MickelBrack

I put up some awesome shots on twitter (TwitPic) of my visit to the Missouri Botanical Gardens just recently. If you can, go here....

http://twitpic.com/photos/koonthul

I'm quite proud of some of these shots, considering they are from a measily 1.3 megapixel camera phone!

on the road again

Ex Cog was weird...now I'm just going for something even weirder. Who knows...I definitely need to keep my eyes open for a better name. Time to upload more photos!

Yes, I'm still trying to figure out a good blog name but I'm getting closer. Excogitate (Ex Cog), or to "think something through carefully and slowly in order to fully understand it". It's growing on me, still need to work in things like "Digital" and "Stormfront" etc. And also, a shout out...

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If you didn't read my post below this one about the nature of these short musings then I would do so first. It will really give you a better context for what it is that I'm doing, plus you'll realize I'm a pretty novice writer! This one took a bit longer, about an hour and 45 minutes. Again, no editing or spell checking...cause thats the way we like!

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Backed up against a wall, Sophia had no where to run. Her breath was out of control, coming in and rushing out of her at a dogs panting pace. Glancing to the chair, then to the nightstand, then to the headboard of the bed. There wasn’t a damn thing she around this place she could use as a weapon. And she was trapped. Not even the windows looked like a resolute place for her to scramble, as they had been barred from the outside a long time ago. Good ol Southern California.

“What the hell,”

she muttered as she ripped open the curtains and tore at the shades.

“Might be able to slip through the bars.” She thought, grabbing a hold of one of them. First her head, then her shoulder…No go, she was now wedged tightly at her mid section. The crash came faintly at first, then harshly, as the door leading into the master bedroom caved inward with the second blow, ripping free of its hinges.

“Nice work you dumb bitch, you just cornered yourself!”

His threat was choked by his own spittle, literally jumping out of him with his adrenaline rush after the chase up the stairs. She didn’t want to find out what else his adrenaline had in store for her. Ripping herself free, she lurched for the bathroom door, but she was too late. He had at least a foot of height on her and a good half a stride when he caught her in the doorway, slamming her sideways against the frame, head rolling and bouncing. She felt tingly all over, sliding slowly to the floor, trying to brace herself against the frame. She could feel her consciousness slipping and fought to maintain it. Something slippery and wet was there too, probably her own blood.

“You like that? You like to play rough? I’ll show you how we play rough in this neighborhood!”

She could hear fabric tearing, and at first didn’t realize it was her own. He had ripped a sleeve off of her jacket, and was going for the rest of it and her shirt all at once, frantically clawing at her like an animal.

My god, he’s going to rape me, she thought.

Struggling, she tried to come to her hands and knees, shaking off the thick the waves of nausea that forced her down. But it was his left hand that brought her crashing down again to the bathroom tile, a full force punch to her kidneys that sent her reeling. This forced her over on to her back, flailing wildly. She knew she was done for if she gave up, if she let in the pain and desperation.
He was on her now, ripping her own pants and undergarments off as well as his own, breathing like a dog in heat.

This was her chance she thought, this was the moment where she couldn’t hesitate, where she needed to take advantage of the situation. He was definitely a novice at this, and lucky for her he had no idea what was in store for him next. Summoning the last bit of her strength, she swiftly brought her knee up into his crotch, right as he lowered himself close to her.

His pain was a muffled squelch, as if air had suddenly been let out of tire at a high rate but then patched instantaneously. She knew she hit something though, as he doubled over and fell to her left side. She just wasn’t sure if it was going to be enough.

Quickly, she thought, get into the bedroom, away from him. Her hands and knees carried her out of the bathroom, sliding on the floor towards the edge of the bed. Placing one hand on the mattress, she tried to pull herself up but the kidney shot was too much, and she fell back onto the matted carpet once again. Tears were in her eyes, but she choked down the last of the this disgustingly familiar emotion and kept trying to stand.

This wasn’t the time, you aren’t free yet, she thought, trying to use her left hand to pull herself up. Moaning and scrambling noises came from the bathroom, time was running out.

Again, she tried with the left hand, but it failed her and as she fell, her right hand went straight under the bed, hitting something strangely familiar. She thought at first she was grabbing a part of the bed, as it had a knob like feel to it. Fumbling, she pulled out the object and realized what it was, a good ol Louisville Slugger.

In her youth, her father used to keep one in the closet just in case an intruder or thief were to enter the house. Later she came to find out just how ironic that all was, but in her line of work she knew many people kept things like this close at hand, but she hadn’t quite figured that Mr. Brumolis’ would be a baseball fan. His attitude suggested that he was more of a nine-millimeter kind of guy.
She felt at once a rush of adrenaline, at finally having the upper hand in this situation. Mr. Brumolis was not a small individual. At 6’2 and 240 lbs, he was quite a large man, athletic enough for her to not want this job.

To her left she could tell he was standing, getting up and moving towards her, still doubled over from the pain. He moved quickly, readying himself to dive on her again. Since the room was now only lit by the moonlight falling through the window, he must not have seen the bat coming. As he came towards her, she let the bat swing from her side on the ground, crashing into his left knee, caving it inwards. The pain erupted on his face and he screamed as he fell, grasping for the bat. Damn he’s a bastard, she thought. Not because he’s an asshole, but because he was quick to recover. Pulling herself up to her knees, she brought the bat back down again, quicker this time, hitting him square in the temple. She heard a popping noise, like a cap gun going off, and she knew what happened. Instinct having taken over, she connected with him again, this time in the jaw bone and then another to his right temple. She was on her feet now, hammering at his skull, waiting for it to pop again. She could tell he was dead, but she didn’t stop. Hammering and hammering away, this time at his body and his torso, hips, crotch and elbows…just kept hammering. She slowed down a bit…caught her breath. Her mind flashed with pictures of her ex-husband, standing over her, spitting in her own pool of blood. Her hands let the bat slip and fall from her grasp, falling slightly on top of the dead body. She needed to finish the job, get out of the house with what she had come for.

She was weak but could manage a slow stride; into the bathroom for what was left of her clothes. A sudden chill swept over her as she noticed that she was topless, the windows open air caressing her back. Her shirt was lieing half rumpled on the floor, but her jacket seemed more than intact so she settled for that as her first layer. Gathering any other evidence of her being there, she stuffed what was left of her belongings into her oversized pockets. The duffle. That was the most important part. She glanced around the room, looking impatiently for the treasured bag, the whole reason for her existence in this mansion of a house. At first it was difficult to remember where she had put it, where she had placed it before the encounter in the bedroom. It came to her slowly, as if in a dream. The duffle had been dropped out the window. She didn’t want it to be a part of the skirmish, so dumping it before he entered the room was her only choice. Casually glancing out the window, she could tell the bag was in the nearby bush, but hadn’t expected the contents to be littered about the lawn. Stacks of bills, in nice little sets of 10 thousand dollars were strewn about the bush and the flower bed. How unprofessional, she thought. Dad wouldn’t have made that same mistake.