Thursday, January 31, 2008

State of Newfoundland Address.

To those respectable members of society that are enthralled, regularly, by the quick-witted and sarcastic humor found on the posts below...


poo poo!


That was the most intelligent string of words I could produce right at the moment, approx 3:15am, on a night shift.

But there is hope on the horizon, as I'm about to make some nacho's.

I have spilled tea all over my left leg, from the knee up.

Also, I cut my hair yesterday, the shortest it's ever been.

In a closing note, to anyone who knows my constant battling with Kirley, please be advised, DO NOT BET ON VIDEO GAMES AGAINST HIM.

Billy.

Thursday, January 17, 2008

Mrs. Kemph was sitting for the better part of three hours before her husband’s doctor was available for a few words. Even then, the unnamed doctor was short and rushed. Both of his shirts were untucked and wrinkled at the bottom, which wasn’t surprising as it was, after all, a quarter after three in the morning.

Mrs. Kemph had basically dragged her husband into the emergency room after one of the more prolonged coughing fits of the evening. Mr. Kemph never admitted his ailments. It was almost legend around his neighborhood that Superman himself would have to come take the old man out, else he would live forever.

Mr. Kemph had been coughing for weeks, but through the last couple days, the coughing had been lasting longer, and hitting harder. It sounded at first like any ordinary chest infection, but as the days separated into weeks, his cough became much more dry, much to the concern of Mrs. Kemph.

The unnamed doctor spoke quickly.

“He’s got some stuff to take now, I looked him over and gave him a number to call.”

“Did you explain everything to him?” asked Mrs. Kemph.

“Yes. He understands.”

“Is there construction going on downstairs?” Mrs Kemph asked, peering her eyes at the doctor. She knew there couldn’t be, at least not this early.

Mrs. Kemph was a gossip addict. She had to know everything that was happening, and had to tell her girlfriends about any new information she may have ‘stumbled’ upon.

“Not to my knowledge” The doctors eyes swept left, then right.

“What’s all the noise down there? It surely keeps your patients awake…” Mrs. Kemph tried to move closer to the doctor, in a flirtatious attempt to keep him talking. This evidently made the doctor uncomfortable, as he moved away quickly. He looked down at three red file folders and spoke again.

“I can get someone here from Complaints, would that help?”

“That would be…” Mrs. Kemph inhales, “Perfect.”

The doctor withdraws through a yellow pushdoor to a restricted hallway. A page soon after comes over the PA system, asking a working ‘Complaints’ officer to tend to Mrs. Kemph.

Footsteps now, from the same hall. Mrs. Kemph could feel her heartbeat rise. It was almost as though she had completely forgotten her husband’s condition, but it would be another hour or so before he filled out the appropriate insurance information, and besides, she was about to get the scoop of the day from none other then the lead night shift complaint officer.

Maybe it was a cover-up, maybe an attack on a lower floor, maybe, maybe. Mrs. Kemph, now standing, began to mentally pace, back and forth, back and forth.

She was greeted by two very official looking men. Both wearing dark blue suits, young, maybe thirty at max. Both men looked very serious, very official. They ask politely;

“Mrs. Kemph?”

“The one and only…” replies the old, but quick-witted woman.

“Would you mind coming to our office? We need you to file a quick report before you ask us any questions. It’s just a formality. Protocol, really.”

“I just want to..”

“We know, your husbands doctor told us about your concern, but we insist.” Each of the men, now divided, to the left and right of Mrs Kemph, stiffly attach themselves to the underside of her upper arm, motioning her forward.

“HEY! HANDS OFF! LET GO!” Mrs Kemph, now regretting her curiosity, protests as loud as possible, hoping for her husband to hear.

The men, still in a very calm voice.

“Mrs. Kemph, we’ve arranged for your husband to meet with us in the office, you just need to sign a piece of paper.”

“NO! MARTY! MARTY!” The hospital seemed completely vacant. Mrs. Kemph cried out for her husband, for anyone.

Within a blink, nothing. No pain, no shock, no fall, just nothing. No memory, no flash. Nothing.

Mrs. Kemph opens her eyes barely, with no ability to reason. She can not remember how she found her way here, to this increasingly bright yellow room. There are voices of the two men. Her husband in a chair adjacent to her, unconscious. He is not bleeding, but does not look well.

The voices now, louder, but breaking up.


”Are these two the last ones?”

“Yes, but they wa…”

“I know, I know, we’ll make sure…”

”Phone it in?”

”Yeah go ahead, I’ll get rid of them too, it’s my turn.”

A man enters the room. Almost immedieately after his entrance, he jumps to the sound of two sharp crackling sounds. He crooks his head to the right, grins.

“First timer, probably never seen that before.” The man says, talking to himself.

It is from nearby, behind the man. A man is escorted past the door, appearing to be police, but handcuffed, wearing a jacket with bright letters reading CSU on the back. He is visibly upset. Cursing at his captor, insisting release.

The man in the yellow room, now turns to Mrs. Kemph, raises a closed fist to Mr. Kemph’s chin and speaks.

“How’s the cough?”

Tuesday, January 15, 2008

A story I will continue.

The camera follows a man placing stickers on the bodies of the recently deceased. Dust covers suit jackets, track pants, shoes and flip flops all the same. The victims have been quite obviously dragged to their position, with no intention of evidence preservation, but an emphasis instead on, basically, storage.

The stench alone was horrid. Corridor past corridor of bodies, lined, piled and stacked, in any manner, so as to keep them confined to this section of the hospital. Administrators of St. Pius’s General didn’t want such a sight on any floor accessible to the public, so they; the victims, were piled in the second floor basement.

This area was usually considered barren, amidst scattered waste management supplies, dust and the occasional rodent. Such conditions would not be accepted in more upper-regions of the city. Most were sure that although health inspection officers had passed through yearly, they were probably offered ‘executive gifts’ from their old-rich counterparts, to give extra check marks on their cork clipboards, that otherwise may not have warranted such a pen-stroke.

Each victim, as outlined by the CSU Lead’s filed report, had distinctive similarities between each injury, which, strangely, were lacking the ‘usual’ signs of both acute decomposition and rigor mortis.

“Victim sections A-3 through A-5, still flexible and glassy.” Whispers.

The CSU unit leader removes a sticky tag from a young man’s ripped denim knee. He replaces the label farther up this time, close to the victim’s chest. The label reads (A-3f) under ‘name’.

The man turns now, to the shaky cameraman. His badge reflects a sharp white briefly into the lens. The man holding the camera, a junior CSU, has been with the department for 3 weeks now, fresh out of university. His hands are quivering.

“Kid, breathe.” The Lead says, calmly looking past the lens.

“I’m good, I’m good.” The Junior says, his voice fading with suspended exhalation.

“Good. Now, let’s keep going.” The Lead turning now, away from the camera, bends down to the next grouping of bodies. In one motion, the Lead stumbles back onto his palms and kicks his feet away from the victim. He breathes heavily, almost masking the panting from his camera-wielding partner.

“W-what!” The Junior manages to let a word escape from between his clenched teeth.

The Lead continues breathing heavily. He stops. Looks back at the camera smiling.

“Gotcha.” The lead chuckles to himself as the cameras focus turns to the floor, with a soundtrack of sighs and sounds of relief.

“Not funny man, NOT funny.”

The camera stabilizes on the Lead CSU now standing still, head tilted down and to the left, almost puppy-like. He seems puzzled.

“What?” Asks the green Junior, not knowing to keep his questions silent when the Lead is doing his ‘thinking face’.

“You got a phone?” asks the Lead.

“Yeah.”

”Get Captain Gerget here.” The Junior, in the interest of job security, questions after the Lead’s request.

“Okay, but it’s like nine thir…”

Interrupted suddenly, violently.

“DO IT! NOW!” Shrieks the Lead, so unexpectedly it makes the Junior shake the camera wildly, making the focus go completely awry.

The camera swings from the floor, to behind, the floor, to behind. The Junior running for the elevator. He tosses the camera, with no concern for the state-purchased equipment, towards the Lead’s case. The focus swivels a complete two turns around before finally resting, focusing on the Lead’s coat, on the floor beside his case. In the distance, the Juniors running steps can be heard, while he speaks, almost yelling, frantically into his phone, trying to get a signal.

The background imagery is as disturbing as it is real. Barely visible, the Lead’s silhouette can be seen backing away slowly, into a standard standing firing position, his weapon drawn and pointed low.

Two shots echo through the corridors. Bodies. Victims. Dust.

Another 12 hour bor-me-to-death-fest. I've taken to writing again... fiction that is.

I'm gonna start writing some short stories when I'm stupid bored, and I'll post them here.

I'll post the first one after I'm done.

moi.

Monday, January 14, 2008

...start spreadin the news.

Well well well.

I find myself at work again, in the middle of a 12 hour shift, and TV is melting my brain... more.

So, an update. Me and amy have been taking a combo-ballroom-dancing thing every sunday night for two weeks now, and will stretch over ten more weeks. we have been working on the Foxtrot, and in my opinion, we are quite good!

I learned how to lead yesterday, but apparently I need to take more control... it's hard to get used to when you're not very familiar with dancing.

I love it though, it's sinatra, martin, crosby!! cmon!

Also, I've been playing tonnes of XBOX 360 (thanks BACKUPSERVER.CA). And am proud to say I'm finally beating my brother on it.

I'm also in the midst of recordinsome music, I'll be sure to post when I'm getting some stuff done.

That's all for now..

Ta ta,

moi.

Sunday, January 6, 2008

Snow.




Well, after a much needed trip home, I'm back in St Johns. Back at the grindstone.

I snapped some pictures of my street this afternoon.

Enjoy.