Penguin or Dent’s interference. ‘Least on this side of the bars,” White smirked, running his tongue across his pointed teeth.
“Competitors? I thought Penguin was into arms dealing. You really think he’s going to muscle in on our racket?”
“I don’t know,” White admitted. “But Cobblepot has that Scarecrow freak working on something; a chemical, a drug, that’s the rumour. Either way, our operation remains the same. There’s a factory on the inside, production’s a non-issue; the boss has that quilted quack running things, keeping the other junkies in line. It’s distribution that’s a problem. We need to keep a low profile. Don’t want the strike force, or worse, the Bat, disrupting our supply chain. We’ve got the Terrible Trio on call for the moment, but those furries are hardly low-key…” he trailed off, taking note of the woman at Franco’s side, recognising her as The Carpenter.
“You, the girlfriend,” he clicked his tongue, pointing a pale finger at Jenna.
“That’s not necessary, man-” Franco interjected.
White ignored him. “You do a lot of commission work, don’t you? That kind of “Pimp my Ride,” interior decorator type-shit? You got anyone on the old rolodex that you reckon could help us out?
“I dunno,” Jenna shrugged. “Most of my clients aren’t exactly low-profile.”
“Oh, I can imagine, I’ve seen your portfolio. That giant typewriter of Nygma’s? Brilliant,” White chuckled. “Still, you got an Invisible Man or Woman on there? Someone incognito, but not Incognito, because, well, he’s dead.” A shot in the dark.
“I might actually,” Jenna spoke. “You ever hear about Lloyd Ventrix?”
==The Iceberg Lounge==
Cobblepot greeted Sionis at the entrance to the lounge. Warren White stood beside them, picking a scab at the base of his elbow distractedly. “Ah, Roman, you made it, excellent!” Cobblepot addressed him, holding his arms out wide to hug the newest arrival. Black Mask rejected the hug, seeing through the Mayor’s obvious attempts to patronise him.
“Where is he?” Sionis asked grimly, his eyes drawn to the umbrella in Cobblepot’s hand, aware of the hidden firing mechanism within.
“Please, sit. We have a superb selection of wines this evening,” Cobblepot said dismissively, waving a flipper in the direction of the seating area. “Our catch of the day is red snapper, and we had a shipment of Atlantic scallops delivered this morning-”
“Oh, don’t worry, I won’t be staying long.” Sionis growled, as he nudged past Cobblepot and pushed the door open.
Gaige was sitting in the center of the room, his feet rested up on the table, a glass of red wine by his side. Gone was the muted blue business suit he had worn as The Physician, instead he sported a bright tiger-skin jacket and an accompanying red headscarf. There was one other occupant in the room, sat hidden at the bar.
Sionis drew his gun and aimed it at Gaige’s forehead. “The ‘Physician,’” he inhaled. “How stupid do you think I am?”
Gaige cocked his head to one side. “Do you want a rounded estimate?”
The Great White grinned at the joke appreciatively, then reached into his own holster. “You made a mistake coming here,” he informed the Tiger Shark.
“Oh, no mistake, Warren.” Gaige swirled the red liquid around in his glass and licked the glass’ rim with his forked tongue. “A secret brother,” he addressed Sionis, dabbing his mouth with his napkin. “Is that why you thought daddy didn’t love you?”
Sionis’ gun stayed raised. White used his free hand to muffle his laughter.
“Roman, Warren, hear the man out,” Cobblepot defended Gaige. “I think you will find what he has to say very… illuminating.”
“Illuminating,” Sionis repeated, as he slid into the chair opposite Gaige’s. “This’ll be good.”
Gaige took a bite out of a chocolate chip cookie and made a rare rumble of approval. “Did you really think that I would settle for being Franco’s right hand? Do you know what he uses it for? As it turns out,” Gaige smirked, “Our beloved Mayor is actually rather comfortable with his new position. And the last thing he wants is a... change of management.”
“Franco and Ferris,” Sionis presumed.
Gaige nodded. "I admit, I was happy to play along, at first; Franco for all his faults, did get me out of prison, and I won’t deny that I was tempted to get revenge on you... But then... Well, let’s say that my situation has changed somewhat."
Sionis and White exchanged puzzled looks.
“You see, recently, I was given a responsibility. Four, actually: Children, of various ages, genders and, ah, sizes. And I intend to give them the best life I can give them. I owe it to them. I owe it to their father. And I owe it to my daughter.”
“Cute.”
Gaige smirked. "I’m not asking for much,” he explained. “I’d like my turf back. Dixon Docks. Port Adams. Oh, and of course whatever territory you offered Ferris to get him back to Gotham.”
“And if I refuse-?” Sionis’ eyes glinted.
“Well, you won’t, because that would be incredibly short-sighted of you. Not to mention fucking stupid. Two of your lieutenants just tried to stage a coup, how many of their soldiers do you think they recruited? You really think you'll survive another gang war?"
"Do you?"
"I wouldn't bet against me.” Gaige snapped his fingers, and the scruffy man at the bar rose from the stool, an old oil lamp in his hand. Ratcatcher.
Penguin, shot his umbrella in the air. “Enough; you always were children, the lot of you... We can keep sacrificing guns and manpower bickering among ourselves in another bitter power struggle if that’s what you want. But it doesn’t matter who wears the crown so long as there’s a city of so-called vigilantes outside these windows. We’ve lost sight of things- we can divide the city among ourselves, yes, but we can’t do anything whilst there’s still a bat infestation.”
“Eh, but a gang war sounds more fun,” Sionis spoke, as his skull-like features formed a smile.
Just then, there was a light, polite chapping on the door, and a pale man entered the room.
“What the blazes is it now, Ogilvy?” Penguin snapped.
“Sorry sirs,” the man apologised. “But you wanted to be kept in the loop about Franco.”
==Sionis Warehouse: South Gotham==
Roman Sionis had several warehouses scattered around Gotham City, each one serving as a front for The False Face Society's illegal activities. His headquarters, the north steel mill, was destroyed during the Arkham City earthquake. The east warehouse was burned down by The Black Spider six years ago. This one, located in South Gotham, was once used as the mob's armoury: housing several crates full of guns and ammunition.
Franco was aiming a rifle out of the window: He was wearing a Kevlar vest over his lilac shirt, having discarded the tie and jacket. His Ivory mask was resting on the opened rifle case. As he peered down the scope, he frowned. A man was walking towards them, their hands raised in the air in surrender. Their face was illuminated by a small lamp wrapped around their hatband. The light bounced off the man’s black-rimmed glasses, but their silhouette was unmistakable.
Franco lowered the gun. "That's not Lynns."
~-~
Franco escorted Li into the main loading bay, his rifle aimed at his back. As they came to a halt, Li raised his arms out in front of him, allowing Franco to search his person without any resistance.
“Who else is here?” Franco asked, retrieving a small pistol from Li’s tweed jacket with his free hand, and emptying the chamber’s contents onto the warehouse floor.
“Just me,” Li replied, as Franco flicked through his leather-bound notebook, trying to figure out how much he knew.
Ferris stepped into the light. He wore a Kevlar vest, same as Franco, and held a .12 Gauge shotgun in one hand. “Would you relax?” he scolded Franco, slapping him across the back. “Go keep a look-out for that chopper. I got this.”
“But-”
“Go,” Ferris repeated, holding the gun up by the stock.
Franco looked like he was going to argue, but obliged, sulking as he climbed up the ladder and returned to his look-out post in the rafters. Ferris looked over his shoulder, his beady eyes trained on Franco.
“How long have you been working against Roman?” Li asked.
Ferris turned his head back, indulging Bookworm. “Roman? He's Roman now, is he? Since before he ‘kindly’ lifted my exile... Since I saw his true face. Franco’s young and easy to mould; he’ll follow anyone who’ll get him on top. All I had to do was wait until he forced Sionis’ hand. The blood tests were smart, Tiger Shark’s idea, I guess. His kind are crafty, I’ll give them that much...
To his credit, it worked. Sionis, worried about a young rival to his throne, was all too eager to lift my exile and bring me home.”
“Is that why you gave Calendar Man the security codes to the building?” Li inquired.
“Hah. Well, aren’t you the little detective?” Ferris chuckled.
~-~
Joey Rigger opened the metal hatch, poking his head out from under the floor. The passage exit was unguarded, which meant that, true to his word, Li was keeping the mobsters distracted. Good. He climbed up onto the loading dock, followed by Needham, the pair making sure to close the hatch behind them.
"Jenna?" Joey called out. "Jenna? You here?" he asked again, taking a cautious step forward. Behind him, Needham stood stiff as a board; his eyes fixed on Ferris. Joey peered around the corner, noting the foreman’s office on the first floor, a single lamp illuminating Jenna’s handcuffed silhouette. She was alive, thank God. As he turned back, Joey’s relieved smile turned to a frown: Needham was gone.
"Eric?"
~-~
Li straightened his glasses. “There’s still something I don’t quite understand. Why move against Ro- Mr Sionis in the first place?”
Ferris scoffed. “The same reason daddy tried to kick him out of the company. Because I know all about his dirty secret. You. People like you. See, I read those files, I read all about Moxxom, and what Sionis asked him to do to get him reinstated. Trust me, that enabler got what was coming to him. It’s about the only thing Calendar Man got right.
Let’s get one thing straight: I’m no, heh, Francophile, but the mob needs a new leader. A strong leader. And maybe that’s not Franco. But it sure as hell isn’t the Black Mask. I, for one, refuse to take orders from a soft-hearted poof.”
“No one has ever accused Mr Sionis of being soft-hearted,” Li noted.
“No one knew he liked to take it up the ass neither.”
Li took a step forward. “And the East End? What happened there? You wouldn’t have known about Mr Sionis then, surely.”
Needham watched them from the shadows, his jaw clenched, his hand balled-up into a fist. Beneath his bridle, Ferris smirked, thinking back to that time with the same sense of nostalgia as someone reminiscing about their favourite holiday. He was proud of his twisted achievement, and he recounted his confession to Li with a disturbed sense of pride.
“Oh, so you read up on that too, huh? Suppose you would… Nah, that was just a bit of fun. Oh, don’t give me that look! They were degenerates! Junkies! No one was going to miss them! If we got Black Spider, that’d be great! And if we didn’t? Well, we still killed a few dozen darkies.”
~-~
As Franco played with the scope of his rifle, he paused. He heard something: the faint sound of an engine overhead. “Is that the chopper?” he pondered, sticking his head out of the open window: No such luck.
“Hey, Davey,” a man answered him, their voice had a metallic reverb to it, an effect of the yellow and red insect-like mask they wore.
Garfield Lynns was hovering above Franco, dressed in a suit of black and grey armour; metal wings on either side of him kept him airborne, their turbines spitting out clouds of grey smoke. Firefly was here, and he was armed.
“Found my suitcase,” he announced.
Franco eyed the large flamethrower in Lynns’ hand, a bright orange glow was emanating from the barrel, and it was glowing brighter still. Franco’s eyes widened as he realised what was coming next.
“Oh shit!” Franco instinctively threw himself from the railing, as a massive fireball shot out from the gun, scalding his arms and cheek. Landing on the ground, he reached out towards the ivory mask which had landed on the ground beside him. He turned back to Gar and slid the mask onto his face as though he were challenging him. The fireball and Franco’s resultant fall caught the other party’s attention: Ferris spun his head around to see what was happening; only to be met by Eric Needham, a pistol in his hand. Li covered his head with his arms to protect himself and without hesitation, Needham pulled the trigger; a bullet whizzed through the air and struck Ferris in the forehead.
Ferris fell to the floor; his metal helmet struck the ground with a loud clang, and his shotgun slid across the floor out of reach. Franco looked at Ferris, then at Needham, like a rabbit caught in a car’s headlights, his wide eyes poking out from behind his skull-like mask. He took a fervent glance at Lynns, still hovering above him, and ducked around the corner. Gar’s jetpack buzzed, and he shot off in pursuit of the White Mask.
Still holding his gun, Needham stepped forwards, standing over Ferris’ unmoving figure. He turned to Li; a dissatisfied grimace hidden behind his own mask. “Walk away,” he said coldly.
Li nodded obediently, retrieving his notebook from the crate Franco had left it on. Suddenly, a hand latched onto Needham’s ankle, tripping him over. Needham stumbled backwards, but using his arms to catch himself, he avoided hitting the ground.
“Once a junkie, always a junkie,” his attacker called out, cracking his bruised knuckles. Henry Ferris was back on his feet, with little more than a dent in his helmet.
Making the first move, Ferris rushed forward, headbutting Needham twice in quick succession. In the third attempt, Needham leapt over him, and smashed his head against a pillar instead. The section of stone pillar he struck crumbled under the impact, and a crack formed in his iron mask. Ferris let out a frustrated yell, throwing Needham off him. The next thing he did, was recover his shotgun, and aim it at Needham’s head. Before he could fire however, a voice called to him from the walkway above them.
“Yo, Iron-Hat!” Joey waved at the mobster, goading him. “Hamilton.”
Though hidden behind his mask, Ferris’ cheeks grew red with anger, and he fired off several rounds from his shotgun. Joey smirked, ducking behind the handrail. “The Wiz!”
With Ferris momentarily distracted, Needham was able to dispatch him with a sweeping kick. He webbed the firearm out of Ferris’ hand, and broke the gun over his knee, saluting at Joey gratefully.
~-~
Franco ducked behind a stack of crates, his phone propped between his head and shoulder “Where the hell is that chopper, LaMonica?” he snapped.
“ETA two minutes, boss,” Johnny LaMonica’s easy-going voice answered.
“Yeah?” Franco scoffed. He was trying to slide a magazine into his handgun (The grip of which was adorned with ivory, much like his mask), but his sweaty palms had made the task more difficult than he had anticipated. “What am I supposed to do in the meantime?” he complained.
“I’ve got a few ideas,” Gar replied. As he spoke, his wings tucked themselves into the side of his backpack, lowering him to the ground.
Franco fired his gun at Lynns to stall him, emptying the clip, and then he took off again, heading out through the side door.
“New plan,” he spoke into his phone. “I’m not gonna make it to the roof, land in the parking lot. The one overlooking the bay.”
Bit tight, no, ese?” LaMonica queried.
“Just do it!”
The door was blown off its hinges, as Gar tore through it. Franco reloaded his gun, but this time, Gar shot out a jet of fire at it, overheating it. The gun shot out of Franco’s hand and landed several meters behind him.
“You knew,” Gar spoke disdainfully. “You knew Day would be there. You sent Carson, knowing he would kill anyone who stood between him and Drury. And you… You brought her anyway.”
“And you weren’t even supposed to be there! We would’ve got out without a hitch, and Romy would’ve been dead if you and your misfits hadn’t got involved. So don’t… don’t play the victim card,” Franco scoffed. “There wasn’t anyone in that building that got hurt and didn’t deserve it. Every guest, every guard, villains. All of us. Her included.”
“So? I know she worked for Tetch. Doesn’t matter to me.”
“No, I suppose it wouldn’t. You’re a serial arsonist after all, ‘Firefly.’” Franco sneered. “I mean, didn’t you once incinerate an orphanage?”
“My orphanage,” Lynns clarified. “And it was abandoned.”
“Aside from a few drifters, right? There’s always a couple, you know!” Franco laughed. “Come on, man! What do you have that I don’t?”
“A flamethrower,” Gar said slyly, turning a dial on his weapon.
“I can buy a flamethrower!” he laughed back.
“I can buy a toupee, watch yourself, asshole,” Gar retorted.
Their conversation was cut short: The arrival of Franco’s helicopter was heralded by the rhythm of the chopper’s twin rotors. In the pilot seats were a pair of thugs unfamiliar to Gar but known to Joey and Eric as Harlan Combs and Johnny LaMonica, two crooks who took-over their gear and mantles for a cheap thrill. LaMonica cackled, as he pressed a button on the dashboard, two guns emerged from flaps at either side of the helicopter.
“Oops…” Franco shrugged mockingly. “Sorry, Lynns, looks like my ride’s here.”
“Sorry, ‘Davey.’ But you’re not getting on that chopper.”
~-~
Joey entered the foreman’s office, a cramped room with a damp floor, a stack of old pizza boxes strewn across the desk, a toolbox on the leftmost shelf, and a system of rusted pipes lined along the back wall. Jenna was handcuffed to one such pipe. As she noticed the winged silhouette at the other end of the darkened room, her heart started to beat faster. That feeling, was almost immediately replaced with one of confusion when it became clear who her rescuer was.
“Joey?” Jenna stammered incredulously; her brow furrowed.
“Jenna! We’re getting you out of here,” Joey smiled reassuringly, scanning the room for the key, or at least a lock pick.
“Wait, where’s Gar?” she asked.
“He’s fine, he went after Franco,” Joey informed her.
Their eyes were drawn to the window outside, where it looked like Gar was being pursued by a helicopter the size of a small bus. Joey, turned to Jenna apologetically.
-“I should probably make sure he’s alright.”
-“You should probably make sure he’s alright.”
“Yeah,” Joey nodded. “I’ll… be right back,” he agreed.
“You- You could still uncuff me.,” Jenna sighed, her nostrils flaring.
~-~
Joey shot into action, flying around the side of the black helicopter, twin shooters on his wrists. Combs rose from the co-pilot’s position; his Firebug outfit was noticeably heavier than Joey’s was, possibly to overcompensate for his visual impairments. LaMonica didn’t seem to mind. Since he’d taken a knife to one eye, and a plastic spork to the other, Combs’ effectiveness in the field had decreased dramatically, even with a patch-up courtesy of the illusive Crime Doctor. Taking to the skies, Combs fired a massive blast of napalm in Joey’s direction: Joey rolled to one side, the flames barely singeing the side of his leg. Joey flew higher into the air, in an attempt to bait Combs away from the helicopter. Oblivious to Joey’s intentions, Combs followed after him, continuing their private dogfight.
“You’re nothing, Rigger. Just an undisciplined idiot!” Combs bellowed.
With Combs distracted, Gar flew behind the helicopter, striking the back rotor of the helicopter with one of Drury’s cocoon capsules, gumming up the machinery. A trail of black smoke billowed from the helicopter, with the flames eventually making their way through the fuselage. LaMonica, attempted to bail the doomed ride, firing a black web from his gauntlet. An inferior compound to Needham’s, the web caught fire and the imposter Spider plummeted onto the tarmac road below, where Li was waiting for him.
LaMonica peeled the mask off his face, and sighed. “Listen, man, I didn’t wanna be here, but I didn’t have a choice. I mean, Franco got me out of prison, I had to pay him back, that’s just common courtesy, you know? Surely, we can work something out, right? You dig?”
Emotionlessly, Li reached above his head and lifted his hat: taped to the inside, was a second pistol. He spun the chamber and aimed it at LaMonica’s head.
“Yeah. I ‘dig.’”
Pilotless, the helicopter spun out of control. The rear rotor caught itself across the exterior of the warehouse, tearing through the corrugated metal and windowpanes. On the ground, Franco ducked for cover. Inside the office, a red toolbox crashed to the ground, its contents spilling out by Jenna’s feet. “Jackpot,” she remarked. Looking on either side to ensure no one was watching, Jenna shimmied her body down the pipe until she reached the ground. Still handcuffed, she used her feet to grip the screwdriver, and bring it to her hands. She pushed the screwdriver down into the lock, breaking it open, and rubbed her wrists.
~-~
Momentarily distracted, Combs turned his head back. His mistake. His mouth hung open, but his body had frozen. Petrified in mid-air, he didn't think to manoeuvre out of the way of the helicopter's out of control rotors. The only thing he could do, was hurl one last insult Joey's way.
"Rigger, you son of a who-"
He didn't finish. The helicopter blade had cleaved him in two. His jetpack propelled his body forwards, not stopping until it struck a nearby billboard: An insurance ad of all things.
A quiet splash several yards away denoted the position of Combs' head. It had landed in the harbour. The helicopter’s fuselage rolled through the air and crashed into the side of the warehouse.
Gar and Joey regrouped, approaching the downed helicopter: In the confusion, Franco had escaped, but Gar knew exactly where he was heading.
~-~
Although most of the technology in the facility was outdated, there was one piece of machinery that was still operational: a large, red hydraulic press.
Ferris reached into his jacket lining and slid a pair of brass knuckles over his hands. His punch tore into Needham’s cheek, ripping off a mix of skin and bloodied fabric. With all the strength he had left, Needham grabbed Ferris from behind and slammed his head into the hydraulic press, his skull sandwiched between the ram and base of the device. He webbed the lever, and the device hummed into life. Ferris let out a scream as the pistols started to pump and the ram pushed down onto his iron mask. He swung his arms back and forth wildly, trying to grasp Needham’s clothing. An unpleasant scraping of metal-on-metal echoed through the warehouse, and at last, there was loud crunch. Ferris’ wolf-like faceplate clattered to the ground. He slid free from the machinery and slid onto the floor.
“I… appreciate the face-lift,” he remarked. For the first time in six years, Henry Ferris ran his hands across his exposed face, chuckling. But he couldn’t revel in his freedom for long. Needham grabbed him by the shoulder and rammed the blonde man against the wall.
"Well, what do you know..." Ferris rasped. "You have gone soft."
"No. No, I just want to look into your eyes as I kill you," Needham gritted his teeth, his hold on Ferris tightening. "Why?” he asked. “Dozens dead. My child, my woman dead. Just to draw me out? Just to get a crack at me? I deserve to know why.” He grabbed his knife and pressed it tightly against Ferris' throat. Small droplets of blood trickled down, as the blade broke the skin.
Ferris rolled his eyes. “Oh, sure. Just to get a crack at you.”
Needham released his grip, his eyes widening.
“Look at yourself. You tell me why,” Ferris grunted, his limp body sliding against the wall. “Shame about your pretty, fair-skinned girlfriend... Kaff kaff But she should’ve known better. Dating one a’ youse? Could only end one way.”
“Her body...” he coughed feebly, “Her body was poisoned long before the drugs took her life.”
Needham's fist tightened around the knife, and then he sighed. He’d been down this road before, those men in the False Face Society, The Monarch of Menace… And he thought about what that had cost him. And about how far he had come since that Iceberg Summit. Beneath his mask, Henry Ferris was just a man. A pathetic, disgusting mess of a man, yes. But a man, nonetheless. And no man was worth throwing away all the progress he had made. Not even Ferris.
‘No.’ Needham vowed, dropping his knife as a sign of protest, and turning his back on him.
“Hah,” Ferris chuckled at Needham’s perceived weakness, and reached for the abandoned knife. “Stupid n-”
The knife, clattered to the ground with a pathetic “clang.”
Needham looked back: Ferris was on his feet, clutching his throat with one hand, gurgling blood. Between his bloody fingers was a silver blade, protruding from his neck. For a few seconds, Ferris remained upright, swaying from side to side, and then he joined the knife on the ground. For several more minutes, Ferris spasmed on the floor, coughing, spluttering, wheezing; blood dripped from either side of his mouth, painting his face with a scarlet scowl. And with a final gasp, he rolled onto his stomach, dead, face-down in a pool of his own blood.
With the toe of his shoe, Needham kicked Ferris’ body onto its’ back and knelt beside it. It was only upon closer inspection that he realised the projectile was not a throwing knife, but instead the broken end of a katana. He looked up to see where it had been thrown from and made eye contact with Joey Rigger, stood at the other side of the warehouse. He was holding his mask in one hand, his face pale. His other hand was held above his head, which was where it had stayed since he threw the katana moments before.
~-~
The office door swung open, as Franco staggered inside. He looked at the scattered tools along the ground, then at Jenna, and rushed forwards. She struck first.
Franco recoiled, as she plunged a pair of rusty pliers into his collarbone. He dug the tools out, and placed his hand against the wound. “Bitch!” he yelled instinctively, slapping her across the face, knocking her to the ground.
Gar burst through the window above them, flames spitting from the end of his flamethrower. Franco, grabbed Jenna’s arm and dragged her onto the walkway. The warehouse was burning; the crash had caused some damage, yes, but much of the destruction was caused by the Firefly. Behind his mask, Gar’s pupils dilated, and as the flames danced around him, he cackled, blasting a jet of fire at Franco.
Jenna, was hit by one of the flames, marking her right arm. Gar’s lip twitched, the manic expression faded from his face as he dropped the flamethrower and flew over to her side. A large red mark ran down her right arm. She winced as he ran his finger over it.
“I’m sorry... I’m so sorry...” he apologised. “I shouldn’t- I couldn’t-“
Drury’s words echoed in Jenna’s head: ”Garfield Lynns, at his best, is a fiercely loyal, brave, gentle man. At his worst, he’s Firefly. And Firefly could burn us all down. If you can live with that, cool- good luck, hope you’ve got a lot of concealer. But if you can’t, you better let him down easy, or hell mend you. He doesn’t need protection. Never has.”
“It’s ok,” she nodded. “I’m ok.”
Gar nodded back. “Jenna, listen, I know he is, was, your boyfriend-”
“It doesn’t matter,” she spoke. “He’s bloody barmy.”
Franco attacked from behind, wrapping a chain around Gar's throat, and pulling him back. Gar broke free, so Franco lifted the chain above his head, spinning it like a cowboy with a lasso. The metal chain struck Gar's helmet, cracking the red lens, exposing his grey iris. Franco threw the chain again; striking Gar's back; the jetpack was damaged. Gar let out a guttural scream, and tackled Franco off the railing, the two of them landing on the warehouse floor below. As Jenna ran down the stairs after them, her eyes were drawn to a large sledgehammer, propped against the wall. As she lifted the sledgehammer, her knees buckled slightly under the weight, her body shaking as she levelled the hammer. Franco rose to his feet first, followed by Gar. He stepped back towards the hydraulic press, tripping over Ferris’ metal faceplate. Incensed, he grabbed the knife and swung it towards Lynns. Gar backed away, getting a nick across his torso. As Franco swung at him again, Gar ducked. He slashed the wires instead and jumped back, choking as oil splashed across his mask.
Gar lunged forward and punched Franco. His Mask's jaw was dislocated by the impact, hanging loose like a particularly gormless skeleton. Franco clicked the ivory jaw back into place and jabbed the knife forwards, stabbing Gar in the gut. Gar, toppled over.
"For years I worked for Richard Sionis!” Franco bellowed, waving the knife in Gar’s face. “Years! I came from nothing, I had nothing! But I worked hard, did everything he asked, and he damn well knew it! I was going to rule Gotham! He had the paperwork; he was going to hand over Janus; everything was just like it should've been! Then Romy murdered him. His wife too. Made his debut as the Black Mask shortly after and burned any and all documents relating to his old man's wishes. Kept me around as a pity case, but he never respected me. Every Sionis billboard, every Janus ad, those should've been mine!"
Before he could finish Gar off, Jenna swung the hammer forward. As it contacted Franco’s knee, a sickening crunch filled the air as his kneecap fractured. Franco let out a high-pitched scream, as his leg went limp.
“You wanna be Roman Sionis?” Gar panted. “Fine by me!” he yelled, as he kicked Franco into the flames. Franco howled as the flames swallowed him, as his ivory mask burned and fused to his skin, but he wasn’t finished: Franco emerged from the flames; his head on fire; resembling a ghostly rider. Jenna swung the hammer again, striking Franco's skull; his head cracked open; a mix of ivory and bone fragments hit the floor, followed by his body.
The impact killed him instantly.
Jenna's face wobbled, tears fell down her face, and she dropped the sledgehammer to the floor. Suddenly, she hugged Gar, burying her face in his chest. Hesitant at first, Gar placed his arms around her back, and held her tight.
Brenda screamed as Michael jammed in the needle.
Heroin this way was new to her. For thirty years she has smoked or sniffed or swallowed her drugs, never injected them.
She was proud of this. It is what made her different, “My addiction is bad but I ain’t a shooter.”
She has always been the voice of reason amidst the chaos. She holds things together enough to cook meals and wash clothes. She doesn’t let shit happen to her. It’s why she stabbed an abusive husband.
Two weeks ago she was convinced to shoot heroin. She loved the immediate rush. She now spends all her time at Michael’s house. She is back to working the streets. She hasn’t cooked since.
She still can’t jam a needle into herself. Michael does that. Five seconds later she is unable to speak, hardly able to move, head frozen.
She tries to smoke crack but can’t. The movements are too hard.
Michael looks at her, “Brenda. We got to get out of this. We got to go to rehab.”
Brenda stares ahead unhearing and unmoving.
On my recent travels and photo trips I've started to experiment with shooting stars. It's less star trails I'm after, but the sky as I see it full of static unmoving stars. But well, first of all they are moving. So a short exposure of less than 30 seconds is needed and then to capture enough light ISO values of around 3200 or 6400. This leads to a lot of noise. This shot on the contrary has nearly no noise in the sky but still shows quite some stars. I used 6 high ISO shots, which I then averadged to remove the noise and leave the stars. Then some blending of the fg which I shot an hour after the stars just before sunrise.
I think I'll eventually do a post processing tutorial about this blending, similar to my start2finish tutorial.
Btw. this is Galeria on Corsica. A wonderful place where I also shot a very colorful sunset, which I'll show you later.
cheers,
Michael
Generated by me, Tool used AI Stable Diffusion
As the sun set over the city, the silhouette of a woman could be seen standing on the rooftop of a tall building. She stood there, unmoving, as the bustling metropolis bustled around her.
The woman had come to the city to escape her troubled past. She had left behind a life of pain and regret, hoping to start anew in the anonymity of the city. But as she watched the lights and sounds of the city below, she couldn't help but feel overwhelmed.....
Hal sat on the small office chair, his hand idly tapping on the desk in front of him. August 21st, their anniversary. They never married, but had always said that August 21st would be the perfect summer day.
The picture frame was cracked, it had been ever since their first fight. It still… haunted him. Seeing her, corrupted to hatred in the name of love. Especially when he still loved her. Still to this very day.
"Carol, please!" he pleaded, kneeling before Star Sapphire. "I know this isn't you… you know it isn't you!"
Carol's eyes narrowed, her lips remaining in the ever-present scowl. "You think you know me? When you left me, I changed."
"No!" spoke Hal as he shook his head, pure pain in his voice. "That's not- I didn't-"
"You didn't what?" she asked, her scowl turning to full on enragement. "You didn't try to talk to Sinestro when he took me? You didn't leave the fight because he couldn't have done something like that?" Her voice became low, anger leaving it, being replaced by something almost vulnerable, "You didn't leave me?"
He knew he had sat sulking too long when a teardrop hit the cracked frame. Wiping it off, he placed the memory back onto the desk.
The past was unchangeable, Carol Ferris was a murderer. But he still hoped for her. His heart wouldn't let him do anything else.
-^-^-
The rain fell over John Stewart's head. His long black coat covered his torso and his thighs, black sunglasses concealing his emerald eyes. It was almost four years ago now. Four years ago when his wife, Katma, had been killed by Star Sapphire.
The guilt it brought him… the feeling of powerlessness as he watched the pink blade slide through her abdomen. It never left him. The fact that he could've stopped it, he was given the second chance to stop it, but never did.
He would tell himself it drove him. That he had moved on from the death, stronger than before, but it wasn't true. It was a lie he told himself everyday. The death didn't motivate him to do better. He didn't move on with it like it was nothing. In reality it was eating away at him. Every day, every minute.
His emotions were unbalanced, his ring faltered at times, him barely being able to conceal it from the others. Rage towards Star Sapphire. Fear of losing someone else. The greed. It was the thing eating at him most. The want. The want for her to be brought back to him. The want for a redo at the moment. The want for everything to be like it is, just with her here with him.
But he couldn't have that. He was a soldier, and he knew it. He knew loss, and knew it was something unchangeable. So he knelt down, placing the lone orange flower he held onto the headstone.
"I love you, Kat."
-^-^-
"It's a boy!" shouted the doctor, holding up the small, pale baby in his hands. Alan held the hand of his wife, Alyx, tightly, smiling at her as she heaved breaths.
"Great job, hun," he whispered, only to hear her scream again.
The doctor tilted her head, noticing another head exiting the womb of the woman. "Twins! You've for twins!" he exclaimed, handing the first baby off to one of the nurses. "Give me a big push, Mrs. Scott."
The woman did as she was told, pushing the second child out, the skin complexion much less pale than the first. Alan stood amazed. "Twins?" he asked idly, before looking down to his wife. "Hear that hun, we've got two little ones."
The woman slightly smiled at him before the doctor continued to wrap up the process.
About twenty minutes went by as Alan sat in wait. Finally, the process was done, and he could hold his children. Sitting in the chair next to his wife, she held the two close to her.
The boy was pale, a small bit of ice white hair on his head, with irises of pure black. The girl was much richer in skin tone, darker hair on her head. Her eyes were different then the boy, emerald, almost glowing with light.
"Alan Junior," spoke his wife in a soft voice. "And Jade."
Alan felt himself cry, the children, his children, would have the best lives he could give them. He'd make sure of it.
-^-^-
Guy knocked on the front door of the small countryside house. The smell of alcohol already filled his nostrils, even from outside the house. The door opened to reveal an older man, his hair graying, but the orange still present.
His father.
Around a week ago, Guy had learned that his father had another son, Richie. He had been torn about it over the past week, whether to intervene or not. He had decided to visit, to see the conditions his brother lived in.
"The fuck're you doin' 'ere?" slurred the man, a scowl of disgust on his face.
'Drunk at one in the afternoon,' sighed Guy in his head. 'Not a good sign.' He looked past the man, seeing the boy inside. He had Sandy blonde hair, a pair of mangled glasses on his face. "It's me, Guy."
His father tilted his head. "Th'fuck?"
Guy ignored his father, pushing him aside and walking inside. He already noticed Richie's behavior, the timid flinch. That oh so timid flinch that spoke thousands of words.
"Hey, y'bastard. Get th'fuck outta my house!" shouted the drunken father, reaching into his belt.
"I'll be leaving in a minute," Guy informed, not looking away from the boy who had confusion plastered on his face. "Hey, my name is Guy. I'm your uh- your half brother."
Richie's mouth parted in amazement. "Oh? I'm uh- I'm Richie."
Guy smiled slightly. "So, I wanted to know, how is it here?" he questioned, noticing the teen's amazement drop. "I thought so. Your mom ever around?"
"Ah- no… she uh… she left," he responded, his head lowering.
Guy nodded to himself, not looking away from the boy as he addressed his father, "He's coming with me."
"Not happening," notified his father from behind him. His head turned to see the man holding a pistol. "Get the hell outta my house, now."
Guy stood up, his hand outstretched to guard his brother. "Put the gun down dad. I've called the police already," Guy bluffed. His lie likely wouldn't work on the drunken man, but he wanted to try and keep things from escalating.
"Good. They can take the body of the fuckin' intruder that broke into my house."
After the words left his mouth, the sound of a gunshot filled the room. The teen gasped as a green light encompassed him and his half brother. His father was stunned, watching the green suit form to his son's body.
Guy stood tall, his suit on. "Richie, how'd you like to come live with me?" he asked, looking down to the boy. "Away from… him. From all this."
The small nod was all Guy needed, walking forward with the same green glow encompassed around him and his brother.
Before exiting, he looked to his dad, a look of pure terror filling the man's face. "Don't ever come into our life again, you hear me? Never again."
Guy then exited the house, his brother still in amazement over what had happened. "So, Richie, ready for a life that you deserve?" he asked with a smile, knowing he stopped his father from hurting the boy. He wouldn't be hurt ever again.
-^-^-
'Ok, you got this,' thought Jessica in an attempt to hype herself up.
Her mind was racing, her heart thumping almost sporadically. Ever since she had gotten her ring, her confidence had gone up. Having friends, real ones, was a big help to ease out her anxiety. However when they weren't around, she still heavily struggled. Without the reassurance that they provided, it still felt like the whole world could close in on her.
'Get it together!' she internally scolded. 'You've fought off other worldly rings, alien parasites, and even a planet destroyer.'
Her gaze shifted back to the door in front of her. Taking a deep breath, she took a step towards it.
As the door opened, the light of the room hit her eyes. The gasps heard from the seated people didn't help the situation, but she pushed them aside.
"Woah..."
"She's really here?"
"Green Lantern!?"
Jessica stood at the front of the room, next to her sister, Sara Cruz. "Alright class, here's that surprise I told you all about!" Sara exclaimed with enthusiasm.
Jessica looked out at the class of 3rd graders, their looks of awe worrying her. That is until they all began to smile and send a barrage of questions to her.
The questions ranged from asking about her favorite part of being a hero to what it was like to fight villains.
Jessica let herself finally smile. She was a Green Lantern, and she deserved it. She wasn't afraid. Not anymore or ever again.
-^-^-
"Give it back!" shouted a boy, no older than eleven. "It's not yours!"
The boy jumped, trying to reach the comic book being held above his head. The boy holding the book laughing as he did so, "C'mon… just a bit higher. You can do it, Cam."
The boy jumped again, before one of the bullies tripped him, making him fall onto the sidewalk. The chortles of the boys made the small boy look down in shame.
"Y'know," called a voice from behind the bigger kids, making them stop laughing and turn. "It isn't very nice to take other's things." Floating in the air, arms crossed, was Simon Baz, a stern expression on his face. "I'd appreciate it if you gave my friend, Cam, his things back."
The boys quickly handed the comic back to Cam, running off from the scene. Floating down, Simon took a knee next to the boy, picking the comic off the ground.
"Incredible Hulk, huh?" he asked as he looked at the cover. The boy nodded slightly, still not looking up from the ground. "He's one of my favorites too."
As Simon finished, his ring glowed, a small beam shooting from it. The beam formed a miniature Hulk. "Hey, Cam," spoke Simon, in his best Hulk impression. "I heard that you were being bullied."
Cam looked up, surprised by the construct. "I- yeah…" he responded, his head low again. "They said I'm weird for looking up to heroes. That it's kids stuff."
"Whaaaat?" asked the Hulk construct, bringing its hands to its cheeks acting surprised, making Cam chuckle. "Heroes are definitely people you can look up to. I mean, Green lantern back there" -It said, pointing its thumb over its shoulder- "looks up to another Green Lantern."
Cam tilted his head, looking away from the construct and up to Simon. "Really?"
"Yep," he said, letting the construct fade. "Y'know the Green Lantern with brown hair? The small green mask?" The boy nodded wordlessly. "He's… he's my hero. He has been, for longer than I can remember."
Cam's mouth morphed to a frown, "B-but, what do I say when they say it's useless. When they say I'm gonna be useless…"
"Don't ever let someone tell you who you are, or what you are," informed Simon, an absolute fire in his eyes. "You are you, and that's what matters."
Simon smiled at Cam, the boy's frown shifting to a small smile. Both of them made a new friend, and Simon knew he could definitely make a difference.
-^-^-
"Tell me, Commander," requested the low, booming voice of the green cloaked ghost. Jim Corrigan, the Spectre, floated idle next to John Starr, the Commander of Time.
John was appointed as such by Metron, the New God. He had been given the Hourglass of Time, a tool crafted from the Mobius Chair to watch and observe the time stream. He sat upon an asteroid in the Milky Way's asteroid belt.
"I am bound by silence, spirit," John denied, turning his head to the ghost. "You know of this already."
"Silence is not what I request," beckoned the Spectre. It shifted, a small light appearing in its hand that glowed a bright green. The light spread into three separate orbs, floating in front of John.
"What is your game, Corrigan?" commanded John, eyeing the orbs of light.
"Observe, and you shall see."
John watched as the three lights shifted, turning into that of spy glasses. On the first, the brown haired test pilot, Hal Jordan. He sat in the office of Carol Ferris, holding a picture frame of the two.
The next featured the ex-marine turned architect John Stewart. He stood alone in a graveyard, a lone flower placed on the headstone in front of him.
The last showcased the bearded Guy Gardner, an angered scowl on his face. His hand was placed in front of a teenage boy, guarding him from the older ginger holding a gun.
John narrowed his eyes, turning his head to the ghost who was staring at the three orbs. "I may not know the exact future, but I do know parts of it," announced the ghost, eyes unmoving.
"The future is never concrete," confessed John, his eyes locked on the orbs. "While events must happen, how they come to be is forever changing."
Spectre challenged him, "So tell me, Commander, do you know?"
"One of them," John revealed. Spectre staring at him, looking for confirmation. "One of them shall become your successor. One of them shall become the next Spectre."
Title:
From inside the car. 3.
(LUMIX G3 shot)
Manhattan. New York. USA. 2017. … 3 / 7
(Photo of the day. Unpublished.)
Images:
Geoffroy … No Calls Before Noon
youtu.be/Sua7LOBd9x4?si=vczU4fV0pMY6xrMN
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My new novel
B♭ (B Flat)
Volume 16😄
The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.
Key parts are not disclosed.
The order of the content shown here is mixed.
(Of course, this is not the final version.)
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My new novel
B♭ (B Flat)
Night was drawing its heavy veil over the neighborhoods of the San Fernando Valley, and Kevin Mori’s car slid forward as though gliding on a shadowed surface. Beyond the window, the heat of summer’s night rose, while the asphalt, still holding the brilliance of the day, scattered red and black reflections like fragments of muted fire. His day as an officer of Immigration and Customs Enforcement had not yet ended; it merely continued into the dark. Papers on the passenger seat trembled faintly—orders, reports, each sheet a cold reminder of how every decision could alter the lives of flesh-and-blood people.
The radio crackled with static, then carried the clipped voices of another unit.
“Check complete—residential route secure. Residents advised, heat alert.”
“Roger. Next, proceed to downtown infiltration confirmation.”
The words were concise, yet beneath them lurked the weight of responsibility. Kevin’s colleague at his side listened in silence, and Kevin imagined the strain, the fatigue, the daily fears borne by his subordinates.
The quiet houses of the district floated in the pale light of the streetlamps. Windows glowed with the warmth of family life, and the trees in the yards swayed with the scent of summer. To Kevin, that scene was both what he was sworn to protect, and a stage upon which the gravity of judgment was constantly revealed.
Merging onto the freeway, he entered a sea of headlights undulating like waves. Far ahead, the spires of downtown buildings pierced the night sky. The air was thick with heat, the car’s air conditioning too feeble against the humidity clinging to his skin. On the phone screen in the passenger seat, messages flared cold and abrupt—emergency notices, field reports, each short phrase carrying the weight of lives in the balance.
Through his commute Kevin narrowed his eyes, as though unconsciously trying to read the palette of the summer night. Neon reds and oranges crossed with the green of traffic signals, while the outlines of distant mountains and the shore emerged dimly in the haze. In the rearview mirror, his own face appeared distorted by fatigue and responsibility. He imagined how it must look reflected in the eyes of his men, and in the eyes of those who lived in this city.
As the suburbs gave way to downtown, the flow of cars turned into a red river of lights—not the bustle of rush hour, but a current charged with tension. Footsteps of passersby, the wail of an ambulance far off, exhaust mingling with sea breeze—each sound and scent announcing the unvarnished reality of the city.
Conversation in the car was pared to the barest minimum. His colleague tapped silently at the phone, scanning reports and maps. Every burst of radio static carried words few and clipped, but each syllable held the weight of someone’s life.
At the office, the parking lot was lined with colleagues’ cars, their engines humming in faint reply to one another. A night wind slipped through the windows, rustling the scattered papers—a sound that resembled the heartbeat of responsibility itself.
Inside the building, the cool air brushed his skin, blending with the stillness of late night to bind the corridors in a taut silence. Each step sent back a cold echo. Notices and bulletins on the walls caught the dim light, whispering of daily duty and the reality that awaited beyond.
In the meeting room, his subordinates lifted their eyes to him; reports on the table quivered slightly in the conditioned air. No one spoke, but silence itself was steeped in tension. Everyone knew that today’s decisions would ripple outward to change the lives of people unseen and far away.
As the meeting began, real-time transmissions crackled from the radio, and gazes crossed one another. Between the numbers and the dry lines of reports, there were always living human beings. To protect them—or expose them to danger—was the responsibility that each man recognized as his own.
The meeting stretched deep into the night: communications with the field, sorting of documents, instructions for the next day. Outside, the city wavered in the heat, neon glinting against the office windows. Kevin pressed the day’s weight into his heart as he stared at that restless light.
By the time he set out for home, the city had assumed a face wholly different from daytime. Shadows under the streetlamps, red reflections of neon, exhaust tangled with the sea wind, the faint silhouette of mountains dissolving into the night sky—all of it bore silent testimony to the consequences of the day’s choices.
He glanced at the papers on the seat, drew one deep breath. Summer night air slipped in through the window, brushing his skin. The sense of responsibility weighed heavy on his chest, and so did solitude, but in the pulse of the city he found, still, the strength to take another step forward.
Through the night’s lattice of light, Kevin drove on across summer Los Angeles. The voices on the radio, his men’s tension, the office’s chilled air, the neon glare, the tang of the sea breeze, the distant siren of an ambulance—all of these tangled together, imprinting themselves as the day’s memory. In the silence and in the few words exchanged in the car, in the quiet and the clamor of the city, in the interplay of light and shadow, a living map of the city was etched inside him, sharpening both the solitude and the responsibility of his role as an officer of ICE.
As night deepened, on his way home he clutched the papers on the passenger seat and watched his own shadow fall beneath the streetlamps. He listened closely to the city’s voice: the reflection of light, the tremor of heat, the siren far away, the stillness of neighborhoods. All of it pressed responsibility and solitude deeper into his chest.
When Kevin pushed open the door of his house, the night’s heat retreated slightly, replaced by the cool air of the living room flowing to meet him. He dropped the documents onto the table; the bundled papers struck with a dry sound that sank into silence, as though absorbing some measure of the weight that had burdened his shoulders.
Yet that moment of relief quivered almost at once, like a string brushed by an unseen hand. From the depths of the house came a faint creak—timbers straining, or perhaps the plucked resonance of some hidden instrument. Kevin strained to listen, then wondered if it was no more than the ghostly trick of fatigue.
The air trembled. Water in the half-drunk glass on the table rippled with faint light. The ripples, small yet certain, seemed to resonate with a force lurking in the house’s depths. A frame on the wall slipped askew, and through the glass the smiling figures in the photograph appeared slightly warped. A raw unease rose in Kevin’s chest, and his gaze lifted toward the ceiling. Above the panels, the beams murmured to one another, a low groan not of chance but of deliberate design, as if some hidden architect had composed the house itself as an instrument.
The floor rumbled, faint vibrations pressing upward through his feet. Streetlamp light bled through the curtains, filling the room with a wavering orange glow, as if already foreshadowing collapse. The house expanded and contracted like a lung, like an unseen heart pulsing in the dark, its beat echoed by the beams and pillars. Kevin set his hands on his knees, unmoving, listening. The sound overhead no longer resembled random creaks. It grew with rhythm, swelling into a low wave that spread across the room. The wallpaper split, revealing a thin fissure that carried within it the promise of widening.
The water in the glass quivered, scattering the lamplight into shards. The window shuddered under the night wind; metal fastenings clicked faintly. The beams groaned louder, as if in answer. In that instant the whole house became an instrument, releasing a deep, resonant note. The vibration struck his inner ear, mingled with the pulse of his blood.
Kevin pressed a hand to his chest—but his own heartbeat and the heartbeat of the house merged, the boundary between them dissolving. Cracks across the wall swallowed light, dark lines spreading. The beams moaned and bent, their sound a summons downward, inevitable as gravity. Glass burst into fragments, scattering the street’s light into the air. Furniture leapt, books tumbled, the table tilted.
And then—the ceiling split, and fell. The roar shook even the lamplight outside; dust rose in a choking tide, the world turned white and sightless. Kevin’s body, too, was caught in the same current as the beams and pillars. Whether he stood, or fell, or was torn apart—he felt not terror but a strange relief. Together with the house, he was sinking into the close of a final movement. There was nothing to flee, no document to guard, no responsibility: all dissolved now into dust.
The beams broke, the pillars collapsed, the floor split. His bones, his blood, his voice—all shattered into fragments carried into the night air. The collapse was not violence, but the coda of a meticulously designed score. Kevin, too, was only one note within it, drawn at last into silence.
When the dust settled, silence returned. Kevin was no longer among the wreckage. Only the shadow of a fallen beam lay there, like a remnant of his being.
Far away, a dog barked. An ambulance siren split the night. The city’s breath went on, but Kevin’s had ceased forever. In the streets remained only the echo of collapse, and the quiet memory of a death no one would hear.
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My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
There’s still more to come. 😃
(This is not the final draft.)
Set in New York City.
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Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
Notes
1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"
•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.
•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).
•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.
•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.
2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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Title.
車内から。3。
( LUMIX G3 shot )
マンハッタン。ニューヨーク。アメリカ。2017. … 3 / 7
(今日の写真。それは未発表です。）
Images:
Geoffroy … No Calls Before Noon
youtu.be/Sua7LOBd9x4?si=vczU4fV0pMY6xrMN
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
第16弾。 😄
以下は、まだ初稿の段階です。まだ推敲します。
重要な部分は公開していません。
公開している内容の順番はバラバラです。
(もちろん最終稿ではありません。)
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
夜の帳が低く下り始めたサンフェルナンドバレーの住宅街を、ケビン・モリの車は滑るように進んでいた。窓の外には夏の夜の熱気が立ち上り、路面からはまだ昼の光を吸い込んだアスファルトが、赤黒い光の反射を散らしている。移民税関捜査局（ICE）の職員としての彼の一日は、すでにその夜も続いていた。助手席の書類は微かに揺れ、そこに積まれた命令や報告書は、この一日の決断が生身の人々の生活にどう影響するかを、冷たく問いかけていた。
ラジオ無線がかすかに雑音を混ぜながら作動し、別の車両との連絡が飛び込んだ。
「確認、住宅街ルート異常なし。熱気のため住民注意」
「了解、次はダウンタウンへの侵入確認」――言葉は簡潔で、しかし背後には重くのしかかる責任が潜んでいた。助手席の彼はその声に耳を傾け、部下たちの緊張や疲労、日々の恐怖を想像する。
静かな住宅街の家々が、街路灯の光に浮かんでいた。窓に灯る温かい光は家族の生活を、庭に揺れる木々は夏の匂いを、しかしその光景はケビンにとって、守るべき対象であり、同時に判断の重さを思い知らせる舞台でもあった。
フリーウェイに合流すると、他の車のヘッドライトが海のように波打ち、遠くのダウンタウンのビル群が夜空に鋭く突き出す。空気は熱を帯び、車内のエアコンでは追いつかない湿気が肌にまとわりつく。助手席のスマートフォンに届くメッセージは冷たく光り、緊急事態や現場からの報告が短く、しかし命を握る重さを帯びて彼の視界に入った。
通勤路の間、ケビンは無意識に目を細め、夏の夜の色彩を読み取ろうとした。ネオンの赤やオレンジ、信号の緑が交錯し、遠くの山並みや海岸線の輪郭がぼんやりと浮かんでいる。車内の鏡に映る自分の顔は、疲労と責任の影で微かに歪み、部下たちや街の人々の目に映る自分の姿を想像した。
夜の住宅街を抜け、ダウンタウンに近づくと、車列は赤い光の帯となり、通勤ラッシュの喧騒とは別の、緊張の波を帯びた流れに変わる。通行人の足音、遠くで鳴る救急車のサイレン、海風に混じる排気ガスの匂いが、都市の生の現実を告げている。
車内の会話は最小限に抑えられる。助手席の部下は無言でスマートフォンを操作し、報告書や地図をチェックする。無線が作動するたび、言葉は短く、しかしそれぞれの一語には誰かの生活を左右する重みが宿っていた。
オフィスに到着すると、駐車場には同僚の車が整然と並び、エンジン音やタイヤの振動が微かな呼応を見せていた。夜風が窓から入り込み、紙や書類をかすかに揺らした。その音さえ、責任の重さを耳に伝える鼓動のように聞こえてくる。
建物内に入ると、冷房の風が肌に触れ、深夜の静けさと相まって、空間に緊張を張り巡らせる。廊下を歩くたび、足音が冷たく反響し、壁に貼られた注意書きや掲示板の文字が微かに光を受け、日々の任務とその果てにある現実を思い出させた。
会議室に入ると、部下たちの目が彼を見つめ、報告書がテーブルの上で微かに揺れた。熱気を帯びた夏の空気はエアコンと混ざり、紙の端を微かに波立たせる。誰もが沈黙の中に緊張を抱え、今日の判断が遠く離れた誰かの生活をどう変えるかを知っていた。
会議が始まると、無線から入る情報がリアルタイムで伝わり、部下たちの視線が交錯する。数字や報告書の行間には必ず生身の人間が存在し、その命を守るか、あるいは危険に晒すかを決定するのが自分だと彼らは認識するのだ。
深夜まで続く会議、現場との通信、書類の整理、部下の指示。夜の街は夏の熱気で光を歪め、ネオンの光がオフィスの窓に反射してちらついていた。その光景を見ながら、ケビンは一日の重みを胸に刻んでいた。
帰路につく頃、通勤路の光景は昼間とは違う表情を見せる。街灯に浮かぶ影、ネオンの赤い反射、海風に混じる排気ガスの匂い、遠くの山影が夜空に溶ける。そのすべてが、今日の決断の結果を静かに告げていた。
助手席の書類を確認し、深呼吸をひとつついた。夏の夜風が窓を通り抜け、肌に触れる。ケビンの胸には責任感と孤独感が重くのしかかるが、それでも次の一歩を踏み出す力を与える、都市の息遣いが確かにあった。
夜の光の中、ケビンは夏のロサンゼルスを車で駆け抜ける。無線の声、部下たちの緊張、オフィスの冷房、ネオンの光、海風の匂い、遠くの救急車のサイレン――それらすべてが絡み合い、今日一日の記憶として刻まれていく。車内での沈黙と対話、街の静けさと喧騒、光と影の交錯が、彼の心に都市の立体的な地図を描き、ICE職員としての孤独と責任を鮮明にしていた。
夏の夜が更け、家路につく道すがら、助手席の書類を握り締め、深夜の街灯に浮かぶ自分の影を見つめながら、彼はこの街の声に耳を澄ませる。光の反射、熱気の揺らぎ、遠くで鳴るサイレン、住宅街の静けさ――それらすべてが、ケビンの胸に責任と孤独を刻み込んだ。
ケビンが自宅の扉を押し開けると、夜の熱気はわずかに後退し、リビングの冷えた空気が迎えるように流れ込んできた。書類を手から放り投げ、束ねられた紙の重みがテーブルに小さな衝撃を与え、乾いた音を響かせて静けさの中に沈んだ。
彼の肩にのしかかっていた一日の重さが、わずかながらその音に吸い取られたかのように思えた。
しかし、その安堵の瞬間は、見えない振動に触れるかのようにすぐに揺らぎへと変わっていった。家の奥から、微かなきしみが生まれた。木材が互いに軋むような、しかしどこか楽器の弦を爪弾くような響きであった。ケビンは耳を澄まし、しかし次の瞬間にはそれがただの疲労による幻聴ではないかと思った。
空気がわずかに震えた。テーブルにあった飲みかけのグラスの水面がかすかに揺れ、光を帯びて波紋を広げた。その波紋は小さくも確かに、家全体の内部に潜む力と呼応しているかのようであった。壁にかけられた額縁が斜めにずれた。ガラス越しの写真の中で、笑顔を浮かべる人影が、わずかに歪んで見えた。
ケビンは胸の奥にざらついた感覚を覚え、視線を天井へ向けた。天井板の奥で梁が共鳴し合い、低い唸り声のような音を放っていた。それは自然に生まれたものではなく、あらかじめ設計された響きの連鎖のように感じられた。建築を学んだ者ならば知る、木と鉄とコンクリートの呼応だ。その呼応が、今ここで一つの方向へと収束しようとしていた。
床板が低く唸り、足裏に伝わる微細な震えとなった。外の街路灯の光がカーテン越しに入り込み、部屋を淡い橙色で満たしていた。その光さえもわずかに揺らめき、倒壊の予兆を映すかのように見えた。家全体が呼吸をしているように膨らみ、そして収縮する。まるで見えない心臓が脈打ち、その鼓動に合わせて梁や柱が響きを返しているかのようであった。
ケビンは両手を膝に置き、動くことなく耳を澄ました。天井の奥で響く音は、もはや偶然のきしみではなかった。規則性をもって増幅し、やがて低い波となって部屋全体に広がった。壁紙がわずかに裂け目を見せ、薄暗い亀裂がその奥から姿を現した。亀裂は細い線にすぎなかったが、確かに広がりを孕んでいた。
グラスの中の水が震え、その表面に映る街灯の光が細かく砕けた。外の夜風が窓を揺らし、金属の留め具がかすかな音を立てた。それに呼応するかのように、梁の唸りが一段と強くなった。その瞬間、家全体がひとつの楽器と化したように、共鳴音を放った。空気の震えが耳の奥を打ち、体内の血流と混ざり合うように感じられた。
ケビンは胸に手を当てた――だが、自分の鼓動と建物の鼓動が重なり、境界が失われていくのを感じた。壁に走った亀裂が光を呑み込み、闇の線となった。
梁が深く軋み、鈍い音を吐き出した。それは重力の命令であり、逃れられぬ下方への召喚であった。ガラス窓が粉々に砕け、夜の街の光が断片となって飛び散った。家具が跳ね、本が崩れ落ち、テーブルが傾いた。
そして――天井が裂け、崩れ落ちた。轟音は街路灯の光さえ震わせ、粉塵が一気に立ち上った。世界は白く濁り、息が奪われる。
ケビンの体もまた、梁や柱と同じ流れに組み込まれていった。彼は立ち尽くし、あるいは倒れ、あるいは引き裂かれ――だが、恐怖ではなく、奇妙な安堵を感じていた。家と共に、自分もまた一つの楽章の終わりとして沈むのだと。
逃げるべきものはなく、守るべき書類も責任も、いまや粉塵の中に溶けていく。
梁が折れ、柱が潰れ、床が裂ける。
そのすべてと同時に、彼の骨も、血も、声も、無数の破片となって夜の空気に散った。崩壊は暴力ではなく、むしろ緻密に設計された楽曲の終章であった。ケビンという存在も、ひとつの音符としてその中に含まれ、やがて静寂に吸い込まれた。
粉塵が沈み、静寂が戻る。
瓦礫の中にケビンの姿はもはやなかった。
ただ、崩れた梁の影が、彼の名残のように横たわっているだけであった。
遠くで犬が吠え、救急車のサイレンが夜を割った。
都市の呼吸は再び続いていたが、ケビンの呼吸はもう戻らなかった。
夜の街に残されたのは、崩壊の余韻と、誰にも届かぬ静かな死の記憶だけだった。
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
舞台はニューヨークです。
15
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54793744070/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54771288620/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54769008619/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54758538180/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54743658539/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54737038151/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54720346098/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54713957969/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54703714420/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54696914108/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54686544606/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54653035442/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54639396885/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...
Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
追記 この小説を多少説明しました。
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
メモ
1
「Bombay型（ボンベイ型、hh型）」
•特徴：通常のABO血液型を持たない（A、B、Oに分類されない）特殊な型。
•発見地：1952年、インド・ムンバイ（旧ボンベイ）で初めて確認。
•発生頻度：インドでは1万人に1人程度だが、世界的には約250万人に1人とも。
•輸血制限：同じBombay型しか輸血できない。
2
2024年ハーバード大学首席の卒業式スピーチ『知らないことの力』
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3
Shots fired at Trump rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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Title.
Signs and Traffic Lights
( LUMIX G3 shot )
Manhattan. New York. USA. 2017. … 5 / 7
(Photo of the day. Unreleased.)
Images:
Metallica … Enter Sandman
youtu.be/87by1DjfxLw?si=d1rcxkxkvGIu0gB7
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
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My new novel
B♭ (B Flat)
Volume 16😄
The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.
Key parts are not disclosed.
The order of the content shown here is mixed.
(Of course, this is not the final version.)
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
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My new novel
B♭ (B Flat)
Night was drawing its heavy veil over the neighborhoods of the San Fernando Valley, and Kevin Mori’s car slid forward as though gliding on a shadowed surface. Beyond the window, the heat of summer’s night rose, while the asphalt, still holding the brilliance of the day, scattered red and black reflections like fragments of muted fire. His day as an officer of Immigration and Customs Enforcement had not yet ended; it merely continued into the dark. Papers on the passenger seat trembled faintly—orders, reports, each sheet a cold reminder of how every decision could alter the lives of flesh-and-blood people.
The radio crackled with static, then carried the clipped voices of another unit.
“Check complete—residential route secure. Residents advised, heat alert.”
“Roger. Next, proceed to downtown infiltration confirmation.”
The words were concise, yet beneath them lurked the weight of responsibility. Kevin’s colleague at his side listened in silence, and Kevin imagined the strain, the fatigue, the daily fears borne by his subordinates.
The quiet houses of the district floated in the pale light of the streetlamps. Windows glowed with the warmth of family life, and the trees in the yards swayed with the scent of summer. To Kevin, that scene was both what he was sworn to protect, and a stage upon which the gravity of judgment was constantly revealed.
Merging onto the freeway, he entered a sea of headlights undulating like waves. Far ahead, the spires of downtown buildings pierced the night sky. The air was thick with heat, the car’s air conditioning too feeble against the humidity clinging to his skin. On the phone screen in the passenger seat, messages flared cold and abrupt—emergency notices, field reports, each short phrase carrying the weight of lives in the balance.
Through his commute Kevin narrowed his eyes, as though unconsciously trying to read the palette of the summer night. Neon reds and oranges crossed with the green of traffic signals, while the outlines of distant mountains and the shore emerged dimly in the haze. In the rearview mirror, his own face appeared distorted by fatigue and responsibility. He imagined how it must look reflected in the eyes of his men, and in the eyes of those who lived in this city.
As the suburbs gave way to downtown, the flow of cars turned into a red river of lights—not the bustle of rush hour, but a current charged with tension. Footsteps of passersby, the wail of an ambulance far off, exhaust mingling with sea breeze—each sound and scent announcing the unvarnished reality of the city.
Conversation in the car was pared to the barest minimum. His colleague tapped silently at the phone, scanning reports and maps. Every burst of radio static carried words few and clipped, but each syllable held the weight of someone’s life.
At the office, the parking lot was lined with colleagues’ cars, their engines humming in faint reply to one another. A night wind slipped through the windows, rustling the scattered papers—a sound that resembled the heartbeat of responsibility itself.
Inside the building, the cool air brushed his skin, blending with the stillness of late night to bind the corridors in a taut silence. Each step sent back a cold echo. Notices and bulletins on the walls caught the dim light, whispering of daily duty and the reality that awaited beyond.
In the meeting room, his subordinates lifted their eyes to him; reports on the table quivered slightly in the conditioned air. No one spoke, but silence itself was steeped in tension. Everyone knew that today’s decisions would ripple outward to change the lives of people unseen and far away.
As the meeting began, real-time transmissions crackled from the radio, and gazes crossed one another. Between the numbers and the dry lines of reports, there were always living human beings. To protect them—or expose them to danger—was the responsibility that each man recognized as his own.
The meeting stretched deep into the night: communications with the field, sorting of documents, instructions for the next day. Outside, the city wavered in the heat, neon glinting against the office windows. Kevin pressed the day’s weight into his heart as he stared at that restless light.
By the time he set out for home, the city had assumed a face wholly different from daytime. Shadows under the streetlamps, red reflections of neon, exhaust tangled with the sea wind, the faint silhouette of mountains dissolving into the night sky—all of it bore silent testimony to the consequences of the day’s choices.
He glanced at the papers on the seat, drew one deep breath. Summer night air slipped in through the window, brushing his skin. The sense of responsibility weighed heavy on his chest, and so did solitude, but in the pulse of the city he found, still, the strength to take another step forward.
Through the night’s lattice of light, Kevin drove on across summer Los Angeles. The voices on the radio, his men’s tension, the office’s chilled air, the neon glare, the tang of the sea breeze, the distant siren of an ambulance—all of these tangled together, imprinting themselves as the day’s memory. In the silence and in the few words exchanged in the car, in the quiet and the clamor of the city, in the interplay of light and shadow, a living map of the city was etched inside him, sharpening both the solitude and the responsibility of his role as an officer of ICE.
As night deepened, on his way home he clutched the papers on the passenger seat and watched his own shadow fall beneath the streetlamps. He listened closely to the city’s voice: the reflection of light, the tremor of heat, the siren far away, the stillness of neighborhoods. All of it pressed responsibility and solitude deeper into his chest.
When Kevin pushed open the door of his house, the night’s heat retreated slightly, replaced by the cool air of the living room flowing to meet him. He dropped the documents onto the table; the bundled papers struck with a dry sound that sank into silence, as though absorbing some measure of the weight that had burdened his shoulders.
Yet that moment of relief quivered almost at once, like a string brushed by an unseen hand. From the depths of the house came a faint creak—timbers straining, or perhaps the plucked resonance of some hidden instrument. Kevin strained to listen, then wondered if it was no more than the ghostly trick of fatigue.
The air trembled. Water in the half-drunk glass on the table rippled with faint light. The ripples, small yet certain, seemed to resonate with a force lurking in the house’s depths. A frame on the wall slipped askew, and through the glass the smiling figures in the photograph appeared slightly warped. A raw unease rose in Kevin’s chest, and his gaze lifted toward the ceiling. Above the panels, the beams murmured to one another, a low groan not of chance but of deliberate design, as if some hidden architect had composed the house itself as an instrument.
The floor rumbled, faint vibrations pressing upward through his feet. Streetlamp light bled through the curtains, filling the room with a wavering orange glow, as if already foreshadowing collapse. The house expanded and contracted like a lung, like an unseen heart pulsing in the dark, its beat echoed by the beams and pillars. Kevin set his hands on his knees, unmoving, listening. The sound overhead no longer resembled random creaks. It grew with rhythm, swelling into a low wave that spread across the room. The wallpaper split, revealing a thin fissure that carried within it the promise of widening.
The water in the glass quivered, scattering the lamplight into shards. The window shuddered under the night wind; metal fastenings clicked faintly. The beams groaned louder, as if in answer. In that instant the whole house became an instrument, releasing a deep, resonant note. The vibration struck his inner ear, mingled with the pulse of his blood.
Kevin pressed a hand to his chest—but his own heartbeat and the heartbeat of the house merged, the boundary between them dissolving. Cracks across the wall swallowed light, dark lines spreading. The beams moaned and bent, their sound a summons downward, inevitable as gravity. Glass burst into fragments, scattering the street’s light into the air. Furniture leapt, books tumbled, the table tilted.
And then—the ceiling split, and fell. The roar shook even the lamplight outside; dust rose in a choking tide, the world turned white and sightless. Kevin’s body, too, was caught in the same current as the beams and pillars. Whether he stood, or fell, or was torn apart—he felt not terror but a strange relief. Together with the house, he was sinking into the close of a final movement. There was nothing to flee, no document to guard, no responsibility: all dissolved now into dust.
The beams broke, the pillars collapsed, the floor split. His bones, his blood, his voice—all shattered into fragments carried into the night air. The collapse was not violence, but the coda of a meticulously designed score. Kevin, too, was only one note within it, drawn at last into silence.
When the dust settled, silence returned. Kevin was no longer among the wreckage. Only the shadow of a fallen beam lay there, like a remnant of his being.
Far away, a dog barked. An ambulance siren split the night. The city’s breath went on, but Kevin’s had ceased forever. In the streets remained only the echo of collapse, and the quiet memory of a death no one would hear.
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My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
There’s still more to come. 😃
(This is not the final draft.)
Set in New York City.
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54771288620/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54769008619/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54758538180/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54743658539/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54737038151/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54720346098/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54713957969/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54703714420/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54696914108/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54686544606/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54653035442/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54639396885/in/dateposted...
2
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...
1
www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...
Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
Notes
1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"
•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.
•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).
•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.
•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.
2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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Title.
標識と信号機
( LUMIX G3 shot )
マンハッタン。ニューヨーク。アメリカ。2017. … 5 / 7
(今日の写真。それは未発表です。）
Images:
Metallica … Enter Sandman
youtu.be/87by1DjfxLw?si=kp4pY2X0_-jFuGQS
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
第16弾。 😄
以下は、まだ初稿の段階です。まだ推敲します。
重要な部分は公開していません。
公開している内容の順番はバラバラです。
(もちろん最終稿ではありません。)
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
夜の帳が低く下り始めたサンフェルナンドバレーの住宅街を、ケビン・モリの車は滑るように進んでいた。窓の外には夏の夜の熱気が立ち上り、路面からはまだ昼の光を吸い込んだアスファルトが、赤黒い光の反射を散らしている。移民税関捜査局（ICE）の職員としての彼の一日は、すでにその夜も続いていた。助手席の書類は微かに揺れ、そこに積まれた命令や報告書は、この一日の決断が生身の人々の生活にどう影響するかを、冷たく問いかけていた。
ラジオ無線がかすかに雑音を混ぜながら作動し、別の車両との連絡が飛び込んだ。
「確認、住宅街ルート異常なし。熱気のため住民注意」
「了解、次はダウンタウンへの侵入確認」――言葉は簡潔で、しかし背後には重くのしかかる責任が潜んでいた。助手席の彼はその声に耳を傾け、部下たちの緊張や疲労、日々の恐怖を想像する。
静かな住宅街の家々が、街路灯の光に浮かんでいた。窓に灯る温かい光は家族の生活を、庭に揺れる木々は夏の匂いを、しかしその光景はケビンにとって、守るべき対象であり、同時に判断の重さを思い知らせる舞台でもあった。
フリーウェイに合流すると、他の車のヘッドライトが海のように波打ち、遠くのダウンタウンのビル群が夜空に鋭く突き出す。空気は熱を帯び、車内のエアコンでは追いつかない湿気が肌にまとわりつく。助手席のスマートフォンに届くメッセージは冷たく光り、緊急事態や現場からの報告が短く、しかし命を握る重さを帯びて彼の視界に入った。
通勤路の間、ケビンは無意識に目を細め、夏の夜の色彩を読み取ろうとした。ネオンの赤やオレンジ、信号の緑が交錯し、遠くの山並みや海岸線の輪郭がぼんやりと浮かんでいる。車内の鏡に映る自分の顔は、疲労と責任の影で微かに歪み、部下たちや街の人々の目に映る自分の姿を想像した。
夜の住宅街を抜け、ダウンタウンに近づくと、車列は赤い光の帯となり、通勤ラッシュの喧騒とは別の、緊張の波を帯びた流れに変わる。通行人の足音、遠くで鳴る救急車のサイレン、海風に混じる排気ガスの匂いが、都市の生の現実を告げている。
車内の会話は最小限に抑えられる。助手席の部下は無言でスマートフォンを操作し、報告書や地図をチェックする。無線が作動するたび、言葉は短く、しかしそれぞれの一語には誰かの生活を左右する重みが宿っていた。
オフィスに到着すると、駐車場には同僚の車が整然と並び、エンジン音やタイヤの振動が微かな呼応を見せていた。夜風が窓から入り込み、紙や書類をかすかに揺らした。その音さえ、責任の重さを耳に伝える鼓動のように聞こえてくる。
建物内に入ると、冷房の風が肌に触れ、深夜の静けさと相まって、空間に緊張を張り巡らせる。廊下を歩くたび、足音が冷たく反響し、壁に貼られた注意書きや掲示板の文字が微かに光を受け、日々の任務とその果てにある現実を思い出させた。
会議室に入ると、部下たちの目が彼を見つめ、報告書がテーブルの上で微かに揺れた。熱気を帯びた夏の空気はエアコンと混ざり、紙の端を微かに波立たせる。誰もが沈黙の中に緊張を抱え、今日の判断が遠く離れた誰かの生活をどう変えるかを知っていた。
会議が始まると、無線から入る情報がリアルタイムで伝わり、部下たちの視線が交錯する。数字や報告書の行間には必ず生身の人間が存在し、その命を守るか、あるいは危険に晒すかを決定するのが自分だと彼らは認識するのだ。
深夜まで続く会議、現場との通信、書類の整理、部下の指示。夜の街は夏の熱気で光を歪め、ネオンの光がオフィスの窓に反射してちらついていた。その光景を見ながら、ケビンは一日の重みを胸に刻んでいた。
帰路につく頃、通勤路の光景は昼間とは違う表情を見せる。街灯に浮かぶ影、ネオンの赤い反射、海風に混じる排気ガスの匂い、遠くの山影が夜空に溶ける。そのすべてが、今日の決断の結果を静かに告げていた。
助手席の書類を確認し、深呼吸をひとつついた。夏の夜風が窓を通り抜け、肌に触れる。ケビンの胸には責任感と孤独感が重くのしかかるが、それでも次の一歩を踏み出す力を与える、都市の息遣いが確かにあった。
夜の光の中、ケビンは夏のロサンゼルスを車で駆け抜ける。無線の声、部下たちの緊張、オフィスの冷房、ネオンの光、海風の匂い、遠くの救急車のサイレン――それらすべてが絡み合い、今日一日の記憶として刻まれていく。車内での沈黙と対話、街の静けさと喧騒、光と影の交錯が、彼の心に都市の立体的な地図を描き、ICE職員としての孤独と責任を鮮明にしていた。
夏の夜が更け、家路につく道すがら、助手席の書類を握り締め、深夜の街灯に浮かぶ自分の影を見つめながら、彼はこの街の声に耳を澄ませる。光の反射、熱気の揺らぎ、遠くで鳴るサイレン、住宅街の静けさ――それらすべてが、ケビンの胸に責任と孤独を刻み込んだ。
ケビンが自宅の扉を押し開けると、夜の熱気はわずかに後退し、リビングの冷えた空気が迎えるように流れ込んできた。書類を手から放り投げ、束ねられた紙の重みがテーブルに小さな衝撃を与え、乾いた音を響かせて静けさの中に沈んだ。
彼の肩にのしかかっていた一日の重さが、わずかながらその音に吸い取られたかのように思えた。
しかし、その安堵の瞬間は、見えない振動に触れるかのようにすぐに揺らぎへと変わっていった。家の奥から、微かなきしみが生まれた。木材が互いに軋むような、しかしどこか楽器の弦を爪弾くような響きであった。ケビンは耳を澄まし、しかし次の瞬間にはそれがただの疲労による幻聴ではないかと思った。
空気がわずかに震えた。テーブルにあった飲みかけのグラスの水面がかすかに揺れ、光を帯びて波紋を広げた。その波紋は小さくも確かに、家全体の内部に潜む力と呼応しているかのようであった。壁にかけられた額縁が斜めにずれた。ガラス越しの写真の中で、笑顔を浮かべる人影が、わずかに歪んで見えた。
ケビンは胸の奥にざらついた感覚を覚え、視線を天井へ向けた。天井板の奥で梁が共鳴し合い、低い唸り声のような音を放っていた。それは自然に生まれたものではなく、あらかじめ設計された響きの連鎖のように感じられた。建築を学んだ者ならば知る、木と鉄とコンクリートの呼応だ。その呼応が、今ここで一つの方向へと収束しようとしていた。
床板が低く唸り、足裏に伝わる微細な震えとなった。外の街路灯の光がカーテン越しに入り込み、部屋を淡い橙色で満たしていた。その光さえもわずかに揺らめき、倒壊の予兆を映すかのように見えた。家全体が呼吸をしているように膨らみ、そして収縮する。まるで見えない心臓が脈打ち、その鼓動に合わせて梁や柱が響きを返しているかのようであった。
ケビンは両手を膝に置き、動くことなく耳を澄ました。天井の奥で響く音は、もはや偶然のきしみではなかった。規則性をもって増幅し、やがて低い波となって部屋全体に広がった。壁紙がわずかに裂け目を見せ、薄暗い亀裂がその奥から姿を現した。亀裂は細い線にすぎなかったが、確かに広がりを孕んでいた。
グラスの中の水が震え、その表面に映る街灯の光が細かく砕けた。外の夜風が窓を揺らし、金属の留め具がかすかな音を立てた。それに呼応するかのように、梁の唸りが一段と強くなった。その瞬間、家全体がひとつの楽器と化したように、共鳴音を放った。空気の震えが耳の奥を打ち、体内の血流と混ざり合うように感じられた。
ケビンは胸に手を当てた――だが、自分の鼓動と建物の鼓動が重なり、境界が失われていくのを感じた。壁に走った亀裂が光を呑み込み、闇の線となった。
梁が深く軋み、鈍い音を吐き出した。それは重力の命令であり、逃れられぬ下方への召喚であった。ガラス窓が粉々に砕け、夜の街の光が断片となって飛び散った。家具が跳ね、本が崩れ落ち、テーブルが傾いた。
そして――天井が裂け、崩れ落ちた。轟音は街路灯の光さえ震わせ、粉塵が一気に立ち上った。世界は白く濁り、息が奪われる。
ケビンの体もまた、梁や柱と同じ流れに組み込まれていった。彼は立ち尽くし、あるいは倒れ、あるいは引き裂かれ――だが、恐怖ではなく、奇妙な安堵を感じていた。家と共に、自分もまた一つの楽章の終わりとして沈むのだと。
逃げるべきものはなく、守るべき書類も責任も、いまや粉塵の中に溶けていく。
梁が折れ、柱が潰れ、床が裂ける。
そのすべてと同時に、彼の骨も、血も、声も、無数の破片となって夜の空気に散った。崩壊は暴力ではなく、むしろ緻密に設計された楽曲の終章であった。ケビンという存在も、ひとつの音符としてその中に含まれ、やがて静寂に吸い込まれた。
粉塵が沈み、静寂が戻る。
瓦礫の中にケビンの姿はもはやなかった。
ただ、崩れた梁の影が、彼の名残のように横たわっているだけであった。
遠くで犬が吠え、救急車のサイレンが夜を割った。
都市の呼吸は再び続いていたが、ケビンの呼吸はもう戻らなかった。
夜の街に残されたのは、崩壊の余韻と、誰にも届かぬ静かな死の記憶だけだった。
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
舞台はニューヨークです。
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54771288620/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54769008619/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54758538180/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54743658539/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54737038151/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54720346098/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54713957969/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54703714420/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54696914108/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54686544606/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54653035442/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54639396885/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...
Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
追記 この小説を多少説明しました。
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
メモ
1
「Bombay型（ボンベイ型、hh型）」
•特徴：通常のABO血液型を持たない（A、B、Oに分類されない）特殊な型。
•発見地：1952年、インド・ムンバイ（旧ボンベイ）で初めて確認。
•発生頻度：インドでは1万人に1人程度だが、世界的には約250万人に1人とも。
•輸血制限：同じBombay型しか輸血できない。
2
2024年ハーバード大学首席の卒業式スピーチ『知らないことの力』
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3
Shots fired at Trump rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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Name: Krahhu
Element: Iron
Primary Color: Gold
Tool: Spear-headed Mace
Mask: Unknown
In the depths of the caves within the region of earth, Krahhu guards the legendary Golden Mask of Earth. Like the vast supply of iron lying inside the caves, he waits patiently, unmoving, unblinking. He, if you can call Krahhu a "he" after having become nothing but a shell only striving to guard the mask, allows none to approach. Not even the protector's are allowed to draw near, lest he rises from his comatose state and moves the metals in the soil according to his will.
This is very much what I wanted to do, a combination of the old and the new. Old Bonkle pieces with old colors, next to the new CCBS. I think I did a bang-up job, though the pictures don't hardly give the shoulder-pads justice, which were actually my favorite part.
A heron, frozen, and completely unmoving for the 20 minutes or so I had it in sight. I'm sure that's nothing to a heron.
The River Cherwell, running fast and brown after the endless rain, divides bewilderingly in all directions as it flows down the eastern side of the city. Here the various channels include a leat to a long forgotten watermill.
Just to my right and lying between the river itself and the leat is a long narrow island of alders and willows known as Mesopotamia.
Mesopotamia was an ancient area in western asia, in modern day Iraq and its name of Greek origin means land between two rivers.
Ahh Oxford, of course it's called Mesopotamia!
Title:
Right to the water's edge.
( FUJIFILM GFX50R shot )
Motosuka Beach. Kujukuri Beach. Sanmu City. Chiba Prefecture. Japan. 2025. … 1 / 1
(Photo of the day. Unpublished.)
Images:
Geoffroy … No Calls Before Noon
youtu.be/Sua7LOBd9x4?si=vczU4fV0pMY6xrMN
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My new novel
B♭ (B Flat)
Volume 16😄
The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.
Key parts are not disclosed.
The order of the content shown here is mixed.
(Of course, this is not the final version.)
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My new novel
B♭ (B Flat)
Night was drawing its heavy veil over the neighborhoods of the San Fernando Valley, and Kevin Mori’s car slid forward as though gliding on a shadowed surface. Beyond the window, the heat of summer’s night rose, while the asphalt, still holding the brilliance of the day, scattered red and black reflections like fragments of muted fire. His day as an officer of Immigration and Customs Enforcement had not yet ended; it merely continued into the dark. Papers on the passenger seat trembled faintly—orders, reports, each sheet a cold reminder of how every decision could alter the lives of flesh-and-blood people.
The radio crackled with static, then carried the clipped voices of another unit.
“Check complete—residential route secure. Residents advised, heat alert.”
“Roger. Next, proceed to downtown infiltration confirmation.”
The words were concise, yet beneath them lurked the weight of responsibility. Kevin’s colleague at his side listened in silence, and Kevin imagined the strain, the fatigue, the daily fears borne by his subordinates.
The quiet houses of the district floated in the pale light of the streetlamps. Windows glowed with the warmth of family life, and the trees in the yards swayed with the scent of summer. To Kevin, that scene was both what he was sworn to protect, and a stage upon which the gravity of judgment was constantly revealed.
Merging onto the freeway, he entered a sea of headlights undulating like waves. Far ahead, the spires of downtown buildings pierced the night sky. The air was thick with heat, the car’s air conditioning too feeble against the humidity clinging to his skin. On the phone screen in the passenger seat, messages flared cold and abrupt—emergency notices, field reports, each short phrase carrying the weight of lives in the balance.
Through his commute Kevin narrowed his eyes, as though unconsciously trying to read the palette of the summer night. Neon reds and oranges crossed with the green of traffic signals, while the outlines of distant mountains and the shore emerged dimly in the haze. In the rearview mirror, his own face appeared distorted by fatigue and responsibility. He imagined how it must look reflected in the eyes of his men, and in the eyes of those who lived in this city.
As the suburbs gave way to downtown, the flow of cars turned into a red river of lights—not the bustle of rush hour, but a current charged with tension. Footsteps of passersby, the wail of an ambulance far off, exhaust mingling with sea breeze—each sound and scent announcing the unvarnished reality of the city.
Conversation in the car was pared to the barest minimum. His colleague tapped silently at the phone, scanning reports and maps. Every burst of radio static carried words few and clipped, but each syllable held the weight of someone’s life.
At the office, the parking lot was lined with colleagues’ cars, their engines humming in faint reply to one another. A night wind slipped through the windows, rustling the scattered papers—a sound that resembled the heartbeat of responsibility itself.
Inside the building, the cool air brushed his skin, blending with the stillness of late night to bind the corridors in a taut silence. Each step sent back a cold echo. Notices and bulletins on the walls caught the dim light, whispering of daily duty and the reality that awaited beyond.
In the meeting room, his subordinates lifted their eyes to him; reports on the table quivered slightly in the conditioned air. No one spoke, but silence itself was steeped in tension. Everyone knew that today’s decisions would ripple outward to change the lives of people unseen and far away.
As the meeting began, real-time transmissions crackled from the radio, and gazes crossed one another. Between the numbers and the dry lines of reports, there were always living human beings. To protect them—or expose them to danger—was the responsibility that each man recognized as his own.
The meeting stretched deep into the night: communications with the field, sorting of documents, instructions for the next day. Outside, the city wavered in the heat, neon glinting against the office windows. Kevin pressed the day’s weight into his heart as he stared at that restless light.
By the time he set out for home, the city had assumed a face wholly different from daytime. Shadows under the streetlamps, red reflections of neon, exhaust tangled with the sea wind, the faint silhouette of mountains dissolving into the night sky—all of it bore silent testimony to the consequences of the day’s choices.
He glanced at the papers on the seat, drew one deep breath. Summer night air slipped in through the window, brushing his skin. The sense of responsibility weighed heavy on his chest, and so did solitude, but in the pulse of the city he found, still, the strength to take another step forward.
Through the night’s lattice of light, Kevin drove on across summer Los Angeles. The voices on the radio, his men’s tension, the office’s chilled air, the neon glare, the tang of the sea breeze, the distant siren of an ambulance—all of these tangled together, imprinting themselves as the day’s memory. In the silence and in the few words exchanged in the car, in the quiet and the clamor of the city, in the interplay of light and shadow, a living map of the city was etched inside him, sharpening both the solitude and the responsibility of his role as an officer of ICE.
As night deepened, on his way home he clutched the papers on the passenger seat and watched his own shadow fall beneath the streetlamps. He listened closely to the city’s voice: the reflection of light, the tremor of heat, the siren far away, the stillness of neighborhoods. All of it pressed responsibility and solitude deeper into his chest.
When Kevin pushed open the door of his house, the night’s heat retreated slightly, replaced by the cool air of the living room flowing to meet him. He dropped the documents onto the table; the bundled papers struck with a dry sound that sank into silence, as though absorbing some measure of the weight that had burdened his shoulders.
Yet that moment of relief quivered almost at once, like a string brushed by an unseen hand. From the depths of the house came a faint creak—timbers straining, or perhaps the plucked resonance of some hidden instrument. Kevin strained to listen, then wondered if it was no more than the ghostly trick of fatigue.
The air trembled. Water in the half-drunk glass on the table rippled with faint light. The ripples, small yet certain, seemed to resonate with a force lurking in the house’s depths. A frame on the wall slipped askew, and through the glass the smiling figures in the photograph appeared slightly warped. A raw unease rose in Kevin’s chest, and his gaze lifted toward the ceiling. Above the panels, the beams murmured to one another, a low groan not of chance but of deliberate design, as if some hidden architect had composed the house itself as an instrument.
The floor rumbled, faint vibrations pressing upward through his feet. Streetlamp light bled through the curtains, filling the room with a wavering orange glow, as if already foreshadowing collapse. The house expanded and contracted like a lung, like an unseen heart pulsing in the dark, its beat echoed by the beams and pillars. Kevin set his hands on his knees, unmoving, listening. The sound overhead no longer resembled random creaks. It grew with rhythm, swelling into a low wave that spread across the room. The wallpaper split, revealing a thin fissure that carried within it the promise of widening.
The water in the glass quivered, scattering the lamplight into shards. The window shuddered under the night wind; metal fastenings clicked faintly. The beams groaned louder, as if in answer. In that instant the whole house became an instrument, releasing a deep, resonant note. The vibration struck his inner ear, mingled with the pulse of his blood.
Kevin pressed a hand to his chest—but his own heartbeat and the heartbeat of the house merged, the boundary between them dissolving. Cracks across the wall swallowed light, dark lines spreading. The beams moaned and bent, their sound a summons downward, inevitable as gravity. Glass burst into fragments, scattering the street’s light into the air. Furniture leapt, books tumbled, the table tilted.
And then—the ceiling split, and fell. The roar shook even the lamplight outside; dust rose in a choking tide, the world turned white and sightless. Kevin’s body, too, was caught in the same current as the beams and pillars. Whether he stood, or fell, or was torn apart—he felt not terror but a strange relief. Together with the house, he was sinking into the close of a final movement. There was nothing to flee, no document to guard, no responsibility: all dissolved now into dust.
The beams broke, the pillars collapsed, the floor split. His bones, his blood, his voice—all shattered into fragments carried into the night air. The collapse was not violence, but the coda of a meticulously designed score. Kevin, too, was only one note within it, drawn at last into silence.
When the dust settled, silence returned. Kevin was no longer among the wreckage. Only the shadow of a fallen beam lay there, like a remnant of his being.
Far away, a dog barked. An ambulance siren split the night. The city’s breath went on, but Kevin’s had ceased forever. In the streets remained only the echo of collapse, and the quiet memory of a death no one would hear.
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My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
There’s still more to come. 😃
(This is not the final draft.)
Set in New York City.
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54713957969/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54703714420/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54696914108/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54686544606/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54653035442/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54639396885/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54628511025/in/dateposted...
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54599616429/in/dateposted...
Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
Notes
1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"
•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.
•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).
•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.
•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.
2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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Title.
波打ち際まで。
( FUJIFILM GFX50R shot )
本須賀海岸。九十九里浜。山武市。千葉県。日本。2025. … 1 / 1
(今日の写真。それは未発表です。）
Images:
Geoffroy … No Calls Before Noon
youtu.be/Sua7LOBd9x4?si=vczU4fV0pMY6xrMN
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
第16弾。 😄
以下は、まだ初稿の段階です。まだ推敲します。
重要な部分は公開していません。
公開している内容の順番はバラバラです。
(もちろん最終稿ではありません。)
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
夜の帳が低く下り始めたサンフェルナンドバレーの住宅街を、ケビン・モリの車は滑るように進んでいた。窓の外には夏の夜の熱気が立ち上り、路面からはまだ昼の光を吸い込んだアスファルトが、赤黒い光の反射を散らしている。移民税関捜査局（ICE）の職員としての彼の一日は、すでにその夜も続いていた。助手席の書類は微かに揺れ、そこに積まれた命令や報告書は、この一日の決断が生身の人々の生活にどう影響するかを、冷たく問いかけていた。
ラジオ無線がかすかに雑音を混ぜながら作動し、別の車両との連絡が飛び込んだ。
「確認、住宅街ルート異常なし。熱気のため住民注意」
「了解、次はダウンタウンへの侵入確認」――言葉は簡潔で、しかし背後には重くのしかかる責任が潜んでいた。助手席の彼はその声に耳を傾け、部下たちの緊張や疲労、日々の恐怖を想像する。
静かな住宅街の家々が、街路灯の光に浮かんでいた。窓に灯る温かい光は家族の生活を、庭に揺れる木々は夏の匂いを、しかしその光景はケビンにとって、守るべき対象であり、同時に判断の重さを思い知らせる舞台でもあった。
フリーウェイに合流すると、他の車のヘッドライトが海のように波打ち、遠くのダウンタウンのビル群が夜空に鋭く突き出す。空気は熱を帯び、車内のエアコンでは追いつかない湿気が肌にまとわりつく。助手席のスマートフォンに届くメッセージは冷たく光り、緊急事態や現場からの報告が短く、しかし命を握る重さを帯びて彼の視界に入った。
通勤路の間、ケビンは無意識に目を細め、夏の夜の色彩を読み取ろうとした。ネオンの赤やオレンジ、信号の緑が交錯し、遠くの山並みや海岸線の輪郭がぼんやりと浮かんでいる。車内の鏡に映る自分の顔は、疲労と責任の影で微かに歪み、部下たちや街の人々の目に映る自分の姿を想像した。
夜の住宅街を抜け、ダウンタウンに近づくと、車列は赤い光の帯となり、通勤ラッシュの喧騒とは別の、緊張の波を帯びた流れに変わる。通行人の足音、遠くで鳴る救急車のサイレン、海風に混じる排気ガスの匂いが、都市の生の現実を告げている。
車内の会話は最小限に抑えられる。助手席の部下は無言でスマートフォンを操作し、報告書や地図をチェックする。無線が作動するたび、言葉は短く、しかしそれぞれの一語には誰かの生活を左右する重みが宿っていた。
オフィスに到着すると、駐車場には同僚の車が整然と並び、エンジン音やタイヤの振動が微かな呼応を見せていた。夜風が窓から入り込み、紙や書類をかすかに揺らした。その音さえ、責任の重さを耳に伝える鼓動のように聞こえてくる。
建物内に入ると、冷房の風が肌に触れ、深夜の静けさと相まって、空間に緊張を張り巡らせる。廊下を歩くたび、足音が冷たく反響し、壁に貼られた注意書きや掲示板の文字が微かに光を受け、日々の任務とその果てにある現実を思い出させた。
会議室に入ると、部下たちの目が彼を見つめ、報告書がテーブルの上で微かに揺れた。熱気を帯びた夏の空気はエアコンと混ざり、紙の端を微かに波立たせる。誰もが沈黙の中に緊張を抱え、今日の判断が遠く離れた誰かの生活をどう変えるかを知っていた。
会議が始まると、無線から入る情報がリアルタイムで伝わり、部下たちの視線が交錯する。数字や報告書の行間には必ず生身の人間が存在し、その命を守るか、あるいは危険に晒すかを決定するのが自分だと彼らは認識するのだ。
深夜まで続く会議、現場との通信、書類の整理、部下の指示。夜の街は夏の熱気で光を歪め、ネオンの光がオフィスの窓に反射してちらついていた。その光景を見ながら、ケビンは一日の重みを胸に刻んでいた。
帰路につく頃、通勤路の光景は昼間とは違う表情を見せる。街灯に浮かぶ影、ネオンの赤い反射、海風に混じる排気ガスの匂い、遠くの山影が夜空に溶ける。そのすべてが、今日の決断の結果を静かに告げていた。
助手席の書類を確認し、深呼吸をひとつついた。夏の夜風が窓を通り抜け、肌に触れる。ケビンの胸には責任感と孤独感が重くのしかかるが、それでも次の一歩を踏み出す力を与える、都市の息遣いが確かにあった。
夜の光の中、ケビンは夏のロサンゼルスを車で駆け抜ける。無線の声、部下たちの緊張、オフィスの冷房、ネオンの光、海風の匂い、遠くの救急車のサイレン――それらすべてが絡み合い、今日一日の記憶として刻まれていく。車内での沈黙と対話、街の静けさと喧騒、光と影の交錯が、彼の心に都市の立体的な地図を描き、ICE職員としての孤独と責任を鮮明にしていた。
夏の夜が更け、家路につく道すがら、助手席の書類を握り締め、深夜の街灯に浮かぶ自分の影を見つめながら、彼はこの街の声に耳を澄ませる。光の反射、熱気の揺らぎ、遠くで鳴るサイレン、住宅街の静けさ――それらすべてが、ケビンの胸に責任と孤独を刻み込んだ。
ケビンが自宅の扉を押し開けると、夜の熱気はわずかに後退し、リビングの冷えた空気が迎えるように流れ込んできた。書類を手から放り投げ、束ねられた紙の重みがテーブルに小さな衝撃を与え、乾いた音を響かせて静けさの中に沈んだ。
彼の肩にのしかかっていた一日の重さが、わずかながらその音に吸い取られたかのように思えた。
しかし、その安堵の瞬間は、見えない振動に触れるかのようにすぐに揺らぎへと変わっていった。家の奥から、微かなきしみが生まれた。木材が互いに軋むような、しかしどこか楽器の弦を爪弾くような響きであった。ケビンは耳を澄まし、しかし次の瞬間にはそれがただの疲労による幻聴ではないかと思った。
空気がわずかに震えた。テーブルにあった飲みかけのグラスの水面がかすかに揺れ、光を帯びて波紋を広げた。その波紋は小さくも確かに、家全体の内部に潜む力と呼応しているかのようであった。壁にかけられた額縁が斜めにずれた。ガラス越しの写真の中で、笑顔を浮かべる人影が、わずかに歪んで見えた。
ケビンは胸の奥にざらついた感覚を覚え、視線を天井へ向けた。天井板の奥で梁が共鳴し合い、低い唸り声のような音を放っていた。それは自然に生まれたものではなく、あらかじめ設計された響きの連鎖のように感じられた。建築を学んだ者ならば知る、木と鉄とコンクリートの呼応だ。その呼応が、今ここで一つの方向へと収束しようとしていた。
床板が低く唸り、足裏に伝わる微細な震えとなった。外の街路灯の光がカーテン越しに入り込み、部屋を淡い橙色で満たしていた。その光さえもわずかに揺らめき、倒壊の予兆を映すかのように見えた。家全体が呼吸をしているように膨らみ、そして収縮する。まるで見えない心臓が脈打ち、その鼓動に合わせて梁や柱が響きを返しているかのようであった。
ケビンは両手を膝に置き、動くことなく耳を澄ました。天井の奥で響く音は、もはや偶然のきしみではなかった。規則性をもって増幅し、やがて低い波となって部屋全体に広がった。壁紙がわずかに裂け目を見せ、薄暗い亀裂がその奥から姿を現した。亀裂は細い線にすぎなかったが、確かに広がりを孕んでいた。
グラスの中の水が震え、その表面に映る街灯の光が細かく砕けた。外の夜風が窓を揺らし、金属の留め具がかすかな音を立てた。それに呼応するかのように、梁の唸りが一段と強くなった。その瞬間、家全体がひとつの楽器と化したように、共鳴音を放った。空気の震えが耳の奥を打ち、体内の血流と混ざり合うように感じられた。
ケビンは胸に手を当てた――だが、自分の鼓動と建物の鼓動が重なり、境界が失われていくのを感じた。壁に走った亀裂が光を呑み込み、闇の線となった。
梁が深く軋み、鈍い音を吐き出した。それは重力の命令であり、逃れられぬ下方への召喚であった。ガラス窓が粉々に砕け、夜の街の光が断片となって飛び散った。家具が跳ね、本が崩れ落ち、テーブルが傾いた。
そして――天井が裂け、崩れ落ちた。轟音は街路灯の光さえ震わせ、粉塵が一気に立ち上った。世界は白く濁り、息が奪われる。
ケビンの体もまた、梁や柱と同じ流れに組み込まれていった。彼は立ち尽くし、あるいは倒れ、あるいは引き裂かれ――だが、恐怖ではなく、奇妙な安堵を感じていた。家と共に、自分もまた一つの楽章の終わりとして沈むのだと。
逃げるべきものはなく、守るべき書類も責任も、いまや粉塵の中に溶けていく。
梁が折れ、柱が潰れ、床が裂ける。
そのすべてと同時に、彼の骨も、血も、声も、無数の破片となって夜の空気に散った。崩壊は暴力ではなく、むしろ緻密に設計された楽曲の終章であった。ケビンという存在も、ひとつの音符としてその中に含まれ、やがて静寂に吸い込まれた。
粉塵が沈み、静寂が戻る。
瓦礫の中にケビンの姿はもはやなかった。
ただ、崩れた梁の影が、彼の名残のように横たわっているだけであった。
遠くで犬が吠え、救急車のサイレンが夜を割った。
都市の呼吸は再び続いていたが、ケビンの呼吸はもう戻らなかった。
夜の街に残されたのは、崩壊の余韻と、誰にも届かぬ静かな死の記憶だけだった。
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
舞台はニューヨークです。
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www.flickr.com/photos/stealaway/54793744070/in/dateposted...
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Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
追記 この小説を多少説明しました。
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
メモ
1
「Bombay型（ボンベイ型、hh型）」
•特徴：通常のABO血液型を持たない（A、B、Oに分類されない）特殊な型。
•発見地：1952年、インド・ムンバイ（旧ボンベイ）で初めて確認。
•発生頻度：インドでは1万人に1人程度だが、世界的には約250万人に1人とも。
•輸血制限：同じBombay型しか輸血できない。
2
2024年ハーバード大学首席の卒業式スピーチ『知らないことの力』
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3
Shots fired at Trump rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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He lay there, unmoving. People walked right over him for ages. No one asked if he needed water or aid. No one cared. Poor Nax.
From in to out, from out to in together in light we swim each limb a solar fin as we flow to the sea to the liberty of sea that catches hold of moving stars in reflection only giving them light and life amongst the waves.
There is one way in and in reverse the same way takes you out. Upon the morning of the Twenty First the Sun comes in to clear the old year out and at the setting Sun the last rays take our dead upon their many, many ways to host us around our campfires and welcome us along the routes they took over this place our earthly space and other dead seek out the campfires above that by night have joined us in lighting our fires into the great darkness. Each of us lights beacons each to the others, campfire to campfires showing that warmth and life is only a way away, only the light of one day away and always within reach. We have made our ways with their aid bringing new light in sight by Winter and Summer both, all of us working around the axle light of us all the central star campfire the only unmoving always constant light. Though Sun and Moon, Planet Wandering Lights and Stars Campfire each fixed in distance one from the other and all together, all move across the skies, only the centre star stays central the one true eye within the sky. The rising new stars, the setting old stars sing songs of new seasons approaching of new phases to be begun and of the harvest of just passed and old star months now no longer to be relied upon. The herds move to the way of the stars and they move away even as the stars come and go in circling motions making paths in spiral in our sky as we upon this ground all will make spirals with those stars wherever our spirit is to be found. You come in the warmth of the womb in the earth at birth and you revisit as you age and take new roles in your life. You are a part of the bones in their home of earth and the stones, you are a part of the life of blood til you return to the stars that sent you here and in bone not the flesh your star core rests and in the flesh not the bone your life on earth is given birth and breath for the span of your days ways here til death and star rebirth opens up all of the ways of both nights and days within the Many Mists and the Cosmic Haze.
PHH Sykes 2023
phhsykes@gmail.com
Unstan Chambered Cairn
www.historicenvironment.scot/visit-a-place/places/unstan-...
To go along with the issue, here is the track for issue 5. If you care to, listen to it before, during or after the issue, I feel it elevated the experience :)
"So, Odym, right?" Simon asked as he and Jessica flew through the stars. "Ever been there?"
The two were on a fast track to the home of the Blue Lanterns, Odym. The plan was simple: have Saint Walker convince Adara to use his body as a host. The man was bursting with Hope, he'd be the perfect vessel.
At least, that was what Simon kept telling himself. He knew that something would occur to cause them trouble, but he didn't know what it could be just yet.
"A few times," she responded. "It's… peaceful there."
Simon nodded in response. "Maybe a vacation after all of this is over?" he asked with a smile.
Jessica chuckled slightly. "Maybe…"
He smiled slightly wider. As long as the two kept their spirits high, they'd get the task done, he knew they would.
"Please pass these back, they are forms your guardians will need to sign."
Simon sat in his chair, cheek in palm. He was ready to just go home; he was tired, bored, and his face still hurt from the group of boys that had jumped him earlier in the day.
"These forms confirm you and your guardians accept police inspections before entering the school and must be turned in by Friday or you will receive suspension until we receive the form."
Simon took the stack of papers from the person in front of him, sliding one onto his desk and holding it behind his head.
"Woah!" The person behind him exclaimed. "Teach, can… can I have someone else in front of me."
Whispers broke out around the classroom, the hushed words causing Simon to lower his head.
"Simon will not partake in any Islamic acts, don't worry, Conner," his teacher reassured, which made him grit his teeth and clench his fist.
"Now that that is out of the way, please open your textbooks to page-"
Simon began filtering out the woman speaking, his eyes unfocused on his textbook below him. His mind harping on the fantasies of being seen as a person, a good one at that.
"Simon…"
The man looked up, leaving his thoughts behind. As he did, his eyes widened, mouth falling agape.
Odym. The once beautiful planet, riddled with calming waters and luscious greenery, was now gone, in its place a dark, dreadful orb of blackness. The faint blue of the Hope Central Power Battery was visible, the darkness slowly consuming the beacon.
"We have to stop it!" Simon shouted, beginning to fly toward the mass.
"Stop!" an unknown voice called, causing him to cease in his tracks. His head whipped around to see the man they were here for.
"Saint Walker?" Jessica asked, a look of horror falling over her. "What the hell happened?"
The man had cuts and bruises running all along his body. His ring's glow was faint, obviously on low power.
"You… must leave now…" he spoke, his voice dissolving into a wheeze. "The darkness has… has consumed all."
"No… you… you can't be thinking that," Simon rebutted, pointing to the faint blue of his ring. "You're hope; you have to be the one."
"I am sorry…" he said, his head lowering.
"Don't be sorry, you need to believe!" Simon shouted, grabbing and shaking Walker's shoulders. "Stop it! You can't just quit!"
"Simon!"
He stopped, looking over to Jessica, then back at Walker, tears leaking from his eyes.
"They're all gone…" he sniffled, gritting his teeth. "The Reapers arrived and… and butchered them all."
"Reapers?"
Before Walker could speak, a deathly screech sounded off, both Simon and Jessica wincing from the noise. Simon peered toward the source of the noise, his face filling with dismay.
"Is that…" Jessica mumbled, her voice shaky and small.
Floating above them were two figures, large black wings outstretched from their backs. An axe in the man's hand, a mace in the woman's.
"Hawkman and Hawkgirl…" Simon finished, his ring lighting up a bright green.
"Well Kendra, shall we?" the zombified Hawkman spoke, his head turning to his partner.
The woman's black tongue exited her mouth, liking her lips. "We… shall…"
"Yeah, don't worry about it Kevin," Simon said, placing his textbooks into his locker. "I'll just tell my ammi I have a club to be at once I drop off Sira."
"Alright, coolio," he responded, patting Simon on the shoulder. "I'll meet you there."
As the man walked away from his locker, Simon frowned. Stealing cars and selling their parts wasn't exactly what he wanted to be doing in highschool. He wanted to play on the basketball team, participate in clubs, maybe get a real job.
But it just wasn't his world. He could hardly enter a building without eyes falling onto him. Any applications were instantly vetoed; too big of a risk, they'd say. His parents were both laid off from their jobs, so they ended up forced into social services.
It's why he had to keep it up. Any money helped, no matter how he'd get it.
As his locker shut, his eyes were met with his language arts teacher, a disgusted frown on his face. Simon knew those eyes; everyone looked at him with those damn eyes.
Eyes that meant hatred and fear.
A blast of energy shot from Simon's ring; the blast pierced through Hawkman's wing. With a tug, Simon yanked the zombie toward him, hitting him with a right hook.
The clang of metal caused his head to swivel, witnessing Hawkgirl's mace slamming into Jessica's shield. A large blade sprouted from the construct, decapitating the monster, followed by a shield bash. Jessica quickly sliced off the finger with the ring on it.
Simon's eyes widened, barely ducking under the swing of Hawkman's axe. A construct from Jessica clamped around the axe, holding it in place for Simon to recover. Simon gmcreated a pair of boxing gloves, a barrage of strikes breaking away parts of the creatures body. Finally, one of the gloves gripped it's ring, ripping the finger off.
"That's both of them," sighed Jessica, Simon following her to the nearby asteroid that Saint Walker occupied. "Knowing how to take them out sure does help."
"I know, right," Simon agreed, rubbing his neck. "That one nearly got my head."
"They aren't gone…"
Simon turned to Walker, "What do you mean?"
The screech occurred once more, causing Simon to grit his teeth. His head whipped to the space above them, the two zombies reassembled once again.
"I mean… you must kill them both together, at the exact same time."
Simon's heart pounded against his ribcage, the officer's hands patting down his legs. His mouth was dry, body shaking in fear.
"So," the officer started, spitting onto the sidewalk, "How old are ya son? Look 'bout eighteen."
Simon waited a moment before opening his mouth, his voice small as he spoke, "I am sixteen; I did not assault anyone."
Simon's body was slammed against the cop car, the officer's breath right against his ear. "You callin' me a liar, boy?" he asked, his breath smelling of cigarettes.
"M-my school ID is in my r-right pocket," Simon spoke, nodding his head to his pocket. "May I g-grab it?"
The butt of a pistol struck his neck, the officer pushing him into the street after the strike. Simon coughed, a few drops of blood leaking from his mouth.
"Ya' think I'm stupid?!" he exclaimed, his handgun aiming at Simon and his sister. "Let's see Allah save you now, ya' damn terrorists!"
Simon brought himself to a stand, pushing his sister behind him. "You… you don't have to do this…" he pleaded, slightly slurring his words.
"But I want to."
Simon's body was slammed into the surface of the asteroid, dust and blood mixing as they floated into the vacuum. A bubble encompassed his body as Hawkman slammed his axe downward.
"Nekron will have your blood!" the creature screeched, it's wings extending into long, dagger like feathers. "Nekron's Curse: Wraith Wings!"
The wings began surging with black flames, the feathers sharpening even further. The wings came crashing down, piercing through the bubble and into Simon's abdomen.
His voice felt silent as he cried out, the black flames torching his inards.
"Burn… feel the pain of death," he spoke, digging ever deeper.
Simon's fist clenched, another guttural scream leaving his body as he raised his arm. The blast of energy sent Hawkman into the air, giving him time to stand.
His eyes locked onto Jessica dangling in the air, wrists pierced by the wings of Hawkgirl.
"Jess…" he mumbled, his vision becoming blurry. He rocketed forward, his body slamming into Hawkgirl to knock her down. His hands reached down, adjusting Jessica to sit upright against a rock.
The sound of wings flapping caused him to turn, ring aimed. The downward swing of Hawkman's axe was too quick to counter. The blade followed through, slicing Simon's finger and hand down the middle.
As the slice finished, Simon felt the air leaving his lungs. 'My ring…' he thought, watching the metal split along his finger. As his suit disappeared, he began to feel the pressure and cold of deep space.
Hawkgirl floated down, landing next to Hawkman. Both had twisted smiles on their faces. "Embrace death," Hawkman ordered.
"Embrace Nekron," Hawkgirl added.
A faint green glow wrapped around Simon, allowing him to warm up and breathe. He looked back to see Jessica frowning, her face mixed with blood and tears.
"Simon… I don't think… I think this is it," she whimpered, her lip quivering.
"Don't say that!" he shouted back, coughing up blood as he turned his whole body to her.
"I'm sorry Simon… I… can't hold the construct much longer…"
"Jessica please!"
"I wish… I wish we just had a little more time… just a bit…"
"You can't give up!" Simon shouted, stopping Jessica from speaking. "Even… even if it's the only thing you can do… you… you just can't give up."
Simon turned his body around, facing off against the avians once again. Biting his lip to keep himself conscious. "You can't just give up… not when this world has so much to offer…"
Simon's fist clenched, his body swaying side to side. "That's the only reason I'm here today!" he exclaimed. "The only reason I could bring myself to stand up. The only reason I could stop Puppeteer."
His head turned, eyes watering as he stared back at her. "It's the only reason I was ever able to meet you…"
The man swiped his hand across the air, the blue glow leaving a trail. Simon could hear the four Lanterns screaming out to him, but the voices blended into one.
"Simon, no!" "Fight it man!" "You coward!"
His eyes watched them though. Watched the anger, the fear… the despair.
The woman was frozen in pure shock, her mouth unmoving as his hands moved up to grasp his head.
"No…" he whispered, tears running down his face.
The villain laughed harder at the struggles, Simon's hands placing themselves on his cheek and the back of his head. "Your attempt at encouraging him is futile. You should know that by n-"
"I said no!"
The yell pierced through the villain's words, causing everyone's gaze to fall upon Simon.
"Huh?" questioned Puppeteer, confused by the outburst.
"I-I won't!" cried Simon, his face plastered with determination. "I won't die here!"
Simon's body began to tremble as he resisted the telekinesis; Puppeteer grit his teeth, raising a second hand to finish off Simon.
Simon does not submit.
"Wh-what the hell is going on?!" screamed Puppeteer, anger boiling over.
"I WILL NOT DIE HERE!" Simon shouted, his hands pulling themselves off his face. "Everything I've done… that I've been through; I won't let it end here!
Puppeteer backed away from Simon, his nose leaking blood. "What… what the hell are you?!" he questioned, the fear in his voice evident.
Simon's eyes took on a glow, bright green in color. Puppeteer shook, as did Simon. The aura around him had changed, the blue from Puppeteer's powers now to the green of his eyes.
"I won't let you kill me!" he screamed, the skylight of the warehouse shattering as a green comet rocketed through the opening.
"I won't let you kill me!" he screamed, the stars around him flashing blue. "I will not give up on tomorrow!"
Simon felt his wounds begin to heal, the holes in his stomach patching themselves together. The aura of green that Jessica had around him had dissipated, now replaced with a brilliant blue glow.
'Simon Baz.'
Simon's eyes closed, the projection of a large blue bird entering his mind.
'You have exhibited a Hope strong enough to be detected by Adara.'
"In fearful day, in raging night," Simon spoke, eyes opening as he walked forward towards the zombie lovers. "With strong hearts full, our souls ignite."
"Simon…" Jessica gasped.
"When all seems lost in the War of Light," he continued, a trail of blue light shooting to both Saint Walker and Jessica's rings, bringing them to fill charge and healing their wounds. "Look to the stars..."
Simon was now fully adorned in black and blue. The two pieces of his broken ring shot to his finger, melding themselves together, now an electric blue.
"For hope burns bright!"
The two hawks launched themselves at Simon, weapons aimed at his skull. Simon's fist clenched, uppercutting the air. Forming in front of him were two fists, striking the two under the chin. Before they were launched by the impact, the fists grabbed hold of the two.
Two green daggers sliced across the zombies's wrists, removing both their hands from their bodies. The blue fists disappeared as the corpses began turning to dust, fading into the stars.
Simon's head turned, smiling at the woman who stood next to him. "You did it…" Jessica said, a relieved smile on her face.
"We did," he responded, a small chuckle leaving his mouth.
"You… you restored Hope," Walker stated. Simon and Jessica both looked at Odym, it's Central Power Battery burning a bright blue, warding off the darkness.
"We… we don't have time to stay and admire it," Jessica said, Simon nodding in agreement.
"We need to get to Nok, then to Qward," Simon added, his ring begining to light up.
"No, Simon."
Simon's head turned to Jessica, asking "What's wrong?"
"We don't have enough time to go to the two individually… we have to split up," she said, looking up to him.
"That's crazy!" Simon returned. "The Hawks nearly killed both of us! What if there are more?"
"This isn't a debate, Simon!" she responded, her voice raising. "The world is at stake!"
"Jessica… I… I can't lose you… I-"
Simon's eyes widened as Jessica pressed her lips to his, her arms snaking around his shoulders. His heartbeat increased as his lids slide shut, the initial shock fading. The man wrapped his arms around her waist, leaning his body closer to her.
As the two broke away, a tear rolled down Jessica's face, her mouth quirked upwards. "You won't… I promise." Simon nodded, unravelling his arms from her waist.
As she lifted into the air, she looked back to him. "I love you, Simon."
"I love you too, Jessica."
This movie from the Solar Terrestrial Relations Observatory (STEREO) shows comet PanSTARRS as it moved around the sun from March 10-15,2013 (repeated three times). The images were captured by the Heliospheric Imager (HI), an instrument that looks to the side of the sun to watch coronal mass ejections (CMEs) as they travel toward Earth, which is the unmoving bright orb on the right. The bright light on the left comes from the sun and the bursts from the left represent the solar material erupting off the sun in a CME. While it appears from STEREO’s point of view that the CME passes right by the comet, the two are not lying in the same plane, which scientists know since the comet’s tail didn’t move or change in response to the CME’s passage.
Download at svs.gsfc.nasa.gov/goto?11226
Credit: NASA/GSFC/STEREO
NASA Goddard Space Flight Center enables NASA’s mission through four scientific endeavors: Earth Science, Heliophysics, Solar System Exploration, and Astrophysics. Goddard plays a leading role in NASA’s accomplishments by contributing compelling scientific knowledge to advance the Agency’s mission.
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Loch Ness monster hired me to take that shot.
Some kind of butcher.
A peerless, psycho, fucked-up butcher live behind that fence.
Don`t ask me why,
I just think so...
My wife and I saw this Grey-headed Kingfisher just at the start of a morning game drive in Amboseli, Kenya. How it could use this very thorny acacia as a perch from which to launch itself after prey without accidentally being impaled upon it's return to the perch was beyond me.
In any case we were excited to see it because it's quite a beautiful bird but, unfortunately, because of the position of the bird, you can't really see much of the bright blue feathers on the wings, rump and tail.
============
From Wikipedia: The grey-headed kingfisher (Halcyon leucocephala) has a wide distribution from the Cape Verde Islands off the north-west coast of Africa to Mauritania, Senegal and Gambia, east to Ethiopia, Somalia and southern Arabia and south to South Africa.
The sexes are similar. The adult of the nominate race H. l. leucocephala has a pale grey head, black mantle and back, bright blue rump, wings and tail, and chestnut underparts. Subspecies H. l. pallidiventris has a darker grey head and paler chestnut underparts but is otherwise similar. The beak is long, red and sharp. This bird grows to an average length of 21 cm (8.3 in).
A dry-country kingfisher of scrub and woodland, solitary or in pairs, often found near water, but unlike most kingfishers is not aquatic. Perches on a branch, unmoving for long periods while watching the ground for signs of insects or small lizards, bobbing head before diving on prey. In appearance very like the brown-hooded kingfisher but with a red rather than red and black bill and similar to the woodland kingfisher, but the woodland kingfisher lacks the chestnut belly and has greater coverage of cyan feathers on the back. Nests in holes in steep riverbanks and is aggressively protective of its nest by repeated dive-bombing of foraging monitor lizards. It is parasitised by the greater honeyguide. This species migrates at night and is often killed by flying into obstacles such as buildings, towers and powerlines.
AB2A1958-1_f2Flkr
The Manor’s elevator rattles to a halt in the drenching gloom of the basement and Cliff hauls the heavy metal grate out of the way. Rita leads the way as she steps out and pulls down on a heavy light switch, bathing the lab in a bright luminescent light.
Rita: Okay then. Let’s say we split up, have a look around and meet back here if we find anything.
Cliff: So we the fuckin’ Scooby gang now?
Rita: Don’t be an idiot.
Rita folds her arms as Cliff wanders off in a huff.
Rita: Remember: look for anything related to the White Room or the Brain. Anything that could be useful.
She turns away from Cliff as he disappears out of view behind some large cabinets and faces Larry, slumped and looking at the floor.
Rita: Larry, is everything okay? You’ve barely said a word all morning.
He says nothing, still looking at the floor.
Rita: What’s wrong? Larry?
He drags his gaze from the floor and sighs at Rita.
Larry: We shouldn’t be doing this.
Rita: Of course we should.
Larry: No, I mean we shouldn’t be doing this. Us. Together.
Rita gapes at him.
Rita: What do you mean?
Larry: I’m going to find Niles, and I’m going to do it alone.
He turns back to the elevator and Rita grabs him by the arm.
Rita: I’m sorry? And why would you do that exactly?
Larry: Because this is my fault, Rita.
His words echo through the empty lab. Rita struggles to find words as Cliff re-appears from around the side of a cabinet, curious.
Larry: I made the decision to look for Niles, before. It was me that pushed you all into going and you just followed along. You were right – I was so eager to go, and look where it’s landed us.
Rita lets go of him and crosses her arms. She grows quiet.
Rita: Don’t you think we should at least discuss this first?
Larry: This isn’t up for debate. I caused this mess and I should be the one to resolve it. I won’t let you both risk your lives for my mistakes.
He steps away and lowers himself into a chair by the wall. Rita notices his hand move to his chest.
Rita: We all trusted Morden, Larry.
Larry: But it was me who allowed him to get close to us. I told you all we could trust him-
Rita: Of course you didn’t…
Larry: But I did Rita! You didn’t see him like I did! I thought there was good in him and it all just backfired. EVERYTHING I EVER DO BACKFIRES!
Rita: Why are you being like this?
Larry: Maybe because I’ve seen what happens when people like us try to do good in this world.
Rita goes to speak, but no words come. Cliff remains, unmoving, beside the cabinets. After an awkward few minutes of staring at the walls, Rita sucks air in through her teeth and looks down at Larry.
Rita: So you’re going to go after Mister Nobody all on your own, are you?
Larry: His name is Eric.
Rita: No it isn’t, Larry! Because in case you didn’t notice, that man we allowed ourselves to trust – all of us, by the way – is gone! How could we have possibly known he was going to end up like that?
Silence.
Rita: You saw what he was capable of. You can’t do this alone, for Chief’s sake! Don’t be so reckless all the time!
Larry rises from his seat.
Larry: I’m not being reckless.
Rita: We go together or not at all. But we can’t just rush into this like last time. We need an actual, solid plan.
Larry: Right, because last time was such a rush, wasn’t it? I was the only one round here who wanted to do anything! I practically had to push the two of you out the door! Don’t pretend that now you’re actually going to take initiative and step up.
Rita: I want to do this, Larry. I know I made mistakes before, God knows I regret those, but I’m in this now and I’m ready to do what needs to be done!
Larry: And this is what needs to be done, is it? This is your grand plan? Go down to Niles’ lab and just… have a look around? What are we going to find, some inter-dimensional gateway in a box of video tapes?
Rita: Well I’m sorry we can’t all be as smart and hot-headed as the wonderful Captain Larry Trainor!
Larry: Hot headed? Me? You do know what I’ve been through, right?
Rita: Will you give the self-pity act a rest for one minute and just listen to me for once?! None of you ever just listen to me!
Larry sighs and rubs his head. He takes a breath before looking back to Rita and replying.
Larry: I know it may come as a shock to you, but there does exist a world outside the bubble of Rita Farr.
No one says a word. Rita clenches her jaw.
Rita: You don’t mean that.
Larry: Oh don’t I, Rita? And how would you know that?
Rita: Because you of all people should know what it’s like for us!
Rita moves to within inches of his face. It takes everything in her power not to break down and start melting everywhere. Larry exhales and moves towards the lift.
Larry: To hell with this.
Rita: No! You don’t just get to walk away like that!
Larry: Let me go, Rita.
He goes to open the grate, but before he can even touch it he doubles over on himself with a groan and collapses to the floor. The Negative Spirt floats above him for a second, just long enough to look at Cliff and Rita respectively, then darts upwards and disappears through the ceiling. Rita watches his unconscious body for a moment and begins to cry. She kneels down next to Larry and covers her face as hot tears run down her sagging cheeks. She hears movement behind her, and looks over her shoulder at Cliff as he treads past her and Larry and heads for the elevator.
Cliff: Fuck this.
She looks up at him with watery eyes and sniffs.
Rita: Where are you going?
Cliff: Away from this fuckin’ disaster. I got an idea.
Cliff grabs the grate and pulls it across the front of the elevator.
Cliff: It’s pretty fuckin’ clear that we fundamentally cannot function without Niles Caulder. If we don’t find him soon, we’re totally and utterly fucked. And if we can’t figure out the White Room… well, maybe we can bring the White Room here.
He pushes some buttons on the wall, and the elevator rattles into life as it begins its ascent back up to the manor. Rita watches through her tears as Cliff and the elevator disappear from view, leaving her alone with nothing but Larry’s unconscious body and the sound of her quiet sobs.
==========-The White Space-==========
There is a rather uncomfortable silence permeating the air about the studio this evening, thinks Niles Caulder to himself as he runs his tongue across his front teeth and picks at a frayed spot on his armchair. Of course, it may not actually be the evening, but we shan’t hold that against him now, shall we? There isn’t really any possible way of knowing. Perhaps if you were to switch the television on and be greeted by the ten o’clock news, but even then there’s the chance it’s a repeat and thus its temporal accuracy is corrupted. Also, the television set in the faux-house Niles Caulder has come to know as his home isn’t actually real, so there’s a high chance even trying to watch the adverts would result in nothing more than staring back into your own bored reflection as you realise you’re going to have to entertain yourself from now on without the aid of amusing household appliances.
Niles continues to pick at his armchair as an audience suddenly materializes in the stands before him and the studio lights change colour. Then, screeching through the uncomfortable silence like a poorly-oiled door hinge comes Niles’ theme tune – which is met with raucous applause. All the cameras turn to look at him as he sighs deeply and stares out into the audience.
Niles: I suppose you still find this highly amusing, don’t you?
Niles grimaces as the audience burst into that same, insincere laughter. Some even clap their hands. Niles adjusts himself in his seat and whispers under his breath:
Niles: Right, well let’s bloody get on with it.
He goes to speak to the audience again, but before he can get a word out a strange noise fills the air. It’s like someone trying to recite the sound of chalk on a blackboard from memory, but failing badly. Niles cranes his neck to look past the set’s front door and to the source of the noise, but it would appear the audience spot it before him as they erupt into another bout of canned laughter. The noise grows louder as it gets closer, and Niles makes it out to be the sound of someone trying, and failing, to play ‘Baker Street’ on an out of tune saxophone.
Niles: Dear lord…
The poor excuse for music ceases as there comes a knock at the door, and before Niles can respond it bursts open and Jonathan Dubrovny enters, saxophone in hand.
Dubrovny: Good morning neighbour!
The audience clap and cheer as Dubrovny closes the door and moves to his mark next to Niles’ armchair. Niles doesn’t wait for the audience to calm down before speaking.
Niles: You know, I really hate Baker Street.
Dubrovny frowns as the audience chuckle.
Dubrovny: Really old chap? I’d no clue! You must hate it even more now!
Niles grits his teeth as a ripple of laughter spreads through the audience.
Dubrovny: You must forgive me. I’ve been giving myself lessons you see, just something to do when winding down from a hard day’s work doing my experiments. Did I mention I’m a molecular engineer?
Niles’ knuckles go white as he grips the arm of his chair.
Niles: Once or twice.
Dubrovny: Well I’m no Charlie Parker, but I thought it might impress the wife!
Niles: I wasn’t aware you had one.
Dubrovny: Oh, I don’t any more. Turns out I misheard her when she said ‘I want you to try harder in sax.’
The audience throw their heads back in glee and applaud. Niles tries the best he can not to snap the armchair.
Dubrovny: Not that I really mind, of course. Gives me far more time to work on my new, top-secret project!
Niles sits up and feigns interest.
Niles: Oh? And how’s that going?
Dubrovny: Rather well, thank you.
Niles: The salt came in handy then?
Dubrovny: Salt?
Niles: From the kitchen.
Dubrovny: Oh, that wasn’t for the project, heavens no! I was having cod and chips for dinner!
Niles sighs and lowers his head as another insufferable bout of laughter rises from the auditorium.
Niles: I’m surprised you have any time to practice, what with all these fascinating projects you seem to have on the go.
Dubrovny: Well, it’s just the one project you see. But it’s top-secret!
Niles thinks for a moment, then beckons Dubrovny closer with a finger.
Niles: You know, I’m a very trustworthy neighbour.
Dubrovny bends down next to Niles and listens intently.
Niles: I wouldn’t dare breathe a word of what you were up to to anyone, not even my closest friends.
Dubrovny: Oh, I don’t know. I wouldn’t want it to fall into the wrong hands…
Niles: But it never would! I’m just a feeble old cripple. Who would ever think to ask a feeble old cripple what the famous molecular engineer Jonathan Dubrovny is up to?
Dubrovny stokes his chin and thinks for a moment.
Niles: I may even be able to lend you a helping hand, as a budding scientist myself.
Dubrovny stands up straight and looks at the carpet in deep thought.
Dubrovny: Hmm, I’m not sure…
Niles props himself up in the armchair and looks out to the audience.
Niles: What about you lot? What do you think he should do? Should he let us all in on his fascinating, top-secret project?
They all look back at Niles with curiosity in their eyes as a murmur of excitement spreads throughout the stands.
Dubrovny: Who are you talking to?
Niles: Never you mind. What do you say?
Voices start to pipe up from the audience.
Voice: Yeah, do it!
Voice: Help him out!
Voice: Go on!
Voice: You suck Caulder!
Dubrovny looks around suspiciously and strokes his chin once more.
Dubrovny: You know, I’m getting the strongest feeling that I would like to tell you all about it!
The audience clap excitedly.
Niles: Marvellous!
Niles beckons for him to come over and Dubrovny kneels down next to him. He looks over his shoulders and leans in to whisper in Niles’ ear.
Dubrovny: I’m working on a rather exciting project, one that could take the scientific world by storm!
Niles raises his eyebrows and pretends to get excited.
Niles: What is it? What is it?
Dubrovny: Promise this stays between us?
Niles: I promise!
Dubrovny: Well, I call it – The Atom-Ray!
Niles gasps exaggeratedly.
Niles: And whatever does it do?
Dubrovny: Oh, now this is where things get pretty exciting! It is a special helmet, designed fully by me, capable of granting the average man the power… to turn into any element of the Periodic Table!
Niles masks his disappointment with an overblown grin. The audience gasp excitedly, all on the edge of their seats.
Niles: Goodness, how… interesting!
Dubrovny: Isn’t it just? It’s only in the testing phase at the moment, but I hope one day to be able to use it myself!
Niles: Now that would be something.
Dubrovny: Wouldn’t it just? But… crikey, look at the time! I must be getting off!
Niles: Yes, please do! Don’t let me keep you from your important work.
Dubrovny: I’m glad you share my enthusiasm, neighbour! I’ll be sure to pop round and tell you all about my progress!
Niles: I look forward to it very much!
Dubrovny: And remember – tell no one!
Niles: I wouldn’t dream of it!
Dubrovny picks up his saxophone and heads for the door.
Dubrovny: Until next time!
He exits to frantic applause from the audience. Within seconds of his departure, the studio lights change colour, cloaking Niles in a dark hue, and the end credits music begins to play over the sound of cheering. But Niles doesn’t hear it as stares out into the dark void of the auditorium, lost in tangled thought.
To go along with the issue, here is the soundtrack for Issue 1 (and pretty much all of Blackest Night. So if you care to, you can listen to it before, during, or after the read.) I'll be doing this with a majority of the issues for Blackest Night, so I hope you can enjoy the various songs I've chosen! (Side note, any visuals can be ignored in the video links, only the music is being referenced.)
Blackest Night Main Theme - Beginning of the End
____________________
John closed the door of his apartment, turning the lock as he slipped off his black sneakers. The apartment was dimly lit, a single lamp left on, like he always left it. Even just a single light, it still made it feel like home; it made it feel like someone was waiting.
Slipping his overcoat off of his shoulders and tossing it onto the armrest of his couch, John took steps to the kitchen. The light of the refrigerator shined in the room as he reached for a can of Soder Cola.
Turning, ready to shut the door behind him, John completely froze. In the dim light of the lamp and refrigerators glow was a grey and black figure.
John eyed the figure, discerning key features of it. Loose tie, hair swept to the side, face puffy to the point of looking swollen…
The flakes of gold burned into its flesh at different places.
"T-Tommy…?" John whispered, his eyes unmoving from the target.
"S'wrong, Johnny?" Spoke the figure, an accent weaving his words, his voice like nails on a chalkboard. "Ya' look like yous' seen a ghost."
The can of Soder Cola fell to the floor, as a cackling laugh by the figure filled the room.
-^-
"Great work out there, you two," Hal commended, looking at both Simon and Jessica. "Stopping a fleet of pirates from getting into the Renols is no small feat."
The trio of Lanterns had finished an assault on a band of Thanagarian pirates, stopping them from robbing an outer rim medicinal center of it's supplies. Hal was called in to help secure the arrest, but the younger duo had already completed the mission.
"Hey, it's just another day of being a superhero, am I right?" Simon responded, folding his arms behind his head as he continued to fly through the stars.
Hal smiled slightly at Simon's enthusiasm, reminding him of his younger self, only a bit less self-centered.
"Being a superhero doesn't exclude you from praise though, Simon," reminded Hal as the heroes got closer to Oa.
"Yeah, I guess it just doesn't really matter to me, you know?" Simon explained. "As long as I do th-"
"Guys," Jessica called, causing Hal to turn his head. "Wh-what is that?"
When Hal looked forward, his eyes became saucers, blood running ice cold.
Oa. His second home, rebuilt after the destruction that came with Evil Star, was gone. In its place was darkness. Blackness covering every single inch of the planet.
"What is it?" Jessica asked, her head turned to Hal. Hal didn't respond, his eyes couldn't be removed from the sight in front of him.
"It's some kind of goo," Simon stated as he began to fly towards the planet. "Let's go che-"
"No."
Both the younger Lanterns' eyes fell on Hal, his face still carrying the shock it had moments ago.
"We need to get John and Guy, now."
-^-
"Tommy… how are you… I watched you die," John said with a quivering voice.
"Guess we don' all stay dead, yeah?" responded Tommy as he walked forward, spinning what looked to be a pocket knife in his hand, but the glow made John think otherwise.
John was frozen in place. His ring felt like it didn't exist, like any energy it had built up inside was gone.
Weightless, lifeless.
"I just… how?" John asked, watching as the man grew closer to him. As he left the shadow of the room, his features became more apparent. The torn bits of his shirt, his skin pale and grey. "How are you here?"
"People don't just die, Johnny, my boy," he explained, flicking the knife open. "There's a whole lotta shit after that can make ya' head spin."
"P-people… all people?" John asked, cautious nervousness overtaking his voice.
"Even 'da ones closest," Tommy said, the tip of the knife pressed against John's left pec, "to our hearts."
"I… don't… don't understand," John muttered, the feeling of the blade slowly breaking his skin stinging.
"You trust me, aye, Johnny?" Tommy asked, placing his other hand on John's shoulder. "Just shut 'ya eyes for me, and I'll fix all 'da pain.
"I'll help 'ya get back 'da one you'se want most."
The words racked through his brain. The words he was saying, they were lies. They had to be… be some type of trick.
But Tommy was dead. Tommy being here, standing in front of him… could someone else do it? Could he see her again?
"John," Katma called as she walked through the southern gardens of Mogo. John could hear the woman from his spot near the cliffside, her footsteps closing in on him.
"Hey," he spoke, not looking away from the sunset.
The woman took a seat next to him, curling up next to him. "Hey, too."
The two sat in silence, watching the sun lower itself. The sound of water flowing below them, wildlife causing ambient sounds.
"It's nice," John finally stated, "the sky, the atmosphere."
Katma nodded her head, "It almost reminds me of home… before…"
"Yeah… yeah I feel you," he responded, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.
"I hope that one day, the war will end," she spoke softly, leaning her head against his chest. "I want to show you how beautiful Korugar can really be."
"Well, if you came from there," he started before turning his head to look at her, "it's no question about it."
Katma smiled, leaning in. John closed his eyes, his last sight being Katma bathed in the sunset's warm glow.
John's eyes slowly fell shut. Just like the day on Mogo. His last sight being Tommy, a harsh white light from the refrigerator illuminating him.
The sound of concrete and plaster being broken caused him to open his eyes. His kitchen table was gone, as well as the outer wall. His head turned to the inner wall to see Guy, fully suited up.
"Just in the nick of time, eh John?" Said Guy with a smirk, stepping in through the massive hole he had made.
"Wh-what going on?" John questioned blinking a few times, breaking from his trance.
"Your ring acting up again?" Guy asked, his brow raising in concern. "Hal sent out a message to us. It… it isn't good."
-^-
"John and Guy are both safe," Simon announced, looking at Jessica and Hal, "They're on their way to get Jade and Todd now."
Both Hal and Jessica breathed out a sigh at the news they were safe. The trio were currently at the Lantern Lair, Hal on his knees in the corner of the room, prying open a hidden vault.
"Guy also relayed that John was already attacked…"
Hal paused, turning to Simon. "Did he say who it was?"
Simon didn't speak for a moment, looking down to the ground, "Tommy…"
Hal closed his eyes, cursing under his breath. Tommy Kalmaku was his best friend. The first person he'd openly revealed his identity to. When he was killed by Goldface… Hal regretted not being there.
But John was there. John was forced to watch him die. To see his reanimated corpse… he hoped it was the worst of what's to come.
It could've been worse. It could've been…
The crack of the safe refocused his attention, the metal box now opened.
"So, what's inside?" Jessica asked, Peeking over Hal's shoulder.
"Something made by an old friend," Hal spoke, lifting up a projector-like device. It was covered in dust and cobwebs, the metal slightly rusted.
"Uh… are you sure it'll work?" Simon asked, an uneasy smile on his face.
"It better…".Hal responded, flipping the switch on the side of the machine.
A puff of smoke and dust burst from the vent of the machine, a glow of green shining from inside. Hal smiled at the success, allowing the device to fully boot online.
"So, Hal…" Jessica started, looking from the box to the older lantern, "can you explain… anything that's happening"
Hal sighed, looking down to the box.
"The Blackest Night… it's… it's a prophecy that signifies the end of life itself. The emotional spectrum is filled with all seven core emotions; willpower, fear, anger, love, compassion, avarice, and hope. Each of these emotions draw power from their emotional entities; Ion, Parallax, The Butcher, The Predator, Proselyte, Ophidian, and Adara. However, those are not all entities of the spectrum.
"Nekron is the entity of death itself, a creation of the Guardians of the Universe long before the Green Lantern Corps existed," Hal looked down to the ring on his finger. "The same way Oa has Ion's soul trapped inside of ours, Nekron is the power batter of Death… and anyone that gets a death ring becomes his hand's slave."
"His hand?" Simon asked, looking at Hal with curiosity in his eyes.
"Nekron… he isn't real… or, isn't anchored in this reality," Hal explained. "His soul can't control more than a single person, so it is prophesied to latch onto someone and corrupt them. Death's Hand."
"And Death's Hand… has been chosen…" Jessica concluded under her breath. "The dead are being risen."
Hal nodded, solemnly. "So then, what's this helping with?" Simon questioned, pointing to the box, which now was cycling between the glowing color.
"This… is an invention by Arin Sur, the most brilliant engineer I've ever met," Hal spoke, turning the dial on the machine. "It can detect the emotional entity most attached to a living organism."
"Scanning… Scanning… Simon Baz, Earth: Coast City, age 20, emotional alignment: Willpower"
"Woah…" Simon muttered, looking at Hal. "It can just do that?"
Hal once again twisted the dial, the projector displaying video footage of Batman and Robin in a car chase.
"Scanning… Scanning… Bruce Wayne, Earth: Gotham City, age 38, emotional alignment: Willpower."
"Bruce Wayne is…?" Simon questioned, his eyes widening.
"Okay, this is cool Hal, but what is going to help us with?" Jessica asked, a tinge of annoyance in her voice.
"I told you Nekron was the embodiment of death, but like the other emotions aside from Hope, which is experimental, it has an inverse.
"The One. An entity of Life itself," Hal started, twisting the knob once more, causing the machine's glow to become white. "The prophecy states it is the opposite of Nekron. The moment Death's Hand rises, Life's Light will shine."
The projector began to display an image, a teenage boy sat alone in a studio office. His right hand scribbled away on his drawing tablet while his left held the device down.
"Scanning… Scanning… Kyle Rayner, Earth: Coast City, age 16, emotional alignment: Life"
All three stared in awe at the boy as he reached for the bag of chips on the left of his desk.
"Uh… that's… um," said Simon at a loss for words. "He looks like he could be my kid."
"He's in Coast City?" asked Jessica. "Isn't it kinda odd all of us are from Coast City?"
"Not the time," Hal commanded with haste in his voice. "We need to get to him, now."
-^- Space Sector 666, Keshtar Belt -^-
Stood atop the Keshtar asteroid belt was William Hand, his right hand held up in a puppeteer-like fashion. On his right, curled into a ball with his hourglass between his stomach and knees was John Starr, the Time Commander. Jim Corrigan, the Spectre floated on his left.
"You were correct, Commander," Hand announced, his body unmoving. "The Green Lanterns of Earth do pose some semblance of an annoyance."
"I-i-i-it is as I f-f-foresaw," replied the man, his head looking up to Hand.
"You are pitiful, Commander," the Spectre chastised. "The power of gods is handed to you, and you cower in front of a poser."
"Oh, Spirit," Hand chuckled, "you should be the one to cower. Once the Blackest Night falls, you will be no more."
"The decimation of life can never occur," Corrigan countered. "You shall soon find this out, puppet."
"We shall see," Hand responded with a smile. "Commander, have you located the device?"
"Y-y-yes…"
"Bring it to me."
A vortex of black appeared next to the crouched man, a green gauntlet falling to the floor.
"Excellent…" Hand said, his other hand raising.
A black mist began to encompass the gauntlet causing the globe to rise in front of Hand.
"By my Black Hand, the dead… shall…"
In front of them, the gauntlet began to form a black, blood-like goo. Corrigan's eyes narrowed as the blackness formed a shape of a human.
"RISE!"
The goo began to form an outer shell, the facial features of a human forming along with clothing of black and grey. It's right hand, however, still was covered by the glove.
Dark black hair, a pale grey tone for skin. A black sweater like shirt with silver armor plating, grey pants and black boots. Around his shoulders was a long black cape with a high black collar.
"You have been gifted by Death's Hand," Hand spoke, lowering his arms.
"It is time you pay your home a visit."
АНРИ РУССО - Карнавальный вечер
☆
Location: Philadelphia Museum of Art, Philadelphia, US.
Source: www.philamuseum.org/collection/object/59593
An air of mystery pervades this wintry forest landscape. Dressed in festive carnival costumes, a lone couple stands in front of barren trees. The figures seem to shine from within rather than from the light of the moon, which has strangely left the forest in darkness. An unexplained face leers out from the empty hut beside the figures, and an unexpected street lamp incongruously glows nearby.
First shown in the second Salon des Indépendants in Paris in 1886, this painting is an early demonstration of Henri Rousseau's unique chromatic imagination, his proto-Surrealist ability to juggle unexpected pictorial elements, and his untutored but brilliant skill in the stylization of forms. Here Rousseau locates mute, unmoving figures in carnival costume against a calligraphic backdrop of bare black tree trunks and branches. The dwindling light of dusk that filters down through the trees and the crisp winter chill, vividly evoked, both carry a hint of menace. Isolated and vulnerable in their fantasy clothing, the two figures confront the viewer bravely and with naïve conviction
NIRVANA
1. Supreme Bliss cannot be experienced through contact of the senses with their objects. The supreme state is that in which the mind is annihilated through one-pointed enquiry.
2. The bliss arising from the contact of the senses with their objects is inferior. Contact with the sense-objects is bondage ; freedom from it is liberation.
3. Attain the pure state between existence and non-existence and hold on to it ; do not accept or reject the inner or the outer world.
4. Depend always on that true reality between the sentient and the inert which is the infinite space-like heart.
5. The belief in a knower and the known is called bondage. The knower is bound by the known ; he is liberated when there is nothing to knew.
6. Abandoning the ideas of seer, seen and sight along with latent desires (vasanas) of the past we meditate on that Self which is the primal light that is the basis of sight.
7. We meditate on the eternal Self, the light of lights which lies between the two ideas of existence and non-existence.
8. We meditate on that Self of consciousness, the bestower of the fruits of all our thoughts, the illuminator of all radiant objects and the farthest limit of all accepted objects.
9. We meditate on that immutable Self, our reality, the bliss of which arises in the mind on account of the close contact between the seer and the seen.
10. If one meditates on that state which comes at the end of the waking state and the beginning of sleep he will directly experience undecaying bliss.
11. The rock-like state in which all thoughts are still and which is different from the waking and dream states, is one's supreme state.
12. Like mud in a mud pot the Supreme Lord who is existence and space- like consciousness and bliss exists everywhere non-separate (from things).
13. The Self shines by itself as the one boundless ocean of consciousness agitated by waves of thought.
14. Just as the ocean is nothing but water the entire world of things is nothing but consciousness filling all the quarters like the infinite space.
15. Brahman and space are alike as to their invisibility, all pervasiveness and indestructibility, but Brahman is also consciousness.
16. There is only the one waveless and profound ocean of pure nectar, sweet through and through (i.e. blissful) everywhere.
17. All this is truly Brahman ; all this is Atman. Do not cut up Brahman into ' I am one thing 'and' this is another. '
18. As soon as it is realised that Brahman is all-pervasive and indivisible this vast samsara is found to be the Supreme Lord.
19. One who realises that everything is Brahman truly becomes Brahman ; who would not become immortal if he were to drink nectar ?
20. If you are wise you would become this (Brahman) by such conviction ; if not even if you are repeatedly told it would be (useless like offerings) thrown on ashes.
21. Even if you have known the real truth you have to practice always. Water will not become clear by merely uttering the word kataka fruit.
22. If one has the firm conviction ' I am the Supreme Self called the undecaying Vasudeva ' he is liberated ; otherwise he remains bound.
23. After eliminating everything as ` not this ', ' not this', the Supreme Being ( lit. state) which cannot be eliminated remains. Think' I am That ' and be happy.
24. Know always that the Self is Brahman, one and whole. How can that which is indivisible be divided into ' I am the meditator ' and ' the other is the object of meditation ' ?
25. When one thinks' I am pure consciousness ' it is called meditation and when even the idea of meditation is forgotten it is samadhi.
26. The constant flow of mental concepts relating to Brahman without the sense of ' I ' achieved through intense practice of Self Enquiry (jnana) is what is called samprajnata samadhi
(meditation with concepts).
27. Let violent winds which characterise the end of aeons (kalpas) blow ; let all the oceans unite, let the twelve suns burn (simultaneously), still no harm befalls one whose mind is extinct.
28. That consciousness which is the witness of the rise and fall of all beings, know that to be the immortal state of supreme bliss.
29. Every moving or unmoving thing whatsoever is only an object visualised by the mind. When the mind is annihilated duality (i.e. multiplicity) is not perceived.
30. That which is immutable, auspicious and tranquil, that in which this world exists, that which manifests itself as the mutable and immutable objects-that is the sole consciousness.
31. Before discarding the slough the snake regards it as itself, but when once it has discarded it in its hole it does not look upon it as itself any longer.
32. He who has transcended both good and evil does not, like a child, refrain from prohibited acts from a sense of sin, nor does he do what is prescribed from a sense of merit.
33. Just as a statue is contained in a pillar (i.e. block) even if it is not actually carved out, so also the world exists in Brahman. Therefore the Supreme State is not a void.
34. Just as a pillar is said to be devoid of the statue when it has not actually been carved out, so also Brahman is said to be void when it is devoid of the impression of the world.
35. Just as still water may be said to contain or not contain ripples, so also Brahman may be said to contain or not contain the world. It is neither void nor existence.
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Yoga Vasishta Sara - SELECTED VERSES - Nirvana
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Painting by Puvis de Chavannes
I wanted to take a super-macro photograph with lots of detail and an enormous depth of field, so I had to have an absolutely unmoving subject. As nothing is more immobile than death, I used a dead fly and took 100 exposures with my Nikkor macro lens (the F-mount one that I was still using in January 2020) mounted on a 35-mm Fotodiox Pro extension tube.
I worked for a long time on this stack in Helicon Focus, and still the result is far from great. At some point I was so fed up with it that I called it a day, and the result is what you see here.
I believe people who are really into that kind of photo need days of post-processing and retouching work!
Composite shot made up of 100 focus-stacked exposures, set automatically using the built-in function on the Z7 camera. Stack processed with Helicon Focus. Micro-Nikkor 105mm ƒ/2.8 macro lens.
Alone. The sun falls below the mountains, but the color remains, signaling the darkness to come. A special stillness sits in the air around me. The whoosh as the water falls away; the only movement. I feel like I could just sit here forever. Just staring. Taking it in.
Then, what is seemingly static, unmoving, fades away. This is life...
From in to out, from out to in together in light we swim each limb a solar fin as we flow to the sea to the liberty of sea that catches hold of moving stars in reflection only giving them light and life amongst the waves.
There is one way in and in reverse the same way takes you out. Upon the morning of the Twenty First the Sun comes in to clear the old year out and at the setting Sun the last rays take our dead upon their many, many ways to host us around our campfires and welcome us along the routes they took over this place our earthly space and other dead seek out the campfires above that by night have joined us in lighting our fires into the great darkness. Each of us lights beacons each to the others, campfire to campfires showing that warmth and life is only a way away, only the light of one day away and always within reach. We have made our ways with their aid bringing new light in sight by Winter and Summer both, all of us working around the axle light of us all the central star campfire the only unmoving always constant light. Though Sun and Moon, Planet Wandering Lights and Stars Campfire each fixed in distance one from the other and all together, all move across the skies, only the centre star stays central the one true eye within the sky. The rising new stars, the setting old stars sing songs of new seasons approaching of new phases to be begun and of the harvest of just passed and old star months now no longer to be relied upon. The herds move to the way of the stars and they move away even as the stars come and go in circling motions making paths in spiral in our sky as we upon this ground all will make spirals with those stars wherever our spirit is to be found. You come in the warmth of the womb in the earth at birth and you revisit as you age and take new roles in your life. You are a part of the bones in their home of earth and the stones, you are a part of the life of blood til you return to the stars that sent you here and in bone not the flesh your star core rests and in the flesh not the bone your life on earth is given birth and breath for the span of your days ways here til death and star rebirth opens up all of the ways of both nights and days within the Many Mists and the Cosmic Haze.
PHH Sykes 2023
phhsykes@gmail.com
Unstan Chambered Cairn
www.historicenvironment.scot/visit-a-place/places/unstan-...
Title:
From inside the car. 1.
(LUMIX G3 shot)
Manhattan. New York. USA. 2017. … 1 / 7
(Photo of the day. Unpublished.)
Images:
Geoffroy … No Calls Before Noon
youtu.be/Sua7LOBd9x4?si=vczU4fV0pMY6xrMN
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My new novel
B♭ (B Flat)
Volume 16😄
The following is still in its draft stage and will be revised further.
Key parts are not disclosed.
The order of the content shown here is mixed.
(Of course, this is not the final version.)
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My new novel
B♭ (B Flat)
Night was drawing its heavy veil over the neighborhoods of the San Fernando Valley, and Kevin Mori’s car slid forward as though gliding on a shadowed surface. Beyond the window, the heat of summer’s night rose, while the asphalt, still holding the brilliance of the day, scattered red and black reflections like fragments of muted fire. His day as an officer of Immigration and Customs Enforcement had not yet ended; it merely continued into the dark. Papers on the passenger seat trembled faintly—orders, reports, each sheet a cold reminder of how every decision could alter the lives of flesh-and-blood people.
The radio crackled with static, then carried the clipped voices of another unit.
“Check complete—residential route secure. Residents advised, heat alert.”
“Roger. Next, proceed to downtown infiltration confirmation.”
The words were concise, yet beneath them lurked the weight of responsibility. Kevin’s colleague at his side listened in silence, and Kevin imagined the strain, the fatigue, the daily fears borne by his subordinates.
The quiet houses of the district floated in the pale light of the streetlamps. Windows glowed with the warmth of family life, and the trees in the yards swayed with the scent of summer. To Kevin, that scene was both what he was sworn to protect, and a stage upon which the gravity of judgment was constantly revealed.
Merging onto the freeway, he entered a sea of headlights undulating like waves. Far ahead, the spires of downtown buildings pierced the night sky. The air was thick with heat, the car’s air conditioning too feeble against the humidity clinging to his skin. On the phone screen in the passenger seat, messages flared cold and abrupt—emergency notices, field reports, each short phrase carrying the weight of lives in the balance.
Through his commute Kevin narrowed his eyes, as though unconsciously trying to read the palette of the summer night. Neon reds and oranges crossed with the green of traffic signals, while the outlines of distant mountains and the shore emerged dimly in the haze. In the rearview mirror, his own face appeared distorted by fatigue and responsibility. He imagined how it must look reflected in the eyes of his men, and in the eyes of those who lived in this city.
As the suburbs gave way to downtown, the flow of cars turned into a red river of lights—not the bustle of rush hour, but a current charged with tension. Footsteps of passersby, the wail of an ambulance far off, exhaust mingling with sea breeze—each sound and scent announcing the unvarnished reality of the city.
Conversation in the car was pared to the barest minimum. His colleague tapped silently at the phone, scanning reports and maps. Every burst of radio static carried words few and clipped, but each syllable held the weight of someone’s life.
At the office, the parking lot was lined with colleagues’ cars, their engines humming in faint reply to one another. A night wind slipped through the windows, rustling the scattered papers—a sound that resembled the heartbeat of responsibility itself.
Inside the building, the cool air brushed his skin, blending with the stillness of late night to bind the corridors in a taut silence. Each step sent back a cold echo. Notices and bulletins on the walls caught the dim light, whispering of daily duty and the reality that awaited beyond.
In the meeting room, his subordinates lifted their eyes to him; reports on the table quivered slightly in the conditioned air. No one spoke, but silence itself was steeped in tension. Everyone knew that today’s decisions would ripple outward to change the lives of people unseen and far away.
As the meeting began, real-time transmissions crackled from the radio, and gazes crossed one another. Between the numbers and the dry lines of reports, there were always living human beings. To protect them—or expose them to danger—was the responsibility that each man recognized as his own.
The meeting stretched deep into the night: communications with the field, sorting of documents, instructions for the next day. Outside, the city wavered in the heat, neon glinting against the office windows. Kevin pressed the day’s weight into his heart as he stared at that restless light.
By the time he set out for home, the city had assumed a face wholly different from daytime. Shadows under the streetlamps, red reflections of neon, exhaust tangled with the sea wind, the faint silhouette of mountains dissolving into the night sky—all of it bore silent testimony to the consequences of the day’s choices.
He glanced at the papers on the seat, drew one deep breath. Summer night air slipped in through the window, brushing his skin. The sense of responsibility weighed heavy on his chest, and so did solitude, but in the pulse of the city he found, still, the strength to take another step forward.
Through the night’s lattice of light, Kevin drove on across summer Los Angeles. The voices on the radio, his men’s tension, the office’s chilled air, the neon glare, the tang of the sea breeze, the distant siren of an ambulance—all of these tangled together, imprinting themselves as the day’s memory. In the silence and in the few words exchanged in the car, in the quiet and the clamor of the city, in the interplay of light and shadow, a living map of the city was etched inside him, sharpening both the solitude and the responsibility of his role as an officer of ICE.
As night deepened, on his way home he clutched the papers on the passenger seat and watched his own shadow fall beneath the streetlamps. He listened closely to the city’s voice: the reflection of light, the tremor of heat, the siren far away, the stillness of neighborhoods. All of it pressed responsibility and solitude deeper into his chest.
When Kevin pushed open the door of his house, the night’s heat retreated slightly, replaced by the cool air of the living room flowing to meet him. He dropped the documents onto the table; the bundled papers struck with a dry sound that sank into silence, as though absorbing some measure of the weight that had burdened his shoulders.
Yet that moment of relief quivered almost at once, like a string brushed by an unseen hand. From the depths of the house came a faint creak—timbers straining, or perhaps the plucked resonance of some hidden instrument. Kevin strained to listen, then wondered if it was no more than the ghostly trick of fatigue.
The air trembled. Water in the half-drunk glass on the table rippled with faint light. The ripples, small yet certain, seemed to resonate with a force lurking in the house’s depths. A frame on the wall slipped askew, and through the glass the smiling figures in the photograph appeared slightly warped. A raw unease rose in Kevin’s chest, and his gaze lifted toward the ceiling. Above the panels, the beams murmured to one another, a low groan not of chance but of deliberate design, as if some hidden architect had composed the house itself as an instrument.
The floor rumbled, faint vibrations pressing upward through his feet. Streetlamp light bled through the curtains, filling the room with a wavering orange glow, as if already foreshadowing collapse. The house expanded and contracted like a lung, like an unseen heart pulsing in the dark, its beat echoed by the beams and pillars. Kevin set his hands on his knees, unmoving, listening. The sound overhead no longer resembled random creaks. It grew with rhythm, swelling into a low wave that spread across the room. The wallpaper split, revealing a thin fissure that carried within it the promise of widening.
The water in the glass quivered, scattering the lamplight into shards. The window shuddered under the night wind; metal fastenings clicked faintly. The beams groaned louder, as if in answer. In that instant the whole house became an instrument, releasing a deep, resonant note. The vibration struck his inner ear, mingled with the pulse of his blood.
Kevin pressed a hand to his chest—but his own heartbeat and the heartbeat of the house merged, the boundary between them dissolving. Cracks across the wall swallowed light, dark lines spreading. The beams moaned and bent, their sound a summons downward, inevitable as gravity. Glass burst into fragments, scattering the street’s light into the air. Furniture leapt, books tumbled, the table tilted.
And then—the ceiling split, and fell. The roar shook even the lamplight outside; dust rose in a choking tide, the world turned white and sightless. Kevin’s body, too, was caught in the same current as the beams and pillars. Whether he stood, or fell, or was torn apart—he felt not terror but a strange relief. Together with the house, he was sinking into the close of a final movement. There was nothing to flee, no document to guard, no responsibility: all dissolved now into dust.
The beams broke, the pillars collapsed, the floor split. His bones, his blood, his voice—all shattered into fragments carried into the night air. The collapse was not violence, but the coda of a meticulously designed score. Kevin, too, was only one note within it, drawn at last into silence.
When the dust settled, silence returned. Kevin was no longer among the wreckage. Only the shadow of a fallen beam lay there, like a remnant of his being.
Far away, a dog barked. An ambulance siren split the night. The city’s breath went on, but Kevin’s had ceased forever. In the streets remained only the echo of collapse, and the quiet memory of a death no one would hear.
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My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
There’s still more to come. 😃
(This is not the final draft.)
Set in New York City.
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Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
Note: I gave a brief explanation of this novel in the following video:
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
iTunes Playlist Link::
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b/pl.u-47DJGhopxMD
My new novel:
B♭ (B-flat)
Notes
1. "Bombay Blood Type (hh type)"
•Characteristics: A rare blood type that lacks the usual ABO antigens — cannot be classified as A, B, or O.
•Discovery: First identified in 1952 in Mumbai, India (formerly Bombay).
•Prevalence: Roughly 1 in 10,000 people in India; globally, about 1 in 2.5 million.
•Transfusion Compatibility: Only compatible with blood from other Bombay type donors.
2. 2024 Harvard University Valedictorian Speech – The Power of Not Knowing
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
3. Shots Fired at Trump Rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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Title.
車内から。１。
( LUMIX G3 shot )
マンハッタン。ニューヨーク。アメリカ。2017. … 1 / 7
(今日の写真。それは未発表です。）
Images:
Geoffroy … No Calls Before Noon
youtu.be/Sua7LOBd9x4?si=vczU4fV0pMY6xrMN
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
第16弾。 😄
以下は、まだ初稿の段階です。まだ推敲します。
重要な部分は公開していません。
公開している内容の順番はバラバラです。
(もちろん最終稿ではありません。)
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
夜の帳が低く下り始めたサンフェルナンドバレーの住宅街を、ケビン・モリの車は滑るように進んでいた。窓の外には夏の夜の熱気が立ち上り、路面からはまだ昼の光を吸い込んだアスファルトが、赤黒い光の反射を散らしている。移民税関捜査局（ICE）の職員としての彼の一日は、すでにその夜も続いていた。助手席の書類は微かに揺れ、そこに積まれた命令や報告書は、この一日の決断が生身の人々の生活にどう影響するかを、冷たく問いかけていた。
ラジオ無線がかすかに雑音を混ぜながら作動し、別の車両との連絡が飛び込んだ。
「確認、住宅街ルート異常なし。熱気のため住民注意」
「了解、次はダウンタウンへの侵入確認」――言葉は簡潔で、しかし背後には重くのしかかる責任が潜んでいた。助手席の彼はその声に耳を傾け、部下たちの緊張や疲労、日々の恐怖を想像する。
静かな住宅街の家々が、街路灯の光に浮かんでいた。窓に灯る温かい光は家族の生活を、庭に揺れる木々は夏の匂いを、しかしその光景はケビンにとって、守るべき対象であり、同時に判断の重さを思い知らせる舞台でもあった。
フリーウェイに合流すると、他の車のヘッドライトが海のように波打ち、遠くのダウンタウンのビル群が夜空に鋭く突き出す。空気は熱を帯び、車内のエアコンでは追いつかない湿気が肌にまとわりつく。助手席のスマートフォンに届くメッセージは冷たく光り、緊急事態や現場からの報告が短く、しかし命を握る重さを帯びて彼の視界に入った。
通勤路の間、ケビンは無意識に目を細め、夏の夜の色彩を読み取ろうとした。ネオンの赤やオレンジ、信号の緑が交錯し、遠くの山並みや海岸線の輪郭がぼんやりと浮かんでいる。車内の鏡に映る自分の顔は、疲労と責任の影で微かに歪み、部下たちや街の人々の目に映る自分の姿を想像した。
夜の住宅街を抜け、ダウンタウンに近づくと、車列は赤い光の帯となり、通勤ラッシュの喧騒とは別の、緊張の波を帯びた流れに変わる。通行人の足音、遠くで鳴る救急車のサイレン、海風に混じる排気ガスの匂いが、都市の生の現実を告げている。
車内の会話は最小限に抑えられる。助手席の部下は無言でスマートフォンを操作し、報告書や地図をチェックする。無線が作動するたび、言葉は短く、しかしそれぞれの一語には誰かの生活を左右する重みが宿っていた。
オフィスに到着すると、駐車場には同僚の車が整然と並び、エンジン音やタイヤの振動が微かな呼応を見せていた。夜風が窓から入り込み、紙や書類をかすかに揺らした。その音さえ、責任の重さを耳に伝える鼓動のように聞こえてくる。
建物内に入ると、冷房の風が肌に触れ、深夜の静けさと相まって、空間に緊張を張り巡らせる。廊下を歩くたび、足音が冷たく反響し、壁に貼られた注意書きや掲示板の文字が微かに光を受け、日々の任務とその果てにある現実を思い出させた。
会議室に入ると、部下たちの目が彼を見つめ、報告書がテーブルの上で微かに揺れた。熱気を帯びた夏の空気はエアコンと混ざり、紙の端を微かに波立たせる。誰もが沈黙の中に緊張を抱え、今日の判断が遠く離れた誰かの生活をどう変えるかを知っていた。
会議が始まると、無線から入る情報がリアルタイムで伝わり、部下たちの視線が交錯する。数字や報告書の行間には必ず生身の人間が存在し、その命を守るか、あるいは危険に晒すかを決定するのが自分だと彼らは認識するのだ。
深夜まで続く会議、現場との通信、書類の整理、部下の指示。夜の街は夏の熱気で光を歪め、ネオンの光がオフィスの窓に反射してちらついていた。その光景を見ながら、ケビンは一日の重みを胸に刻んでいた。
帰路につく頃、通勤路の光景は昼間とは違う表情を見せる。街灯に浮かぶ影、ネオンの赤い反射、海風に混じる排気ガスの匂い、遠くの山影が夜空に溶ける。そのすべてが、今日の決断の結果を静かに告げていた。
助手席の書類を確認し、深呼吸をひとつついた。夏の夜風が窓を通り抜け、肌に触れる。ケビンの胸には責任感と孤独感が重くのしかかるが、それでも次の一歩を踏み出す力を与える、都市の息遣いが確かにあった。
夜の光の中、ケビンは夏のロサンゼルスを車で駆け抜ける。無線の声、部下たちの緊張、オフィスの冷房、ネオンの光、海風の匂い、遠くの救急車のサイレン――それらすべてが絡み合い、今日一日の記憶として刻まれていく。車内での沈黙と対話、街の静けさと喧騒、光と影の交錯が、彼の心に都市の立体的な地図を描き、ICE職員としての孤独と責任を鮮明にしていた。
夏の夜が更け、家路につく道すがら、助手席の書類を握り締め、深夜の街灯に浮かぶ自分の影を見つめながら、彼はこの街の声に耳を澄ませる。光の反射、熱気の揺らぎ、遠くで鳴るサイレン、住宅街の静けさ――それらすべてが、ケビンの胸に責任と孤独を刻み込んだ。
ケビンが自宅の扉を押し開けると、夜の熱気はわずかに後退し、リビングの冷えた空気が迎えるように流れ込んできた。書類を手から放り投げ、束ねられた紙の重みがテーブルに小さな衝撃を与え、乾いた音を響かせて静けさの中に沈んだ。
彼の肩にのしかかっていた一日の重さが、わずかながらその音に吸い取られたかのように思えた。
しかし、その安堵の瞬間は、見えない振動に触れるかのようにすぐに揺らぎへと変わっていった。家の奥から、微かなきしみが生まれた。木材が互いに軋むような、しかしどこか楽器の弦を爪弾くような響きであった。ケビンは耳を澄まし、しかし次の瞬間にはそれがただの疲労による幻聴ではないかと思った。
空気がわずかに震えた。テーブルにあった飲みかけのグラスの水面がかすかに揺れ、光を帯びて波紋を広げた。その波紋は小さくも確かに、家全体の内部に潜む力と呼応しているかのようであった。壁にかけられた額縁が斜めにずれた。ガラス越しの写真の中で、笑顔を浮かべる人影が、わずかに歪んで見えた。
ケビンは胸の奥にざらついた感覚を覚え、視線を天井へ向けた。天井板の奥で梁が共鳴し合い、低い唸り声のような音を放っていた。それは自然に生まれたものではなく、あらかじめ設計された響きの連鎖のように感じられた。建築を学んだ者ならば知る、木と鉄とコンクリートの呼応だ。その呼応が、今ここで一つの方向へと収束しようとしていた。
床板が低く唸り、足裏に伝わる微細な震えとなった。外の街路灯の光がカーテン越しに入り込み、部屋を淡い橙色で満たしていた。その光さえもわずかに揺らめき、倒壊の予兆を映すかのように見えた。家全体が呼吸をしているように膨らみ、そして収縮する。まるで見えない心臓が脈打ち、その鼓動に合わせて梁や柱が響きを返しているかのようであった。
ケビンは両手を膝に置き、動くことなく耳を澄ました。天井の奥で響く音は、もはや偶然のきしみではなかった。規則性をもって増幅し、やがて低い波となって部屋全体に広がった。壁紙がわずかに裂け目を見せ、薄暗い亀裂がその奥から姿を現した。亀裂は細い線にすぎなかったが、確かに広がりを孕んでいた。
グラスの中の水が震え、その表面に映る街灯の光が細かく砕けた。外の夜風が窓を揺らし、金属の留め具がかすかな音を立てた。それに呼応するかのように、梁の唸りが一段と強くなった。その瞬間、家全体がひとつの楽器と化したように、共鳴音を放った。空気の震えが耳の奥を打ち、体内の血流と混ざり合うように感じられた。
ケビンは胸に手を当てた――だが、自分の鼓動と建物の鼓動が重なり、境界が失われていくのを感じた。壁に走った亀裂が光を呑み込み、闇の線となった。
梁が深く軋み、鈍い音を吐き出した。それは重力の命令であり、逃れられぬ下方への召喚であった。ガラス窓が粉々に砕け、夜の街の光が断片となって飛び散った。家具が跳ね、本が崩れ落ち、テーブルが傾いた。
そして――天井が裂け、崩れ落ちた。轟音は街路灯の光さえ震わせ、粉塵が一気に立ち上った。世界は白く濁り、息が奪われる。
ケビンの体もまた、梁や柱と同じ流れに組み込まれていった。彼は立ち尽くし、あるいは倒れ、あるいは引き裂かれ――だが、恐怖ではなく、奇妙な安堵を感じていた。家と共に、自分もまた一つの楽章の終わりとして沈むのだと。
逃げるべきものはなく、守るべき書類も責任も、いまや粉塵の中に溶けていく。
梁が折れ、柱が潰れ、床が裂ける。
そのすべてと同時に、彼の骨も、血も、声も、無数の破片となって夜の空気に散った。崩壊は暴力ではなく、むしろ緻密に設計された楽曲の終章であった。ケビンという存在も、ひとつの音符としてその中に含まれ、やがて静寂に吸い込まれた。
粉塵が沈み、静寂が戻る。
瓦礫の中にケビンの姿はもはやなかった。
ただ、崩れた梁の影が、彼の名残のように横たわっているだけであった。
遠くで犬が吠え、救急車のサイレンが夜を割った。
都市の呼吸は再び続いていたが、ケビンの呼吸はもう戻らなかった。
夜の街に残されたのは、崩壊の余韻と、誰にも届かぬ静かな死の記憶だけだった。
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僕の新しい小説。
B♭ （ビーフラット）
舞台はニューヨークです。
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Soundtrack.
music.apple.com/jp/playlist/b-my-novel-soundtrack/pl.u-47...
追記 この小説を多少説明しました。
youtu.be/3w65lqUF-YI?si=yG7qy6TPeCL9xRJV
メモ
1
「Bombay型（ボンベイ型、hh型）」
•特徴：通常のABO血液型を持たない（A、B、Oに分類されない）特殊な型。
•発見地：1952年、インド・ムンバイ（旧ボンベイ）で初めて確認。
•発生頻度：インドでは1万人に1人程度だが、世界的には約250万人に1人とも。
•輸血制限：同じBombay型しか輸血できない。
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2024年ハーバード大学首席の卒業式スピーチ『知らないことの力』
youtu.be/SOUH8iVqSOI?si=Ju-Y728irtcWR71K
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Shots fired at Trump rally
youtu.be/1ejfAkzjEhk?si=ASqJwEmkY-2rW_hT
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This shot is of one of the very few moments over the couple of hours I watched the lion when attempted to raise its head or move its body. Most of the time it lay nearly unmoving, with only its flank heaving up and down with labored breaths.
Backstory
On the morning of January 8, 2019, near the top of a small rise about 1/8 mile west and across the road from Soda Butte Cone, an emaciated and moribund mountain lion was spotted. Over the two-plus hours I watched it (with a small crowd of onlookers that included Rick McIntyre and other members of the Wolf Project team, and eventually, about four official vehicles-worth of park enforcement staff) it lifted its head three or four times. At one point it managed to change its position but after that effort its head went back down and its eyes closed again. As can be seen in these photos, it was extremely thin, and its eyes glazed and unfocused. Eventually the rangers asked us all to back away and blocked the road. At this point I could no longer directly observe what was going on but I could hear when the rangers attempted to haze it with a cracker shot or a beanbag in hope of rousing it enough that it might make it up and out of sight over the rise. The purpose was to mitigate the potentially dangerous situation of people and cars not quite off the road on that icy curve, while leaving the soon-to-be carcass for the carrion-eaters to benefit from. The lion did not respond. They fired some kind of louder round, the concussion which caused the snow to loosen and the lion to slide a few feet down hill. The process confirmed that the lion had little life left. They finally ended its suffering with one well-aimed shot and recovered the body. The ranger whose truck-bed they put it in parked at the Footbridge pullout about ¾ mile to the west, and allowed us to view it. Park staff (of the enforcement team, wildlife staff are furloughed under the government shutdown in effect) opined it was a female cat. However, another informed opinion, by a highly experienced wildlife professional, is that the lion was an elderly male. The person who shared this with me also saw the lion after it died (exactly as I did), but did not examine it, as he is not an authorized park employee. His intuition is based on the size of the lion, and the shape of its skull/face. Having had a chance to research it a bit myself now, I believe that the distance from the base of the tail to the dark circle of fur, which covers penis sheath, is such that it is highly likely a male. Beyond that, confirmation of the lion’s sex, age, disease status, and presence or absence of physical trauma, will have to wait until the animal is necropsied. The cat’s sex is relevant to the bigger picture because a minimum number of breeding females is required for species success in any given area, such as the greater Yellowstone region. One male can father many kittens, but several females are required to realize his impact on population numbers. This individual was past the point where it could reproduce, of course.
It was obvious the cat had not eaten in days, its flank was completely sunken in. It had porcupine quills in its face and on its shoulder. My feeling is that only an adult animal so debilitated that it could not successfully hunt bigger game – deer and bighorn sheep being examples that are abundant in the area where the lion died – would attempt to eat a porcupine. [I've since been enlightened that even healthy lions sometimes eat porcupines, but it's very risky as an embedded quill can cause serious if not deadly infection.] One of its canine teeth was broken off, maybe long ago. Other than the tiny entry point of the bullet, there was no obvious sign of trauma (vehicle impact being the suspected proximal cause of mortality). Regardless of possible recent trauma, clearly the cat was on the verge of starving to death. It’s possible it was very elderly and/or suffering from cancer or other wasting disease. Lions in this part of the country have been found to harbor bubonic plague and pneumonic plague; both can be transmitted to humans and, if untreated, can cause feline – and human – death. The body has been put in a freezer until the park cat specialist Dan Stahler returns from furlough and determines whether to conduct a necropsy. I hope he will, given that big cats, while not endangered, are scarce and seldom observed in Yellowstone.
This is the second lion to die in the last week; the other one was killed by wolves. Was it also in extremely poor condition for that to be possible?
As every one of the witnesses said, "I have never seen a lion in the park before. This is not the way I wanted my first sighting to happen."
Orion Last Night, iPhone Capture At Home, Apollo Beach On Tampa Bay Florida - IMRAN™
The planets were visible in a straight line last eve.
Orion was brilliant in the night sky.
I sat still savoring the cool night surrounding the bay.
The dogs napped unmoving at my feet.
The moon silently sulked to the far right.
And our planet spun at the feet of Orion.
© 2023 IMRAN™
PS This is an iPhone 14 Pro Max handheld photo. Zoom in to see more especially if your screen isn’t on full brightness.
#Florida #TampaBay #ApolloBeach #SymphonyIsles #IMRAN #weekend #beachLife #winter #lifestyle #seaside #gratitude #scenery #night #NightSky #StarryNight #Orion #OrionsBelt #iPhonePhotography #prose #literature #writing #creativity