The Green Arrow vs. Superman

This week, or maybe this month, I have found myself consumed in superheroes.  I've been reading and viewing many photos from /film regarding Thor 2, Captain America 2, The Avengers 2, and The Amazing Spiderman 2.  Since there is some time between now and their theatre release, I have sunk into high school nostalgia and it's name is Smallville.  I am in season three, one season prior to where I stopped watching it before, out of ten.  As I mentioned before, I wanted to learn more about the Green Arrow.  So what did I do?  I started watching cw's Arrow while watching Smallville.  I am in love with both.

Clark Kent is a man forged by the search for an identity with a "do-gooder" complex.

Oliver Queen is a good man forged by hard times.  A former party boy turned seeker of justice.

They are sort of alike, but their skill set is totally different.  And I love that.  I think I am a little biased about Superman because of Smallville , but its a great origins show.  Arrow seeks to do something similar, but in a much different fashion.  Arrow is darker, for one, and both are at much different points in their life when the show starts. 

I think being a librarian has jaded me in the sense that I believe all issues(all episodes) should be made available via the CWs website.  Articles from magazines are readily made available in these databases, why not shows?  Articles/databases owned by libraries, or previously owned, are then paid for and can be accessed whenever, wherever.  Places like Netflix and Amazon Instant Watch help, but typically by sending a disc.  My attitude with Netflix is not as great at the moment as it once was because they continue to send me discs out of order...I disgress.  To watch these shows, I have had to find...methods.  One of which involves Swedish subtitles.  And I don't speak Swedish.  But if I did, Arrow would sure teach me a lot.

I have not seen enough of Arrow to explain what it is that I feel makes the show successful, but I can say that the pilot and episode two have kept me watching.  More on that another day.

As for Smallville, the teen-love dynamics, high school, enemies, small town life versus the city, and great villains in the form of Luthers.  It's a good show and I like it as much now as I did in high school.  I m very intrigued to see where they take the show, having seen a few images prior.

Stay tuned heroes and villains of the night!

Lost in Austen

Yes I know it's not clever.  Yes I know it's the title of a movie- I just watched it.  And yes, I know every other woman has already felt what I'm feeling because I myself have been there too.  At least a few times.

This evening my friend Kim introduced my roommate and I to a film called Lost in Austen.  It has many memorable faces, one of which is Alex Kingston and the other two are Jemima Rooper and Christina Cole.  I am a big fan of novel adaptations that are done well and by adaptation I do not mean novel to film, word for word.  Here I simply mean that these ideas from the novel transpire in a fashion to the film (or tv) that we might not expect.  Typically, the contemporary ones grab my attention.  For example, I would classify Sherlock under this and love the show immensely.  Once Upon a Time also does this and, again, I have seen every single episode.  Now and again, a film does this and is quite good.  As is the case of Lost in Austen.  Mr. Darcy might not be my ideal mate(GASP!).  I think I am more of a fan of Mr. Bingley.  But both of them have a swooning courtship and they end up with their ideal mates.(The film twists this a bit, but it's okay because we identify with Amanda Price.)  And I think that's why most women get lost in the works of Jane Austen.

Now I have been to Bath, England.  And it is stunning.  The Roman Baths are full of history.  I know this is where Austen spent much of her time writing, and it is reference in the text.  But it has nothing to do with what my mind is truly thinking.  No, my mind is still stuck on the idea of honest romance. The picture she paints we find ourselves crying when love is denied and overjoyed when everything clicks into place.

When a woman reads an Austen novel, their favourite likely being that of Pride and Prejudice, they are instantly swept up in feelings of desire, passion, and courtship.  The Austen era, while maybe a bit too focused on the who knows who or the attention to a monetary marriage, is still a world we desire to be in.  We read these books, or watch these movies,  and this is exactly how many of us live.  Pinterest allows us to give our lives organization and an expression of what trends we would like to adhere to(an app I use often).  Facebook allows us to "be up on" the who's who and we find ourselves looking to money in our perspective careers.  The women of today are independent, thank god, so it's not that we need a man's money(unlike Austen's marriages) but we desire the passion that these characters feel.  With texting we have almost lost site of letters, or what once might have been a phone call.  And when a text is not received promptly, we carry on as if someone has slighted us.  We don't take our time anymore, exploring the depths of a person(also known as courting) but instead we expect things to be instantaneous.  I too fall guilty to this, I get it.  For crying out loud, I've been talking to a guy for a few weeks and just when I have started telling my closest friends about him, he goes MIA for the weekend.  All of this started to dawn on me throughout the movie.  WHen it began, my friends were talking about how confusing men were.  I kept quiet, which they noticed, because I am so in the middle of what I should be thinking.  My friend looked to me, she also knowing of my "courtship" and said "well I guess not you though, huh?"  and I said, "well I don't know what to think about not hearing from someone for a weekend."  By the end of the film, the only thing I could think was that the romance of the movie seemed so simple.

Part of me thinks on how I want that courtship, but the other part of me is caught up in my desire of this man and I find myself wanting constant connection via mobile.  And I hate that feeling.  Not the desire for a person- that's quite fun- but the inability to not overthink when a person takes their time responding to me.  I constantly rant about how (women especially) cannot unplug when they are spending "quality time" with their friends.  When out to dinner or watching a movie, there are screens constantly separating that connection between the people.  Often times we call this multitasking, but I feel that it's more that we've become unable to come to terms that something might happen if we leave the social media behind for a night.  I digress... And what's more, for someone coming around to the idea of letting someone in their lives again, relationship or no, trusting someone new is hard for me; it's even harder to know when I'm being crazy about my expectations of that person.  (If you've read my earlier blog posts, say this summer, that might make some sense.  A quick recap: I don't trust easy anymore.  I find myself constantly worrying about when someone will become tired of me because it has happened more times than...)

I think my want  to start romancing again is something I can relate to the works of Austen or at least the movie I saw tonight based on her works.  I feel like I can relate with Amanda Price, I'm a little out of touch with some of the women around me but, in the end, we just want to be loved and in love.  So, do we let that curiosity for another person come out of our lips?  Or do we play it cool and undemanding?  Seemingly letting others act upon us.  And that, dear readers, is how the mind of a woman works.  Do I know if the mystery of where this guy went for the weekend is simple, no?  But I want to keep reading anyways.

Clever Girl

I saw Jurassic Park 3D tonight and, in two words, I say "clever girl."  I watched it in IMAX and found myself jumping at scenes that I hadn't jumped at in years.  3D really brought this film an extra set.  It was epic to begin with, starting with logical and well thought out science(on the part of Michael Crichton) and great actors, a soaring score, and ending with brilliant animation/puppetry.(I really wish I could find the brontosaurus footage from /film's page 2!)   After all these years, Dr. Malcolm(Jeff Goldblum) is still my favourite character. Anyways, you've all seen the film and I don't need to prove to you how great it really is.  Go check it out this week in 3D if you are able.

As my semester gets calmer, I am going to be reading more of Michael Crichton and will be posting reviews here along the way.  Stay tuned!

Shadows in the Fog: Me & Mrs. Jones

  So, a long time ago in a galaxy far far away- wait that's someone else story.

   A few years ago, I was big on writing short stories.  They were easier to pick up and put down than a novel and, often times, I could use them as practice for my creative writing class.  Most times, I would write something and it would just hang out in a virtual file on my desktop.  This is what happened with Shadows in the Fog.  I was in the mood for comic books and felt inspired to create one of my own.  I tried making a huge character arc- beyond the origin story- and I didn't get all that far.  Also this is a few drafts in, but if I ever felt how I did when I wrote it I might be likely to further tweak it.
    But, I saved a lot of it(drafts and all) and feel that it would make for a fun blog.  I'm going to split it up into three blog-post pieces: 1) origin story(which is happening now) 2) where I consider what happens to Daniel Hatcher and 3) where I toy around with plotline(s).  Before I post this I just want to say that these are my ideas and, as such, I am copyrighting them here and now WHICH MEAN under NO circumstances are you allowed to REWRITE, RESCRIPT, or REPASTE/RECOPY my words without my CONSENT.  I noticed that happened to a blog I did a few weeks ago and, funny enough, if I had been asked to share my works on that site I might have.  So please, while this isn't money making material, be respectful.


Oh, and it gets a little PG-3, so just putting that out there..

And so it begins...

Shadows in the Fog: Me and Mrs. Jones

Sighing, Hatcher ran a hand through his golden locks.  The strands parted smoothly as flesh found hair, then he swept them back and set his brown suede hat on his head.  Part of him wanted to maintain a slow pace while a larger part of him was dying to see her.  Damn chick gave him a fire like he hadn’t found in quite some time.  Hatcher knew they would be kissing fools if they had been found out.   ‘Suckers is more like it,’ he thought to himself.  He felt like such a smuck for not being able to pull away from her, that desirable temptress.  A fond smile came to his face as he remembered their last evening together. 

They spent it in a cozy Italian restaurant over on Main Street.  The wine was perfect that night, and was probably the setter of the evening’s mood.  The bottle had been aged a good couple of years by then, no longer ripe but still full of flavor.  Or maybe it was the undertones of soft piano and smooth jazz, “you’ll never find another love like mine, you’ll never find someone who loves you tender like I do,” sang the deep-voiced singer on the jukebox.  The corners of her lip curled upward as she let the rhythm get into her and her head began slightly swaying.   

“There’s nothing like a classic to make you feel alive,” Alison crooned, “It makes everything seem better.”

“Not even a classic makes me feel the way you do,” he said as he slid his hand across the table and put it gently upon hers.  His smile reflected hers, warm and sincere.

“Oh Daniel,” she smiled playfully and squeezed his hand.  Hatcher winced from the inside and tried desperately not to that it show on his face.  ‘Sawyer,’ he corrected in his head.  The first time he had told her his name he had lied to her.  Lying to Alison was the last thing he wanted to do and he made a promise not to do it after that night.  So far he had kept that promise.  As Come Fly With Me started on the radio, he got the sudden urge to ask her to dance.

“Wanna dance with me sugar?”  He asked looking intently into her pale green eyes.  She finished her sip of wine, setting the glass down on the table. Shifting in her seat, she leaned in close to him.

“Sort of,” she said coyly.  Hatcher knew the routine.  He wanted to keep his manners so he would ask her ‘your place, or mine?’ But she always said ‘yours,’ then they would leave.  Part of him felt pathetic for keeping his distance but telling himself that he was loving her right.  He was loving her the best way he could.  To the grace of someone upstairs, the nights had always been amazing and undisturbed. 

He leaned in and put a hand under her chin.

“Your place or mine?” he asked, putting on a smile.

“Yours,” she said.  As they stood up, he took her hand.  She grabbed her hand satin bag; the clutch purse matched her dress.  The dress was a rustic sort of orange that looked stunning on her.  It was an elegantly simple dress which she worn with nothing more than heels and a set of earrings.  It was floor length and pleasantly form fitting.  Hatcher had seen what was underneath already and still he found himself wanting more than just a glimpse of what was exposed in the cut of the dress. 

They were already in one another’s embrace by the time they finally got to his apartment over on fifth.  Pressed close to one another, he ran his hand through her onyx hair, making her close her eyes and lean her cheek into his palm.  His other hand traced her sultry outline, stopping at her waist.   She opened her eyes and looked for his.  She smiled when she saw he was still looking at her.  Holding each other’s gaze deeply for what felt forever, he broke the moment and turned towards the door.  With one swift movement, he had the door unlocked.  Sweeping a hand in front of his, he gestured her inside.  She giggled lightly at his gentlemen’s act, but stepped inside anyways. 

Watching her stand in the doorway way always quite a sight and it usually took his breath away.  He would marry her if her could.  ‘You can’t think about that now,’ Hatcher told himself.  He regained his breath after that moment and followed her lead.  She took his hand, entwining her fingers in his, and led him to the room in the house she was the most familiar with.  He wasn’t even sure what they had was love, but it was the closest he had even known and it was sweet to him in so many ways.  He decided to let his mind stop thinking for the night and just enjoy her presence.  He kissed her the most passionately he had in a long time and before long they had tumbled upon his bed.

That was only last week and yet it felt like some much longer had gone by.  He straightened his collar and blue tie, the least he could do as look presentable when he finally got to see her.  Lost in formalities and though, Hatcher avoided running a woman passing by.  She looked sort of familiar but the thought had come and passed as he was arriving at the restaurant.  The place was called Bon Chocolate which means damn good chocolate- the little Parisian restaurant severed the finest deserts in town.  It had eight years on Hatcher, built in the twenties, and he grinned to see it had stood the test of time.  He could recall coming to this place with various relatives and a few lovers that he deemed “worthy.”  The only thing that had changed was the addition of a terrace and the adjoining second floor.  With his hands in his trouser pockets, he strode up to the entrance.  She stood just as fine as ever, clad in a peach silk dress tonight.  The collar-line draped playfully about her neck while the waist bunched under a pearl belt.  The belt matched both the earrings she wore and the small strand about her neck.  How she could be so lovely and so simply clothed never ceased to amaze him. 

“You look ravishing Mrs. Jones,” he warmly said to her.

“How many times have I told you Alison?” She said sternly to him.  But as soon as the words had left her tongue and she saw the hurt in his eyes, she regretted saying them as she did.  “But thank you Jonathan.”  She smiled and took his hand.  She looked up at the old red bricks of the building.

Tilting her head to the side she said, “You know, you’re an enigma sometimes.”  He chuckled heartily, she didn’t know the irony of her words.

Looking at the building for the last time, he then looked at Alison, that dame that brought him to his knees, and then gestured her towards the glass doors.

Once inside, Hatcher scoped the place out before the waiter came over to them.  It was pretty busy for a Thursday night, the bottom level was nearly full.  Any space consisted of corner spots and he was not about to settle for one of those.  Caught up in the hoping place, Hatcher didn’t see the waiter slide up next to them. 

“’Ello mon amie.  I am sorry but we are quite beezy.  If you are willing to wait-“  Hatcher helped up a hand in front of him. 

“How much to get a seat up stairs?”

“Daniel, we couldn’t!”  Alison started to protest, but Hatcher merely smiled at her and then winked.

“Eh sir I am not sure that my manager wood-“   Jonathan grabbed his hand and firmly placed a small bill in his hand.

“Is that gonna work?”  The waiter inspected the bill and then began grinned from ear to ear. 

“Right theese way sir.”  The waiter said as he hurriedly ushered them up the stairs and to the second floor.

 The terrace was a small addition, a private one that held one table and two chairs.  The sight of the bay that it overlooked was amazing.  It was like they finally had a change of scene and had gotten away from the city for a night.  It wasn’t late enough for stars, but the shades of blue cast a low light, making the table candle that much more subtle.  The candle was placed in a bronze holder, just a thick wire that stemmed from the base and wrapped itself around the candle.  Hatcher smiled as he admired the addition.  The waiter smiled and nodded, he’d be back later.  Hatcher grabbed the chair and slid it out from beneath the table.  Alison walked over to it and delicately sat down.  She thanked him as he pushed it back in.  He sat across from her and quickly grabbed her hands.  He hadn’t felt her smooth skin in over a week.  Before they knew it the waiter was back.  They ordered roasted chicken with bread rolls, garlic mashed potatoes, and some mixed tossed greens.  The good-sized chicken was plump and golden brown, the bread was freshly baked and warm, and the greens were also fresh.  The course went perfect with the ’35 bottle of white wine.  Their tongues had not tasted something so delightful since the evening they spent at DaVinci’s Clandestine.

During the meal, his gazed trailed up to her eyes.  Their dishes were exquisite, easily told in the fact that they were eating in silence.  He tried to hold the silence as long as it would last, but eventually it had to be broken.

“So, what do you think?”  He asked rather nonchalantly.

“Oh, what dear?”  She asked innocently.

“What do you think,” he gestured roundly, “Of this building?”

“Its nice.  I particularly like this terrace.”  She said as she looked around again. ”Why do you ask?”

“Curiosity,” he responded shortly.

“Darling, there is never a reason when you ask a question.”  He smiled, she knew him well.

“Honestly, I planned this night differently than most of our nights, hoping you would enjoy a piece of my past.”  She stared at him intently, he had gotten her attention. “I used to come here when I was younger.  It was a treat to the family because it was always for some sort of special occasion.  Its not because they use a different currency either,” they laughed and he began again, “It is just that not many of us in my family had money then.  So we would penny-pinch and at one point or another we wound up at this joint.”  At the end of his sentence, Alison looked at him blankly.

“You’ve never shown me something so close to you.”  She said almost in a whisper.  He grinned.

“I take it you like it?”  he prompted for some sort of acknowledgement that he had gone in the right direction and picked the perfect destination.  The waiter poured them each a glass of Chardonnay and left behind savory strawberries and chocolate mousse served in round wine glasses.  Then he hurriedly went out the terrace doors, back inside, and down stairs again.  Alison looked him as deep in his brown eyes a she could and said,

“I do appreciate you bringing me here, but I-“ he squeezed her hand, then let go and produced something from his pocket.  With both of his hands cupped around an object, he stood from his chair and kneeled at her feet.  Slowly opening his hands, a small black box protruded from them.

“Oh Jonathan,” she sighed, a smile just at bay from her lips.  He quietly cleared his throat, trying to hold back stammering and bumbling in order to produce his words as strong as possible.

“I love you and I know that his can only be a token of my love for you, but I felt it was time to do something for meaningful that love-making and dinner.  This is what I chose,” he added, “it was my grandmothers.”  He opened the lid to the hinged box.  Inside was a small emerald green stone set in between two smaller black stones.  While it was a small ensemble it was radiant, a craftily cut couple of gems.  Hatcher removed one hand from the box and handed it to Alison.  She took it the moment it hit her fingers, but did no more than start at it.  A few silent moments went by before either of them could say anything.  Hatcher spoke first.

“Alison,” he said sweetly, “you don’t li-“

“I love it,” she said weakly as she began to cry.

“Sweetie,” he said gently and with a confused look upon his face, she had never cried in front of him before.  He stood up, as did she, and then embraced her.  He held her tightly, as if she would fall apart otherwise, and swept away the wet droplets that had begun to collect beneath her eyes.

“I love you, you know that.”

“Of course I do.  Even without it being put into words, I can feel it.” She hugged him tightly and started again.

“If I could leave him I would.  I would leave the mob world I’ve gotten myself into.  I would stop feeling horrid for placing you second.  I would say yes to you and marry you like you have asked.  I would be your wife and not his any given day.”  She took the ring and placed it on her right ring finger, the only empty ring finger she had.  She beamed as she looked upon it.

“Its beautiful,” she said almost breathlessly.

“Not as beautiful as you,” he said cupping her chin and pressing his lips to hers.  When the kiss had ended she spoke again.

“Let’s get out of here.”  With a smile he asked,

“Your place or mine?” she stunned him once again, this time with her words.

“Mine.”

“Baby, are you sure?  I don’t want to be running into Mr. Jones anytime soon.  For your sake more than mine.”

“He’s gone on another one of his trips, this time to Manhattan.  I don’t care what her name is or how many people he deals to while he’s away.  I just know that he said he would be gone for about four days.  He left yesterday, seeing as today’s Monday that means he’ll be back Wednesday.”  She looked expectantly at him.

“Alison, if its what you really want.”

“What I really want is you.  So, yes, its what I want.”  She could tell he had a worry behind those brown eyes of his and as she held him tighter she added, “Jonathan, he’s gone.  At least for tonight, but that’s all we need, one night together to bask in each other’s love.”  Hatcher smiled from ear to ear, she had said the magic word; love.

Hatcher’s place was shabby compared to Alison’s.  The paint actually matched, carrying some sort of theme, and none of it was chipped.  It was mostly a jade green with a crème trim.  The doorway was adorned a brass knocker, a sort of welcome sign.  Inside it was dimly lit, whatever light came in flooded in from the streets.  He could make out that there were some black framed pictures on the walls and dark curtains framed the windows.  As Alison slipped off her heels and went to close the curtains, Hatcher continued looking around the room.  He counted two doors, including the entrance to the house.  In this semi-light, he could see a black marble vase filled with white peonies sitting the long wooden dinner table.  The room was overall very tidy and pretty modern for its time.  Hatcher could also tell that a lot of money had been put into it and he had to keep reminding himself that Alison wanted him there, so while his instincts were tense he made himself calm down.

Alison stood in front of Hatcher and, grabbing his blue satin tie, she pulled his lips to hers.  They were always soft as rose petals and he would gladly kiss her any time she asked.  He placed a hand on the small of her back and she placed her other hand on his face.  She smiled when she felt he had cleanly shaved it.  Hatcher made a habit of it, not only because he knew Alison preferred it that way but because if he was going to shave he was going to do his damndest to make sure it wasn’t full of short prickly whiskers, otherwise negating the act.  Her hand followed up through his hair, slowly gliding through the strands.  He pulled her close to him, kissed her, and then dipped her backwards in the kiss.  When he had set her back correctly on her feet, she tossed his hat and tugged off his grey pinstriped overcoat, letting it fall to the floor.

“The bedroom is upstairs,” she breathed.  He continued to kiss her and as she led him they slowly fumbled to the stairs.  Once up them she pulled his tie to his left.  He no longer cared what the house looked like, all he cared about was her happiness.  As she undid all of his buttons, he found the zipper at the back of her dress and slowly pulled it down.  Putting a little space in between them, she let the dress fall to the floor at her ankles.  His hands ran up her sides as she stepped out of the material and worked him out of his clothes.  He drew her in his arms again and kissed her like he never had before.  He felt like every time he saw her bare skin it was the first.  To him, she was perfect.

  The next thing they knew they were on the comforter of the four-poster bed and he was running his hand across her collar-bone and breasts.  She let her hand rest upon his stomach while the other still ran through his hair.  They laid there like that for a few moments before she spoke in her sweetest voice edged with a sexy demeanor.

“Make love to me Daniel,” she asked as she grabbed his hips.  He rolled upon her, and she place a leg on either side of him, allowing him to gently slide within her.  When they were joined she sighed deeply, being completely content in his presence.  He placed a hand on either side of her shoulders, looking her straight in the eyes, and began slowly rocking his hips.  She began moaning as the ecstasy grew.  They rolled and got tangled within the sheets.  Hatcher grunted a bit, allowing himself to let go and feel the remarkable pleasures that the act of being with her gave him.   Eventually he found himself on top again, she placed her hands behind her head, starting to grip what they could as her back began to arch.  With a few more forces of his hip, the climax was nearly reached.  A clacking sounded from somewhere and Hatcher came to an abrupt halt.  She frowned at him,

“What is it?” she asked with a slightly worried undertone.

“I thought I heard something.” He said as clear as he could.

“You’re letting your paranoia get to you again baby.  I didn’t hear anything.  Though this is a good delaying strategy” She said as she looked at him.  She grabbed his torso and rolled him over, straddling him.  She began to get a sly look upon her face again as she ran a hand across his chest trying to keep him in the same mood as her, then her look turned to a full smile.  Hatcher placed a hand on either hip and Alison began rocking her hips.  He leaned his head back and closed his eyes; nothing could feel better than her. 

“You little slut, you ain’t nothin’ but a floozie” said a figure from the bedroom doorway.  Hatcher jumped and grabbed onto Alison, trying to pull them to some sort of cover that wasn’t there.

bang.

Alison’s body went drooped in Hatcher’s hands, all life fading from her eyes.  Crimson blood began to trickle from the wound.  He lost focus, laying her beside him.  A pool gathered beneath her body, permanently staining the sheets.  He ran a hand over her face and started shouting,

“Alison!  Alison!”  All she could get out was meek and barely audible to even him.

“I love you,” she said as she went limp in his arms.  He couldn’t think, he could barely breath.  How could she be gone?

Before Hatcher could think too much he remembered why she had stopped moving.  Staring through the darkness, he searched the doorway.  There stood a man of average height, sort of large in the torso.  He had black, slicked back hair.  He was of Italian descent, Hatcher could  tell that much, but besides that he couldn’t determine the bastard as anyone special.  Then it clicked.  That’s Mr. Jones.  Jones stood starring at Hatcher for a minute, taking the sight of him in. Hatcher stood immobile, he didn’t want to think and even if he wanted to he couldn’t.  Mr. Jones lifted the gun towards Hatcher, then slightly left as if he were going to shoot Alison again.  Hatcher clung tightly to her body which protested as it began to slip from his pams.  But almost as Mr. Jones had changed his mind, he placed the still smoking gun back in a side pocket of his overcoat.

“Don’t worry bub, I ain’t gonna shoot ya.  Besides, I would rather see you suffer her loss.  Me?  I got more where she came from and then some” then he smiled a most malicious grin, “You can have what’s left of her.”  Jones then turned and went down the stairs.  Hatcher counted the stairs Jones went down before he finally heard the front door slam and an engine roar off into the distance.

His arm started to go numb and turning and looking down he saw his angel, Alison.  Pulling himself back into the situation within the room he began to feel tears welt in his eyes.  There was no way he could stay to let her see him weep, and even if he wanted to he couldn’t.  in this day and age, if you get caught with a dead body you would be lumped in with all the other crooks and criminals and hauled away in the slammer.  Alison wouldn’t want that for either of them, she would want them to runaway to someplace warmer.  But he wasn’t about to leave town.  Sliding his arm out from beneath her, he gently laid her head upon a pillow.  Tears began to streak down his face as he gathered his clothing and began to dress.  Before he left, he took the green-stone ring from her finger and out it in his pocket.  She never got to see the inscription.

“we’ll always have the moon to dance darling, love Hatcher.”

  He hadn’t found religion yet, but he still prayed his hardest that someone would give her a decent burial.  Trying to shut off any form of emotion, he left the room without turning back. 

It was three years by the time he was able to be intimate with another woman.  He’d occasionally meet a nice dame and be able to take her home, but while he left them satisfied, none of them cut it for him.  The sex and small talk was never the same as it was with Alison.  He knew it never would be again and so he lived as if he were going through the motions.  In the meantime of those three years, however, he picked up some old hobbies.  He had picked up drinking again, but it was usually a good accompaniment to the records he buried himself in.  The new hobby, however, made perfect sense to him after the first few radio broadcasts.  One night while he was listening to The Shadow play on the old scratchy grathophone, it hit him.  Hatcher didn’t have any close relatives or relations anymore, so no one knew his name, he lived in a rundown house so it was inconspicuous, and he was pretty agile for his age and cunning with his charm when he wanted to be.  It all made sense.*  Sporting his favourite brown suede hat, he pulled on a matching short trench coat, and tightened a green tie around his white shirt collar.  Beneath all of it Hatcher wore Alison’s ring on a thick string, vowing to never lose sight of his task.  ‘Someone needs to stand up for those who refuse to help themselves.’  During the day when he walked to streets, he would refer to himself as Danny Jacobs, but by night he decided to call himself “The Hatchet,” taking down any punk, panzy, or offender of good-natured people that got in his way… 

Fight to Chill

This post is being written just having gotten home from seeing The Call.   The Call stars Halle Berry and Abigail Breslin, with Roma Maffia from Nip/Tuck. 

This story needs a proper set-up to shake some of the tension and adrenalin I am feeling right now.

About two weeks ago, my girlfriends and I went to see The Incredible Burt Wonderstone.  It was really funny, but this blog isn't about Steve Carrell's newest flick.  While waiting for the movie, a few trailers played including one called The Call.  Sarah, Kim, and I watched the trailer in suspense and fear.  When it was over, we looked at one another and said things like "that would make me pee my pants," and "we are not seeing that." My girls and I don't do horror movies(our thoughts at the trailer).  Flash-forward one week and five days.  Plans to hang out started on Facebook and by text and, by the end of the night, we have decided to hit the theatres for a 7'o'clock showing of The Call.
     So my girlfriends meet up, we buy our tickets, and discuss the weeks events.  As it is getting closer to movie time Kim admits she hasn't seen a trailer for this movie and Sarah said she rewatched one and thought it looked good.  That's when I point out that we saw a trailer for this movie the last time we hung out and refreshed their memories of what we saw and how we weren't going to see it.  As this starts to sink in, we all get panicky.  It was the three of us towards the back and one snuggly couple in the far front of the theatre.  
     Now, the trailers leading up to our film did not help.  The first one was some action flick, I don't remember the second one, but the third one was the new Evil Dead remake. Now, like I already said, we don't do horror.  I have been graced enough with exes, cousins, and friends that have gotten me to sit through a select through.  One friend from college actually got me through the original Evil Dead trilogy and she was a good friend to watch it with because I felt encouraged to laugh and poke at the campy B-Movie effects...instead of cower under the sofa.  The trailer holds the camera at the stairs, flies us through the woods with things moving in the distance, and takes us in and out and in and out between the cabin and the road away from the cabin.  Anyways, this really got us going, as if we hadn't been before.
     The movie starts and as we settle into the idea that we are doing this aren't we, things seem okay at first.  We're set into an Emergency Police Call station where the magic behind 911 calls happen.  We see many types of calls, earning red, yellow, or green status in order of importance.  The film set me in a place I had never seen before- usually with cop films we are driving to the crime scene or we are already at the scene.  So, that was kind of cool.  Regardless, while things start sort of blaze, sh*t hits the fan quickly.  This is something you see from the trailers, so don't worry about spoilers(I will tell you).  And the mood is very tense and unsettling.  Kim, Sarah, and I were not holding hands yet, but we were holding our breath.  The movie progresses forward, a chase ensues, and we are hooked and scared all at once for this girl(Abigail Breslin's character). Needless to say, by the end of the movie we were making out-loud shouts and "oh f**k!" expletives.

 Here is where some spoilers will occur, to skip the spoilers skim forward for the "END SPOILERS" that being said...:
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     So Halle Berry loses the call and is going through all of the emotions that the previous case has made her feel when she stumbles upon a noise from the phone call that she cannot place.  In all of her vase police knowledge, like you do in "horror/suspense" flicks, she drives BY HERSELF to one of the suspects houses.  Here the girls and I are allowed between anxiety and focus as we realize just what the (I'm going to call him killer because of all the guys he kills to return home) killer's motivation is.  And, at this point, we've only gotten a glimpse of his hideout.  Exploring the grounds, Halle Berry hears the sound from the tape and, incidentally, finds his lair.  From here we are held by baited breath as she 1) drops her phone 2) takes bad turns through the lair and 3) has a close encounter with the psycho- seriously, he's got a hair fetish and we've seen enough at this point to drive us up a wall.  Just when the killer is about to dig his claws into Breslin, Berry smashes him with concrete and the three of us (in unison) all of "OH!"  and then continue to cheer for the girls. Through much struggle and a fight scene, it's finally over.  And we end the movie with validation.

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END SPOILERS

     So, it was a tense movie.  We thought we were going to have to go see Admission to calm us down.  As we exited the theatre, we caught ourselves watching every person and every car with suspicion.  We talked defense techniques, mace, and considered the potential of taking a kickboxing and/or self-defense class.  Needless to say, we walked Sarah to her car(Kim and I had parked front to back) even though she was a stone's throw from the door.  It really put things into a different perspective.  I moved states and never once, living on two campuses, did I feel like I should watch out or be on guard.  I go to my car with my keys in my pocket or my purse and sometimes I am on the phone, sometimes not.  I mean really, where do you buy mace?  I found myself happy to have a roommate and on what I believe is a pleasant street.  When I sat down to write this blog, I was still on an adrenalin push from having to fumble for my keys; just wanting to get in the door.  Like I said, I was happy to have a roommate tonight.  I highly recommend The Call, it is a suspense thriller(not horror by any means).  And it might be good for you, reader, to think about protection.  We're so unobservant sometimes in our average day and I think, if only for a short time, this movie will be in my head.  It managed to get in my head tonight and it has taught me that I would have, before tonight, been very unprepared if someone with a twisted mind thought I was for the taking.  We'd like everyone to nice, but that's not the way of the world.  And while we shouldn't live in fear(even though I will be on edge for the next week) it doesn't hurt to consider a plan of action and take a look at your flight/fight skills.  Aaand begin running again.  
     And now I am going to play Dragon Age with the graphics level up, because I need to fight to chill.