Chapter 1: Let's do something

The day’s plan was simple: head to the bookstore, by myself; after which I'd grab a bite to eat, by myself; then I'd catch a movie by myself. Some time in-between all that I would grab a six pack and/or a bottle of whiskey, most likely, which I'd drink back at my apartment, by myself.

“I don't need her,“I thought concerning my Ex who I wasn't missing as I passed by the Classic Section. “Or her stupid smile, or her stupid blue eyes, or her stupid red hair. Stupid long, flowing, curly, red hair that framed such a divine face. Stupid face.”

I reached my safe-haven. Shelves of Graphic Novels, Trade paper backs, manga, and RPG role books surrounded me. I reached out and grabbed a volume of some random manga and flipped it open. I hate manga. She loves manga. I really hate manga. I sat it down and continued looking for....something.

I picked up a TPB of a superhero comic I had been thinking about checking out for a while. I heard lots of good things about the current run, the TPB collected issues 17-21, this month’s issue was 28… Oh, who cares? I took it and looked for a place to sit. I ended up at the store cafe. I didn’t get anything because I don't do coffee, and everything was over-priced. Not like I would know what over-priced was considering I don't do coffee, but all my coffee drinking friends assured me they were overpriced.

I cracked open my book about halfway through and went back and forth between glancing at panels and people-watching. I come for the books, but I stay for the people-watching. There was a guy in a suit on a laptop. Probably a business type, but it was more fun to imagine that he was a secret agent. A guy about my age reading a biography about a baseball player, turned coach, turned motivational speaker, which everyone and their grandmas are talking about. And, no, I'm not just using a cliché; my grandma will not shut up about the guy. An annoying couple being “coupley,” a girl probably younger than me reading a ...I don't know what.

That's when I saw her. A blonde with the kind of glasses that would have made Buddy Holly jealous, reading a book with a dragon on the cover. I fall in lust too easily. “I should go over there,“ I thought to myself, knowing I wasn't going to. I could go over and say something that would knock off her (most likely “Rainbow Brite”) socks. Something like "Dragons are cool." Or, I could stay here, read my comic book, and not be rejected. Ya, I liked that idea.

Lost in the panels, I found myself more irritated with the book than anything else. It reeked of everything that was wrong with the industry. I kept thinking thoughts that started with, “When I become a comic book writer..“ I was about to open my Moleskine(?) Journal and take some notes on the blog entry I was sure to write later that night when I noticed that the girl who was reading the “I don't know what” was now reading at my table, sipping one of the overpriced coffees.

"Um,Hi?" I didn’t know the protocol for this situation.

"Oh, hey! The gross couple sucking face was in my view, and it was really getting on my nerves. I was going to say something to them, but I thought that might be awkward," she explained.

"And sitting down at a table with a stranger without asking isn't?"

"I guess it is?” she said with a hint of up-speak, which I typically find annoying. Typically. "I was going to ask if you'd mind if I had a seat, but you seemed really engrossed in your funny pages."

"Comics are a perfectly legit medium," I said defensively, like I have so many times before.

She looked down at the open page, as the hero healed the decapitated head of the Big Ugly Villain, much to the relief of scantily clad Space princess, who was posing in a manner that would most likely snap the average human spine. Even more impressive was that she was able to pull the pose off while chained.

"Uh-huh," she agreed to disagree.

"Not this; this is garbage. Just like there are good books and bad books, good cartoons and bad cartoons, good songs and bad songs. There are good comics and bad comics. This comic sucks," I back-pedaled.

"Then why, might I ask, did it take you ten minutes to notice that a pretty girl was sitting across from you if not for Miss Bimbo In Time?"

"I was just ranting in my head. This kind of thing really sets the industry back. In an era where there is a new superhero movie out every time you turn around, the average person is more interested in getting into comics than ever. And how do we respond? By printing garbage that alienates the adult female audience, contributes to young female readers’ self image issues, give young male readers the wrong idea about how true heroes act, and gives guys like me who are sick of this crap a headache," I stated, not completely sure that I wasn’t just babbling.

She smiled. She smiled like she had just found a twenty dollar bill in her coat pocket that she forgot she put there.

"Then you agree," she confirmed.

"Agree with what?"

"That I'm pretty," she said . The question and the smile together left me at a loss for words. I let out a symphony of ,"Ums," and, "Uhs." She let me hang for a minute before she rescued me.

"Let's do something," Miss Pretty suggested.

"We are doing something," I replied, slightly dazed and confused.

“No. I mean, let's do something. You and I leaving the bookstore together and then finding something to do," she explained as if I were a little slow on the uptake.

"Wait. We don't even know each other, and what would we do?" I asked, even as I wondered why I was arguing with her.

"There's a whole big city out there. I love books as much as the next girl, probably more so. But you have to change things up a little, am I right? I mean, unless you have something planned for the day…" she trailed off, waiting. Suddenly the idea of watching early 60's sci-fi movies by myself while drinking to the point where I forgot the first appearance of Spider-man didn't seem as awesome as it did a few moments ago, but still the stereotypical shyness of my kith and kin took over.

"I don't know; I'm pretty busy," I said, retreating.

"I'm sure, but wouldn't you rather say that you spent the day doing random things with a random girls whose name you didn't even know rather than doing whatever you thought you were going to do today?" she tempted.

"Wait, what is your name?" I hadn’t even thought about it until she brought it up. We hadn’t even exchanged names, and she wanted to “do something.”

She sighed, "You completely missed the point. How about this? Instead of you giving me your name and me giving you mine, -you give me my name, and I'll give you yours. We can go by the names we give each other for rest of the afternoon."

It was strange how okay I was with the idea. My mouth finally caught up with my brain, and I went with it with no further questions asked. "Gwen," I declared.

"You are such a comic-book nerd," she laughed, as if I were so predictable.

I was kind of surprised that she knew where I got the name from. "If you don't like it then.."

"No, I love it; I love Gwen. Much better than MJ. And you can be Augustus." I stared at her blankly. "Ha. I out obscure-referenced you. However, the fact that you didn't get it makes me sad.We are going to have to change that. If you are going to keep up with me, you are going to have to do a lot of reading. Actual books, the kind without pictures."

"Ok, now you are just giving me a hard time," I said, unsure of whether to be amused or annoyed.

"I have been from the start," Gwen replied.

"Why me?" another obvious question I brought up.

"In this store, one guy is taken and the other is old," Gwen smiled with a shrug.

"Oh."

"I'm kidding. I don't know. You just seemed like…" she hesitated.

"Like what?"

"I don't know how to explain it. I suck with words sometimes," Gwen admitted.

"Do you do this often? Walk into a bookstore and find a nerd to be nice to for the day?"

"No, that's the point." she said with a smile. Truth be told, I was getting to know that smile more than I was getting to know her.

“Come on. Let's put our books back and get out of here," she urged, taking me by the hand.

At a loved ones Tombstone

According to the gravestone, it had only been two years. He felt as if it had been longer, yet in an odd way, he felt like the laughs and heart-to-hearts had happened just yesterday. She was the girl he had loved the most, and the girl he had loved the longest. Tears started to form in his eyes, and he let them go. After all, he was never ashamed to cry in front of her before, so why start now? He wondered what she would think of him now, with his new job and apartment. Even more, he wondered what she would think of his new girlfriend. He gave a soft smile thinking about how the two were similar. "She's a lot like you, Sis,” he whispered. He thought of the highs and lows in the time since she had been gone. He would catch himself whispering, "I wish Sis was here.” Not just for the life-changing events, but in the day-to-day events as well. In fact, few days had gone by where he didn't think, "I miss my sister.” He just hoped that she knew somehow, in some way, in whatever form of afterlife there was, that he missed her. He hoped she knew that he went on living most days with a smile on his face, as she would have wanted, but deep down he always felt as if something were missing, because something was missing. He had been robbed of the most important thing in his life, and he felt it. It wasn’t as if he took her for granted. "I love you’s” were often exchanged. He had no regrets about the way he lived his life before she was taken, but that didn't help the gnawing emptiness. He missed her advice. That blend of loving, stern, and understanding advice that only a sister can give. He thought of the times that her smile changed the course of his day. Her hug, her strong shoulders that he had leaned on, and how he could have used them during these past two years. He thought of some of the things he used to say about her. Things like, “I don't know what I would do without her.” Things people say without really considering their real life implications… "I dream of you. I dream that you are still here, and that you are happy, and no matter what the world throws our way we can handle it. We always could, but without you sometimes I feel like I can't. I am so much more dependent than you are. You never needed me. Well, you did,but you didn't come to me nearly as much as I came to you. You would be dealing with this so much better than I am," his voice cut out as the sobs took over. “I guess," he recovered, "I guess I just wanted you to know, to remind you that… You know… I miss you, I'm thinking of you, and I love you, Sis. It sucks. It sucks so much that you are gone. I'm doing good, but it still sucks." Silent tears streamed down his face. He felt a soft kiss on his cheek, and an even softer hand holding his. "I'm sorry that I didn't get to met her," said a small comforting voice. He smiled. "I was telling her earlier how I see some of her in you." "So, would she have liked me?" "She wouldn't have been too keen on you at first. We always got weird when the other would end up with someone and we could tell that it was going to be a big deal. Partly out of just being protective and looking out for each other. But also partly out of losing our place in each other’s lives I guess. But you love me. You make me so happy and give me so much peace, and for that she would have loved you." She wiped his tears away and brushed his hair off of his face. "Think you are ready to go home, Love?" he quietly nodded. As the two left the cemetery hand in hand, she turned around. "Don't worry," she said, "I'll take of him."

The Shore

He stood at the shore line with his eyes shut, whispering Her name. The name of The girl he meet at that beach. A girl that he feel in love with by the sea. A girl that he proposed to and married by that sea. Their love story was not a fairy tale. Their love was put to the test, and there were fights but no matter how hard things got they never forgot this shore. The shore reminded them of the purity of the love they shared. suddenly the cause of the argument would be put into prescriptive. Finances and other mundane things that couples seem to argue about drifted into the sea. The Beach was a sanctuary, and the shore line was an altar. With that line of thinking however one could say that would make her a sacrifice. For one day their beloved sea turned on them, and claimed her life.

The waves crashed that gray February afternoon. This beach held one thousand memories for him, perhaps more. Perhaps A memory for each grain of sand. The anguish on his face was almost unbearable to witness. The pain of loss, though now years old still left fresh wounds. Those wounds where now bleeding uncontrollably leaving his body close to lifeless. Lifeless. That's how “Life” with out her has been for him. As if when the sea took her it took his blood, his oxygen, his spirit and he was now a lifeless,soulless being who was simply existing day to day. There was an odd sensation that was ripping him apart from the inside. It was a ruthless vortex made up of a paradoxical combination of numbness and a sense of pain that was so merciless that at times he could feel the pain filling his lungs, then clogging his wind pipe and choke him violently. It was more brutal than that through because the pain would not let him pass out, or die. The pain left him to exist breathless.

Tears were pounding at the floodgates of his eyes as the turmoil continued to rage, and once more he whispered her name. As he breathed her name and for a brief beautiful moment something glorious happened, everything was fine. Her name was a drug. He could feel the sensation of it's essences racing through his veins. At first it just brought him peace, but what a fantastic feat that was. Just the sound of her name calmed the storm inside himself that only moments ago was ripping up his insides, like a hurricane uprooting trees, shutting off his vital organs one by one with out letting him know the rest of death. Now, now all that was gone and all he knew was peace. It was like an eye of a storm. That peace was soon joined by unmatchable joy. For just the sound of her name took him to another plane of existence, another state of consciousness as the smile of the lovestruck over came him. For In his mind and soul he was entangled in her arms. affection, as electrical currents, flowing through their bodies. It was the kind of affection you only see in the movies. They were young, in love, and in paradise alone together. He was overwhelmed by emotions he thought he was no longer capable of feeling. Emotions he'd given up on knowing again.As he touched her face reality hit, as did the nightmarish realization that it was just a dream. She was not really there. She was gone, as she'd been.

He looked out into the sea. All the joy it brought him and all the pain it brought him all boiling inside of him. Her angel and his demons grabbing onto his very being and with a supernatural strength ripping his soul into two very different places. A tremendous battle of hope and despair with massive casualties on both sides all taking place at his very core. He wanted to stay strong if only for the sake of her ghost. He couldn't though, the chaos brought him to his knees and he yelled her name. No one heard. He yelled her name over and over out into the sea that took her. Soon his throat became dry as sand. Exhausted from the screaming and being over run with pain he fell. His face now planted in the sand. His hands groping for something to hold on to, his tight grip only causing the sand to slip through his fingers. He wept. He wept uncontrollably, with out shame, until he had no more tears left.

Fall 2010

The Account

I am called Zebiyan. This is the account of what I saw, what I witnessed first hand and what I experienced. I will not exaggerated the things I saw. I do not need to, they do not need any embellishment to be fantastic. Nor, Will I leave anything out. I refuse to deny what I saw. How simple that would be, to pretend that none of this is real. To say that the miracles I saw where just hoaxes . To say the death was stage, that it was not really him on the cross. It would be easy to say that my fellow believers and I just stole the body and that we asked and paid five hundred people to claim to see The Lord after his death .There are several theories to try and rob Jesus of who he truly was, who he truly is.To the advocates of such theories all I will say for now is this: Stephen is dead.

Things happened so fast. I have much to tell you ,and much to fill you in on. I will give each happening a worthy telling in my later accounts, for now though let me tell you how I came to begin to follow The Christ. I was living in Jerusalem at the time. I heard about The Miracle Worker before, yet, I never really knew what to think. One moment people were parsing him. Telling tales of him healing the blind and the lame.How he was Giving hope to the hopeless and publicly leaving the lawyers and High Priest dumbfound by his understanding of his law and his teaching . Then I would hear that he would tell the crowds to eat of his flesh and drink his blood, that he made claims of blasphemy, or that in a rage he flipped tables at a temple. So when it was said that a beloved friend of his was ill, and that he would be sure to heal him, I had to go see for myself. Then something happened. As I was walking to the town where the sick man was I meet a man coming from the other direction. He said that the Teacher was there, but The man was dead, and had been for days. I was stunned. I kept walking though. I heard that once before a synagogue rulers daughter was ill, and even died, yet this man was able to bring her back. Something in me knew that this was not over. As I reached my destination the the dead mans sister, Mary, ran out of the house in tears. Myself and some others followed after her. That was the first time I saw him, a grieving women at his feet, and others mourners surrounding him. "Where have you laid him?” He asked. A group showed him the sight of the tomb.Then something heart wrenching, unforeseeable, and glorious happened. Jesus wept. He fell to his knees and started to weep. Some mocked the Healer, others were awestruck by this display. It was then that he got up, dried his tears, raised his eyes to the heavens and in a voice that we all could hear began to pray “Father, I thank you that you have heard me. I knew that you always hear me, but I said this on account of the people standing around, that they may believe that you sent me." It was then in a mighty voice he commanded "Lazarus, come out” . Lazarus, who was dead, came out. A dead man heard and obeyed His voice. It was at that point that I knew that this man, was God. That this event that I witnessed and what it proved would literally change my life forever. I heard some of the others talk afterward. Saying that they were going to tell the chief priests and the Pharisees of the things they saw. I had no idea what that would lead to.


It wasn't to long after that that he rode into Jerusalem Triumphantly. I was There. I laid down palm branches in his path. I cried Hosanna. The overwhelming joy over me that day. To think that we had finally found the one to deliver us from the iron fist of Rome. I was in the crowd during his "trial", I heard Pilots offer. I heard them plead for Barabbas and I heard them cry out for Jesus to be crucified. At times it still rings in my ears, those hateful cries “Crucify him, Crucify him' I did not say a word. What was stirring in me that day fear, defeat, hopelessness, Disappointment, shame. I was there as he walked up to the place of the skull. I was there when when the sky went black, I was there when he breathed Tetelestai. I was there when the rumors of his empty tomb started to appear three days later. I ran to the tomb, it was as they said, empty. Later on I saw the Lord myself. I was there when he rose up into the heavens. I was there when the Fire Of God came down. I was one of those who spoke in many tongues, and they thought us drunk. The acts we did. The wonders we saw. The Truth we proclaimed. The hatred we faced, the animosity, Stephen is dead. I am called Zebiyan and this is my account of the final days of the Saviors life, his death, and his undeniable Resurrection, and the continuing story of those he left to proclaim his truth.


Fall 2010

“Does he get the Girl?”

At no particular point in time. At no particular place, there was a writer. Well not so much a writer as much as a boy who wanted to be a writer. He enjoyed writing about many things, but out of everything and anything the boy could write about, the boy enjoyed writing about love the most. The boy had his heart broken many times before, but this didn't stop his fascination with a very Idealistic concept of love. His friends teased him saying that we was to obsessed with it.

One day the boy was sitting in a field, writing of course, when a girl walked by. She saw the boy and stopped and smiled. To caught up in writing about past heart brakes and the idea of writing a timeless romance to really think to much about the girl, the boy almost paid her no mind. However, the boy finally looked up and smiled back. The Boy did feel a little alone and figured that he could use the company so he asked the girl to sit next to him.

The girl sat down and the two begin to talk, kind of. The boy was still in his own little world. Since the girl wanted to talk to the boy but he wasn't talking much she did most of the talking. As she was going on and on about anything that crossed her mind just to keep the “conversation” going, The boy got a smile on his face as something amazing began to happen inside of him. He felt something that he had not felt in a very long time. With this he started writing about a boy and a girl.

“Do you want me to just go”, asked the girl, very discouraged by his silence, not knowing of the thoughts in the boy's head.

The boy Remained silent, lost in his new found inspiration. Words started to swiftly fill the page. As he wrote he started to see a new sense of fulfillment and happiness, He started to see his fairy tale, and he started to see his very realistic feature with her by his side. He started to see all this in the girl that was about to walk away. He knew the girl was about to leave and with that everything he was now writing would just be a lost hope. Yet he could not stop writing. Not until he had something that was so powerful, so meaningful, so moving, that the girl could not help but see what he did.

“Forget it” the girl sighed, but right as the girl stood up to walk away, the boy stopped her. He wasn't sure what to tell her or where to start. He fumbled over his words for a moment. The girl looked at him, puzzled and some what annoyed. He wasn't done writing, but he couldn't let her walk away, not until she understood.

“See, I'm writing a story. A story about a boy and this girl.” the boy was nervous, but a smile began to over take his face. He handed the story to the girl “Could, could you read this?”

“Sure” the girl says, still confused and annoyed. As she read the boy was trying to read her, trying to gain some insight into what she was thinking as she was reading, but the girls face give him no clues. “It's not done yet". The boy said anxiously." See I have to where the boy and the girl meet. Then I have that The Boy falls for her. I mean, he falls for her hard. I think that maybe the girl. I don't know. This may sound weird but I am just so stuck on the ending. Do you think you could finish it” The girl gave the boy a confused look. “Could you write the end of the story for me?”


The Girl sat down and reached out her hand to take the boy's pen. The boy knew how he wanted it to end, with her in his arms forever, but it was no longer up to him. He gave her the pen. The girl thought for a moment and began to write. The boy's hands started to sweat and his heart began to race as did his mind, each moment seemed to last for years. The girl stopped writing. The boy's heart stopped beating. “Well” said the boy. His voice now soft and meek, braking against silence. He was not sure why but his eyes started to water. He asked the question that has been asked a thousand times before. “Does he get the Girl?”


Sumer 2010

Her Dance

If words could make you fall in love,

would mine have that power?

Could they draw you to me?

Make you leave what you have?

Even if they could, would I let them?

After all love is not selfish.

But what if I was?

Who says you wouldn’t be as happy with me?

What if we could be greater?

Yet, who am I to cut in

It's your dance

and even I can see it's magical

Maybe, someday, our chance will come.

But not now.

So, as for tonight

I'll keep my mind off you.

I'll ignore your glances in my direction

And as I see you happy in his arms

I'll smile


Summer 09

I Need It Back

Hey angel, oh sorry, old habits die-hard. But I guess at least to me you’ll always be my angel. Look, I’m not here to cause any issues I just came by to get something of mine. I believe I gave it you soon after our first kiss all those years ago . Never saw the point of ever asking for it back before because I knew I would just wind up giving it you again anyways. Don’t get me wrong there were plenty of others that I thought to give it to, plenty of others that wanted it. But I always thought that it somehow belonged to you. My friends told me how much of a bad idea it was to let you have it. All they saw was how you miss-treated it but they never saw how you would always fix it, good as new if not better. Anyways I know you don’t need it. You probably haven’t even thought about having in quite some time. It’s most likely lost somewhere, in pieces, collecting dust. Let’s face it that’s the way you usually treated it. I do remember times when you would treasure it, and keep it close, but more often than not you …didn’t treat it well to say the least. Anyways, It’s just I really need it back. You see there’s this girl, and before you ask, no, I don’t think I love her, however, I love how she’s nothing like you, so gentle, she would treat it right. Hell, maybe I should hold on to it for a while and see how she would treat it before I give it to her, who knows maybe you’ll end up with it again anyways. God, you left me with so many questions, But, I can’t look back, I can’t keep living in the past. So I guess the only thing I have to ask is this, Can I have my heart back?



Spring 09