The Shape of Things to Come

My original concept for Havoc was a tabbed interface consisting of a Calendar, a Note Board and Photos. In fact, the first name for the application was not Havoc, but simply The Noteboard as I thought that would be the focal point of the application. This ended up not being the case. I actually still have no idea what will go on the Noteboard tab or how I will get it there. As I played around with the interface and worked on getting a hardware and software platform nailed down, it began to expand.

This all came about as a result of how I wanted the interface to work in the first place. At its core Havoc is a calendar; you put in information and it reminds you of it in a couple of ways:

1. You can look at the calendar and see what is upcoming.
2. You can set reminders so that Havoc lets you know in advance that some appointment or event is on the horizon. My thought on this one was that when you are not in some sort of contact with the interface, it would go into a screen saver mode. This would not be a real screen saver (which would be deactivated), but rather another screen of Havoc. I would show you today's events and any reminders that had become due. They would float around the screen in very large text and maybe be paired with s random photo from your collection. 
3. This is where things began to get complicated and fun, Havoc would know when you walked into the room and would wake up and tell you of any reminders that were due. This adds the need for some sort of motion detection capability and the need for havoc to be able to speak. Motion detection would require some sort of sensor, or a camera. Adding a camera to the package was intriguing, as that might open up other opportunities.
4. Appointments or events could be assigned a scope, which would be one or more people and reminders could be sent to that person's/those people's cell phone(s). This adds the requirement that the Havoc database be in the cloud and accessible through web services. This also meant that I would be writing an Android app to go along with my Windows desktop app. I figured that I might as well try my hand a Xamarin coding and for the heck of it also write the app for iOS and Windows Phone.  

This gave me a lot to think about and a lot to learn about. How cool could I make this? Just what kind of libraries are available for free (the cost I felt I must pay) and just what would they be capable of doing?

If I could know when someone walked into the room, could I also know who they were? Could I tailor Havoc's responses based on facial recognition? Could I even do facial recognition?

Speech! Speech!

Can I work with Raspbian? That was the question I last posed.

The answer turned out to be "Yes" and "No."

Can I work with it, can I create software that would run on Raspbian? Of course I could. Writing software is what I do. Could I write Havoc for Raspbian? Ah, that was a slightly different question. I went to work on this immediately and found Lazarus.

Lazarus is a Pascal derivative for Unix that is very much like the old Borland Delphi language, which was that company's answer to Visual Basic, which had some success in the 1990s. I had written a few things in Delphi over the years, so finding Lazarus seemed like a dream come true.

I had a couple of problems though.

First, Havoc relied on the Microsoft handwriting recognition API, something that did not exist in Raspbian and something I really couldn't just fake. A key component of Havoc was that there be no external input devices, no mouse and more importantly, no keyboard. This means that you would have to write on the screen with your finger and that writing had to be converted to text. Microsoft is really good at this.

I know what you are thinking, why not just use an on-screen keyboard? Ends up, I do offer that in Havoc. If you don't like the handwriting controls, you can tap a button and the on-screen keyboard will appear, but I didn't want that to be the first option. So I searched and found no handwriting recognition for Raspbian that I could tie in. This does not mean one does not exist out there somewhere, it just means I could not find it in a considered amount of time.

My second issue was that Havoc was not looking too much like Havoc anymore. Havoc was no longer just a touch interface, Havoc would listen when you talked to it. This was handled through the magic of the Microsoft Speech Recognition Library and works pretty well. By this time I had already tied some basic speech functionality into Havoc and wanted to keep it in. I found no real parallel to the Microsoft library for Raspbian, though I bet with a little more searching I could have found something that would work. Only, I could not see the point of continuing to look. I just didn't have faith that Raspbian could handle the work I needed Havoc to do.

So, I put my Raspberry Pi in a cabinet and went in search of another small, powerful computer. Luckily for me, there are a number of them on the market, though I had never heard of them.

IoT Idiot!

One of the reasons I went with a Raspberry Pi for my little project was the claim that it ran Windows 10 IoT. Now I had no idea what IoT was, but I knew Windows 10 and I could program for it. I quickly found out that I would need some new ideas though if this was to work.

Once I had read that the Pi supported Windows 10, I had started writing my code, but I quickly learned that IoT, the Internet of Things, did not have a Windows desktop. This meant that my desktop application would not run on it. I would need to rewrite my code as a Windows Universal application.

Now I had wanted to try my hand at Universal apps for a while (think of them as the Windows Store applications, or applications for what they once called Windows Metro), but had never had the reason to try. So, when I read that, I made a tentative start at rewriting my application as a Windows Universal app, but never got real far. The learning curve into Universal apps is a little steep for those of us who have only written desktop or web apps in the past. Also, I knew that anything I wrote was a temporary measure as I had read that Windows 10 IoT came with its own version of Visual Studio and that you should create the application on the device, so the work I was doing was more or less getting a feel for the environment.

I was told that Windows 10 Iot came on the NOOB (New Out Of the Box) tools that would ship with the Pi, but this was not so. When it arrived, the only OS my Pi came with was Raspbian, one of the many flavors of Unix that run on the Pi. I would have to download Windows 10 and have it installed on my SD card in order to run it, only, I didn't have another SD card and I didn't want to destroy the only OS I was sure ran my Pi, so I ordered a new SD card from Amazon and went back to the waiting game.

In the mean time I hooked up the Pi, as it was, to my new monitor, used one of the USB ports to add the Touchscreen capabilities and played with it a bit. For a $39 computer the Pi is pretty awesome. I could play games, surf the web, do all kinds of things on it.

Finally my SD card arrived and I burned Windows 10 IoT onto it and booted up Windows 10 on my P1! Yay! Or so I thought.

It didn't seem to do anything but show me a static page with non-functioning links. Where was the Visual Studio I had been promised? Where was, hell, anything?

Seems the article I had read about VS being a part of the OS was, how shall we say, bullshit. Not only was Visual Studio not included, IoT could not run it as...wait for it...it's a desktop application!

This was when I learned the real limitations of IoT. Seems it has no program loader, which means in laymen's terms, you can't point it to an application and have it run it. Seems the OS has to boot into your application and it is the only application that will run. I could see the serious limitations beginning to show in trying to run Windows IoT on the Pi.

Can I work with Raspbian?

Can I have some Pi with my Havoc?

So the first thing I needed to do was figure out from an engineering standpoint, what I was going to make my calendar out of.

First, let's be clear here; I am not making a product to sell, I am making something for my home. Given that, money is not really an object here, so I don't have to look at the economics of building something that I can market at a price that would attract buyers, which is a good thing because my first hardware decision was to use a 21-inch touch screen. Anyone want to guess how much a 21-inch touch screen cost? Go ahead, Google it; I'll wait till you are done.

See? Not gonna be selling too many calendars when the price of admission begins with one of these guys. I was able to secure a refurbished 21-inch HP monitor for a little over $200 with tax and shipping. It is an oldie, still has the Compaq name on it, but it works fine and has a very nice picture.

Now you may wonder, why a touchscreen? Well, no keyboard or mouse required. "But how can you enter items into the calendar?" you ask. Well, I had a plan for that, but more my plan next time.

Second, I know that for around $600 I could have just gone out and bought an HP touchscreen computer and been done with it, but where is the fun in that? This is not a road we even need to consider going down.

So given that, I needed to find something to drive my big monitor and I looked to the new version of the Raspberry Pi to do that. The Raspberry Pi, for those who do not know, is a small computer that costs $39. Now there is some real cost savings!

I had been looking for an excuse to work with a Raspberry Pi for a year or so now and this seemed like a good opportunity to do so.  The latest version had just come out and it was faster, had more memory, built-in Bluetooth and Wi-Fi, four USB ports, Ethernet, SD card slot, and HDMI. Best of all the new version supported Windows 10 IoT.

Also, considering that it would fit in the palm of my hand I figured it was small enough to tuck in somewhere back behind my monitor. Being a Microsoft programmer by trade, this seemed right up my alley, so I ordered one.

Days of Wine and Havoc

Years ago my wife bought this calendar holder, a wooden base that attached s to the wall of our kitchen and into which she can slide a new calendar each year. Not an earthshaking concept, but one with a few flaws in it.

First, I don't know about you, but I get tired of seeing the same picture above the calendar for an entire month. This year it might be glasses of wine or fields of grapes and next year it might be puppy dogs or unicorns. This is not something I can't live with, but something that just mildly bugs me.

Second, my wife works in the medical field, which means her days working are scheduled months in advance. In order to keep track of them, she tacks another calendar to the bottom of her calendar holder and writes her work days there for the months in advance, then transfers them to the real calendar when the month rolls around.

Third. I have no idea what is on the calendar at home when I am not there and neither does she. We could use an online calendar like Google Calendar, but that would just mean reentering things twice.

Some may see these as a minor nuisance, but for me it was enough to see if I could build us a calendar that would eliminate all of these issues.

That was the germ of what is turning into Havoc, my latest obsession.

So to be clear, I set out to build a wall calendar with a touchscreen interface that is accessible from our phones. Not a small undertaking, but something that has morphed over the past few months into something much more.

Wreaking Havoc

Decades ago I was at COMDEX (the Computer Dealers Expo) in Las Vegas and I saw one of the earliest implementations of home automation that you could actually purchase. Over the years I have forgotten almost everything about the product I saw that day, but I clearly remember thinking it didn't go far enough. I thought though it was a good start, it needed to be voice activated and it wasn't. I envisioned my own product and what it could do and how it could work. Of those long ago musings the only thing I really remember is the name I had for my product: HAVOC, the Home Automation Voice Operated Computer.

Well it is now decades later and home automation is everywhere. I own an Amazon Echo and, if I wanted to, I could have it automate nearly every aspect of my home, that is if I wanted to spend the money on expensive wireless devices to replace cheap standard ones. For the most part, I don't want to do that.  But, that doesn't mean I am not always looking for something to automate, just for the heck of it.

OK, that is not quite the truth; it is not "just for the heck of it." I write software for a living. I've done so for over 30 years. I have lived in a small corner of Microsoft development for over 25 years and made a good living at it as there are a vast number of companies who do the same. So if it is Microsoft WinForms for your desktop computer or Microsoft WebForms for your website, I am all over it. But I like to grow as a developer and sometimes that means leaving my comfortable corner and venturing out to something else, or simply expanding the environ of my small corner, making it a little bigger. So, I have a real reason for doing this, it expands my toolkit for the work I have chosen as a career.

A few months ago I started looking at automating something I have been thinking about for a few years now and it is slowly morphing into a Havoc, though the acronym is not quite what I envisioned more than 20 years ago..

Scrounge

Curt was one of those guys that just sort of fall into your life. We had enough in common that we could hang out and enough not in common that it wouldn't be a daily thing. But when we were both stood up or unattached on a Friday or Saturday night, somehow we would end up together, usually in my parent's den, watching TV and drinking my dad's cheap, and I do mean cheap, beer. He would get the generic beer from the store that came in a white can that said BEER on it, or, god forbid, those little 10 ounce bottles of Lucky or Schaefer. Curt and I would sit back there and drink that crap all night long, with an occasional stop out in the back yard to smoke a little pot.

We both drew, though Curt was more into the "high art of it all" and I was just trying to put together a comic book. We would watch bad TV, drink bad beer, talk about the ladies we were not fornicating with and draw stuff. We would fold an 8 1/2 by 11 inch piece of paper in half and then fold it again to make four 8 1/2 by 2 3/4 inch panels. One of us would start out and draw a character from their head to their shoulders, then mark on the next quarter page where the shoulders ended, then fold the paper over to the next blank panel and hand it off. The new artist would draw a character from the shoulders to their waist, mark the next panel and fold it over again. The first guy would then draw the waist to the knees and mark them and the other guy would draw the bottom of the legs and any foreground he wanted.

Then we would have an unveiling of our masterpiece. OK, we would usually go out and take a hit off the joint first, but we would eventually get back the unveiling. Sometimes it was real strange what we had drawn. It was a way to pass the time with no female companionship as it were. I kind of liked those times, even if I wasn't getting any. The only thing I didn't like was how cheap Curt was. OK, we were both drinking my dad's beer, but Curt would smoke my cigarettes.

"Hey man, can I bum a smoke?"

"Hey dude, you got an extra smoke?"

He stopped asking that one once I started replying, "No Curt, they only put 20 in this pack."

Strange good times from my youth that would have been a whole lot better if Curt was not such a scrounge.

Copyright 2015 Barry Keller. All rights reserved.

Impressions

Growing up I was always breaking things, so much so that I considered myself to be a real schlemiel and I was so unlucky I felt like an honest schlimazel. Of course, not being Jewish, I never used those words to describe me. No, I just felt I was the focal point of bad luck and the epitome of clumsiness and it embarrassed the hell out of me.

I remember my parents bought a glass-top table for the dining room and one day I was leaning on it and the glass shattered. I felt mortified and I remember going to my room and crying for what seemed like hours about it, my mother coming in every now and then to say it was not my fault, just an accident. But I knew. I was so embarrassed, it was my bad luck.

I remember later playing whiffle ball at a friend’s house where we had made a baseball diamond in his side yard, with wooden bases and how I hit a home run and in running the bases I cracked home plate in two when I stepped on it. They called me a cloddish, clumsy oaf. I was embarrassed, but I didn't cry in front of them, I waited till I went to bed that night for that. I was a schlemiel and a schlimazel, and it seemed like my childhood was a long list of embarrassing events strung together, a gauntlet of humiliation that I had to traverse to reach adulthood.

I remember the first time I met my fiancé's parents. It was at a high-end restaurant and they had gotten there first. They both stood as we approached the table and Tina said, "Daddy, this is Tony. Tony, my Father." He had one of those firm let's-just-see-what-the-hell-you-are-made-of handshakes that try to crack your fingers, but I was prepared for that and gave as good as I got. I think he was impressed.

Tina's mother was a rare, stunning beauty, almost regal in looks and demeanor. "Momma, this is Tony. Tony, my Mother." She had a presence about her. I almost felt I should take her hand and kiss it, but I didn't. Instead I bent slightly at the waist and shook her hand gently and as I did so, I broke wind.

Copyright 2015 Barry Keller. All rights reserved.

Boudreaux

“I’m not sure why I’m here. I dint do nuthin’”

“Well sir, if that proves to be true, you have nothing to worry about.”

“When can I leave?”

“Once you prove that you, as you say, ‘dint do nuthin’’.”

 “Sure, it be your show. Wha’chu wanna know?”

“Mr. Hebert, you want to talk about the Simonson girl?”

“Not sure what there is to talk about, I dint do nuthin’ to that girl.”

“But you know her?”

“Sure man, dat girl been on the block since she was jus’ a little wee one. You know, all dem kids they play in da street and in da empty lots. They even got themselves a fort over on Elm in dat big oak tree in the field ova’ by Chacharee’s place.”

“So you do know the Simonson girl?”

“Sure, I know her. She dat little pretty one with the silky brown hair, goes down her back in a long ol’ pony tail. She a real cute one dat girl.”

“Mr. Hebert, how well do you know the Simonson girl?”

“Call me Boudreaux, we may not be friends but dat no reason to not ac’ friendly. Marie Simonson, her daddy may not be Cajun, but her mamma be a bayou girl through and through, and little Marie, she take after her mamma, don’chu know.”

“How so Mr…”

“Boudreaux.”

“Boudreaux?”

“She got the olive skin and the dark eyes, and she already takin’ afta’ her momma, you know what I mean?”

“How so…Boudreaux?”

“Dat little girl got the fire in her blood dat make a man take notice. She what, only 11 I guess, but she already got her some woman titties, you know? She run home from the bus stop every day an’ I see her bouncing down the street. I think her’s gonna be bigger than her mamma’s and dat is sayin’ a lot, you know?”

“When was the last time you saw Marie Simonson?”

“Cain’t really say.”

“Oh?”

“Don’t rightly remember the exact day, the exact time.”

“Did you see her come home from school on Friday?”

“Ooh, yea sir, I do believe I did enjoy dat show on Friday. Bounce so nice they do, don’chu know? She was wearin’ her little shorty pants. They was so tight it was almost obscene, the way her little butt was showin’ out the bottom of her shorty pants. Little girls like dat, they shouldn’t be teasin’ dat way. They should be taught better at home than to prance around with their big woman-like titties and their cheeks showin’ out their shorty pants. The kids these days, they jus’ don’ know how to act anymore. I blame’s the parents.”

“Certainly.”

“She had to be taught some manners don’chu know? Cain’t be teasing a man like dat.”

“Of course not.”

“Man can only take so much teasin’, then it be time for action, you know?”

“Sure, I hear ya.”

“I’m getting’ tired. When can I leave?”

“Not for a while Boudreaux, not for a while.”

Copyright 2015 Barry Keller. All rights reserved.

Hollow

I should be feeling pain, I should, but I don't. I don't feel anything and I haven't in weeks, not since I came home early and found Joanie with my best friend and business partner, Carl. I lost my wife. I lost my job. I lost my meaning for living. They had had me completely fooled; I had no idea there was a problem in my marriage. Maybe...maybe that was part of the problem, that I didn't know something was wrong. How could I have been so sure about two people, the two people closest to me in all the world, and been so wrong?

 I can't eat, I can't sleep. I can't work, hell, I can barely function. Joanie filled my world with love and my partnership with Carl filled it with meaning and now both are gone, leaving me empty and hollow.

Copyright 2015 Barry Keller. All rights reserved.

Less Tasting

Matt pushed the cart through the crowded store as his friend Chris led the way, “Over here dude, the beer aisle. I know what would be great for the party; let’s get some Miller Lite!”

“Chris, seriously, why would you want to get Miller Lite?”

“Dude, it’s less filling and it tastes great!” taking a bow as he did so, as if he had just quoted Shakespeare.

“Chris, calm down for a minute and think about what you just said.” Chris looked at Matt, a confused expression on his face.

“First of all, you said it was less filling, how do you figure that?”

“It’s got less calories.”

“So, it is still 12 ounces of liquid and 12 ounces of liquid, no matter how many calories it has, will still fill your stomach up with 12 ounces of liquid.”

“But the calories…”

“Don’t make it any less filling, just less caloric.”

“But…but…” Chris looked like someone had just told him there was no Santa Claus.

“And secondly, you said it tastes great, and we both know that’s bullshit. It tastes like watered-down Miller and when was the last time you drank Miller?”

“Well, uh, I…hum, that is, ah…”

“Exactly, if watered-down Miller tasted great, everyone would be drinking Miller and nobody drinks Miller. So, it isn’t less filling and it doesn’t taste great.”

“So you pick the fucking beer then!”

“I will,” and Matt picked up a case of Hanger 24 Orange Wheat and set it down in the cart. “Let’s go get some chips.”

Chris now lagged behind Matt and the cart, the wind seemingly gone from his sails, his face a cross between dejection and concentration. Something was bugging him. He suddenly ran forward and grabbed the cart, bringing it to a halt. “Hold on a second, you’re trying to make me look stupid; ounces aren’t always the same size.”

“Of course they are, Chris. What are you thinking?”

“No, no, no man, you aren’t fooling me. An ounce of gold is real small like, but an ounce of something like balsa wood or cotton is much bigger, and, and it’s the same with lite beer.”

“Yeash, Chris, an ounce of gold is a different ounce than an ounce of beer.”

“No it’s not man; now you’re the stupid one. An ounce is an ounce.”

“Chris, an ounce of beer is a fluid ounce, it is a measurement of volume, of size, as in ounces in a cup or a quart. An ounce of gold is a measurement of weight, like ounces in a pound. They are not the same thing buddy.”

“Don’t fucking ‘buddy’ me, you asshole! I’m gonna have my own party so fuck you!”

As Chris stormed off Matt just shook his head and started looking at chips. At least Ruffles did have ridges. 

Copyright 2015 Barry Keller. All rights reserved.

One Cool Cat

He was the coolest dude in the room. The collar of his leather coat was up high, providing a backdrop for his face. The coat was open and the collection of gold chains around his next sparkled in the light of the club as they danced in the tufts of chest hair peaking out from his silk shirt. He wore a smug expression, accented by his five-o'clock shadow and dark piercing eyes.

He wore one gold earring, a subdued bit for him; he didn't want anything to take way from his hair. It was blonde and spiked and at first glance looked disheveled and unkempt, but on closer inspection, every spike was neatly configured and in synch with the spikes next to it for optimal effect. Under the colored lights of the club it looked like his head was a flaming mass as he strutted towards the bar. Every woman in the room had her eyes on him, wishing he was theirs, every man did too, wishing he would leave and now. He was one cool cat.

Copyright 2015 Barry Keller. All rights reserved.

Monster

The coaster was a monster, not in size but in the amount of physical damage inflicted on your body. The wooden skeleton, groaned and shook and twisted and bent as the cars made their way around the rusted and worn track. The first big turn approached and, as Billy watched the front cars rumble through the bank, he saw two pairs of sunglasses go flying off of screaming faces. His back was already feeling the effects of the pulsating track transferred through the coaster's wheels, chassis and seat and right into Billy's spine. Good lord, it is only the first turn. This was going to hurt.

Copyright 2015 Barry Keller. All rights reserved.

Freedom

It was dark but Jason and the others stealthily made their way through the orchard of pecan trees. The moon had already set and the sun was hours from rising, Jason was tired, they all were, but they kept on moving. There was no time to rest, who knew when the massas would notice they were gone and when the hounds would be put on their trail.

 Jason heard a stirring behind him, back the way they had come. What was that? Horses! It was horses. He began to run, passing the other slaves in his group, pushing his legs and his lungs harder and harder, separating from the group. They were following him, but that would not do, As he ducked through a line of underbrush, he turned sharply to the left and headed for some trees in that direction and was down in a gully when the others broke through and headed on in the direction he had been running. He followed the gully till he hit the trees then blew through them. Up ahead he heard rushing water. Coming through some overgrowth he found himself in midair, the ground gone and only a rapid river below!

 This was good! The water would pull him down the river and any hounds would lose his scent. If only Jason knew how to swim! They didn't teach their niggers to swim for just this reason. Harder to escape. The water was rapid and pulled Jason along. He flailed, He sunk. He arose. He took in huge gulps of air and even bigger gulps of water. He hit rocks and rolled off them. Whenever his feet hit something solid he pushed forward, always forward.

 His body smashed into a massive boulder and the air was knocked from his lungs. He spun over the top of the rock and fell head first into the raging river. His head careened into the river bottom and he flipped his legs over his head and pushed off, gasping as he made the surface! He flailed about, trying to stay afloat but he was sinking again, the water seemed deeper here. He was pulled under and hit another rock. Pushing off he found the surface again. Then his feet hit something and he pushed forward once again and he was out of it. The rushing water was behind him as he made his way to the shore.

 He collapsed on the shore in some thick weeds unable to move any further. Suddenly, off in the distance he heard a number of gunshots and his energy returned. He got to his feet and headed north. North was West Virginia. North was freedom.

Copyright 2015 Barry Keller. All rights reserved.

Eighty-Seven Miles

According to the crumpled paper in my hand, my life will change in eighty-seven miles. The blue line on the map clearly delineates my destination. I've been practicing what to say for days, months...hell, years; almost all my life really. I have always loved the feel of cool air blowing on my face, but the air conditioner is sending a chill across my shoulders and down my spine. Is it really the air, or the coming words that brings the feeling of unease? First impressions as they say...

Twenty-three years is a long time to wait; I have to get it just right. In my mind I practice some more.

"Ronald Stansky? My name is Melinda Connors. Samantha Connors is my mother and I'm your daughter. Nice to meet you." OH crap that sucks. Eighty-six miles to go; keep practicing. What's the worst that could happen?

Copyright 2015 Barry Keller. All rights reserved.

Ravens

Von ran across the field, looking back over her shoulder, scanning the sky behind her. There was a swarm of black dots in the sky and they were getting closer and larger. Her breathing was strained and her heart was pounding loudly. Another glace behind and the dots were much bigger and sprouting wings. It was an unkindness of ravens and they were zeroing in on Von.

She turned back forward and gave it all she had, her trench coat flailing as she churned her legs. Another glance; they were almost on her. She felt her body buffeted as the ravens attacked. Claws dug into the fabric of her trench coat and, beaks pecking. They were all over her. she swatted at them to no avail. The claws were gouging into her skin. She unfastened the belt of her trench coat and tore it open dropping it along with the birds as she streaked away, in more ways than one. She forgot that under the trench coat she was naked.

Copyright 2015 Barry Keller. All rights reserved.

Fire

At some level everyone knows they are going to die. Some people it keeps awake at night and some it keeps in their house and hidden away from the rest of the world. Then there are those, usually young people, who all but deny this simple truth. The thought of our own mortality is more of an abstract concept for people. It's like a faraway country that you have never been to, but have heard a few people talk about; you know it is there, but you just don't have a solid, concrete, grasp of it.

 I think part of the reason for that is the uncertainty of it all. No, not that it will happen, but when it will happen. You read stories of people waking up, getting ready for work, having breakfast, kissing the wife or husband goodbye and then while driving to work a piece of pipe comes loose from a plumbing truck ahead of them on the freeway and before they even have a moment to register what is happening, a lead pipe has gone through their windshield and through their brain. A fraction of a second and a normal day is the last day on earth.

 I am jealous of those people. Their uncertainty regarding death never metamorphosed into something else, something darker and wetter. Something that slithers around you and crawls up your leg, nips at your neck and breathes hot and wet into your ear. Ah, to be one of the uncertain; how I wish.

 I know when I am going to die. I have already seen my last sight. My last smell is that of the urine flowing down my legs. My last taste is the bile coming up from my stomach, and my last sound, well next to last sound, is the Commander of the squad yelling, "Fire!"

Copyright 2015 Barry Keller. All rights reserved.

Self-Destruct

After the love of my life died, my world just seemed to self-destruct. My friends tried to help me stay afloat, to keep a positive attitude, but they were of no help. They said all the wrong things without knowing it. How could they not? None of them had any idea that I had killed her.

Copyright 2015 Barry Keller. All rights reserved.

The House

I’ve always hated my brother, but his insistence on demolishing Mom and Dad’s home has really upped the tension between us. Neither of us would move from our entrenched positions. Now that they are both gone, Kerry thinks we can maximize our profits by tearing down their house and putting up something more suited to the upscale neighborhood. My counter has always been that we all grew up in that house, Mom died in it and that was where we all lived when our sister, Lisa, went missing. The memories far outweighing any financial gain.

Now he has forged my signature on an agreement with a contractor and they are scheduled to demolish the house today. I had to get there first. But when I turned the corner onto Third Avenue, the flashing lights halfway up the block told me I was too late.

They had found her.

You have to understand, I never meant to hurt her. I loved Lisa. She was my baby sister, a pain in my ass, then a blossoming young woman. Don’t you dare judge me! I’m not interested in your shocked surprise or your outdated morals. I loved my sister, in every way a man can love a woman…and she loved me back. 

Things started to go south when Lisa became pregnant. I couldn’t understand how that could happen; we always used protection. I wanted her to abort the child but she wanted to keep it. She wanted us to move out of state and live as husband and wife, but hell, she was only sixteen.

Then one day she told me that she had retrieved my used condoms and had inseminated herself. She wanted my baby, she wanted us to be together and wanted to force the issue. I was furious and slapped her, just trying to show my displeasure, only, I hit her too hard and she fell and hit her head. It was an accident damn it!

I wrapped her in a plastic tarp, took her out to the desert and buried her, along with our love letters.  That seemed to be the end of it. She was a missing persons…still is. Life went on.

My brother has the same blue eyes as Lisa. It only made me hate him more.

A few years later we had that 100-year storm. The basement flooded and didn’t drain right. Water pooled in the corners and one of the walls partially collapsed. Kerry was gone by then and Dad’s stroke had left him immobilized. I offered to fix the basement; relay the floor and repair the wall. No one saw me when I made Lisa’s tomb in the wall or when I brought her remains back from the desert. I needed an insurance policy, so I fabricated new love letters.

I had wanted to be here when they found her and the letters and see the look on Kerry’s face as they put him in cuffs and hauled his sorry ass away.

Copyright 2015 Barry Keller. All rights reserved.

Bad Timing

“Captain to the bridge.”

Kirk rolled off of Yeoman Rand and walked over to the intercom, the sweat dripping down his naked body. He punched the button, “On my way Mr. Spock.”

He glanced back at Janice Rand and chuckled, “My Science Officer has the worst timing in Star Fleet.”

Copyright 2015 Barry Keller. All rights reserved.