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Saint Kitty’s Day

Saint Kitty

When the worldwide economic collapse reached the bottom of its bottomless pit, and then kept going, causing every nation of the world to be in debt to entities which did not exist and who were, themselves, in debt to the giant financial black hole in the middle of the acidic Atlantic Ocean, all seemed lost…but there was still hope.

When Global Warming became Climate Change, which was stupid so they changed it back to Global Warming, and soon Global Hottening, and then Earth Melt-Fest, and finally Holy Christ Everything Is On Fire and Simultaneously Under Water, the people of our Planet screamed in terror, and while their vocal chords were scarred their voices were not gone, and in their blackened lungs was cradled a tiny pearl of optimism. We would not go down without a fight.

When the world was at its most bleak, when poisonous rain clouds grew ever darker and giant volcanoes filled the sky with lightning and lava, and even regular people wanted to commit suicide because life was truly meaningless, all was not lost.

No. The world did not lose its hope until it became evident that the population of domestic kittens was dwindling to numbers so low that scientists were predicting extinction within a matter of weeks. This was when the candle in our hearts was blown out.

It is said that when the world heard the news of future kitten extinction every human being, as well as most intelligent primates, immediately imagined a world without fluffy balls of love and simultaneously began weeping. This is the only known case of 24 billion human beings crying at the same time about the exact same thing. Even babies were crying about it, only at the time they could not know they were crying about it, but years later when asked about their most traumatic memories, 13 out of 10 people who were babies at the time said they remembered the vivid image of thousands of burning kittens jumping off buildings and really high counter tops. Some people even started throwing up and crying at the same time.

Young, adorable kittens were the only form of pure joy left in our dying world. Drug supplies had run out, sex was impossible, and ice cream had been reduced to a sticky stain on the linoleum floor of every sheltered kitchen in the world. In ashen streets throngs of people, sometimes numbering in the thousands, could be seen crowding around a single kitten, waiting silently for it to meow or curl up into a ball and nap the cutest nap you’d ever seen. Interaction with a kitten, even from a distance, could produce up to a week of pleasant memories, helping to ward off even the worst of depressions.

But the silent waiting did not last long; people were losing hope by the handful. Survival instincts seized the masses and selfishness became modus operandi. Kittens were the new gold. A kitten could get you a seat in The White House, or Buckingham Palace, but in actuality it didn’t matter – both had been burned down, plundered and desecrated, spray-painted over with the human race’s dying words: “1 Kitten = 1 Thousand Days of Happy”.

Rumors spread of secret circles and lone, mysterious men searching for the remaining kittens in hopes of creating singular utopias, living out their last dying days in a kitten-induced state of happiness. Several countries began broadcasting still-images and videos of kittens on every screen available. Times Square was no longer a bastion of consumerism, but instead a giant 6th grade kitten collage plastered in the middle of Manhatten. The sights were beautiful, but the underlying message was haunting: Our last hope was disappearing.

Day by day the kitten population was dwindling. Those fur-balls left wandering their ruinous homelands were fewer and farther between; while those held hostage in the dark caves and solitary basements of the most powerful men were nothing more than pornography, their captors unwilling to negotiate for even a single session of kitty conception. It seemed as if the Earth would die a slow, painful, and kitten-less death.

And then he appeared.

Known only as “Saint Kitty”, this lone, shadowy “super-hero” burst forth from wherever it is that he was hiding and brought with him a revolution, nay, a REVELATION of ecstasy, of unbridled joy, of Heaven on Earth. In the only known picture (above) that exists of “Saint Kitty” he can be seen in the way that any witness to his march would describe him: a suave, fucking-awesome badass, hovering over a sea of kittens, with endless lightning sparkling in his sunglasses, and brandishing his silver “Kitten Protector” for every cowardly Judas to see. With his horde of felines bequeathed to our sad lands, he disappeared, never to be heard from again.

So it is, that on this day, Saint Kitty’s Day, we celebrate our return to prosperity. Formerly St. Valentine’s Day, February 14th was replaced with St. Kitty’s day when everyone realized that Valentine’s Day had become useless, because people no longer enjoyed the company or relationships to be had with their own species. As we wait for science to figure out how to combine Kitty DNA with our own, we can only hope that enough of us are still alive to pro-create with those creatures that we truly love.

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Scenes from The Terrific Tale of Joseph Zipperpin

Scenes from:
The Terrific Tale of Joseph Zipperpin,
The Academy Award-Winning,
Best Film of Ever

INT. SOUND STAGE – DAY

A dark hallway leading to the lit sound stage. Deep, heavy breaths. The camera is focused on the back of an man walking onto the stage.

The sounds of an audience clapping become louder and louder, filling our ears as we follow this individual out to the stage and a trio of podiums. He stands behind the middle podium.

The camera swings to face our individual, and we see that he is a dashing, twenty-something male in a suit. The stage is now the familiar site of the game show, JEOPARDY! Our handsome man writes his name on a screen in front of him, and the camera moves in for a close-up of the front the podium as his name appears:

JOSEPH ZIPPERPIN

We hold on the name as our host, Alex Trebek, welcomes the audience and television viewers. The show begins.

THE PREVIOUS CHAMPION: Let’s start off with “ANCIENT HISTORY” for $200.

ALEX: The Trojan war took place in this century.

Our man, Joseph Zipperpin, rings in, but we…

CUT TO:

EXT. MOUNTAIN CLIFFS – STORMY EVENING

Ancient Greece. A man is climbing up a mountain, straining with each reach for another rock.

MOUNTAIN CLIMBING MAN: I must get to the Oracles!

He makes it to the top of the dark mountain, and an area like where the oracles are in the movie 300. Lightning crashes. Wind whips the man’s forest-thick beard. In front of him sit three ghastly “oracles”. One of the three oracles is hairier and shorter than his companions, and talks with a thick New Orleans accent. We recognize him as JOSEPH ZIPPERPIN – he nods at the camera.

MOUNTAIN CLIMBING MAN: O Wise Oracles, I must know when this Great Trojan War will be over.

JOSEPH: It will end sometime before it becomes 1,100 years before Jesus Christ will be born.

MOUNTAIN CLIMBING MAN: What?

JOSEPH: To give you a round about date I would say 1,167 B.C.

MOUNTAIN CLIMBING MAN: B.C.?

JOSEPH: Before Christ. Didn’t I just say that?

MOUNTAIN CLIMBING MAN: What is Christ?

JOSEPH: I think you mean whom.

MOUNTAIN CLIMBING MAN: I am greatly confused…great Oracle!

JOSEPH: Oh, this is going nowhere.

Joseph gets up and gives the man a roundhouse kick to the face and he begins to tumble down the mountain. Joseph high-fives the other oracles.

CUT TO:

INT. SOUND STAGE – DAY

Back at Jeopardy.

JOSEPH: What is the 12th Century, BC?

ALEX: Correct for $200

JOSEPH (whispering to himself): I was just 12 years old.

***

INT. SOUND STAGE – A LITTLE LATER

The part in Jeopardy right after the first commercial break: a little chat with the contestants.

ALEX: Well, Joseph, it says here that you’re…well, why don’t you tell us how old you are?

JOSEPH: I’m 3,100…but I look a lot younger.

The crowd laughs, and so does Alex. He shakes his head, and moves on to the next contestant.

Joseph just smiles, sheepishly. If he wasn’t so fantastic looking you’d think he was a moron.

***

INT. JEOPARDY GAME SHOW STAGE – DAY

It is the middle of the Double Jeopardy round. Joseph has $20,000 compared to the other contestants who each have $0. They look pretty pissed actually. Anyway, it is obviously his turn to choose because no one else has gotten any right.

JOSEPH: I’ll take World War II Ra-tions for $1,600.

The special sound of a DAILY DOUBLE rings out.

ALEX: Remember, Joseph, each correct response will end with the letters “T-I-O-N”. What will you wager?

JOSPEH: I’ll make it a true daily double.

The audience gasps. Alex loosens his tie, and throws his cue cards in the air.

Joseph stands there, as blank as ever.

ALEX: These camps were used to incarcerate Jewish and other prisoners of the Nazi Army.

Joseph rings in, but we

CUT TO:

INT. CONCENTRATION CAMP BARRACKS – NIGHT

Joseph Zipperpin, looking about 30 or so, sits on a bunk carefully reading “The Metamorphosis” under the moonlight that shines conveniently on his page. He hears the sound of footsteps coming towards him and puts the book down, pretending to sleep.

A Nazi officer comes to his bunk.

NAZI (in a very loud whisper): Wake up, Jew!

Luckily all the other prisoners are in a deep sleep, and no one else wakes up.

Joseph turns towards the man, who is boiling with anger.

NAZI: I could hear you turning the pages of your…BOOK!

Joseph gasps and winces.

JOSEPH: I…I…I’m sorry.

NAZI (calming): Don’t be.

Joseph brings his head up to look at the officer, he looks confused.

NAZI: Bring it out from under your pathetic blanket…and read to me!

Joseph grins, stupidly. The Nazi officer cozies up next to Joseph, and he begins to read.

DISSOLVE TO:

INT. SOUND STAGE – DAY

Close-up on Joseph.

JOSEPH: What are “concentra-TION camps?”

ALEX: That is correct!

The crowd erupts with applause.

Joseph smiles shyly, thinking back on those old reading times…

***

ALEX: This is another word for happy.

Joseph rings in and we

CUT TO:

INT. CONCENTRATION CAMP BARRACKS – AGAIN

Joseph and the Nazi Officer from before have loud intercourse, and kiss passionately. Luckily all the other prisoners, and Nazi guards, and Hitler are in a deep sleep.

CUT TO:

INT. JEOPARDY – STILL THE SAME

JOSEPH: What is gay?

ALEX: Well done, Joseph. You’ve answered every question on the board. It’s almost like your life was made up of the answers from this show. Simply poetic. I can’t think of a better subject for a movie. We’re on to Final Jeopardy next…

***

INT. SOUND STAGE – 20 WEEKS LATER

Joseph is still on the Jeopardy. He is just unstoppable. A force of nature. Zipperpin-Mania has captured America’s attention. People in the audience wear shirts with his face on them. A teenage girl holds up a sign that says “WILL YOU MARRY ME, JOSEPH?” with a big red heart on it, and lipstick marks. She could not know what is about to happen.

It is FINAL JEOPARDY. The theme music plays as our contestants write down their answers.

On the far right of the screen is an OLD MAN wearing a Nazi uniform; the swastikas are huge. He is tied with Joseph for the lead. This has never happened before. No one has even been able to ring in for the past 20 weeks. Something special is in the air.

The Old Man keeps looking at Joseph and nervously smiling. Joseph doesn’t notice, and feverishly writes down his answer.

The music ends; it’s the moment of truth.

Joseph’s answer is revealed: What is The Metamorphosis?

He breathes a sigh of relief and looks at the Old Man, who reveals his answer: What is The Metamorphosis? (with a smiley face drawn next to it, and one of those hearts with an arrow in it)

All of a sudden, Joseph realizes who the Old Man really is…

FLASHBACK – CONCENTRATION CAMP – NIGHT

Joseph and the Nazi hold each other as Joseph closes the book he was reading…”The Metamorphosis”.

END FLASHBACK

JOSEPH: Heinrich? Is it really you?

HEINRICH: Yes, Joseph, it’s me. Ever since I saw your face I knew I had to get on this show. I never would have been able to do it if you hadn’t told me your life story, and also taught me how to read!

JOSEPH: Oh, Heinrich, it’s been so long!

They run to each other, and kiss for about a minute. It seems like its going on forever, when all of a sudden…

BATMAN CRASHES THROUGH THE SOUND STAGE CEILING! He punches Alex Trebek in the face!

BATMAN: Why the hell wasn’t I invited? I’m Batman!

In the mayhem, a zombie of Richard Nixon wearing Italian shoes walks on to the stage and takes a bite out of the unconscious Trebek.

RICHARD NIXON ZOMBIE: I’m drunk and I love hamburgers!

Batman, being a hero, kicks Richard Nixon in the face and his head flies off.

BATMAN: Even though I wasn’t invited, I still support the right for two men to get married! Let’s wed these two men right now!

Wedding music kicks in.

BATMAN: By the power vested in me by the State of California, I now pronounce you: husband and…

BANG! A gunshot rings out.

It’s CLINT EASTWOOD! And he looks angry!

CLINT: I WILL NOT LET AMERICA DIE!

Batman and Clint Eastwood fight, and the stage gets set on fire. The crowd leaves in a panic and Joseph slowly walks backstage, crying.

He wipes his eyes and standing in front of him is…the ghost of his mother.

JOSEPH’S MOTHER: I told you that life would always be unpredictable, and that you’d never know what was gonna happen until it happened to you. The future will always be a mystery of things that we can’t know until it’s not the future anymore, but the past. Like a bag of groceries that someone else bought for you and put on your table, you never really know what’s in there. Don’t you ever forget that, Joseph.

Joseph smiles again.

JOSEPH: I love you, mama.

FADE OUT.
Joseph Zipperpin
click image to enlarge


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We Have A Winner!

Without further ado, The Unlimited Freedom Castle would like to announce the winner of it’s End of the Year Poll/Contest Thingy…Ladies and Gentlemen, we give you:

Julie Gabriel, from New South Wales, Australia! As long as the international postal system does not fail us, Julie will be the proud owner of a signed Crooked Creek #6 print!

crooked_creek_06_small

Before we announce the “Most Popular Piece of 2008″ we’d just like to point out that we have a reader IN AUSTRALIA. That’s just awesome. TUFC has made the long leap across the Pacific. The Castle has gone international. In a consolation prize for the entire Australian continent, we promise never to call anyone “mate” or say “barby” in a fake accent again. YOU’RE WELCOME!

If Julie were here we’d let her announce our next winner, the piece that took home the most votes in our End of the Year Contest, but since she’s not we’ll have to do it ourselves.  People of Earth, the winner of The Unlimited Freedom Castle’s “Most Popular Piece of 2008″ is…The Muppets Go To Prison from October 1, 2008!  If you didn’t trust Kyle enough when he deemed it his favorite piece of 2008, you can surely trust the fine readers who voted for it.

Well, with all the pomp and circumstance over with, it’s time to say THANK YOU to everyone who voted in the contest, and who takes their precious time to visit this little website.  2009 hasn’t completely sucked the life out of us yet, so come back on Monday for a new post that features POP CULTURE, ZOMBIES (again) and RISQUE BEHAVIOR!

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Crooked Creek, Installment #10

Read previous installments of this story by clicking the “Crooked Creek” tab above!

The rush was sickening, but sweet. It overwhelmed Conrad much like his fits; his ribs curled in on themselves, sharpening and crushing his lungs, but there was also release. Some goodness calmed his screaming brain, and a strange joy stuck inside his jaw. Was it pride? He couldn’t identify it, but it was warm and addicting to his veins.

Inside the truck he was an alien. Its leather was worn and through his short breaths the cab smelled foul, lived in. The wheel, the shifter, the pedals; the placement of them all in front of him was like abstract art. But somehow, sitting there, it was intuitive. He had no time to think. Just shift, gas, and go. The nefarious deliveryman was close behind, sputtering curses and staggering on his legs like a broken down boxer. The rear tires skid in their speed, lacing into the gravel road and coughing dust in their trails.

Ahead the road curved with the creek. In conjunction with the rock walls towering above, Crooked Creek jutted to the left and to the right, back and forth, on and on through the valley. It could never make up its mind which way was straight, arguing with itself all the way to the Wide-Mouthed River. At points further on down you could see the frustration in its growing girth and white rapids; calling it a creek in these places became somewhat askew.

With his legs fully extended he could just depress the pedal enough to max out at 30 on the speedometer. It could have been the speed of light for all Conrad could tell. His senses blared, tunneling his vision and drowning out the world. Still, the rush stayed. With the road curving and the walls so close it was a wonder he stayed on the road for as long as he did.

Crooked Creek #10 by Kent St. John

But the road wasn’t going to follow the creek forever. The Crooked Valley was disappearing, and as would anyone stuck in its clutches for too long, the road made a swift exit at the nearest opening. Conrad saw the road begin to curve. He watched it, but it did not make sense to him. How could it? The creek would lead him to the river, which would lead to the ocean, so why would the road need to go another way? Quick dumb math in the head of an out-of-control boy went nowhere. He never did let his foot off the gas pedal, and suddenly the road just wasn’t there.

The thump of metal and rubber. A scurry for the brakes. Conrad weightless and floating in the cab with no seat belt, lucky to miss the ceiling in the thrashing. The ground kept falling down and down, and the truck with it, bounding to the valley floor. He screamed something high-pitched, giving himself away to the truck and the rocks and whatever end he might have: just a boy, just a boy.

Slamming the brakes with both feet the truck began to slow. It rolled to the edge of Crooked Creek, inching along until the front tires planted themselves in the shallow bed. A slow ripple cascaded to the opposite edge of the shore and then there was stillness.

Conrad put his hands through his grimy hair and caught his breath. Out past the windshield he saw the ends of the Crooked Valley. He saw what the world looked like when it opened up and flattened out. He’d never seen the horizon stretch so far, scraping and pushing down the crisp ends of the earth in a slow war over the gazing eyes of all living things. But he was more aware that everything in front of him had stopped bouncing; he smiled at that. A thought came to him and he pinched his cheek to make sure he was real. It was all real, and so he took a moment for himself among the quiet.

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Contest Reminder! HURRY! ONLY 4 DAYS LEFT TO WIN EPIC SIGNED PRINT!

There are only 4 days left to give yourself a chance to win a signed art print!  Just head on over to our Contest Page, and vote for your favorite piece from 2008.  If your name is chosen on February 1st then you will win an enlarged print of the piece you voted for (or another of your choosing)!

Framed

Check out how awesome they look when framed and put on a wall! (Frame, unfortunately, not included) Plus, it will be signed by both of us, and even though that doesn’t mean anything, wouldn’t it be cool?

Come and get your contest on at The Unlimited Freedom Castle!  Everyone’s a winner (unfortunately, there is only one winner)!  Good luck!

Any questions?  Drop us a line at theunlimitedfreedomcastle@gmail.com

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GOLD: The Series, a recommendation.

If there’s one thing that us starving artists must do it is stick together. With that said, The Unlimited Freedom Castle would like to introduce you to GOLD, a comedic webseries.

gold_title_new_d20

The show is the brainchild of creator, David Nett, and has been put together with a wonderful, completely volunteer cast and crew. It’s a comedy series about Professional Role Playing Gamers. If you’re not sure what Role Playing Games are think of Dungeons and Dragons. Now pretend there is a World Championship for Dungeons and Dragons. THAT is what GOLD brings you, and it’s hilarious. 1 part sports-movie spoof, 1 part fantastic/real writing and acting, and 100 parts passion is what you get from GOLD. If that doesn’t sell you, then just know that TUFC highly recommends it. We would never lead you astray.

Start watching the Prologue and get caught up through Episode 2!

www.goldtheseries.com

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Kyle’s Favorite Post of 2008

It is insanely hard to pick my favorite post of 2008. Part of me wants to pick every Crooked Creek, because I think Kent takes his art to another level for that story. He practically reads parts of my mind I didn’t even know I had. I’ve loved every moment of writing it as well, but it’s almost become a separate entity to me. The more spontaneous, random posts are what The Unlimited Freedom Castle is all about! That’s why I have to say that my favorite post of the year is “The Muppets go to Prison!”

The illustration doesn’t really make any sense, but that what makes it so inspired. Why is a bad ass knight bounding over rooftops running from a Godzilla-ish Fozzy Bear? Does it matter? NO! I know, because we talked about it, that the image just appeared in Kent’s head and he knew it had to be drawn. It’s times like that when I’m jealous that he can just put on paper whatever is in that crazy thing he calls a brain.

When I first saw it I had no idea what to do. That’s nothing new for me, but I felt like I had to do this piece justice. I sat staring at my computer screen, like so many other times, and then it hit me: Fozzy as a disgusting felon is something I want to see. I’ve only written a few things on the site in screenplay format (the alignment is off, but that’s what I was going for) but when I saw it in my head it had to be cinematic. Everything after the first scene came pretty fluidly, but I had to do a little research to remember Fozzy as the lame jokester that he is. In the end I feel like the piece was a fully realized sequence from an unearthed noir Muppets screenplay. Hopefully it lived up to its inspiring illustration…

- Kyle

Fozzy

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“Absolutely”

click image to enlarge
Andrew Wyeth "Absolutely"

Such shadows
On your cloud-socked coast
Bells ring from towers
Muffled ‘neath the monotony of waves

Same shadows
Trickling of sunlight
On a railroad track
Where your memory disappears
Forever lost amidst that days of heaven sunset
With your sienna covered hills
Shivering in a wind so distinct
You see its knife hands
Cutting paths to imaginary homes
That will never be
Agreeing it’s so perfect
Surrounded by nothing out here

Balled up what’s said and done
This and that
Understand how it is you made yourself

We see ghosts in fall
God in summer’s gold
and always Death in winter

Asleep to dream
Alone again

Note: The portrait above is of the artist Andrew Wyeth

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Crooked Creek, Issue #9

As always, you can read the previous issues of “Crooked Creek” by using the tab above titled “Crooked Creek: A Continuing Story”.

“These dreams we have are thin and easily wrecked. Build them up with stone. Burn into them strength. But be careful with your nightmares. They may become reality without you even knowing.”
- Anonymous

The deliveryman’s breath was warm on Conrad’s neck, the feeling of which made him shudder and slither curses off his tongue. With a jerk he was pulled to his feet, and swung around to face his captor. He did not make eye contact with the man; shame pulling his gaze to the rocks at his feet. This was failure. He felt stupid. Worthless. The boiling started in his stomach.

“What do you think you were doin’, boy?” the deliveryman scolded.

He had felt the shame before, many times in his own kitchen or bedroom. Living room. Porch. Toilet. This was only the farthest from home he’d felt it.

***

Conrad was smiling. He was alone with his mother who was hot and cold, hot and cold, but now she was just warm. He wished to keep it that way.

In front of him was a plate of carrots, peas and potatoes. It wasn’t often that Conrad had the table to all himself. But what he really wanted was for his mother to sit down and share the moment with him.

In his head his mother would tell him what a wonderful son he had been, for this day and for all. There would be singing in his voice, and he would run to his brother and sing for him. His singing would be miraculous and he would swirl new life into those damned lungs and Kaleb would join them at the table. The family he dreamed of. They would be merry. Empty bowls would fill themselves and the three of them would sit satisfied.

Just the contentment of sitting at the dinner table, alone and smiling, made Conrad believe these things could happen.

But they did not.

***

The boy started to twitch, not speaking.

“You running away? Oh, somebody’s looking for trouble,” the deliveryman warned.

No response. Conrad kept mute, the strings in his muscles beginning to tighten; a feral cat backed into a corner.

“You won’t talk? You’re a little off, ain’t ya? Get on now, you’re riding in the cab this time”. Gripping him by the left shirtsleeve the deliveryman began to pull Conrad back towards the truck and the road.

The tug of his shirt ignited Conrad, and the rage he began to feel was this time controllable, tied to his survival. This was his realization that failure was not an option; the sensation was brimming with self-hate, a skill he’d been taught by his parents.

Love the skin youre in.

***

Coughing started from the rear of the house. Traveling down from the hallway it grew louder with each hacking expulsion. Then the air in the house changed all at once, like a sparkling blue ocean swallowing thick black oil in itself. Conrad froze with a fork in his hand, and even though he felt the room change he held on to the hope that his daydream might come true.

Without a word, Judith stepped deliberately to Kaleb’s room. She would be gone for a long time. The love she once felt for her children was now no more than a fading image to uphold.

At the table Conrad was still. Motionless he kept the image steady in his mind, so that it would not leave his sights. If he could just hold onto it the world would change around him. His mother would return to the table and the dream would begin again. He decided that he would not eat until she was with him. And so he waited.

He waited for a long time, a long time for a young boy. The food got cold, and yet he sat there. This is what his mother would want. She would love him for waiting, and that was most important. He would be a good boy for once; the boy he was always trying to be. Waiting showed patience and maturity; he knew she would be proud.

When the coughing ceased he perked up, holding his fork at the ready, eyeing the hallway for his mother’s shadow. He felt as if he held the key to an always-sunny alternate universe in his small fingers. There was unabashed love in his cheeks.

She turned the corner into the kitchen and he smiled, whispering, “I waited for you, Mom”.

And the world changed.

His world changed.

***

Surely the world was going to change – he’d put that in to motion – but this time he sensed the winds shifting. Planting his feet in the pebbles he began to skid. His face grew red and heated, the sensation somehow calming. He wasn’t going anywhere.

The deliveryman stopped and turned around to face the dragging boy who was now foaming a bit from the mouth, his eyes solid in the tops of their holes, staring ugly at the man.

“Knock that off boy. Christ, you are a weird little sonofabitch”. The deliveryman sighed and shook his head. Conrad was used to this. Facing the road he started at the pulling again, but Conrad would not budge.

The deliveryman switched his grip from Conrad’s sleeve to his twiggish wrists, determined to cause pain. Conrad winced and rasped his hollow throat. He could feel a prickly sort of dancing in his fingers, and they splayed and fixed-straight off his hand. There were impulses in his head that he was beginning to like. Things that he wanted to take advantage of in ways that weren’t there before. He threw his right foot back in a kick, and attempted to breath smoke through his nostrils.

The deliveryman snorted, “Don’t make this harder than it has to be you little freak”.

He clicked his free wrist like a switchblade, and swooping low to the ground, almost sliding out of his shirt, Conrad stole a jagged fist-sized rock from the dirt and swung towards the deliveryman. The rock and his underwhelming hand crushing into plaque-ridden teeth and a spotted nose. Chipped calcium and blood spewed from the deliveryman’s rotten mouth and his hand shot open freeing Conrad from his grasp. An oily clod of hair hung over his eyes and dripped sweat and blurred his vision.

“I’ll do what I want!” he screamed, running towards the truck.

***

“I waited for you, so that we could eat together, and maybe sing,” Conrad whistled.

She lifted a hand to her forehead and sighed, rubbing the wrinkles above her eyebrows. Whichever world Conrad lived in was not the same for her. The reality she inhabited was a dull plastic sheeting, thin and cracking. Her cup was already running over with dirty water, and her youngest son’s presence was a boiling pot of water pouring in without regard, burning her raw fingertips red.

With a foot stomp she emitted, “Why haven’t you eaten?!”

Conrad’s heart sank – his head, too.

“I can’t leave you alone and expect anything, can I?”

Her words were confusing. This was not the happy thing he had imagined. “I thought you would like it if I waited,” he trailed off, the words coming unsure from his mouth and muted into his jeans.

“What am I supposed to do with you, Conrad? I make you dinner and you wait for it to get cold. Are you stupid? You’re supposed to finish your potatoes and clean your room and check on your brother. That’s the way the night is planned. If you can’t even eat your goddamn dinner, then what are you going to do? Do I have to do everything for you? ”

A more perfect son: this is what they needed, and he could never be. The world in his head against the real world of his parents and the electric lightning in between. Navigating that battlefield left Conrad a crooked mess. His fits, those uncontrollable and kinetic shocks to his system, were his body reacting to the torture played on his mind. The outward expression of an inner torment, like an exorcism patient only the devil was rejecting the human soul.

The fits, oh, the fits she abhorred.

She watched his contortions; the spitting, the way his throat sounded as if throttled and stuffed with pine needles made her nostrils flare. Why did she have to have a boy like this?

And before she hit her little boy across the face, shocking him out of his disgusting display, a little voice in the back of her head said, “You made him this way”.


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Reflections on 2008: Kent St. John and Crooked Creek, Volume 1

We asked you to tell us your favorite TUFC piece from 2008, and now it’s our turn to answer the question. We’ve both picked pieces that made an impact on us, and have included little essays as to why we chose them. Remember to VOTE in our poll so that you have a chance to win a signed print! Enjoy!

It took me one split second to decide on this. The very first Crooked Creek post still resides as my favorite TUFC post to date. To me this post marks a point in the blog where Kyle and I decided to take things up a notch. All of sudden Kyle’s writing revealed the beginning of something larger than our normal, one-off posts. It was interesting to sit back and take in the writing, picking up on the entire “world” that was being created, vs. something that is smaller and less encompassing. With that in mind, it felt natural to me to expand my illustration work, and try to shoot for something a little more intense, and a little more detailed with more time spent on it.

It was also exciting to start something that has become an ongoing installment for the site. Up until Crooked Creek was started, we were only making conventional single-entry posts.  To work on something that has a future with developing characters, changing environments and a whole world that is taking shape, it is very motivating to create a visual story.

The different ways Crooked Creek can manifest itself are amazing as well. We hope to create a book sometime in the future when the story is finished, and currently Kyle and I are working with my brother, Adam St. John, on making a soundtrack to go along with the story. Combining different methods of creativity and exploring different avenues of expressing those creations this is what we’re all about.

-Kent

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