It was hard to feel sorry for Roman. Maybe it was hard to feel sorry for him once you got to know him. Looking at the young tike one got the impression that bad luck found his mother and lay in her womb for nine months. At the age of fifteen Roman's body resembled that of a small child rather than an adolescent. Yet despite having gangly legs, a concaved chest and pencil sized arms the boy drove forward in life with an inner fire that was matched by few. As an infant and baby his mother had held him every night soothing him to sleep with words of encourgemant and love. Born premature his body was slow to develop and he had trouble walking up until the age of two. After Roman was born Pilar never shed tears for her son. She had come to realize that this was would only validify thoughts of him being unusual or different, beliefs that would hinder her child in life. Instead she constantly bore into his conscious the ideology that man is what he thinks. These words always made Roman feel strong as he would gaze into his mothers eyes all the while thinking of himself as a man. And although he had a woman to inspire him it was a man who brought out Roman's sensitivity. Frank Iglesia would watch his neighbor struggle to stand up to ride his tricycle as a young boy. By placing his hands onto the ground Roman would push himself up then stutter step for balance before feeling comfortable enough to place himself on his steel chariot. From a distance Frank would look on with anger and wonder at this boy who kept moving. At times Mr. Iglesia would play catch with Roman using nerf balls soft and big enough for him to grab. As he encouraged Roman with every activity they shared Frank would feel a burning in his throat and at times he would walk away from because he was afraid to cry in front of him. Nancy would watch as Roman placed himself onto the grass and wait patiently for her husband to return moments later invigorated with a forced spirit. Roman always waited for Frank. No matter how long the middle aged man would cry in the bathroom, little Roman would watch his surroundings knowing that Frank would come out to play again. He never asked why Frank left so sporadically. Roman never felt the need to. He was quite aware of the different feelings he evoked in others and they were so varied that he had long ago given up trying to understand. Roman never minded the wait or the red eyes that greeted him with love and admiration.

If he set himself against all odds then there were no surprises to be had. With the fleeting of memories and the bombardment of panicked thoughts there was nowhere left to go. Stuck in the sludge. But there are those who use their cannons differently. They aim them towards walls of apathy and indifference. Blasting through this mortar of lifelessness is a giant step in the process of revitalization. I will move, I will move, I will move.

It was difficult for Count Bernard Von Straussberg to get dates with women. For starters he lived in a tremendously large castle on top of a remote mountain. Inviting strangers usually meant a mandatory sleepover and this only went over well with occasional strippers and night walkers. So, the Count's dependable driver Theodore had to drive his boss into town all the while careening around sharp turns and avoiding going over cliffs every time Bernard got an itch in his pants. And this was often. With slick black hair, a lean frame and grey eyes the Count was dashing. He seemed to hover above the ground when he walked. With this kind of aura how could one not have a large libido? Once in town the Count was left alone to walk the streets until he found someone who caught his eye. Draped in his favorite cape of black satin, he strode amongst the crowds occasionally rubbing himself against some defenseless woman's thigh or back. The victims usually never knew it was the Count but occasionally he was caught. With an innocent smile and an admittance of guilt he was constantly pardoned. Bernard always attributed it to his charm but mostly it was because no one wanted to talk to a grown man wearing a cape. However, all of this changed on a chilly night in early winter.

With the a grey mist descending upon the town of Allas, a speckling white Rolls Royce strode up to a pink building covered in fluorescent lights. As was customary fashion Theodore dropped the Count off at "Patricia's Pantyhose" on Saturday night near midnight. A rotund doorman acknowledged the count and he floated in. His lifetime membership afforded him this comp along with free sodas and juice. Tomato juice with mint leaves had Bernard coming back for more. Yet Bernard's real interest was in Tamara. Like a match lit in the night she burned the brightest in the houses of ill repute. The Count could depend on her for comfort when his cereal brand wasn't performing well or when he just felt lonely. It was her job to please her customers in any way she could but she took a special interest in Bernard. He was sensitive to her own worries and fears. She knew that he had become attached which was problematic yet what could she do? The money was good and he was kind to her. As Tamara looked up from her purple chair of velvet she could not help but become excited at the Count's entrance. With due formality she gently placed her arm around his and they began to walk as a couple to her room. Suddenly an explosive bang rang out through the hall. As they turned toward the noise the Count could make out three figures in white scurrying through the rooms. In the distance the doorman could be seen drooping over with a dark hole burrowed into his eye socket. With speed unknown to man Bernard pushed Tamara into her room.
"Lock the door. Open it for no one my Love!" he whispered strongly in her ear.
Before Tamara could protest the door had been closed and she heard what sounded like a gush of wind flow through the hallway.
After closing the door the Count encircled himself in his cape. With a plum of smoke and a thrashing from the wind spirit Bernard transformed himself into a three foot winged bat. With a flap of his wings he stole off towards the closest room where he heard screams. A gunshot rang out just as he entered and he could see one of the white robbed attackers standing over a slightly obese working girl named Sara. Her red hair was bathed in blood and and it flowed onto her now soiled dress. Swooping down on the man the Count tore off his head in one bite and as the body fell a necklace with a crucifix taped to it caught his attention. Bernard understood that it was another attack by a mad militant Christian group . They advocated an abolition of cat houses through force. As he dropped the mans head to the floor Bernard was saddened by the useless violence. He didn't want to kill yet it was the only way to protect others and sustain his perversions. In a matter of moments the other attackers were finished off. Disobeying the Counts orders Tamara slowly opened her door. As she peeped her head out she could make out a bat flying around the halls chandelier. As it descended to the ground the room went suddenly dark. Fear seized Tamara's heart and she felt a chill run along her panties. A soft hand touched upon her breast and she began to recognize its gentle massage. With a flicker from the chandelier the whole room was bathed in the brightest of light. The bat was nowhere to be seen. Tamara looked at Bernard with a look of bewilderment as a drop of blood hung from his chin. With her kerchief she wiped it away.
"What has happened Bernard" she asked.
"Mislead souls have attacked your bordello dearie. Are you okay?"
Tamara nodded and watched as the other women began to gather. She felt scared and as that feeling seeped into her Bernard spoke.
"Come to my castle tonight Tamara. Please"
That night was to be one of the happiest for the both of them as they swayed to the wolves cry all night.

Due to constant backaches Michael decided that it was time to see a chiropractor. Forget this. Michael never sought medical help. He was superman. Superman. He was. He is. Dancing to tea cups scattered in the vegetable garden, that's where you could find our modern superman. Supertights and cape had been traded in for a tutu and a leotard. No he wasn't gay. It was just a crisis of identity. Many are not aware of it but sporting the big S can be taxing on the nerves. It's a weight my friend. Don't forget it. So when you see him slipping, let it go. Let it pass. We all recognize the soft grin and hard gaze which indicates that another episode of insanity is about to spew forth from superman as he prances to and fro like a dictator addressing an audience of three. I prefer that he is alive. He makes life worth living.

In a time when royalty was relegated to inbreds and derelicts one could find a different type of majesty in the ordinary bubbles of the world. Their grandeur was demonstrated through their observations and reflections, not caste. In the crowded streets of Punaz, Santiago could be found selling sweet churros to drunken rich kids and the occasional diabetic. Though he rarely hit the sauce he carried himself with a bit of an inebriated sway that accidentally brought him bumping into others. These slight conflicts were easily defused by his continual waving of hands and a quick memorized ballad which he would sing and dance to with his cart. He glided along the streets like a pacifistic vampire, hovering above the party goers observing them with indifference. Throughout his twenty-nine years he had watched the plaza change but then again it never did. Although faces were different and styles came and went eventually Santiago found himself blending everyone together. They all seemed to coagulate into one being and it was on rare occasions that he found an individual in that sea of continual movement and hysteria.With the black sky empty of clouds a crispness began to descend upon the cobblestone streets. Santiago's bright pink cart decorated with prancing stallions and flower laden ladies squeaked as he slowly dragged it over potholes laid to waste. Up ahead he could see the beginning of the party train, long snake like lines of people spilling over each other while trying to squeeze into the next cantina. Drawing in his breath Santiago ventured into the plaza avoiding the calls for his fried treats. He had decided that this would be the last night of his churro career. With a spin of his cart and a quick tap of the heel he made his way toward his competitor 'Raunchy Ralph's'. The greenish building contained the largest desert shop in the city. It was full of heart stopping delicacies that Santiago no longer wanted a part of. With a flick of a churro that rested in his hand Santiago began his assault. No one really knew what spurned this upheaval of spirit but what was evident was this churro man was snapping. Grinding his teeth and blasting out his favorite ballad 'La Senorita Nervosa', he continued to let the churros fly. No one was safe as Santiago pegged employees and customers alike, leaving no one safe. He ducked behind his cart as a screaming mother began to throw 'Raunchy Ralph's' infamous eclairs at Santiago after her toddler received a stinging churro to the forehead. In the ensuing madness Santiago began to slowly advance towards the kitchen using his cart as both a battering ram and shield. The employees were putting up a valiant effort but eventually Consuelo, 'Raunchy Ralph's' perverted manager who was rumored to wear panties decorated with tarts and cookies, called for a retreat through the back door. All the customers had now fled including the indignant mother. While sitting on a counter top, chomping down on a melted popsicle Santiago surveyed the scene. He flung his legs back and forth like a child on a swing and grinned with pride. In a matter of moments he had decimated his rivals clientele and brought 'Raunchy Ralph's' to it's knees. As the police swiftly swam through the door Santiago could be seen tap dancing to an inaudible rhythm. He continued to step as he was hauled away chanting his favorite balled 'El Inferno Interno'.

In a time when royalty was relegated to inbreds and derelicts one could find a different type of majesty in the ordinary bubbles of the world. Their grandeur was demonstrated through their observations and reflections, not caste. In the crowded streets of Punaz, Santiago could be found selling sweet churros to drunken rich kids and the occasional diabetic. Though he rarely hit the sauce he carried himself with a bit of an inebriated sway that accidentally brought him bumping into others. These slight conflicts were easily defused by his continual waving of hands and a quick memorized ballad which he would sing and dance to with his cart. He glided along the streets like a pacifistic vampire, hovering above the party goers observing them with indifference. Throughout his twenty-nine years he had watched the plaza change but then again it never did. Although faces were different and styles came and went eventually Santiago found himself blending everyone together. They all seemed to coagulate into one being and it was on rare occasions that he found an individual in that sea of continual movement and hysteria.With the black sky empty of clouds a crispness began to descend upon the cobblestone streets. Santiago's bright pink cart decorated with prancing stallions and flower laden ladies squeaked as he slowly dragged it over potholes laid to waste. Up ahead he could see the beginning of the party train, long snake like lines of people spilling over each other while trying to squeeze into the next cantina. Drawing in his breath Santiago ventured into the plaza avoiding the calls for his fried treats. He had decided that this would be the last night of his churro career. With a spin of his cart and a quick tap of the heel he made his way toward his competitor 'Raunchy Ralph's'. The greenish building contained the largest desert shop in the city. It was full of heart stopping delicacies that Santiago no longer wanted a part of. With a flick of a churro that rested in his hand Santiago began his assault. No one really knew what spurned this upheaval of spirit but what was evident was this churro man was snapping. Grinding his teeth and blasting out his favorite ballad 'La Senorita Nervosa', he continued to let the churros fly. No one was safe as Santiago pegged employees and customers alike, leaving no one safe. He ducked behind his cart as a screaming mother began to throw 'Raunchy Ralph's' infamous eclairs at Santiago after her toddler received a stinging churro to the forehead. In the ensuing madness Santiago began to slowly advance towards the kitchen using his cart as both a battering ram and shield. The employees were putting up a valiant effort but eventually Consuelo, 'Raunchy Ralph's' perverted manager who was rumored to wear panties decorated with tarts and cookies, called for a retreat through the back door. All the customers had now fled including the indignant mother. While sitting on a counter top, chomping down on a melted popsicle Santiago surveyed the scene. He flung his legs back and forth like a child on a swing and grinned with pride. In a matter of moments he had decimated his rivals clientele and brought 'Raunchy Ralph's' to it's knees. As the police swiftly swam through the door Santiago could be seen tap dancing to an inaudible rhythm. He continued to step as he was hauled away chanting his favorite balled 'El Inferno Interno'.

In a time when royalty was relegated to inbreds and derelicts one could find a different type of majesty in the ordinary bubbles of the world. Their grandeur was demonstrated through their observations and reflections, not caste. In the crowded streets of Punaz, Santiago could be found selling sweet churros to drunken rich kids and the occasional diabetic. Though he rarely hit the sauce he carried himself with a bit of an inebriated sway that accidentally brought him bumping into others. These slight conflicts were easily defused by his continual waving of hands and a quick memorized ballad which he would sing and dance to with his cart. He glided along the streets like a pacifistic vampire, hovering above the party goers observing them with indifference. Throughout his twenty-nine years he had watched the plaza change but then again it never did. Although faces were different and styles came and went eventually Santiago found himself blending everyone together. They all seemed to coagulate into one being and it was on rare occasions that he found an individual in that sea of continual movement and hysteria.

With the black sky empty of clouds a crispness began to descend upon the cobblestone streets. Santiago's bright pink cart decorated with prancing stallions and flower laden ladies squeaked as he slowly dragged it over potholes laid to waste. Up ahead he could see the beginning of the party train, long snake like lines of people spilling over each other while trying to squeeze into the next cantina. Drawing in his breath Santiago ventured into the plaza avoiding the calls for his fried treats. He had decided that this would be the last night of his churro career. With a spin of his cart and a quick tap of the heel he made his way toward his competitor 'Raunchy Ralph's'. The greenish building contained the largest desert shop in the city. It was full of heart stopping delicacies that Santiago no longer wanted a part of. With a flick of a churro that rested in his hand Santiago began his assault. No one really knew what spurned this upheaval of spirit but what was evident was this churro man was snapping. Grinding his teeth and blasting out his favorite ballad 'La Senorita Nervosa', he continued to let the churros fly. No one was safe as Santiago pegged employees and customers alike. He ducked behind his cart as a screaming mother began to throw 'Raunchy Ralph's' infamous eclairs at Santiago after her toddler received a stinging churro to the forehead. In the ensuing madness Santiago began to slowly advance towards the kitchen using his cart as both a battering ram and shield. The employees were putting up a valiant effort but eventually Consuelo, 'Raunchy Ralph's' perverted manager who was rumored to wear panties decorated with tarts and cookies, called for a retreat through the back door. All the customers had now fled including the indignant mother. While sitting on a counter top, chomping down on a melted popsicle Santiago surveyed the scene. He flung his legs back and forth like a child on a swing and grinned with pride. In a matter of moments he had decimated his rivals clientele and brought 'Raunchy Ralph's' to it's knees. As the police swiftly swam through the door Santiago could be seen tap dancing to an inaudible rhythm. He continued to step as he was hauled away chanting his second favorite balled 'El Inferno Interno'.

In the depth of winter life laid low. The morning sun rose late and the nights sky descended too soon. With darkness nothing could grow. It was hard for the light of day to create anything before Moon would sweep down along the plains and forests choking out anything that tried to exist. But there were those few men who lived inside with these conditions. Rather than fight them they they used the elements of darkness to thrive. It was by night that the hunting took place. Whether it was deer, rabbit or the occasional mammoth food would be sought after and found. Through these arduous times many children were raised. Being that they had no outside wordly influences they were raised to believe that this was all that existed. With the white coat of winter upon them they created new ways to thrive. It was during the toughest months that Alek decide to head out and seek his fortune in silk trading. Dressed in his robes of yellow and white he struck out for the peaks of ice he had not crossed before. Out past that land must be another he thought.

And so it begins. With a slow and excited stumble a new step is taken.