CoD Fish

Last night I died

Not a true death, though

I was still conscious of the world

I could still hear the mortar blasts

and gunfire around me

I could also hear the screams of triumph

and the moans of agony

I could still taste the JD I just finished

and the bitterness of defeat

I could still smell the sweat

and B.O. of my killer

I couldn’t feel the ground underneath me

but could feel my weapons still in my hands

I couldn’t see the world around my lifeless body

but could see thru my killer’s eyes

as he replayed killing me

As I watch my death I can sometimes hear

my killer taunting me

 

10 seconds later I am awake

no longer dead

I still hear, taste, smell, and feel

like I did when I was dead

But the sights have changed

I no longer see myself dying

Did I even die?

No time to find out

I see the back of someone crouching

I spray them with bullets

Confirmed kill!

He lays there motionless

But I don’t have time for joy

Why not?…I just died….Again?!

I see my death again

I hear a different killer taunting me this time

Ah, the life of a noob

 

 

Just to give a little background about this poem, my buddy Skid had some people over for a LAN party and we played Call of Duty 4. I have never played this game before and the last time I played a game of a similar style was 3 or 4 years ago, so needless to say, I died A LOT, and killed people very infrequently.

 

7AM Path to…where?

At 7AM I take the path to where?

It’s not the path to saving lives and buildings from fires

It’s not the path to preventing and solving crimes

It’s not the path to flying a rocket to the moon

It’s not the path to flying a jet around the world

It’s not the path to kicking game winning field goals

It’s not the path to pitching out of 7th inning jams

It’s not the path towards deep sea exploration

It’s not the path that will fulfill childhood dreams

It’s not the path of wealth, fame, fortune, or adventure

It is the path of least resistance

It is the path of safety

It is the path of monotony

It is the path of very little risk

It is the path of sacrifice

It is the path of long hours

It is the path of no recognition

It is the path of monthly paychecks and monthly bills

It is the path of marriage, family, love, and happiness

At 7AM I take the path to work.

My Walmart Adventure-A Poem by Jack Deus

Gather ’round all you readers, and I shall start

The tale of my adventure at the local Walmart

     

I pulled into Walmart’s parking lot, expecting not to take long

I just had 1 thing to get, but about the trip length I was wrong

The parking stalls are slanted, so most rows are one way

I tried to drive down one, but headlights I did face

I went to the next row, down which I could go

Got cut off by a truck, oh what rotten luck

Less than 2 miles per hour I drove down the row, I do not jest 

3 people walked side by side, of me they were oblivious 

There were no close spots and when I got to row’s end

Walking straight at my car were two very large men

Since the row I drove down let traffic go both ways

I couldn’t scoot around these men in their daze

Finally a clear path! No cars near or far

I swerved to the left, lest the men walk into my car

In the next row I finally found an empty spot

My adventure was over, or so I had thought

    

I walked to the door watching people of all races

None of them had smiles on their faces

“Most of these people,” I thought as I walked to the door

“Shop at Walmart because it’s all they can afford.”

For me to judge them, a bad thing it was

But the judgements don’t come without cause

That guy buys new clothes instead of feeding his baby

Knowing of his child is sadly only maybe

Those girls dress up like they want to sleep around

It looks like they want to work the corners downtown

I see a man talking with a blue-tooth earpiece

He is so fat, every meal must be a feast

A man walks by, his face touched by a razor

Probably less times than he has been tazered

He has done hard time, to me that seems clear

Druggies and convicts seem the norm here

    

To the Christmas section I went, looking for a timer for my lights

Mothers tugged their children from the toys with all of their might 

The man on the headset, the one who hadn’t missed a meal

I saw him concealing DVDs that he meant to steal

I reported this to an employee whom I walked by

They acted like stopping him was the last thing they’d try

I shrugged and walked on towards the registers to pay

Each one had long lines I saw to my dismay

But wait, up ahead, I had a glimmer of hope

The 20 items-or-less self checkouts would be fast-NOPE!

The people in front of me only had one thing in their arms

But the lady in front of them they wanted to harm

In her cart she had what looked like at least 30 things

And then 51(!) boxes of crayons she needed the cashier’s help to ring

Thankfully the other cashier was such a nice guy

At his stand we paid and then to Walmart I said good-bye

     

There’s no more to tell, that’s the end of my story

Hopefully your Walmart experiences end up less gory.

I have an epic story to tell…

At least, I hope I do. I am in the middle of re-reading Steven King’s Dark Tower book series. It is an epic story (split in to 7 books) centered around the world’s last gunslinger, his quest to find the Dark Tower (the binding force of the universe and all of the worlds contained in it) and the adventures that happen as he tries to get there. Every time I read it I get this hankering to write my own epic story, and hopefully this time I will actually follow thru with this desire. I have grandiose dreams of making a fortune off of the story, but I think I would still be happy if I did write it and no one else even knew it existed.

Unlike the last times I had this hankering, I am actually taking steps towards making it a reality. I searched all of my old hard drives for my old creative writing works from high school and college. I am going to read thru these, try to figure out where my strengths and weaknesses in writing are and go from there. Mayhap I will start writing new short stories and poems (Mr. King was greatly influenced by the poem “Childe Roland to the Dark Tower Came” by Robert Browning) and post them here to get some feedback from you readers. I think I might also take another creative writing class at the community college to keep my creative juices flowing. If any of you know of a website I can submit my stories/poems to in order to get feedback on them, please let me know by leaving a comment here.

In the preface to one of the books, Mr. King writes that he was first smitten to write his own epic story after reading The Lord of the Rings by J.R. Tolkein (another series that after I finish it I get the urge to write epically-although not as strong of an urge as during and after the Dark Tower), but he forced himself to wait a few years after the last time he read them so that his own epic story wasn’t completely infused with LOTR. I think I will need to follow in his footsteps, so don’t expect the first draft of book 1 anytime soon, but rest assured ye fans of epic stories, I will write it and mayhap one day you can say “I started reading that guy before he became famous.”