A RWBY Christmas Carol: Stave I

A RWBY Christmas Carol is not endorsed by Rooster Teeth in any way. Views, opinions, and thoughts are all my own. Rooster Teeth and RWBY are trade names or registered trademarks of Rooster Teeth Productions, LLC. © Rooster Teeth Productions, LLC.

Ironwood was dead, to begin with. As dead as a doornail. The only person who mourned his passing and succeeded him in his work was his business partner, Ebenezer Ozpin. He and Ironwood had been friends though, in the shallowest of terms, on the basest of levels. Ozpin not being disturbed at Ironwood’s passing was proof of this. He honored him because no one else would. But once the funeral was over, Ozpin went back to his life and forgot Ironwood for he was dead.

Despite his callous response to Ironwood’s death, Ozpin didn’t bother to paint over the sign that stood over the establishment known as Ironwood & Ozpin. He knew that with time, the weather would take it off. That option was cheap, and Ozpin was a patient man except when it came to those who were late paying their commissions. Upon them he exacted no mercy and didn’t care if the Grimm would eventually eat up settlers who couldn’t afford to pay for the huntsmen that Ozpin sourced.

When it came to business, Ozpin was a squeezing, wrenching, clutching, apathetic, old miser. He was hard, and sharp as flint. And not much more could be said for his personal life other than he was secret, self-contained, and as solitary as an oyster. His critics said he could’ve made a summer home of Mantle for his personality was chillier than the tundra and didn’t warm a degree at any time of the year, not even for that jolliest of feasts, Christmas.

Ozpin entered his office, the one thing he kept colder than himself and saw his clerk, Taiyang Cratchit, trying to keep his ink liquid by cupping his hands around his inkwell lest it should freeze. Taiyang was a strapping man of middle age, married with two daughters. He was better suited to work as a huntsman, but for the sake of his family, he had chosen to become Ozpin’s clerk which paid barely better than that as one of the sourced huntsmen, but for the sake of his family, Tai would do anything.

Ozpin didn’t bother to greet Tai or give an explanation of his whereabouts. What Ozpin did when he was away on business was his business, and Tai’s business was to work on the ledgers. Ozpin merely pulled off his great coat and hung it up before going to his desk and beginning his work.

While it was easy to assume Ozpin had no light or warmth in his life, that assumption would be false because there was one source in the form of his nephew Qrow who bounded through the door at that very minute. “Merry Christmas, uncle!” he said in a whisky voice. “Gods save you!”

Ozpin looked up over the rim of his glasses. “Bah! Humbug!”

“Christmas a humbug?” said Qrow. “Surely you don’t mean that, uncle.”

“I’m sure I do. What right do I have to be merry at Christmas? What right do you have? There’s nothing so repulsive in this world as being poor, and yet people fritter their money away on goods they can’t afford every year at this time. And then they complain when they can’t afford to pay the huntsmen I hire out. So, I ask you, nephew, what reason do you have to be merry at Christmas? You’re poor enough.”

“By that logic, uncle, what reason do you have to be miserable? You’re rich enough. Right be damned!”

“Humbug nonetheless!”

“Oh, don’t be cross, uncle. I came to share the spirits of good cheer of the season with you.”

“Good cheer? Humbug! Everyone is in a good cheer at this time of year only to find themselves a year older and not an hour richer. If I could work my will, every idiot that went around with ‘Merry Christmas’ on his lips would be boiled with his pudding and fed to the Grimm!”

“Uncle!” said Qrow, taking a step back.

“You keep Christmas in your way, Qrow, and I’ll keep it in mine.”

“But you don’t keep it.”

“Then let me leave it alone all the same.”

“While it is true that Christmas has never put any spare lien in my pocket, I believe it has done me good, will do me good, and I say, Gods bless it!”

Tai applauded.

“You’re one to speak, Cratchit,” said Ozpin. “With as little as you make, it’s a wonder you’re able to celebrate anything.”

Tai returned to his work.

“You shouldn’t abuse Tai like that, uncle. Please don’t be cross with him for agreeing with me. I know! Why don’t you come and have Christmas dinner with me and Winter tomorrow?”

“Why ever did you get married?”

“Why? Because I fell in love.”

Ozpin cackled. “That’s the only thing sillier than a ‘Merry Christmas.’ Good afternoon.”

Qrow’s face fell. “I am sorry, with all my heart, to find you so resolute. We have never had any quarrel, to which I have been a party. But I have made the trial in homage to Christmas, and I will keep making the trial for the sake of my Christmas humor. So a Merry Christmas, uncle! And a Happy New Year!”

“Merry Christmas,” said Tai.

“Merry Christmas,” replied Qrow. “And give my best to your wife and daughters,” he said, exiting.

“Humbug,” muttered Ozpin under his breath at his nephew’s departure.

With Qrow and the stench of his whisky gone, Ozpin settled into his bookkeeping as his office door once more opened. In stepped two Faunus; one was a gigantic male, at least twice as tall and wide as the normal man, and the other was a woman much shorter and smaller than he. Both were cats as indicated by his claws and her cat ears.

“Mr. Ironwood, I presume,” said the male Faunus in a deep gruff voice.

“Ironwood is dead,” corrected Ozpin. “He’s been dead these seven Christmas Eves ago.”

“Oh. We’re terribly sad to hear that,” said the woman.

“Why? Are you relatives?”

The two Faunus looked at each other. “No,” said the man.

“Then what’s your business with me?”

“Let me introduce myself. I am Ghira Belladonna. This is my wife Kali. At this festive time of year, it is more than usually desirable that we make some provision for the poor and underprivileged who suffer greatly during this time of year. Many are in want of common necessities.”

“Some of us are endeavoring to raise a fund to buy the poor some meat and drink, and some means of warmth,” explained Kali.

“We choose this time of year because it is often a time when want is keenly felt and abundance rejoices.”

“I’m sure Mr. Ironwood’s liberality and charity is well represented in his surviving partner,” prodded Kali with a smile. “What shall we put you down for?”

Ozpin sneered. “Are there no prisons?”

Kali and Ghira exchanged looks. “Plenty of prisons, sir,” replied Ghira.

“And the workhouses? Are they still in operation?”

“They are indeed,” explained Kali grieved. “I wish I could say they were not.”

“Oh, good,” said Ozpin. “I was afraid from what you said something had happened to them to stop them in their useful purpose.”

“If you please, sir,” begged Kali. “They are not fit to furnish cheer of mind or body to the multitude. So, what may we put you down for?”

“Nothing.”

Ghira and Kali’s eyes shifted until Ghira had a thought. “Ah, you wish to remain anonymous?”

“I wish to be left alone! I don’t make myself merry at Christmas and I cannot afford to make idle people merry. I support the establishments I have mentioned through my taxes. Those who are badly off must go there.”

“But many can’t go there,” said Ghira.

“Many would rather die!” said Kali.

“If they would rather die, then they had better do it, and decrease the surplus population! Good afternoon!”

Ghira and Kali recoiled; Ghira was in shock, but Kali was wholly offended. “You sir are the most odious person I have ever had the displeasure of meeting! Why, if my own daughter had to live out in this, I would do everything in my power to shield her from it!”

“Thus is your business,” replied Ozpin. “Not mine.”

Seeing that the cause was lost, Ghira and Kali withdrew though Kali’s curses could be heard from outside the office.

Ozpin believed himself rid of all the foolishness of the day for his patience had been worn to its fullest extent. He thought he could finally get some work down when two voices singing a chorus of “Good, Wise King of Vale” reached his ears. “What the devil…?”

Ozpin crossed to his front door and ripped it open. There he found two street urchins. Both were Faunus, a young male with a monkey tail and a young female with cat ears. “What do you want?!” he growled to the two.

“Please, sir,” said the cat Faunus, “Christmas blessings upon you and your business.”

“And all the more blessings for offering us a few lien!” said the monkey-tailed one, holding up his hands.

“Begone!” Ozpin roared, drawing his cane. He swung it with all his might, but the two Faunus managed to dodge it, one leaving behind a shadow copy of herself.

“Whoa!” said the lad. “What a dusty, old miser!”

“We’re just looking for some goodwill!” said the lass.

“Yeah! A pox on you!”

Ozpin growled, “A pox on Christmas!” before closing the door. Ozpin sighed and returned to his desk where for several hours he was able to get some real work done.

Eventually, the hour to close for the night arrived. Ozpin left his chair and opened his safe to move all the lien he had been counting into it. “Cratchit!” he called. “It’s closing time. Come here and get your week’s wages.”

Tai bounded out of his desk, snuffing his candle with his finger and putting his hat on before presenting himself to Ozpin.

As Ozpin counted out his lien, he said with a growl, “I suppose you’ll want all day off tomorrow.”

“If it’s convenient, sir.”

“No, it is not convenient, sir. And it’s not fair, but if I was to stop fifteen hundred lien for it, you’d think yourself abused, wouldn’t you? And yet, you don’t think me abused for paying a day’s wages for no work.”

“It’s only once a day, sir.”

“That’s a poor excuse for picking a man’s pocket every twenty-fifth of December. Fortunately for you, all other business will be closed and I don’t want to waste the money on coal and candles to open for a day where we won’t get anything done. Take the whole day, but be here all the earlier the next morning!”

“Yes, sir. I will.”

“Good.” Ozpin gave Tai his pay and swept on his overcoat before leaving.

Tai almost jumped for joy. He rarely had any days off, so having one meant the world to him especially when it meant he got to share it with his beautiful wife and daughters. He almost skipped home, but for his cargo shorts, he was forced to run to beat the cold from consuming him.

Ozpin stopped at a dank, old tavern for a dank, old dinner before heading home. His house, inherited from Ironwood, was far and tucked away from the vulgar and common streets of Vale. There was nothing particularly special about the street Ozpin lived on except for the unimaginable darkness of it matched the environment of his heart.

Approaching his home, Ozpin went to the door to unlock it and found his attention drawn to the knocker. There was nothing peculiar about it except its size and the fact that it now resembled Ironwood’s face. The face was not angry or sad, but looked exactly as Ozpin remembered Ironwood: a hard, square face with little blue eyes and stress marks along his cheeks and below his eyes. His hair was dark and combed over on top and grey and short on the sides. Ironwood had had a face more akin to an army general than a businessman and that was the face Ozpin saw. It even had Ironwood’s neurotransmitter above his right eyebrow that helped him to control the cybernetic half of his body, a detail Ozpin often forgot. But besides the unpleasant vision of seeing a face of a man long dead, the face possessed a horrible color that seemed to be in spite of its expression and beyond its control rather than a part of it.

As Ozpin stared, the face disappeared with a faint, “Oz…” in Ironwood’s deep voice. Though Ozpin was not a man of superstitions or of legends, the phenomenon did spook him enough to enter his house as quickly as possible, lock the door, and then proceed to search his rooms. Ozpin looked through every room in the pitch black; darkness was cheap and he liked it. His old huntsman senses were also attuned to the darkness and allowed him to ambush any unsuspecting fellow, but as he crept around, cane raised, he found no sign of anybody having been there. All was well.

Satisfied with his search, Ozpin retired to his quarters where he double bolted the door to arm himself against surprise and changed into his dressing gown and slippers. He sat close to his fireplace so it could warm him without using too much fuel on such a bitter night. Ozpin sank into his chair and drank a mug of hot chocolate, one of the few pleasures in his miserable life.

As Ozpin sat, he heard a faint twinkle. His head went up and his eyes fell upon an old bell hanging in his room for some long-forgotten purpose. Once his gaze fell upon it, it stopped ringing. Ozpin’s eyes narrowed, and he went back to his hot chocolate. But then, the bell started ringing again with more vigor. Ozpin turned his head up and was forced to see it ring without provocation. Once it stopped, he proclaimed “Humbug!” in a louder than needed voice.

He returned to his hot chocolate, but found his hand shaking. He had to use his other hand to hold his first still. But as the mug reached his lips, the bell started ringing again with even more fervor. Ozpin’s color changed and his lip trembled. He didn’t know how long the bell rang for, but he would have traded anything to have it ring rather than have it be succeeded by the sound that came next, that of clinking chains.

Ozpin could hear the chains clatter from his ground floor and move up his stairwell accompanied by a heavy foot and the clanging of metallic objects. The sounds reached his door, and Ozpin stood, drawing his cane. “It’s humbug! I won’t believe it!” But Ozpin had great difficulty convincing himself when without pause a grey shape walked through the door in the visage of Ironwood.

“Ironwood’s ghost?!”

The spectre appeared to Ozpin exactly as he remembered Ironwood. He wore an overcoat, undercoat, sweater, necktie, long pants tucked into his boots and one glove on his right hand. But there were two major differences between this Ironwood and the one Ozpin remembered: this one was a solid grey color, and cinched around his waist, wrapped around him like a tail, was a great chain from which hung lockboxes, keys, padlocks, and ledgers.

Though Ozpin was scared, to now see what haunted him, he couldn’t believe it with his own eyes. He lowered his cane. “What do you want?” he said after a pause.

“Much,” replied the shade.

“Who are you?”

“Ask me who I was, Oz.”

“Who were you then?”

“In life, I was your partner, Jacob Ironwood.”

Ozpin gripped his cane tightly. “Can you sit down?”

“I can.”

“Do it, then!” demanded Ozpin, taking his chair.

The ghost walked to the fire place, making enough noise to wake the dead with every step. He drew a chair next to him, but rather than sit in, he sat beside it in open air. Ozpin stared, but then cleared his throat.

“You don’t believe in me,” said the ghost.

“I don’t.”

“Why do you do doubt your senses?”

“Because,” began Ozpin, “a little thing can affect them—make them cheat. I’ve had a slight stomach disorder of late. You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of an underdone potato. Aye, there's more of gravy than a grave about you!”

The ghost inhaled sharply and rose into the air. With a great wail it grabbed a part of its chain with each hand and beat the objects together several times.

Ozpin fell upon his knees, holding up his hands, and screaming out of fright.

“Do you believe in me now?!”

“I do, I do. I must, but why do you torment me?!”

“It is required of every man,” explained the shade, “that the spirit within him should walk among his fellowmen, and travel far and wide. And if that spirit doesn’t go forth in life, it is condemned to do so after death. It is doomed to wander through the world and witness what it cannot share, but might have shared on earth, and turned to happiness!”

“That terrible chain!” said Ozpin. “Why do you wear it?”

“I wear the chain I forged in life,” said the ghost. “I made it link by link and yard by yard. I forged it through my choices and it is by my choice that I wore it. You should know of what I speak. You yourself wear a chain so ponderous and mighty that it is as heavy and as long as these seven Christmas Eves ago.”

“Jacob!” said Ozpin, trembling. “Speak comfort to me, Jacob. Speak comfort to me!”

“I have none to give. Comfort comes from others and is conveyed by other ministers to other kinds of men than you. Nor can I tell what I would like. I’m only allowed a little more. All I can say is that I cannot rest in the afterlife as my spirit never walked beyond the narrow limits of our office.

“Oh, captive, bound, and double-ironed not to know that ages of incessant labor that this earth must pass into eternity before the good of which it is susceptible can be developed. Not to know that any spirit working in its little sphere will find its mortal life too short for its vast means of usefulness. Not to know that no space of regret can make amends for one life's opportunity misused! Oh, but I was!”

“But you were always a good man of business, Jacob,” said Ozpin. “That must account for something.”

“Business?!” cried the spirit, shaking with fury. “Mankind was my business! The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence were all my business. The dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business!”

The spirit looked at its chains, at the lockboxes and keys, with a great regret.

“At this time of year,” began the spectre, “I suffer the most. Why did I walk through the crowds with my eyes turned down and never raise them to see what was right before me?! What mercy or lecture had I missed to now suffer this?!”

Ozpin began to quake with fear at the spirits lamentations knowing full well his own blindness.

“Hear me!” cried Ironwood. “My time is nearly up. I am here tonight to warn you that you yet have a chance and hope of escaping my fate; a chance and hope of my procuring, Oz.”

“You were always a good friend to me,” said Ozpin.

“You will be haunted by three ghosts!”

Ozpin’s eyebrows rose and the color drained even further from his face. “Is that the chance and hope you mentioned?”

“It is.”

“I-I’d rather not.”

“Without their visits, you cannot hope to shun the path I tread. Expect the first when the bell tolls one.”

“Couldn’t I take them all at once and be done with it?” begged Ozpin.

“Expect the second when the bell tolls two. The third will arrive in her own time. Look to see me no more, and look that, for your own sake, you remember what has passed between us!”

“There must be another way,” implored Ozpin, raising his arm.

The spirit wrapped its chain around his arm and by some great upheaval, lifted him into the air. The two flew back to the window where it opened itself and allowed them into the chilly night sky as well as some fresh hell. All about Ozpin were phantoms and other shadows wandering hither and thither in useless haste, moaning as they went. All were bound by chains, employed by frightful countenances far worse than any Grimm that walked the face of Remnant. Many of the spectres were known personally to Ozpin. One he saw watched over a wretched woman, sitting in the gutter with a crying infant in her arms. The ghost clung to its safe desperately trying to pry it open but couldn’t.

As Ozpin looked on at the horrible sight, by some strange magic unknown to him, he was able to see across Remnant and see even more shades out in the unsettled territories between kingdoms. These looked more like huntsmen and indeed they were as their weapons were clasped to their bodies, unable to be drawn that the huntsmen may slaughter the Grimm preying on the people.

The misery with them all was that they sought to interfere for goodness’ sake in human matters, but they had lost the power to do so. Their misery ground Ozpin’s mind dull and froze his heart.

Whether these shades faded into mist, or mist enshrouded them, Ozpin could not tell. But they and their spirit voices faded altogether, and the night became as it had been.

Ozpin found himself, standing next to the window. He quickly shut it. Then he dashed to the door he had seen the ghost enter through; it was whole and unscathed. Ozpin tried to say, “Humbug!” but the word would not come. Thinking it better he should retire to bed, he did so and fell asleep instantly.

 ***

More About Bryan C. Laesch:

My Works:

Amazon: My Author Page, My Influencer Page
Facebook: Bryan C. Laesch, Bawdy Scholar
Patreon: Bryan C. Laesch
Twitter: BryanofallTrade
Youtube: Bryan C. Laesch, Bawdy Scholar 

Flash Stories & Poetry Day 21: Reflection "High School Reunion"

Hey, everyone.

So, last night was my high school reunion. It was... interesting, to say the least, for good and disappointing reasons alike. So today, I'm going to write a reflection on how it went and what happened. Unfortunately, I fear I may paint a bad picture of it. I left two hours after it was supposed to end, most of us did because nobody told us to GTFO, but to be honest, three hours is far too short for a high school reunion, so I got home sometime after one, and didn't get to bed till three. Then I had to get up this morning at 9:30 for church, so I'm sleep deprived, and when I get like this, I get very melancholy. But to be honest, again, I think I may just be an angsty teenager at heart. Anyway...

Today's topic is... Reflection.

Thirty minutes on the clock: 30:00. And... go.

At first, I wasn't going to write about my reunion because I was afraid of writing something that was incorrect. I wanted to process last night a little bit more, but the best method for me to process something is to write about it, allora (Italian for "so"), I must process it by processing it. So, first question: did I learn the lesson that I feel like I'm missing from ten years ago? Maybe, it's hard to say. I did learn a lesson from last night and that is that a high school reunion isn't high school, which is a weird thing to say because it's so obvious, but when you haven't seen certain people in a decade, you don't expect them to have changed. Time moves for you, but not for them. So when people look different, sound different, act different, or talk about things like being married and having children, it's a very strange phenomenon. You just don't expect any one to ever actually change. Some people don't. There was a guy or two who looked and sounded just like they did back in HS, but most people were different in some way or another.

Another thing that "got" to me was that I thought I had a handle on what certain people were like, and either I clearly didn't, or they get a couple of beers in them and they just act like a bunch of rowdy college students, which is possible, but most of us have graduated already. That time in our lives is over. So, it was super weird for me to see people I thought I knew act in a way contrary to my "knowledge", but it was also unusual because it wasn't that dissimilar from a Laesch family party--there was something oddly familiar about it. It felt at home, but not quite.

So, besides being disoriented and learning that time has passed for everyone else, was there anything good that happened to me? Well, I explained to like four or five different people that I was writing now. They all seemed pretty impressed, but I don't know if I made any sales. My Old Man told me that people at a 10 year reunion are most likely going to want to brag about all the great things they've done. That wasn't my experience. Rarely ever did I get the other side of the conversation and find out what the person opposite me is doing now because conversations would be disrupted and my piece was just so damn long. So, I felt like I did a lot of talking, but didn't get to find out anything other than a lot of people live in and around Ann Arbor. Apparently, that place is jumping. But, there was one thing about the evening that was wholly unexpected.

For starters, I had two guests; we were allowed to bring a "guest" which was either actually a guest or a date. My two were actually friends from the year behind us, and I thought I was going to be the only one who did that; I wasn't. Someone from my class actually married a girl from the year behind us and brought her with him. For a long time, I didn't recognize her. I just thought she was loud, drunk, and obnoxious. Eventually I recognized her and I had a whole new impression of who she was... as loud, drunk, and obnoxious. But, not quite.

See, I started playing that bean bag version of horse shoes with my two guests and I played both teams. Later, the one girl joined in, and it was fun. But then, while we're playing, she starts talking to me about what she did in college, how she went from Vet Tech to hospitality, which is a weird change. But, she talked to me at such length about it that I couldn't help but think, "Has she forgotten about the game?" The other thing I thought was that she wasn't nearly as loud, drunk, and as obnoxious as I thought. She could be quite normal when she wanted to, and I was very surprised at how easily she just carried a conversation with me, much more so than some of my classmates. Perhaps it was the booze.

Anyway, at the end of the night as I'm leaving with my guests, she was our last stop for goodbyes, and she gave all three of us a hug; it surprised me because why would you give someone you barely knew a hug? None of my former classmates gave me a hug, but alright, we can do that. And since I don't believe in giving wimpy hugs, I squeezed her as I am wont to do--I accidentally spilled her wine. But she was completely fine with it saying that she liked the "tightness." She probably meant that she liked be hugged so tightly; she was a little spiffed. So she put her wine down, and came back for a second hug, and she let me have it, so I likewise had to give her the beans. It was definitely one of the best hugs I've had in a while. And as we parted, I told her she was the surprise of the night, which she thought was very sweet, although I didn't specify whether or not the surprise was pleasant. I mean, it was and it wasn't. It was more so pleasing than not.

Unfortunately, I didn't get any of the things done I had planned for the evening. I wanted to ask for a new alumni card, completely forgot. There was someone I wanted to apologize to, Amanda S. (from her maiden name), she wasn't there, so Amanda if you ever read this, I'm sorry for being a douche in high school. And the one person I wanted to see wasn't there, so that was a major bummer. Lastly, I wanted to have fun; did I? I don't know. It doesn't feel like I did, but the party was definitely off the hook and I felt like it was worth it. However, after months of staying home on Saturday night, watching Ghost Adventures, I was pretty desperate to do anything else with my Saturday night. I also don't feel like I made the impression I was hoping to make, that it got lost or ignored or never had the opportunity to come out, but with my sort of reserved energy, the kind where you can only get to know it one-on-one, it gets lost among all the people and booze and partying. Which means that if I ever hope to make the impression I want to, I'm going to need a venue that favors my energy. Oh, wait a minute; you're looking at it! There's nothing for it, then; I'm just going to have to keep writing.

I'm still left with a lingering thought or meditation, and that is the "implied importance of high school." We're told high school is a big deal in our culture, we have hundreds of movies that center around it, and we even feel the need to memorialize our experience by having reunions every so many years. My question is, is high school actually that important to us, or do we just think it is because we're told that, hence becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy? It's hard to say for a lot of reasons, but for one unexpected reason for me and my classmates is that it's because our class was so small, 110 or less. So, we all knew each other more or less. We all knew about the great things we had done, the great things we wanted to do, and the great things we hoped to achieve, and amongst that aura of potential is an unhinged, immature spirit of invincibility and inevitable victory--our collective will manifested as an unstoppable force and immovable object. Did we fall victim to the implied importance of high school and fail at the climax of life, or did we meet it and not only succeed, but exceed, the climax?

That question is going to drive me nuts for years, not because I don't have an answer, but because I want to do my part in making sure I fulfill my end of it.

***

 

Alright, that's enough. I would say stop the clock, but I paused my timer at some point and I didn't hit resume, so it's possible I wrote over time or I'm stopping in time. And then I went back and added some stuff.

 



I'm going to try distancing myself from the high school theme for a while. I mean, I did get some good intel regarding a few projects I have in the works, but that intel is for my books, not my blog. So, I think this week's theme will be the importance of writing earnestly. Seeing everybody at the reunion and telling them what I was up to, it's kind of like, oh sh*t, now I have to deliver on the writing goods. They'll be expecting it. It's time to get some stuff done. Plus, it's just where I belong.

Keep writing, my friends.

More About Bryan C. Laesch:

My Works:

Amazon: My Author Page, My Influencer Page
Facebook: Bryan C. Laesch, Bawdy Scholar
Patreon: Bryan C. Laesch
Twitter: BryanofallTrade
Youtube: Bryan C. Laesch, Bawdy Scholar 

Flash Stories & Poetry Day 20: Lyric "High School Crush"

Hey, everyone.

I did have a witty introduction for this post today, but I've completely forgotten what it was. Probably just had something to do with my high school reunion being today. Seriously, wish me luck and stuff. I'm pretty nervous. I didn't sleep well last night. But I have been thinking more about the weekly themes and I think that it would be a good idea, but how would I pick them and how would I keep track? Does it even matter? Questions for later. Anyway, today I am using the poetry wheel, so let's give this sucker a spin.

Wheel of Genres, turn, turn, turn! Tell me the genre I will discern!





Today's style is... Lyric! Huh, have I written a lyric before? I want to say I have, but for the life of me, I can't remember. To make matters worse, I looked up lyric, and Wikipedia was no help at all. I looked up a few examples of a lyric, and those barely helped as well. Turns out, there's no one poetic form, line length, or rhythm; the only restriction is that the topic has to be about personal feelings. I thought about doing my feelings of regret again, but lyrics tend to be a little more romantic than all that, so instead I think I will write about my high school crush.

Thirty minutes on the clock: 30:00. And... go!

This is to my darling, my high school crush,
That one girl who made me nervous and flush;
But who was that lass that held such power
Under whose gaze I did shake and cower?

Was she not a girl from my middle school,
'Pon whom for many a year I did drool?
Nay, I think not; I did not know her well,
And for her I would not suffer the bell.

Was she of my grade, a dame who I once
Hated, with whose humors I thought a dunce?
But that relates to many girls in the class,
There were many I mistook for an ass.

Then was it an underclassman for whom
I would have wanted to be her groom?
Aye! That seems right. But which of the three
Did I truly think was the girl for me?

Was she a slender brunette who drives me
Crazy like no one else with all her glee?
Or, was she a buxom brunette
With a temper that made her quite a threat?

Nay, I believe she was the buxom blonde;
Aye, of her charm and wit I was most fond,
But to be fair, I was not into her hair,
Rather I wanted to see her laid bare!

It was her body that did me in,
With her butt and breast, I wanted to sin.
Alas, my desires came to naught,
I did not pursue her as one ought.

Ten years past, and I have forgotten her.
In sooth, that is what I truly prefer.
'Tis true, nothing so romantic as a high school sweetheart,
But without indelible love, we are all forced to part.

***

 

Stop the clock! Phew! One minute left. I didn't think that would take so long. And before you ask, it's pretty true hence why I didn't use names. And other things I did simplify quite a bit; poetic license and all that. But for the most part, it's pretty accurate. And I'm sure you noticed that some lines are not the right lengths. Yeah, I was running out of time and wanted to finish, so I rushed it a bit. And I really wanted to work in those last two lines, so... yeah.

But anyway, that's it for today. If you want to use the wheel I made, you should be able to access it here. And if you have the time, please check out my books for sale on Amazon which you can find through my author page. The link is below. Also, I reworked my Patreon page, so why not give it a look and consider becoming my patron. I would appreciate it.

Keep writing, my friends.

More About Bryan C. Laesch:

My Works:

Amazon: My Author Page, My Influencer Page
Facebook: Bryan C. Laesch, Bawdy Scholar
Patreon: Bryan C. Laesch
Twitter: BryanofallTrade
Youtube: Bryan C. Laesch, Bawdy Scholar

Flash Stories & Poetry Day 19: Fantasy "Travelers"

Hey, everyone.

Well, yesterday was Thanksgiving and it was pretty good for me. I hope it went well for you as well. Before we continue, I must tell you that I injured my finger today, so my typing is a little off.  Excuse any mistakes I make. Anyway, back to business.

Wheel of Genres, turn, turn, turn! Tell me the genre I will discern!





Today's topic is... Fantasy! Hey, how 'bout them apples. I've actually written some fantasy. My book Heroes of Majestia: The Company of Flight is fantasy. I'm also putting together some short stories currently to help fill out the lore, so I am no stranger to fantasy. The trick though is can I tie my a fantasy story in with my high school reunion/days? I know some of you are probably sick of it, but I'm going to go ahead with it. Hmm, maybe I should weekly themes on top of the daily exercises.

Anyway, believe it or not, I totally can tie in my HS days. Here's an idea that's struck me a few days, but I never really thought of developing it. This will be it's trial area.

Thirty minutes on the clock: 30:00. And... go!

Margaret ran through the citadel. She had seen that guy in the hood all over the place. He was following her, but why? And why did she feel like she knew him?

Margaret rounded a corner and almost ran into Anne. "Ah! Anne!"

"Margaret! What're you doing here?"

"I was chasing a man in a hood."

"Was he really tall and wearing a brown cloak?"

"Yeah!"

"He just passed me in the last street."

"Damn! I'll never be able to catch him."

"I don't know about that. That street is a dead end."

The fires of hope were rekindled in Margaret's eyes. "Now's my chance!" she said before running off.

"Wait!" called Anne after her. "He could be dangerous," said Anne, trotting after her.

"If he wanted to kill me, he would've done so already. He's had plenty of chances, and in more than enough of them, he and I were alone together."

"Alone?!"

"Last time I saw him, he looked like he was going to say something to me, but he fled when he saw the Court Mage."

"Master Den?"

Margaret rounded the next brick wall and came to the street Anne had mentioned. The walls on either side of her shot up into the darkness. The stalls on either side of the street were abandoned, the merchants weren't allowed to sell their good and wares at this time of night. That would give the mystery man plenty of hiding places.

Margaret took off down one side, walking behind the stalls. "Check that side, Anne."

Anne tentatively walked over to the other side of the street but stopped. Margaret looked back at her sharply.

"I don't like this," said Anne.

"Then you can leave if you want, but I'm getting my answers and I'm getting them today."

"Or you'll get a knife in the belly."

Margaret hesitated. Her heart beat quickened as she turned and said, "At least I'll have my answers then." She turned back to her path and felt her heart hammer inside her chest. She didn't know what she was saying and she was scared, but to tell someone off just for warning her, that was a new step for her. She couldn't remember a time when she had ever done so before.

"You know," began Anne, "Master Den has been teaching me a few spells. I bet we could lure him out."

"Why didn't you say so earlier?!"

Anne shrugged. "I'm not very good at them, but if it'll stop you from killing yourself, I'll try it."

Margaret walked back to Anne as she began to chant in the middle of the street. The words and syllables she used were foreign to Margaret's ears and occasionally a few sparks or waves of light would manifest from Anne's mouth.

Anne lifted her hand to her mouth as if she was about to cough something up. She became quiet, held her hand out down the street, and then snapped her fingers. The snap echoed, and not just because of the closed in street, but also due to some mystical means. As the sound reverberated against the walls and reverberated back, a screaming could be heard as it grew louder. Suddenly, there was a pop and a flash, and a tall man in brown cloak and hood appeared out of thin air right in the middle of the street.

"Um...?" he said. "Bye!" He started moving toward the back of the street, but Anne shot her other hand forward and issued another word of power. Blue circles shot from her hand and they hit the man, bounding him within them. He fell to the ground.

"Got you, now!" said Margaret triumphantly, standing over him.

"Yes," replied the man.

Margaret's vision blurred for a second. His voice sounded familiar, but she couldn't remember from where.

"Bully for you, Margaret. And well done, Annie."

"Annie?" repeated Anne. "No one's ever called me that before."

"You'd be wrong about that."

"Time to fess up!" said Margaret, striking him in the back. "Who are you and why have you been following me?"

The man struggled to roll over so he could face them. His hood fell off in doing so. Both Margaret and Anne gasped. "Michael!" they said together.

"Yep," said Michael with a sigh. "But I prefer Mike."

"That's so weird!" said Anne. "I suddenly remember you."

"Me, too," said Margaret. "But how?"

"Well, I would've preferred to tell you two under different circumstances, but these are as good a time as any. We are all from a different world."

Margaret and Anne blinked.

"What do you mean?" asked Anne.

"We're not from here. None of us live in the citadel. We're not even from his country! We're from a different world altogether."

Margaret's lip quivered. "I don't believe you!"

"Spoken in denial I see," said Mike. "You both know, deep down, that there's something wrong with this place. That's the reason why it's never felt like home," he said forcefully to Margaret. She jumped. How long had he been following her?

"Where are we from then?" asked Anne.

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?! You know we don't belong here but you don't know where we're from?!"

"Yes. All I remember is being in a high school hallway, and I remember seeing you two, standing there next to me, right before we were sucked up into a portal of some sort."

Images flashed through both girls' heads. Anne placed a hand on a stall for balance, while Margaret almost hit the pavement. Both saw the same image as if it were a dream, but realer, in their heads of standing next to Mike and being drawn through a black portal. Margaret remembered she'd been wearing her uniform at the time. That's why her clothes were so different and strange when she woke up at the citadel. And when she thought about it, where had those clothes gone?

"I remember..." said Anne, shaking. She closed her fist and the blue rings holding Mike disbanded.

"That's better," he said, standing up. "Glad to see you both have your memories back. Margaret. Annie."

"But," said Annie, "I can't remember where we're from."

"Me, neither," said Margaret. "How did you remember?"

"I used to be one of the castle's servants. I was cleaning the Court Magician's chambers when I knocked over an orb. It hit the ground and I was bathed in a pale blue light. That's when I remembered the portal, and from there I started to remember everything else, but not until I saw everyone first."

"Everyone?" said Margaret.

"That's right. There are more of us here from our world."

Margaret looked off into the distance. Who else did she know from her high school days?

"Why did Master Den's orb give you your memory back?" asked Annie.

"I don't know, but I bet he knows something we don't."

***

 

And that's it. I actually went over time writing that. And before you ask, yes, there was a Margaret, Annie, and Mike in my class at high school. There were a few Mike's, and at least two Anne's, but there was only one Margaret. Anyway, when I started writing that, I was worried it would be too short so some of the intro stuff is filler, but then it ended up being too much. I wanted to get to the point where I implicated the Court Mage is some shady goings-on because otherwise there wouldn't have been a complete story.

But anyway, that's it for today. I hope you enjoyed it. If you want to use the wheel I made, you should be able to access it here. And if you have the time, please check out my books for sale on Amazon which you can find through my author page. The link is below. Also, I reworked my Patreon page, so why not give it a look and consider becoming my patron. I would appreciate it.

Keep writing, my friends.

More About Bryan C. Laesch:

My Works:

Amazon: My Author Page, My Influencer Page
Facebook: Bryan C. Laesch, Bawdy Scholar
Patreon: Bryan C. Laesch
Twitter: BryanofallTrade
Youtube: Bryan C. Laesch, Bawdy Scholar

RWBY Volume 2: The Novelization: Burning the Candle

RWBY: The Novelization is not endorsed by Rooster Teeth in any way. Views, opinions, and thoughts are all my own. Rooster Teeth and RWBY are trade names or registered trademarks of Rooster Teeth Productions, LLC. © Rooster Teeth Productions, LLC.

Team RWBY, except for Blake, were in Beacon’s main hall setting up for the dance. Ruby had helped for a little while, but her concern for Blake had derailed her good intentions and she landed at one of the tables, elbows on tabletop and head in hands. Suddenly, Weiss slammed down two samples in front of her. “I need you to pick a tablecloth.”

Ruby looked at the grey squares before her and made a face. “Aren’t they both the same?”

Weiss groaned. “I don’t know why I even asked.”

Ruby sighed and went back to feeling sorry for Blake.

Yang walked by and dropped a speaker bigger than herself near Ruby. “So, have you picked out a dress yet?”

“What’s the point? Who cares about the dance if Blake isn’t going?”

“Oh, don’t worry. She’s going.” Yang sounded awfully sure. She looked up to see what Weiss was doing. “Weiss! I thought we agreed! No doilies!”

“If I don’t get doilies, you don’t get fog machines.”

“Your dance is going to have fog machines?”

The girls turned and saw Neptune and Sun.

“We were thinking about it,” said Weiss pleasantly to Neptune.

Somewhere in the back of Yang’s mind, she thought if Neptune wanted fog machines with no doilies, I bet he could get them.

“That’s pretty cool.”

Sun asked, “You ladies all excited for dress-up?”

“Pft. Yeah, right,” said Ruby.

“Laugh all you want,” said Yang. “I’ll be turning heads tomorrow night.”

“What are you two wearing?” asked Weiss.

“Uh… this!” said Sun, pointing at his usual threads.

“Ignore him,” said Neptune. “For he knows not what he says.”

“Hey! I may have moved to Mistral, but I grew up in Vacuo. It’s not exactly a shirt-and-tie kind of place.”

“Yeah,” said Yang. “We noticed.” Sun’s beach bum look had gotten old with her real fast. About the same time she learned that he took an interest in Blake.

“So, uh… what does Blake think of all this? Is she still being all… you know, Blake-y?”

“Obviously,” said Weiss.

“I still can’t think of a way to change her mind,” said Ruby.

“Guys,” began Yang, “trust me. Blake will be at the dance tomorrow.” Without expounding further, Yang decided it was time to enact Operation Laser Cat.

***

While everyone in the school, including her team, was entrenched with the dance, Blake was by herself in the library at one of the computers still looking for information on Torchwick and the White Fang. She had decided to dig in all the familiar, illicit spots online where the Fang talked about their plans, but things were different this time. They had covered their tracks well. Too well. That worried Blake because the Fang had always been a little sloppy and left a trail. Whatever they were up to must have been pretty serious.

Suddenly, a red dot showed on her monitor. It danced in a circle, bobbed up and down, and even shot down to her hand. Blake looked around, irritated, but didn’t see anyone who might have done it. She turned back to the computer.

The laser dot appeared again on her hand. Blake shot a nasty look behind her. But still she couldn’t find anything. She turned back again.

For a third time, the laser showed up. It moved back and forth and performed figure eights.

Blake growled. Yes, she got it. She was a cat, but this was stupid. And besides, no one should have known. Therefore, someone was just messing with her. Well, she’d fix their wagon. But as she got up to take care of business, she noticed the dot on the ground. She tried to stomp on it just to make herself feel better, but it was too fast.

After a few seconds of trying to stomp it though, Blake realized that she was being led by the dot. She decided that she would let it lead her just until she found out who was doing it. Then she’d make that person pay. But as she rounded a bookshelf, her view was filled with tan and yellow.

“Hello!” sang Yang.

“What’re you—?!”

“We need to talk.” Yang grabbed Blake and led her somewhere where they could be alone. That somewhere turned out to be an empty lecture hall. Yang made herself comfortable, sitting cross legged on the professor’s desk. She invited Blake to join her, but Blake refused, deciding to pace instead.

“Yang, if you’re going to tell me to stop, you may as well save your breath.”

“I don’t want you to stop. I want you to slow down.”

“We don’t have the luxury to slow down.”

“It’s not a luxury. It’s a necessity.”

Blake was even more irritated. “The necessity is stopping Torchwick.”

“And we’re going to. But first you have to sit down and listen to what I have to say.”

Blake really didn’t want to. She wanted to leave. But Yang was her closest friend. For the sake of friendship, she should at least hear her out. Plus, Yang was incredibly strong. If Blake refused too much, Yang would make her listen. So Blake perched lightly on the desk. “Fine.”

“Something you may not know is that Ruby and I grew up on Patch. An island just off the coast of Vale. Our parents were huntsmen. Our dad taught at Signal, and our mom would take on missions around the kingdom. Her name was Summer Rose. And she was like, super mom,” Yang said with a smile. “Baker of cookies and slayer of giant monsters. But then, one day she left for a mission and never came back.

“It was tough. Ruby was real torn up, but I think she was too young to really get what was going on, y’know. But my dad, he just kind of shut down. It wasn’t long before I learned why. Summer wasn’t the first love he’d lost, she was the second. The first… was my mom.”

Blake gave a small start. She remembered back to when she had first met Ruby and Yang. She remembered how queer she had thought it that they were sisters. One, tall and blonde, the other, short and red-headed. But if they were actually half sisters, that would explain it.

Yang continued. “He wouldn’t tell me everything. But I had learned that the two of them had been on a team together with Summer and my uncle Qrow. And that she had left me with him just after I was born. No one had seen her since.”

Blake was hooked now. “Why did she leave you?”

Yang sighed. She stood and began drawing a strange symbol on the chalkboard. “That question. ‘Why?’ I didn’t know the answer, but I was determined to find out. It was all I thought about. I would ask anybody I could what they knew about her.

“Then, one day, I found something; what I thought was a clue that could lead me to answers. Or maybe even my mother. I waited for my dad to leave the house, put Ruby in a wagon, and headed out. I must’ve walked for hours. I had cuts and bruises, I was totally exhausted, but I wasn’t going to let anything stop me.

“When we finally got there, I could barely stand, but I didn’t care. I had made it. And then I saw them. Those burning red eyes. There we were: a toddler asleep in the back of a wagon and a stupid girl too exhausted to even cry for help. We might as well been served on a silver platter. But, as luck would have it, our uncle showed up just in time.” Yang couldn’t stop the regret from building up in her voice. “My stubbornness should’ve gotten us killed that night.”

Blake stood. “Yang… I’m sorry that happened to you. And I understand what you’re trying to tell me but this is different. I’m not a child, and this isn’t just a search for answers. I can’t just—!”

“I told you!” said Yang. “I’m not telling you to stop. I haven’t. To this day I still want to know what happened to my mother and why she left me. But I will never allow that search to control me. We’re going to find the answers we’re looking for, Blake. But if we destroy ourselves in the process, then what’s the point?”

“You don’t understand! I’m the only one who can do this!”

“No, you don’t understand!” Yang’s eyes flashed red. “If Roman Torchwick walked through that door, what would you do?!”

“I’d fight him!”

“You’d lose!” said Yang, pushing Blake.

Blake took a step back, needing to catch her balance. “I can stop him!” she said, trying to push Yang back.

“You can’t even stop me!” Yang pushed again.

Blake actually fell this time. She looked hurt, but she stood back up. She had a retort, but when Yang approached her, she recoiled, preparing for the worst. But the shove never came. Instead, Yang had embraced her.

“I’m not asking you to stop. Just please, get some rest. Not just for you, but for the people you care about and who care about you.” Yang started to walk away. But she had one last thought. “And if you feel like coming out tomorrow, I’ll save you a dance,” she said with a wink.

Blake was shocked. Not just with how much Yang’s concern had touched her, but also from how much her strength had degraded in the time she had spent looking for answers. Perhaps she could do with a break after all. 

***

Elsewhere in Beacon, specifically, Team JNPR’s dorm, Ren was just coming out of the bathroom having had a relaxing shower. He sighed contently as he exited carrying his favorite scent of Samurai Shampoo. When suddenly, Jaune approached and grabbed him by the wrist. “We need to talk!”

Jaune sat Ren down next to him on a bed. Ren was still in his towel with his clothes hung up nearby, but Ren’s decency was no never mind to Jaune.

“Ren… I’m just gonna come out and say it: you are one of my best friends. These past few months, I feel like we’ve really bonded. Even though you don’t say much. I mean, you’re really quiet. To be perfectly honest, I don’t know that much about you personally. But darn it! I consider you to be the brother I never had!”

“And I you,” replied Ren. He looked at his clothes and started to reach for them.

“Which is why I wanted to get your advice on… girls.”

Ren stopped. “Girls?”

“I just… don’t know… how to… girls. Um, I guess what I’m asking is, well, how did you and Nora… you know?”

Ren suddenly looked really nervous and started to stammer.

Then they heard a dainty throat clearing. Nora laughed nervously from the next bed. “We’re not actually together-together.”

“Nora! I said headphones on!”

Ren had had enough of the situation; he was getting cold. “Jaune, what is this all about?”

Jaune sighed. “It’s Weiss. I’m completely head over heels for her and she won’t even give me a chance. She’s cold, but she’s also incredible. She’s smart and graceful and talented. I mean, have you heard her sing? I just wish she’d take me seriously. I wish I could tell her how I feel without messing it all up.”

“Then do it,” said a new voice.

“Wha?”

Pyrrha walked in. “Tell her exactly what you’ve just said. No ridiculous schemes, no pickup lines, just be honest.”

“But what if—”

“Jaune; you can’t get it wrong if it’s the truth.” Pyrrha smiled gently.

Jaune took a minute, but then nodded. “You’re right. Thanks, Pyrrha. Good talk, Ren,” he said, running out.

But after Jaune left, Pyrrha seemed sad and walked off to the corner by herself.

Nora sighed. “Practice what you preach, Pyrrha.”

Pyrrha gripped the back of a chair. She squeezed until her knuckles turned white. She wanted to follow her own advice. Jaune meant a lot to her. She remembered a time when she was cold and alone in the dark. It was empty in her life and while from the outside it looked so bright, nothing felt right to her. Her world was like a sky with no sun, like a night that had no day. Her heart was eclipsed by the dark, but then something changed.

She saw a little ray of light come through, just the tiniest sparks that came into view, and then, Jaune made her hope again.

But if Weiss was what Jaune really wanted, she’d swallow her pride, time after time, because he was worth it all.

***

Bolstered by Pyrrha’s advice, Jaune happily and proudly went off to tell Weiss all the great things he felt for her and to ask her to the dance. He even found a flower stall on campus and purchased a single white rose—it cost him all the money he had.

He had heard Weiss was helping to set up for the dance and he went off to the main hall. But when he got there, he saw Weiss run up to Neptune. “Neptune!”

“Oh. Uh, hey. What’s up?”

“I know this is a little… unorthodox,” she said, fidgeting, “but I wanted to ask you something. Would you like to accompany me to the dance tomorrow?”

Jaune was disappointed. Crushed. He finally saw that he wasn’t what Weiss wanted. Neptune was. If that was so, then there wasn’t anything he could about it.

He dropped the rose and walked off to be alone. He was gone for some time.

******************

Keep writing, my friends.

More About Bryan C. Laesch:
Amazon: My Author Page, My Influencer Page
Facebook: Bryan C. Laesch, Bawdy Scholar
Patreon: Bryan C. Laesch
Twitter: BryanofallTrade
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Flash Stories & Poetry Day 18: Reflection "Lesson to Learn"

Hey, everyone, and Happy Thanksgiving.

Now, for today's writing exercise, I'm going to be doing something a bit different. Typically I spin the wheel and write as whatever genre I've been given, but since today is a non-fiction day, I'm actually going to do a reflection. On what? Well, my high school days, yet again. I really hope I don't sound like a broken record, but again, they do say your high school years are some of the most formative in your life and I do feel like something larger happened to me than the average high schooler, but there's a point beyond that. So, let's get started, and since I do tend to wax philosophic occasionally, I'll still be timing myself so I can stay on task.

So, today's topic is... Reflection "Lesson to Learn."

Thirty minutes on the clock: 30:00. And... go.

Now, like I said, some say your high school days are some of the most formative of your life, and I feel like mine were no exception. See, I attended Notre Dame High School in Harper Woods, and I loved it there. Sure, there were one or two people I had problems with, but for the most part, I relished my time at ND. I never used to like school until I went to ND. I wouldn't say it felt like home, but it did feel right and good in a way I can't explain.

Now, in March of my Sophomore year, right in the middle of our spirit week which we called Irish Week and celebrated during the week of St. Patrick's Day, a news story broke that wasn't supposed to yet where Cardinal Maida, the archbishop of Detroit at the time, would be closing 15 Catholic schools throughout the Archdiocese of Detroit due to money problems, and the schools that were closed included grade schools and high schools alike.

When my mother told me the news in the morning, I refused to believe it. But when I got to school that day, it was the only thing on everybody's lips. Nobody knew anything except for rumors, but at about 8:00 when our first class was supposed to start, Mr. Kuhn, one of our advisors, walked the halls and told everyone to gather in the gym. We were supposed to have some sort of spirit week activity in there, I don't remember what it was, but we were separated by class. Fr. Sadjak, who was principal the year before and my Latin teacher for the two years I was there, led us off in prayer where the emotions of the situation did overwhelm some of us. Course though, no one actually broke down because we were an all guys school. But the next few hours descended into a spirit week activity/bonding session as we all pledged to do what we could to prevent the school from closing. It was extremely heart-warming. Unfortunately, as can be guessed, we failed and were forced to disperse.

Angry at the world and wanting some form of retribution for what we lost, we took our anger out on others leading to a not-so-positive reputation at the school that most of us would go on to attend, Bishop Foley Catholic High School in Madison Heights. One teacher, upon finding out that a student she didn't know at the time was from ND was from ND, asked him, "Are you bitter, too?" Course when we all heard that, we wanted to slap the sh*t out of her. But, it was true; we were bitter. Some of us did assimilate into Foley, but most of us were loathed the experience. By Senior year, we had settled down, but Foley never met our expectations and was always worse than ND in practically every way. Attending Foley at the time felt like insult to injury. The world had curb stomped us, and then kicked us in the nuts while we lay in the gutter.

But as I look back, I can now see that things weren't that bad, and I do greatly regret my actions at the time. Foley welcomed us with open arms; some of the administration was pretentious as hell, but the student body and a good number of the teachers were fantastic and understanding. Looking at my year book, a number of people mentioning that they were glad I chose Foley after ND closed. What's funny about that is that I didn't choose Foley, my parents did. But as my Senior year was coming to a close, even then I began to regret who I was and what I had done. It was at that time that I could feel a change, and part of me didn't want to leave.

In the animated web series RWBY, a character loses the lower half of her arm in battle. A prosthetic arm is supplied to her, but she doesn't try it on. Everyone wants to see her return to "normal," but as she says, having lost her arm, that was her new "normal." At which point, her father says "Normal is what you make of it." He goes on to explain that just because something terrible has happened to you, that doesn't have to stop you from being who you want to become. It would've been great to have that piece of advice back then, but as a headstrong kid in my teens, all I wanted was revenge or to just surrender to life. I wanted Notre Dame back, and I would've done anything, no matter how impossible, to get it back. But, I never would, so I grieved.

Ten years after the fact, I am left with a pile of regret, but my reunion offers me a chance to set things right. That's one of the reasons why I'm going. Some people I do need to apologize to, and others I just have to show them that I'm not just a hardass and that I would take something valuable away from my experience there. But there's something else.

As you can tell, losing ND and going to Foley has had a great effect on me. I can't shut up about it and I can't stop thinking about it. I can't rest on it. Why? Is it just because I'm an INTJ and we think everything to death? Possibly. But, I have a feeling that the experience was meant to teach my something. I was supposed to learn something or do something, and I didn't and that bothers me. The whole experience was far too significant to just have been a random occurrence. What is it that I'm missing? I don't know, but I feel like I'll have a chance to accomplish whatever my task is at the reunion. Sure, I do get the feeling that it would've been easier ten years ago, but I think there's still a chance. That's another reason why I'm going.

Some of the people from Foley have been on my mind lately; one of them has been up there for longer than I care to admit. The psychics say there could be a connection between me and them, or that something important happened to them in their lives, but regardless, I want to know. I want to be enlightened. What is it about them that I can't forget them, that makes me miss them when I barely knew them, and that makes me want to see them so badly? I have a task to complete. I just have to make sure I don't fall back into my old habits when I get there and start acting the wallflower.

***

 

Alright. Can't say stop the clock as I did go over time. Not a lot though, maybe just a minute.

Anyway, I've got stuff to do during this holiday. Wish me luck at my reunion and pray that I find the answers I'm looking for or that I can finally find peace on this matter.

Keep writing, my friends.

More About Bryan C. Laesch:
Amazon: My Author Page, My Influencer Page
Facebook: Bryan C. Laesch, Bawdy Scholar
Patreon: Bryan C. Laesch
Twitter: BryanofallTrade
Youtube: Bryan C. Laesch, Bawdy Scholar