Writing Samples

CHAPTER 6: THE FIRST NIGHT

I’m sitting back at the breakfast table in my parents’ home. Mom and Andy are in the chairs across from me as Dad brings over a stack of banana pancakes with lit candles in the top, placing them in front of Andy who closes his eyes to make a silent wish, before blowing them out.

As the candles are extinguished, the entire setting falls into the darkness of night. My eyes dance around the room in confusion, only to come back to the table to find the red wax from the candles pouring over the edges of the stack of pancakes in thick, slow-moving streams, making them look as though they are bleeding.

I shift my attention towards my parents and Andy to see if they’re witnessing the same thing, but they all stare back at me with blank expressions on their faces. I try to speak, only to find that I have no voice.

In response to my sudden panic, Andy tries to offer a comforting smile, but as his lips part, blood begins to pour out of his mouth and down the front of his shirt. I bolt upright, knocking my chair backwards in the process. I frantically look towards Mom and Dad for help, but soon find that, they too, have blood pouring from their mouths.

I am lucidly aware that I am trapped in a nightmare, but it doesn’t stop the panic from washing over me as though all of this were real. While my subconscious has occasionally permutated the standard pattern of my recurring nightmare, it has never taken this much liberty towards change.

Soon I find myself almost wishing that the dream would jump forward to the scene of the accident, as the familiar images of the crash would pale in comparison to the sights I’m currently being subjected to.

It’s then that I start to hear a soft rapping on my parents’ kitchen window, pulling my attention away from my bleeding family.

As I strain my eyes to look through the darkened pane of glass, I see a large crow perched on the outer sill. I immediately identify it as the crow that had viciously flown towards me from underneath the white sheet in my previous nightmare.

Frozen in my tracks at the sight of the bird, it simultaneously ceases its tapping on the pane of glass and stares directly into my eyes with a piercing gaze from its faint amber eyes, catching the light of the moon like two shining gemstones on a black velvet cloth.

Instinctually, I back away slowly in an attempt to distance myself from the creature, but soon I feel the backs of my knees bump into the overturned kitchen chair, compromising my balance, sending me sprawling backwards, tumbling towards the floor. I close my eyes in anticipation of the impact yet somehow, I never make contact with the ground.

Slowly opening my eyes, I find myself now suspended in the air, upside down, in the wreckage of my car from the accident. Blue and red lights flash all around me, and I hear the voices of the paramedics and fire fighters in the distance, urgently calculating the safest way to remove me from the car.

I scan surroundings and see countless pieces of broken glass splayed out on the concrete surrounding the crinkled roof upon which the vehicle is resting. I smell the smoke and the fire that is coming from the car, but this time, no one reaches in to pull me out to safety.

I try calling for help, but still find that I have no voice, as blood pours from my mouth and into my eyes.

Soon, the voices of my would-be rescuers fall eerily silent. I frantically turn my head back and forth, trying to see where they have gone, but with all of the blood and tears washing through my eyes, I can barely even see my own hand in front of my face.

My right arm unable to move, I use my left hand to wipe away the stinging mixture of fluids so I can see again. I turn my head towards the driver’s seat, expecting to find it devoid of my brother as I have in past nightmares, but soon find that I am not alone in the wreckage.

Perched, upside down in defiance towards gravity, is the large crow. Despite the change in location, it continues to stare at me with the same level of intensity as it had from my parents’ kitchen window.

Unable to move, I keep my eyes trained on its unrelenting amber gaze, terrified of what inevitably comes next.

It only takes a few seconds before I see the crow’s beak gently open and it suddenly calls out with a deafening chorus of screeching tires, twisting metal and breaking glass as it flies directly at me with immeasurable speed and vindictive intent.

* * *

I suddenly shoot awake, sitting upright in my bed in the Morgan home. I’m as drenched in my own sweat as I am disoriented by my surroundings, forgetting for a moment where I am, and why.

My eyes dance around the room, scanning the slivers of moonlight that are sneaking in through the window, creating glowing shapes on the floor. Slowly, my head begins to clear and the answers come back to me in a flood of recognition.

I try to catch my breath as I instinctually reach to my phone on the bedside table to check the time. As I pick up the device, I am reminded that the battery is dead and there’s no way to charge it in a home devoid of electricity.

Putting the phone back down, I pivot back to the center of the bed and start to remove some blankets that are draped over me in an attempt to cool myself off.

It’s then that I hear the sound of faint, yet audible, crying coming from the hallway.

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PROLOGUE:

Terrance Michaels belligerently stumbled and weaved down Eden Avenue late Thursday night. His laminate ID badge danced back and forth beneath the belt loop of his bargain bin khakis as though it were a parody of his inability to walk in a straight line.

Ripping it from his waist and shoving it into his pocket, Terrance silently cursed it for mocking him… Everyone mocked him.

Whether they said it or not, Terrance knew what they were thinking. Sure, they all saw some middle-management loser, but they didn't know the glory of the beast that lived inside of him.

A monster that formed a meniscus at the edge of Terrance's very being, and screamed for release with every waking moment of his pathetic excuse of a life. Just brimming the surface, brewed a dark creature that thrived on perversions played out in such detail they often danced the line of reality.

The laughter of two female club goers cut through Terrance's anger like a Siren's song, naturally pulling Terrance's focus in their direction.

The two young women looked to be in their early to mid-twenties, judging by the supple tautness of their skin and the under-pronunciation of consonants in an attempt to sound apathetic to everything around them.

Thankfully they were both so pre-occupied with their respective phones that Terrance was able to take them in from a distance without them noticing.

The first of the two had long, straight, brown hair that caught the glow of the streetlights, making her hair look like lit runways on either side of her face, leading down towards the deep plunge of her low-cut top that halted just below the cup of her ample breasts.

Below that, a purple jewel danced back and forth from her belly button piercing, suggestively pulling focus down towards her low-cut, painted-on leggings that revealed a small tattoo of a cartoon cat just above her manicured pelvis.

As Terrance continued to take the first girl in, she bent over to fix one of her thigh-high leather boots, arching at an angle that acted as an invitation for Terrance's gaze to now explore the crevice between her breasts as they gently swayed back and forth, begging for release.

Terrance felt himself suddenly shift from intrigue to anger. She knew exactly what she was doing.

Terrance's focus then drifted to the second young woman. She too was dressed in a revealing manner, however this one wore a gold cross around her neck, the base of which pointed suggestively toward the taught fabric of her see-through blouse that stretched over her firm, athletic breasts.

There was something about this second woman that held Terrance's gaze. Whether it was her large eyes selling the false promise of innocence, or the more conservative clothing choices in relative comparison to her whorish friend, Terrance kept his eyes trained on her as he continued his approach.

Foolishly, his stare lingered for too long, resulting in the brunette catching him, prompting her to call out, "Enjoying the view, you fucking Creeper?!"

Completely caught off guard, Terrance attempted to respond only to find that the alcohol had taken his words. There he stood, stuttering and shrugging like a thirteen-year-old boy, caught with a dirty magazine.

The girls then whispered something to each other before pointing and laughing at Terrance as they re-entered their meat market to continue pawning off their attention for free drinks.

Even as Terrance passed the entrance of the club and continued walking, he could still hear their laughter leaking out into the street from inside the club.

Laughing. Just like everyone else. How fucking dare they.

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Principal Montez’s eyes grew wide, as she blurted out, “What did you just--?”

But before Montez could finish voicing her redundant inquiry, an odd, creaking sound filled the cafeteria from directly above, somewhere just beyond the old corkboard ceiling tiles.

As everyone turned their attention towards the source of the noise with intrigue, Trina kept her eyes on Michaela, which is why she was the only one who saw Michaela’s smile grow, merely half a second before a pipe burst in the ceiling, dousing the Pink Army and Principal Montez with a tidal wave of human sewage.

The laughter that followed was almost as deafening, as the smell was invasive.

With noses covered, the student body watched the Abominable Montez struggled to get back to her feet amidst the pile of Pink Minions, their garments now stained with various shades of cloudy brown liquid.

One student was brave enough to call out, “Look! Montez is drowning in Neapolitan Ice Cream! It’s a dream come true!”

This, of course, elicited another wave of laughter raucous laughter. However, that levity was cut short, when Principal Montez finally got back to her feet in time to shoot a glare that silenced the room in mere seconds, simultaneously quelling any other attempts at humor before they even started.

Regaining her composure, principal Montez straightened her blouse as she loudly announced, “In light of this clear violation of Health and Safety Codes, I have no choice but to dismiss everyone early today.”

The collective will to cheer was felt throughout the room, though no one followed through on the impulse for fear of reprisal.

Montez continued, “However, this is not a free pass! This pipe will be fixed overnight, and you will all be expected to return tomorrow at the start of the school day. Any assignments due for this afternoon’s classes will be dropped off in the Administration Office on your way out of the building or you will receive a failing grade. No exceptions!”

The students remained silent for a moment, unsure if there was another addendum coming their way.

Clearly at the end of her rope, Principal Montez called out, “… Go Home!”

As the students quietly celebrated their spontaneous day off, making their way out of the lunchroom towards the lockers, Principal Montez turned her attention towards Michaela, who had not even flinched during the entire ordeal.

With a look of muted fury, Principal Montez pointed at Michaela, a piece of soiled toilet paper dangling from the cuff of her blouse as she said, “You and I? We will discuss all of this, tomorrow.”

Though the dark influence had once again retreated to within Michaela’s core, she remained seated for a moment longer, smiling with as much pride as there was mischief.

Despite the heightened tension of the moment, Trina found herself wary of this new version of Michaela, and while she would never have had the courage to say it in the moment, there was something about all of this that she found deeply terrifying.

Nevertheless, Michaela, Alexander, and Trina all made their way out of the cafeteria, without even giving so much as a second glance back towards where these events had transpired.

Had they done so, they might have caught a glimpse of the flash of light just outside of the cafeteria window, shortly followed by the sight of a man in a white suit running his fingers through his frozen black hair, as he mouthed the words, “There you are.”

STAY TUNED FOR A LINK… THIS ONE’S STILL A WORK IN PROGRESS.

Desperation. It changes a man.

It strips away all that’s good in him, his patience, his kindness, his resolve. It buries his spirit and leads him down a shaded path from which there is no return. It digs up the darkest parts of his soul that he had buried and long forgotten.

Sure, on the outside he may seem to remain, but beneath it all, he becomes a shadow of what he had once been, carrying a cloud of hatred and darkness with him, wherever he treads.

Sitting by this fire, I methodically rotate the makeshift spit upon which I’ve mounted tonight’s dinner. My eyes drift from the sizzling meat before me towards Vasquez and Barker as their slumbering heads rest against either side of a large rock.

In the moment, I can’t help but find solace in the restfulness I see in them. Somewhere within my heart, I feel thankful for this moment on their behalf, especially after all we’ve collectively gone through.

There’s a certain sense of peacefulness in their emotionless states. No furrowed brows from the memories of old, no subconscious grimaces from thoughts of the present, just the vast nothing that is dreamlessness.

For a moment, I wonder if this is what they would look like, had they not lived the horrible lives that they did, but as I shift my focus back to the spit, I’m reminded that that’s just wishful thinking and these expressionless faces are a far cry from the men I’ve come to know.

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Sitting across from her, I watch as the flickering candlelight dances upon the contours of Mary’s hair. It’s the same hairstyle that she’s worn for upwards of five years but the soft glow seems to give it new life, as though tonight is the first time I’ve seen it.

Sipping from my glass of Argentinian Malbec, I softly inhale through my nose to take in the myriad of aromas. I naturally close my eyes as the bouquet of the wine intermingles with the faint smell of fresh-cut wild flowers that I’ve prominently displayed in the crystal vase we received for our wedding.

As I gently place my glass back on the table, I can’t help but notice the look of sadness in her eyes as she stares at her plate, unmoving. The stillness of her body as she sits with her hands gently folded in her lap would almost suggest that the polished silverware on either side of her plate had not even been presented as an option.

Every part of me wants to lighten the mood, cut through the silent tension with some sort of quip, but in the moment I feel myself filling with the very same anguish I see displayed upon Mary’s face.

I mirror her position, gently folding my hands in my own lap, hoping that the shift in position will somehow help me find the words to properly express myself. However, before I am able to find my thoughts, she speaks in a cautious, hushed tone, “Robert, I… I’m sorry.”

I take a moment to choke back the tears that inherently rush to the surface in response to the sound of her voice, trying to play off a falsified tone of levity in the process, “Ten years of Marriage, and I think that’s the first time you’ve apologized before I have.”

She says nothing in response, looking at me as though I were one of her students speaking out of turn. It works. What can I say? She always was great at her job.

Only once I’ve fallen silent, dipping my head shamefully for the outburst, does she continue, “I’m sorry for everything you’ve gone through. This was never the life I wanted for you… either of us, for that matter.”

I can’t help but scoff in the moment, immediately recognizing that I’m still behaving like an obstinate teen in the second row of her English class.

Leaning slightly towards me, Mary’s eyes soften from a look of sadness to one of loving concern. As she gathers her thoughts, she briefly glances towards the flowers, before turning her attention back to me, “You deserve better than this.”

I desperately mine for levity once more, playfully gesturing around the room, “Look, I know it’s not perfect, but I think I did a pretty good job with the place.”

Whether it’s out of annoyance or willful indulgence, Mary scans the room with a look of mild approval before landing on the bookshelf and holding a perplexed gaze, “You moved our photo.”

My heart swells with sadness once more, as I quietly mumble, “It’s… in the drawer.”

Looking up from my momentary sulking, I see her eyes are back on me, softly welling with tears. Whether they’re from pain or pity, the last thing I want is to ruin this night by making her cry.

Despite my best intentions though, something makes me feel inherently compelled to explain myself, “It just… it hurt to much to see it. I couldn’t do it anymore.”

A single tear falls from her cheek, lands on her linen placemat and immediately disappears; leaving no signs it had landed there. Paying no notice, she gently dips her head; “It kills me to see you like this.”

I try to fight off the impulse to flip the table in anger, and instead find myself standing from my seat so quickly that the high backed chair falls to the ground behind me, its impact resounding throughout the apartment.

Filled with frustration, anger and loneliness, my vision blurs with a steady flow of pain-fuelled tears as I vehemently jab my index finger towards her and yell, “Don’t you say that! Don’t use that word!”

Patiently, she remains in her chair, unshaken by my outburst as she methodically reasons with me, “Robert, you need to accept that this is where we are now. You can’t continue ignoring it.”

Blown back with bafflement, I feel my eyes widen as I scramble for words within the storm cloud of emotions churning within me, “Ignore it? How could I possibly ignore it? Everything I see, everything I do, every fucking song I hear, it all reminds me of you! I can’t ignore it, because it’s all I think about!”

I’m expecting her to protest my impulsive rant, but instead she remains quiet, recognizing that I need this. I need to release everything I’ve been holding in, for fear it will destroy me from the inside, out.

Still desperately floundering for words amidst the barrage of emotions, I regretfully settle upon an unwarranted, accusatory tone, “Why did you have to do that? Why did you have to be so fucking brave?”

Mary lifts her eyes to look into mine with powerful rectitude, “Because they were children, Robert. Someone had to.”

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The back of the four-story mansion opened via three sets of French doors, onto a brand new cobblestone patio that surrounded their lake of a swimming pool. Beyond that, a stone staircase that led down to a perfectly manicured lawn, the immensity of which was comparable to a football field.

As if the environment weren’t serene enough, the entire property was surrounded by a halo of well-kept wild flowers of such brilliant colors that Monet wouldn’t even know where to start.

I remember checking my watch to see that it was 6:30pm when I sent the rest of the team home, anything to avoid the union’s overtime rate cutting into my company profit, and so I remained at the Barton Manor, off the clock, to finish sweeping up and gathering my tools.

As I loaded the last of my things into my bag, I took one last proud survey of the finished project, when I noticed the threatening storm clouds approaching on the horizon, I headed towards the house and knocked on the center set of doors in the hopes of finalizing the payment before the storm hit.

At first there was no response. I tried to exercise my patience as I stood there awaiting a reply. The last thing I wanted to do was scare off a potential referral from clients as well off and influential, as the Bartons.

But, when I felt the first drops of rain start to hit my shoulders, I caved to my impatience and knocked once more, a little more steadily this time, but again, there was no answer.

The drops of rain began to increase in both numbers and size. I shielded my eyes around one of the panes of glass, hoping to see some movement inside. As I leaned in and made contact with the door, it pushed open a crack.

Were it not for the sudden lightening strike combined with the deafening crack of thunder, I would have remained outside the door, but alas, I opted to step inside in the hopes of seeking temporary shelter.

I found myself in a massive dining room, my eyes scanning the elaborate décor. The walls were paneled in mahogany, the same that was used for the floorboards. The room was accented with a burgundy carpet that lay under the perfectly finished dining table before me.

Upon the table were two place settings, each with more variations of silverware than I had ever seen before. The place settings sat upon crisp, smoky grey linens, and the individual settings were connected via a charcoal grey table runner that covered the distance between the two ends like a runway between two thrones.

Presiding over the middle of the table was a single portrait hung prominently on the wall, and lit by a soft lamp, which bounced its light off the golden frame. The portrait was of an old woman, with a cold stare that could make the bravest of men feel uncomfortable.

“Hello?” I tried calling out, hoping I could get a response, “It’s Jason from Stoneworks! I’m all finished up out back, just need someone’s signature! Hello?”

After a brief moment of silence I heard soft, yet hurried footfalls echoing through the grand hallways. Finally, Mrs. Barton called out, “Just a second!”

I waited, listening to the footfalls for what felt like an eternity before she came around the corner of the archway connecting the dining room and equally immense living room. Based on her the cream colored silk robe that was slipping off her porcelain shoulder, it became clear that I had caught her at an inconvenient time.

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One aisle after the other, I slowly dragged my feet as I desperately tried to block out the sound of the store’s P.A. system playing the monotonous finale of “Wonderful Christmas Time” by the Beatles.

Annoyed, I gritted my teeth as the already repetitive chorus seemed to endlessly echo upon itself, reverberating throughout the vacated building and amplifying the tedium of its message as though I was trapped in an endless time loop.

I felt the compulsion to scream rising within me until finally… the song came to a close.

Momentarily, I basked in the silence between songs, thankful to be free of the infinite reprise, only to audibly groan half a second later when a far worse fate came to me in the form of the opening trumpet line of “Feliz Navidad”.

Desperately, I tried to divert my attention away from the music, focusing it on the sound of my shopping cart’s squeaky wheel, but soon it too betrayed me by conveniently falling in line with Jose Feliciano’s rhythm section.

Exasperated, I gripped the cart’s handle and gave it a violent jerk to spitefully break up the synchronization before angrily continuing my shopping.

The longer that I stormed up and down the aisles, the more I began to realize that it wasn’t just a slow day at the store, I had been here for nearly ten minutes and I hadn’t seen a single person, anywhere.

As I reached the end of the canned goods aisle, I scanned the registers to find no signs of staff, either. No bored cashiers at the counter, methodically chewing their gum. No bag boys leaning against wall, texting their friends. Not even a khaki-clad manager flaunting his heightened sense of self-importance. Not a single one.

Confused, I slowly turned the corner and brought my attention back towards the aisle in front of me just in time to see a young child standing in my path, facing a shelf full of seasonal confectionaries.

Yanking my cart to a halt, I absent-mindedly blurted out, “Jesus!”

While I expected to see a look of shock in response to my sudden presence, the small child didn’t even acknowledge me. Instead they remained focused on something they were holding in their hands.

I quickly scanned the area for any signs of a parent that this child may have strayed from, but saw no one.

Slowly, I stepped around my cart to offer help, when I realized this child was wearing an old, puffy red snowsuit. While it was admittedly an odd choice of clothing for Southern California at any time of year, having walked down Hollywood Boulevard a handful of times, I also knew that it wasn’t the weirdest outfit I had seen in this town.

The child remained silent as they kept their head down, presumably in a state of sadness, and I began to worry for their welfare.

I scanned the surrounding area again for a parent, or even a staff member that could potentially interrupt the torturous holiday playlist to make a storewide announcement; but still, there was no one.

Slowly, I turned back towards the child as I dropped to one knee, addressing them at eye level, “Hey, are you okay? Do you want help finding your Mom or Dad?”

The child slowly turned towards me, revealing the face of a little boy that couldn’t have been more than four or five years old. Where I was expecting to see sadness, or fear in response to the presence of a stranger, instead he smiled gently at me with a look of wisdom in his eyes that was far beyond his years, yet somehow, hauntingly familiar.

It was then that I saw what he had been clutching in his blue mittens, a large candy cane. Naturally I drew a connection between the happiness he was displaying and the confectionary he had in his possession.

With a friendly smile, I nodded towards the treat and said, “Looks like you got some work ahead of you.”

The little boy didn’t say anything in response, but instead just politely nodded in agreement with an anticipatory smirk.

Having still not seen any signs of a parent, I tried to keep the little boy distracted until the inevitable moment that his Mom or Dad looked away from their phone long enough to realize their child was missing.

Forcing a positive tone, I rhetorically inquired, “Excited for Christmas this year?”

The little boy nodded again, this time much more emphatically.

In an attempt to keep the one-sided conversation going, I kept on, “What did you ask Santa for this year? I bet it’s something super cool.”

Much to my surprise, the little boy shook his head to negate my assumption, before he said, “I don’t like presents.”

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With the ongoing issues in both consumerism, and supply chains, caused by the COVID-19 Pandemic as well as the ensuing measures put in place to combat the spread of the virus, many companies are now seeing a new issue arise, in the form of a dwindling workforce and throngs of prospective employees developing a spontaneous sense of self-worth amidst what is being called, ‘The Great Resignation’.

According to reports from multiple umbrella corporations, since the initial quarantine protocols were put in place as of March 2020, opinions of workers all over the North America seem to be naturally trending towards a shared, inexplicable perspective that their income should ‘somehow’ reflect the current cost of living.

“It’s like, everyone went into lockdown, and then had this moment of reflection where they realized they were actually human beings,” Amazon Warehouse Manager, Theresa Higgins said, as she homeschooled her child in the front seat of her car, while driving Uber, “Now, everyone expects all these luxury perks, like restroom breaks… in an ACTUAL restroom. It’s disgusting.”

Even more concerning, the widespread nature of this foolish mentality seems to have no bounds, as it had rapidly infected the job market across nearly all industries.

Just last week, thousands or restaurant workers from nearly every chain restaurant in the continent, have selfishly refused to risk their own health and safety, for the sake of feeding those who refuse to cook a burger for themselves at home.

Similar to how this epidemic of perceived workers’ rights spreads through all industries of the workforce, it seems to have also spread through the age demographics within.

Just last month, Clark Fervor, a loyal General Motors assembly line worker of over sixty years, opted for early retirement, at age of 93.

When reached for comment about this decision to retire so prematurely, Fervor replied, “I thought about it after my first two strokes while working the line, especially after they charged me six years’ worth of lunch breaks to cover my time off. But by the time I had the third one, I figured it was probably time to move on to something a little less demanding, like construction.”

In response to this claim, GM CEO Mary Barra was quick to release a public statement, in which she said, “Human workers are entitled to believe whatever they want, no matter how incorrect it may be. We just request that they refrain from attempting to unionize the robots that will eventually replace them.”

While the future of North America’s workforce may seem bleak and uncertain, the far more concerning reality is that of the stock market, which stands to receive an even bigger hit as countless wall street aficionados are scrambling to figure out where, exactly, this ‘Great Resignation’ may lead, in the long-term.

When asked for comment, legendary Capitalist and proud member of USA’s cultural melting pot, George Soros, made an emotional public statement, claiming, “We’re all shocked, and saddened by this. And frankly, no one knows where this might lead,” then, after wiping away a single tear, with a miniature American flag, he added, “…who would have though this late-stage Capitalism thing could fail?”

Despite a late-season, six-game deficit, the Toronto Blue Jays have officially bounced back to win their 3rd World Series Title in franchise history… on a local man’s Playstation.

Their 9-8 victory over the National League Champions, the Cincinnati Reds, came as no surprise to club Manager and Toronto resident Steve Gerard, whose team was down by a staggering 5 runs, before the bottom of the 1st inning.

Thanks to some aggressive pitching throughout, coupled with a game error late in the 8th Inning, during which Shortstop, Bo Bichette, unconventionally slid, backwards, all the way from 2nd Base to home plate, the Blue Birds were able to tie the game and move on into extra innings.

The score remained tied until the bottom of the 11th Inning, when dark horse center fielder “Doctor Steve” chopped a line drive down the first base line into an invisible gap between the field and the stands, leading to a late-game, walk-off, inside-the-park, homerun, leading to the Blue Jays victory.

“I haven’t seen something like this since I played RBI Baseball back in 1989!” Steve Gerrard commented, “Now THAT was a sick game.”

When asked about the motivation behind overcoming such insurmountable odds, Gerrard replied, “I dunno. I had the week off from East Side Mario’s, for not washing my hands, so I was just kind of, killing time.”

While this win was certainly historic in nature, it was also rather short-lived, as contrary to MLB standards, Gerrard’s crew is now set to start their next season tonight against their AL East rivals, the Baltimore Orioles.

According to Gerrard, game time will be, “somewhere around, 7 and 10pm Eastern Time… or I might just watch the Righteous Gemstones instead.”

After multiple generations of the iPad have already littered the digital market, Apple announced that they would be releasing a new, unique model aimed at combating the Obesity Epidemic in North America, late last week .

The new “iLift Ore” will contain all of the current features of any other model of iPad, it will just be embedded in an 80lb slab of Granite.

“After countless cases of lethargy and heart disease were traced back to the doom scrolling that keeps us in business, we felt it was time to adjust our image,” said Tim Cook, CEO of Apple, at the product-launch last week, “The last thing we want is for people to associate our superior product with Uggos.”

When asked about the deeper motivations for such a product, Cook explained, “If we force these morons, er… ‘customers’ to lift the equivalent of a small human, every time they play Clash of Clans, then we can claim responsibility for the elimination of this epidemic. That’ll really stick it to Samsung.”

After being questioned about the potential health concerns of this decision, Apple’s resident physician iMay Fizeeshin (PhD) claimed, “For the moderate user, you can expect to see more shapely arms, and a flatter stomach within weeks.”

She then went on to add, “However, we do not suggest use of the iLift Ore for small children, as it could result in symptoms ranging from mild crushing, to severe death. For them, we suggest continued use of the original, lightweight version or, in a worst-case scenario, looking out a window.”

While the iLift Ore is currently only available in the United States, Apple has opened their websites to Canadian Pre-Orders, with a predicted window of 3 to 4 months, to allow for door-to-door delivery via forklift.

After five generations of bending Planet Earth over a table against its will, the Rockefeller Family announced earlier today that they will be leading a global initiative to divest from Fossil Fuels.

Peter O’Neill, head of the Rockefeller family and great-great grandson to ‘the OOB’ (Original Oil Baron) John D. Rockefeller, announced in a press conference on Monday, “The plan involves a removal of approximately $50 Billion in fossil fuel funding over the next 5 years, with a focus on re-investment in renewable resource solutions, like… Not-Oil”.

For decades, the Rockefeller Family has invested upwards of $60 Billion in Fossil Fuel Refinement, while maintaining the “utmost level of responsibility” within their subsidiary companies, known globally for their infallible safety measures, like Exxon.

While there are many who are questioning this shift exactly one day prior to the UN climate change summit, it should be noted that while profiting off the Earth’s pain and suffering, the Rockefeller Family has simultaneously run a foundation, cryptically named, “The Rockefeller Family Foundation”, whose sole purpose was to fight against issues such as the Keystone XL Pipeline and Fracking.

When asked about this conflict of interest, O’Neill responded by saying, “It’s like when you forget about your wife’s Birthday, so you give her that expired gift certificate to The Keg that was in your sock drawer. Suddenly, everything’s okay again.”

In an attempt to feign gender equality amidst this sudden growth of morals, great-great granddaughter of the bloodline, Valerie Rockafeller-Wayne, was permitted to speak briefly, stating, “There is a moral imperative to preserve Earth. Otherwise, our grandkids will be forced to violate a completely different planet for the sake of their revenue stream.”

The Rockefeller Family has already begun to promptly put their money where Earth’s mouth used to be, by launching “The Crichton Project”, the first of many renewable resource action plans, involving the process of cloning dinosaurs, incinerating them, and then burying them deep beneath the Earth’s crust, so as to create new oil.

O’Neill described this plan as being, “the equivalent of take a tree, plant a tree, only in this case, some of those trees could eat you.”

Representatives from the Climate Science community have refused to comment on this initiative, other than to say they remain skeptical.

It’s no secret that the DC Extended Universe (DCEU) typically leans in a darker direction than the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU), but with the October 16th release of the trailer for “The Batman” more questions have been raised regarding the exact ‘voice’ of the DCEU.

Simply glancing at the Batman Timeline from the era of Tim Burton (1989) to the upcoming release directed by Matt Reeves (2022), the cinematic approach shifts from splashes of bright colors and tones of self-aware levity, towards far more muted shades and dark, brooding versions of the well-known flagship characters, especially in the Snyder and Nolan installments.

While one would expect any Batman franchise to at least possess some semblance of darkness, it’s not the only character who has gone through this 33 year shift towards darkness. Other DCEU characters seem to have followed suit, such as “Wonder Woman” (2017), “Aquaman” (2018), and even “Man of Steel” where not only the color-grading was darker, but the morality as well, when Superman (Henry Cavill) breaks his cardinal rule by claiming a life, and snapping Zod (Michael Shannon)’s neck.

Yet, while the flagship characters of the DCEU are all steering towards darkness, the other side continues to brighten, as off-shoot installments such as “Birds of Prey” (2020), “The Suicide Squad” (2021), as well as the series, “Peacemaker” (2022), seem to have all taking a far more playful approach by way of cartoon-esque color schemes, with a side of comedy to boot, thus seeming to negate the very tone that DC has been trying to set prior.

Is this a matter of indecisiveness? Or perhaps miscommunication from within? Or is this some sort of clever play that is preparing fans for some sort of large spectacle where Heroes brood and Villains have fun? Unfortunately, only time will tell.

However, with the pending release of ‘The Batman’, one can’t help but notice how they are once again making a dramatic shift back towards the darker material, and potentially creating a self-imposed obstacle down the road, if and when they choose to weave these stories together.

Either way, one thing is abundantly clear with this highly-anticipated film… the DCEU film franchises, are doubling down on darkness.

The injury bug is no stranger to John Gibbon’s Blue Jays, and it bit once again on Tuesday in the Blue Birds’ series opening loss against the AL East leading, Baltimore Orioles.

Many were hopeful that Lawrie’s return to the active roster last night would be a spark for the Blue Jays as they began this crucial series which could lead towards a push for playoff contention. However, Lawrie reported some tightness in his lower back during batting practice, which then returned in the 3rd inning removing him from the game and placing him, once again, back on the IR.

Blue Jays Manager John Gibbons responded to this by saying, “We don’t think it’s anything serious… He’s day-to-day.”

Lawrie has been already been on the Injured Reserve list since June 22nd with a shattered index finger after being hit by a pitch in their 4-3 loss against RHP Johnny Cueto and the Cincinnati Reds. Which was only a drop in the bucket of the Blue Jays currently woes on the bench.

Also on the IR is 1st Baseman Adam Lind, who fractured his foot after fouling off himself. He is currently expected to be back mid-August.

Power Hitter and Blue Jays favorite Edwin Encarnacion has also been out since before the All-Star Break with a stage 2 Quadricep Strain. He’s expected to return mid-August as well, which, of course, all comes on the heels of Jose Bautista’s injury in the first half of the season.

So, what does this mean for the Blue Jays? Could they still make a push for the playoffs? Well, one would assume based on the minimal activity on trade deadline last week, that GM Alex Anthopoulos is hopeful that the return of his marquee players from the injured reserve list will allow them to challenge for the AL East title.

While many are doubtful that the Blue Jays will make that push, mostly due to the fact that they were favored going into the 2013 season, only to be ravaged by the injury bug, resulting in a 5th place finish in the AL East and 23 games behind the division leading Boston Red Sox this time last year.

That said, the Blue Jays are currently in possession of the 2nd AL Wild Card spot, while playing with a mostly B-roster. This says a lot for the depth of this team, and if they can hold on to this wild card spot and win the next two games against the Orioles, then Alex Anthopoulos might finally have the pleasure of watching the nay-sayers eat crow.

As for their chances of winning the World Series, you can pretty much forget about it, as the Oakland Athletics seem to have that all but locked down.