Akting Out

It was one of the earliest lessons learned as a child; God doesn’t make deals. Satan does. Back then, it didn’t make much sense. In the literal sense, I suppose that’s true; God doesn’t make deals in the traditional sense. But He will always listen to what you have to say, and He will always meet you halfway.

In my experience, it works pretty much the same way as any other bargain you might strike; you offer something and get something in return. Dealing with God isn’t much different, except the stakes are much higher; God doesn’t demand anything from us, He loves us too much for that. No, that’s the beauty of faith; you don’t really have to do anything but believe.

No, the demands come from His former right hand; the one who’ll give you your supposed heart’s desire for something you may find trivial…and in the end, the price you pay is eternal.

So what is it you could possibly offer God to make Him give you the time of day? What is it you’re asking of Him? Because nothing comes free, and if you want God to give you the time of day, I mean if you really want Him to do something for you, then you have to be willing to give something back.

In my experience, the price paid is mind-numbingly hard work. It often pushes you to your breaking point. You have so many moments where you don’t think you can do it, where you think He’s a tyrant, where you say screw it, I don’t want it this badly, I’m out.

The beauty of it is that if you decide you’ve had enough, then cool, quit. Nothing bad will happen to you for it. Your life will continue on as normal. In fact, therein lies the irony; your life will go back to the same misery you were trying to escape before you made the deal in the first place. God demands nothing; he promises you something if you give something of yourself in return. It’s a simple premise; do nothing, nothing will happen.

For those of us who choose to see it through, the rewards are epic beyond belief; not only do we get what we asked for, in a manner far beyond anything we imagined, but we emerge better people on the other side of the work we put into the effort.

Patience is a big part of it; we may ask for God’s help at any point, but it’s only when we stop worrying about it that He answers. I think that our continuing to worry about it signifies that we haven’t given the problem wholly over to God yet, and why should He give us the time of day when we haven’t shown that we trust Him? Stop worrying about it. Give it over to Him. Let Him work.

Example 1). I wanted off the street. I gave up fighting, running the street, went to the library every day, devoted myself to finding a job—anything that came along. One month later, I had a rinkydink telemarketing job and a shoebox apartment in Bay City, Michigan. I missed the parties, the fast money, and the thrill of looking into someone’s eyes the moment he knew I was about to beat him. It was worth it.

Example 2). In a recession, I was able to sustain myself through writing—sometimes for up to fifteen hours a day—plus help from people I cared about until I found the job I maintain today. Thanks for the five months in between jobs, I was discovered as a writer, and well, you know the rest.

Example 3). To keep up with the demand of my job, I had to learn how to sell TV. I went way outside of my comfort zone and sell between four and five a month (which is epic, for me).

And, of course, the latest example.

I confess; I don’t want to just compete in next year’s Show Me Games. I want to win them.
Beyond that, I’d like to face down the last of my fears. I want to stop trying to succeed and actually do it. I want to stop talking about losing weight and actually do it. I want to actually finish two books on time. I want to stop wishing and talking and actually start doing something.

I want to conquer my fears of success and being happy. So, of course, I asked God for help. Tell me what You want, and I’ll do it.

Today, He answered.
You give Me everything you have, and I’ll make 2011 the year of your life.

My schedule today was extended during the week, at my request, so I could leave early on Fridays. This means I get a 2 ½ day weekend, but eliminates any possibility for me training, or writing at night.
But there’s the mornings…and I realized what He was asking of me.

Up at four in the morning. Hit the Y for an hour. Come back. Take care of the dogs. Write. Go to work. Repeat four days a week.
That’s asking a lot. Of course, I could always do nothing, right?

But I trust Him.

So here goes.

God bless, and thanks for reading.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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They found themselves floating at the end of the world; the sky was roiling crimson and orange, with reddened clouds rolling uncontrollably in every direction. The entire scene was peppered by tiny, popping sparks that gave the impression that the world would burst at any moment. Yet the entire display was muted; the world was completely devoid of sound, and after a moment, the ominousness receded, but Reginald still felt as though the world might detonate without warning at any moment.
Jayden either didn’t notice or didn’t care about his new surroundings; he was fiercely engaged with his captor, their arms quivering as Jayden slowly pulled his captor’s arm away from his face. “GET OFF OF ME!!” Jayden roared.
Reginald saw Jayden move in a way that caused his mouth to fall open; the boy brought up his arm up as high as he could get it, driving his elbow behind him, striking his captor cleanly in the stomach. Reginald wasn’t sure what surprised him more; the impact, which sounded as though it cracked a rib, the fact that Jayden had deliberately injured someone, or the fact that it sounded like a woman who had been struck.
Either way, Jayden got what he wanted; his captor was forced to let go, suddenly more concerned with her midsection than holding onto him, but much to Reginald’s surprise, Jayden didn’t appear to be finished with her. The boy turned, raising two closed hands just below his chin. The woman recovered from his elbow strike, raising two open hands that were slightly extended from her chest.

Did I just hit a woman?!
Stop! Don’t think about that right now! Focus, remember what Zeus taught you…
Jayden released a long, slow breath as he regained his composure. Although he wanted to show nothing to his opponent, as he had been taught, he scowled; the woman’s hands were open. He had never encountered an open-handed style before!
Plus, there was no ground to stand on, nothing for him to strike a balance on. It’s okay, I’ll bet I’m a better flyer than she is.
The woman–if it was a woman–was perfectly still, the hood of her cloak lowered to conceal her identity, her mouth parted slightly. Jayden could feel her quiet anticipation in his mind; she’s waiting for me.
Well, I won’t be rude.
Jayden heard Reginald yell something at him, probably telling him to stop, but he was already committed; he lowered his body and thrust himself at the girl, closing his right hand into a fist and swinging a wide, hooking shot aimed at her head; his most powerful move, as Zeus had taught him. Moments before the impact, Jayden smiled, assured that this attack would be the last one necessary–
The girl shifted, the outside of her open hand striking the inside of his wrist and sending a jolt through his arm–she blocked!
She continued shifting, stepping into him, lowering her head, as she clutched his arm. She drove her shoulders and the back of her neck into his body, stunning him as she effortlessly lifted him overhead. Jayden lost his bearing as she flipped him over her shoulders, still holding his arm. He landed on her outstretched foot, his head ringing an unpleasant symphony as the back of his head crashed into the top of her foot.
A boulder crashed into the side of his face, and for a moment, Jayden nearly lost consciousness. Oh, that wasn’t a boulder. She just hits real hard…
Keeping his training at the forefront of his mind, Jayden looked up, searching for an opportunity, and found it in the girl’s exposed ankle. He quickly reached behind him with his free hand, clutching her leg and yanking hard. She managed to get off an astonished “What the–” before Jayden jerked, forcing her from whatever balance she held, causing her to float helplessly in the air. Jayden willed himself to rise, stood over the girl, and clenched a fist–and after a moment’s thought, unclenched it. Just in case it is a girl.
Jayden opened his hand and raised it high above the girl’s body. Just as she began to recover, he brought his forearm crashing down on her midsection. She appeared to be folded in half, an OOMPH forced from her diaphragm as she was sent plummeting as if hurled from a cliff.
She fell nearly fiften feet before grunting audibly, flipping forward to right herself. She then rocketed upwards, ready to continue the confrontation. Jayden closed his fists and waited.
“Lihua.” A young, yet authoritative male voice spoke from behind Reginald. “That’s enough.”

Reginald had been so enthralled by the confrontation that he nearly forgot where he was. Watching Jayden move like that raised a thousand questions, most prevalent being a desire to know where Jayden had learned such skills. Or why he felt a need for them in the first place. Reginald had always known the boy was troubled, but to take to learning how to injure…he felt a pang of sympathy. Things at home must’ve been far worse than he had imagined.
He remembered when Bethany died; the violent exchange between father and son. He wondered how long that had been building up.
A hand reached up and gripped his shoulder reassuringly, and Reginald was startled, jarred from his thinking. He turned back to the owner of the hand, and for the first time observed his uniform; an unassuming, two-piece sleeveless, black robe, with a crimson eye encased in a triangle emblazoned over the right breast.
Reginald felt the breath torn from his body upon seeing the symbol. He now knew who’s custody he was in, just as he knew their chances of leaving had just dwindled to nothing.
“Oh!” The young man exclaimed, holding up a hand to ward off Reginald’s suspicions. He quickly removed his cloak, revealing a youthful face with brown eyes that had seen too much. Short, curly brown hair adorned his hea, his skin tanned from spending a lot of time in the sun. “I apologize! The uniforms are necessary, but I assure you; we have no intention of exiling you.”
Reginald turned to face the boy. “You open the sky and kidnap us. Forgive me if I have a hard time believing you.”
The young man opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by Jayden, who suddenly appeared at Reginald’s left. “Who do you people think you are?” He demanded.
“They’re the Heimdall, Jayden.” Reginald replied, keeping his eyes on the young man. The disdain in his voice was unmistakable. “The all-seeing enforcement squad of Yang himself. They aren’t bothered by things like laws and commandments.”
“We are indeed the Heimdall, Jayden Zeneca.” The young man looked past Reginald and addressed Jayden directly, “But despite what you may have heard, we are, in fact, just as bound by the commandments as you are, if not more so, for the sake of our directives.”
He looked back at Reginald. “I’m sorry for alarming you, Reginald. But we are not here to exile you.”
The young man’s look softened. Authority and confidence were overshadowed by weariness, sadness…regret? Reginald wondered. He also took note of the two vertical lines on each side of the triangle on his uniform; the young man was some sort of commanding officer.
“We are here to ask for your help.”
Jayden’s opponent floated into view, hovering behind him on the left. The other hooded figure drifted up behind the young man. “Both of you.” He ordered, his tone soft, “Reveal yourselves.”
In unison, the two pulled down their hoods. Reginald was surprised; they were both female. Both were undeniably beautiful.
Jayden’s opponent was pale-skinned, long, jet-black hair running underneath her cloak, angry green eyes fixed on Jayden. She grunted quietly, massaging her battered midsection. She wanted to continue their match. The other woman was tanned skin with light brown hair that blossomed once the hood was removed. She smiled as thought it would illuminate Heaven, her bright brown eyes beaming; the calming presence she exuded was undeniable.
The young man, their commander, extended his hand towards Reginald. “Lucifer.” He smiled, “Of the Johab Saints.”
Reginald observed his hand for a moment and then accepted the gesture. “Reginald, of the Morias Saints.” He replied cautiously.
Lucifer nodded. “I know who you are, Reginald. You’re the most renowned Angel in three provinces.” He said proudly, “And I know your history with us. I wouldn’t have asked for your help if I had any other option.”
“And Jayden Zeneca.” Lucifer smiled broadly, exhaling, “The first Angel to be trained by Zeus himself. We most certainly could use your assistance. In fact, we may be able to help each other.”
“Help each other do what, exactly?” Jayden retorted. “Who are you people?”
Lucifer placed a hand on his chest. “I am Lucifer St. Johab, last Captain of the Heimdall. Behind me is Angelica St. Mihr of Isobella Flats, and well…you’ve met Lihua.”
Jayden turned to Lihua, who hadn’t stopped glaring at him since removing her hood.
“What’re the Heimdall?” Jayden inquired, “I’ve never heard of you.”
“You wouldn’t,” Lucifer replied, his tone slightly menacing, “Unless we had business with you.”
“What…” Jayden challenged, “Is that supposed to make me afraid of you…?”
Reginald blocked Jayden from advancing even as Lucifer raised his hands innocently, backing away. “Forgive me, Jayden. Pride has always been one of my weaknesses. I’m very proud of what we do, and the good we serve.”
“The good you serve?” Reginald shot back, glowering at Lucifer, “And how many innocents did you exile for the good you serve?”
Regret came over Lucifer’s face. “It wasn’t my decision to go forward with your family’s exile. We may have been mistaken, yes, but we cannot undo that now.”
Jayden looked at Reginald quizzically. “The Heimdall was assembled during the Great Divide,” Reginald explained, “they were tasked with discovering and exiling anyone suspected of collaborating with Yin.”
Jayden nodded as he understood. “As I recall,” Lucifer said humbly, “You were one of the Angels offered a position in the Heimdall.”
“I was.” Reginald agreed, “But I thought it was too much power for anyone to have. You made your decisions without investigation. You turned your mandate into a witchunt.”
Jayden frowned. “There were over a hundred thousand deportees when it was all said and done…”
“Yes.” Reginald growled, turning his glare back to Lucifer, “Do you think they all went by choice?”
Lucifer dashed, getting close to Reginald. “Listen to me. Do you want me to admit that we made mistakes? I admit it, and I apologize. But please don’t let your judgment be clouded now, too much is at stake. Work with me, and then have me charged if you like.” He exhaled, understanding the implication of his next statement. “I won’t contest it. Just hear what I have to say.”
For a moment, Reginald considered what Lucifer had just proposed. If they had really wanted to exile them, they’d be far south by now.
“Okay.” Reginald. “I’m listening.”

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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“Are you sure this is safe?” Bethany asked hesitantly, firmly gripping the outer rail of the bridge behind her. She dared to lean over, peering four miles down into the Atherean Ocean below. Vertigo set in quickly as the water challenged her; rising and receding quickly. She leaned back against the cold, iron railing, checking the multi-colored elastic rope fastened to her waist. Jayce, her older brother, was on her right. He looked into the clear blue ocean as though he couldn’t wait to dive–again. Shirtless, wings pinned at his back, he was nearly hyperventilating with excitement. “Yes, Beth.” He replied, trying not to show impatience. “Look, this was your idea. If you’re scared…”

“I’m not scared …” Beth objected, shaking her head. She jabbed a finger at the water below. “But you heard what Jayden said…”

Darryl, her other older brother, was flanking her. He looked to Jayce, and then nodded. “…about something in the water. Yeah, we heard him, Beth. But Jayden hit the water pretty hard. He probably imagined it.”

Beth whirled on her brother. “He didn’t imagine the teeth marks on his arms.”

Darryl reached down to Bethany, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Honey, listen. Jayden slipped off of the railing, he admitted that. Chances are he surprised some of the fish when he landed and they took a bite out of him in self-defense. Nothing wrong with that.”

Bethany didn’t look convinced.

Jayce stepped beside his brother, smiling down at her. “Look, Beth. Why don’t we try this again next year, when you’re a bit bigger? Maybe it won’t look so scary then…” His tone was blatantly condescending, and Beth scowled. “I said I’m not scared!” She lied, “Watch, I’ll prove it!”

Darryl and Jayce watched with astonished horror as Bethany threw herself from the bridge, plummeting headfirst towards the sea. They leapt after her, arms outstretched to catch her even as she placed her arms at her sides and began plummeting.

She closed her eyes and smiled, enjoying the wind frapping against her face, the scent of fresh sea-salt, and the seagulls calling in the distance as though welcoming her…for a moment, she understood why her brothers did this for fun.

Then she nearly forgot what she was supposed to do.

She opened her eyes and outstretched her arms–the water was now yards away and closing fast–she had to focus, focus…thirty yards, twenty yards, ten yards…

Now she could feel her brother’s Reaching into her head, yelling at her in genuine terror, screaming at her to loose her wings; the water was so close that she could perceive life just below the surface…

Something burst from her shoulder blades; her descent leveled out and saved her from what would’ve been a disastrous belly flop–why didn’t the rope break?–and she quickly found her self arcing upwards, forcing her wings to flap, pushing the wind behind her, and rising to safety–

A deafeaning, bone-crunching impact was heard below as something hit the water with so much force that droplets shot several feet up. Instinctively, she Reached out to her brothers even as she turned…and could only feel Jayce. His attention was now entirely focused on Darryl, and Bethany realized with horror that she had been given the wrong rope; Darryl’s rope swung lifelessly in the breeze, hanging from the bridge.

Bethany heard Jayce use the knife he kept at his ankle to cut his own rope and fall freely into the water.

Then all was silent.

Not even the seagulls could be heard after a moment. The world went still.

Bethany Reached; nothing conscious came back; only wrenching, horrible agony from deep within the water. She stifled tears as she tried not to imagine how much pain the fall had caused Darryl. Strangely, she could no longer feel Jayce.

Suddenly exhausted as she realized she had not stopped flapping her new wings, Bethany hung in the air and dropped slowly towards the water. She frowned, certain that her eyes were playing tricks; the water appeared discolored as she drew closer, opaque and…

…by Yang, is that a leg…?!

Something exploded through the surface, something that stole the breath from her body. It was Jayce.

He was being swarmed by at least a dozen fish that clung to his body, hungrily wagging their tails as they burrowed into his him, tearing pieces of him away, oblivious to the blood darkening the water around him.

His face was pained desperation as he reached up towards Bethany, who couldn’t neither blink nor breathe as she slowly descended towards her brother, reaching for him, desperate to save him while not being consumed in the process…

She shuddered, tears forcing their way to the surface as she drew closer. They’re eating him alive!

“Jayce…” She sobbed, arm outstretched several feet above Jayce’s bloody arm. For a moment, he appeared to be stretching as he reached for her, and Bethany had dropped another inch before Jayce screamed.

“–STAY AWAY!!!” He forced.

One of the small fish leapt from the water and dove into his open mouth. Jayce first clamped a hand over his mouth, and then winced as he clutched his throat. He opened his mouth, expelling droplets of blood, gurgling and weakly coughing before finally falling beneath the surface.

Paralyzed by what she had just seen, Bethany hovered several feet above the water. “Jayce…?” She whispered.

Nothing. The water had become still again.

“Jayce? Darryl?”

They’re dead.

No, they can’t be dead. That doesn’t happen here!

You just saw it happen. They’re dead.

Bethany began to sob openly, unable to fly home and tell anyone, equally unable to abandon her brothers to the monsters in the sea.

Something burst from the water again; another fish, like the one that had leapt down Jayce’s throat. As it drew nearer, it opened its mouth, revealing dozens of finely sharpened teeth, all of which were coming for her.

Bethany began to ascend, holding onto the only thought that kept blind panic from setting in. It can’t stay out of the water, it can’t stay out of the water…

As the creature closed the distance to mere inches, it suddenly grew a pair of wings from each side of its body. With a sharp, downward motion, the wings flapped, rocketing the creature towards Bethany, who suddenly had no way out.

No no no no no…

Everything seemed to slow down for her as she frantically turned, opening her own wings, trying not to think about what she had just seen, and how badly she didn’t want it to happen to her–

Something bit into her wing, setting the right half of her body on fire as the wing was torn almost completely off. Screaming proved impossible as even opening her mouth was agonizing. She could no longer feel her right arm, although she could see it was still there, covered in her own blood. The fish, satisfied with the half-wing it clenched in its teeth, was satisfied enough to fall back to the water.

Bethany’s vision began to swim, her head pounding as she forced her good wing to flap. Her flight path was erratic as she exerted the last of her strength, commanding her one good wing to get her back to the bridge. Once there, she nearly lost consciousness as she pitched forward, reaching her good hand to the railing. Wincing, grunting, the world going gray, she hoisted herself over the railing and fell to the road on the other side. She could hear hooves clip-clopping against metal as horses moved towards her. She tried to see who was coming towards her, but the world was steadily going black. “Please, help me…”

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Reginald lowered his axe, exhaled, and looked back at Jayden. The boy held his axe in both hands and was starting to wear down, his breath coming quickly. Reginald smiled; the boy had worked hard that morning, but there was still much to do. He shook his head. “Afraid not, Jayden.” Reginald replied. He held out his axe and pointed to the one, two, three pine trees that had become the bane of Jayden’s existence. “All three of those need to come down.”

Jayden released an exasperated sigh as he glowered at the trees, and looked back Reginald. “Reginald,” Jayden began patiently, “They’re a town of six people. They couldn’t possibly need all that wood. You’re just trying to keep me busy.”

“They’re five hundred people, Jayden.” Reginald corrected, “And all that wood will get them through next year’s winter.”

“You mean all of this hard labor is for something that’s three hundred and sixty five days down the line?!”

Reginald smiled, returning his axe to the tree he’d been working on all morning. “Yes, it is. The longer the wood seasons…” He swung the axe into the tree, noting that he was at the halfway mark, “…the better it burns. But I’m not trying to keep you busy, Jayden. If you’d rather return home and continue that discussion with your father, you’re welcome too.”

“No, sir. Chopping the wood, sir.”

Reginald repressed a chuckle as he heard the resounding thunk of Jayden’s axe cutting into the tree.

“Think of it this way, Jayden.” Uriel said as he rose over the cliff face behind Jayden. “By the time you get finished with all of this wood, and your father finishes the addition to your house, you guys’ll be too tired to argue.”

“Thank you, Uriel. That makes me feel a lot better.”

Uriel smirked as he passed by Jayden, who glared at him in between swings. Reginald smiled at the two and returned to his own work, noting the height of the sun. It was still early, but half of the forest would have to be down by nightfall, and they were already behind.

Odd, the thought flashed through his mind as he took in the sky, it’s not usually this red out…

“Dad,” Uriel began, stepping through dry pine needles as he approached his father, “The boat to Briton is just about full. I think we should send it off.”

Jayden looked at Uriel knowingly. Reginald swung his axe one last time into the stubborn pine tree he had been working on all morning. He turned to his son, smiling, and wiping his brow with the back of his hand. “Really? You certain of that, Uriel?”

Uriel froze. “Yes.”

Reginald smiled. “Is that right? Because you don’t seem sure.”

“No, dad, trust me, I’m sure.”

“I tell you what. Let’s go take a look.”

Jayden chuckled, returning to work, taking downward swings into the trunk of his tree. Reginald glanced at him as he passed by; the boy was making good progress.

Uriel nearly stumbled over himself to keep up with his father. “No, dad, really, trust me, please. It’s fine. It’s full. I mean it’s really full.”

Reginald nodded quickly as he approached the edge of the cliff, rotating his right shoulder as he rubbed out an old ache earned from years of hard work. More than a hundred feet below, the water flowed audibly and powerfully towards the west, where it would open into the Atherean several miles away. Tied to the stone wall were three wooden rafts, each bearing the flag of the village they belonged too. Eudoras, the smallest of the three villages, ironically had the largest raft. Even from there, Reginald could see that the boat wasn’t even a third of the way full, but it wasn’t the first time that Uriel had tried to get out of the day’s chores.

“How about this, Uriel.” Reginald offered, spreading his wings, “Let’s go down there. If the boat isn’t completely filled up, you chop up the rest of the wood on your own, okay?”

Uriel blanched.

“No, it’ll be fine!” Reginald insisted, “You’ve been wanting to use an axe for a long time, right? Today can be that day! We just won’t tell your mom!”

Uriel pursed his lips. Reginald cocked his head, looking down at his son. “Unless you’d like to tell me something?”

“You’re mean, dad.”

“I know it’s hard work,” Reginald said, squatting to be closer to his son, “And I know you’d rather be doing anything else. But if we don’t do this, a lot of people are going to be cold throughout the winter. We don’t let people down once we’ve promised to do something, do we?”

After a moment, Uriel shook his head. Reginald smiled proudly, standing up and embracing his son. “Load one more cord,” Reginald said to Uriel, “and then you can go home. Jayden and I will take things from there.”

Reginald looked at Jayden, who had stopped working long enough to watch the exchange between father and son. Without saying anything, Jayden nodded in agreement. Reginald ushered his young son away, and Uriel dutifully took two of the triangular logs from the nearby pile and dove fearlessly from the cliff, spreading his wings as he took flight. Reginald stepped past Jayden, who had returned to work purposefully, and took his axe in hand. As he returned to the tree, he stole a glance at Jayden, who didn’t notice.

There had always been a longing in Jayden’s eyes when he observed Reginald with his children. Although Jayden would never admit it, Reginald knew that the boy hoped for the same type of relationship with his own father.

Reginald used to joke with his wife that Jayden’s first word must’ve been “no”, because it seemed that he and his father had been clashing since the day Jayden could speak. Jayden had made friends with Uriel, despite their age difference, so he had become welcome in the St. Morias home. Reginald had always wondered; conflicts between parents and children were rare before the Great Divide. In fact, everything had been different before Yin’s exile. Even the third dimension had begun to war with itself.

Not all of life’s changes were for the better, it seemed.

Someone can racing through the forest towards them, moving so fast that he nearly tripped on the uneven terrain.

“Jayden,” The young man forced between rapid breaths, “You…need to come home right now.”

Jayden dropped his axe almost at the same time Reginald did, and the two approached the young man, concerned. Behind them, Uriel alighted on the ground and jogged towards them.

The young man had braced himself by placing his hands on his knees; he been running for miles, obviously. The sole thought resonating through Reginald’s head as he approached the adolescent was wondering what could’ve been so urgent to come so far, so fast?

“What is it?” Jayden asked warily, stepping past Reginald.

“It’s your sister.”

The young man had been crying.

Jayden’s mouth fell open. “What about Bethany?”

“She’s…she’s hurt really badly, Jayden…I think she’s passing on.”

Jayden didn’t wait to hear the rest of the sentence. Spreading his wings, he bolted into the sky, followed closely by Reginald and Uriel.

It felt like the entire town of Jordan had crowded into the Zeneca family’s modest five-bedroom home. A throng of curious Angels was stacked outside the house, funneling their way into the front door. The young man who had brought the news quickly rejoined his family outside as they arrived, and Reginald led Jayden and Uriel through the crowd, which quickly parted when they realized who had arrived.

The front room of the Zeneca house was a testament to the patriarch’s hunting ability, as there were two eight-point bucks facing one another in a homemade mount that must’ve taken months to complete. Above them was an eagle with its wings spread, also mounted and equally dead. Reginald remembered John, Jayden’s father, being reprimanded for striking down an animal not intended for food. His own family had objected to the stuffing, but John had been proud of the shot. Reginald found it macabre, and tried to avoid looking at the display.

There were nearly thirty people jammed into the front room, all of them conversing, wanting to know what happened, and crying. They became silent as Jayden passed them, beelining for the staircase at the end of the room. “It’s her older brother,” one of the Angels said as Jayden took to the stairs. Reginald instructed his reluctant son to stay downstairs and find his mother; there was no telling what happened to Bethany.

The wide, wooden staircase was lined with Angels who had arrived to see what had happened; they parted as Reginald and Jayden approached. Their wings propelled them as they took the stairs six at a time, bounding to the top in two leaps.

Five bedrooms lined the long, rustic hallway; all of the doors were closed but the one at the end of the hallway, to the right; Bethany’s room. Reginald and Jayden pushed their way through a narrow crowd of Angels, who parted and pressed themselves against the wall to let them through. Jayden burst into the room first, scanning for Bethany first on her bed–and finding her on the floor.

The sight caused him to gasp, and Reginald brought a hand, immediately looking away. The girl had been butchered.

She was being cradled by their mother, Marcee, whose shoulder-length blond hair looked ratty and disheveled, as though she had spent many nights sleeping in the wild. Her face was patchy and red from so much crying, and she rocked her daughter gently, humming a lullaby she had sung to them when they were children.

Bethany lay motionless in her mother’s arms, hands at her sides, head listed to the side, eyes closed. She was sickly pale, and her breathing was rapid and shallow. A pool of blood had dried beneath her, and a pile of reddened towels had been haplessly piled in a corner. Jayden felt a rush of rage pass over him as he observed his sister’s badly damaged wing, more than half of it missing.

Both Reginald and Jayden stopped breathing as they realized what what was happening; no effort was being made to save Bethany. There was nothing else anyone could do.

Almost involuntarily, Jayden collapsed to his knees at Bethany’s feet. “Beth…?” He managed, forcing tears back down his throat, he took her hand; it was cold. “Beth…can you hear me…?”

His mother either ignored him or didn’t notice him at all.

Something came storming up the stairs with enough force to bring the entire house down. Jayden was too engrossed with his sister to notice. Reginald looked at the open doorway just in time to see John, their father, explode onto the scene.

A big Angel with full facial hair, Reginald was almost surprised to see his face crack with emotion at the sight of his daughter dying. “Bethany?” His voice was still deep and rumbling, “Bethany? What’s the matter with you?”

As his eyes drifted towards Jayden, they changed from shock to pure rage. “You…” He growled.

Jayden still hadn’t noticed him.

John began to charge him.

Reginald blocked his path, staring the larger Angel in the eyes. “John, what’re you doing?!” Reginald hissed.

“Get out of my way, Reginald.” John threatened, “Don’t stand between my daughter and I!”

“I’m not.” Reginald shook his head, “I’m standing between you and your son.”

“My SON?!” John bellowed, shaking the house, “Tell me, son!” John now looked over Reginald’s shoulder to address Jayden directly, “Where were you when this happened?! Why weren’t you looking out for your little sister?!”

Jayden slowly looked up, tears coming down his face. It was as though he was just then becoming aware of his father’s presence. “What…?” He replied, his voice ragged.

“WHY WEREN’T YOU OUT THERE WITH THEM–” John’s bellow was loud enough to shake the house, but an unspoken thought hit them all at once. Wide-eyed and terrified, Marcee looked up at John, who had suddenly frozen.

Reginald was the first to say it aloud. “Where are Darryl and Jayce?”

“No!!” The word exploded from Bethany, who suddenly sprung to life. She sprang from the floor, scrambling to Reginald and clutching his shirt with such ferocity that he was forced to his knees. Inches from the girl’s face, Reginald found it impossible to look away; the girl’s eyes were wide, bloodshot…and utterly horrified. Her entire body was quivering; it was taking everything she had to hold on.

Looking in her eyes, Reginald understood; it was taking the last of what she had.

“They’re gone, they’re gone…” She managed, her voice shaky and determined, “They got eaten, okay?” She shook her head. “Don’t…don’t go after them, please, please, please…they’re gone, nothing’s gonna save them, they’re gone, they’re just gone…”

Reginald couldn’t help but feel sorry for the girl. What did you see out there? He Reached, pushing his thought into her mind so she could save her strength.

Blood. Death. Death like they do in that other place, with all that blood.

Other place…you mean in the third dimension, Bethany?

She nodded, although she didn’t speak.

Yeah, yeah, like that. Reginald, they ate my brothers, they ate my brothers…please, please tell Jayden.

Her entire body began to quake, and Reginald wrapped his arm around her back, taking her hand and nodding. “It’s okay, Bethany.” He spoke aloud, lowering her gently to the floor. “It’s okay. Rest now, please…”

She closed her eyes, going limp in his arms as her listed to the side. “You rest now.” He whispered. “Rest–”

Her breathing had stopped, as all movement had. Reginald, stunned, looked her up and down before clutching her wrist. He then repressed tears.

“Rest.” He whispered one last time before standing up.

Marcee was the first to begin sobbing, quickly picking up her daughter and holding her close, rocking. Other cries broke out across the house.

Jayden, who hadn’t blinked in nearly two minutes, slowly stood up, unable to take his eyes away from Bethany as she was cradled in her mother’s arms. He staggered backwards before falling against the wall.

Reginald was in such shock that he didn’t see John move until it was too late. The large Angel had crossed a third of the room in a single step, raised his hand over the unexpecting Jayden, and struck him to the ground with an open-handed slap. The crack reverberated throughout the entire house, snapping everyone out of their shock.

“DAMN YOU, BOY!” John bellowed, “WHERE WERE YOU?! WHERE WERE YOU WHEN YOUR BROTHERS AND SISTER WERE FOLLOWING YOUR LEAD?! WHERE WERE YOU THIS MORNING?”

Reginald pinned John’s arms behind his back and began to drag him away from Jayden, unaware that the boy was getting up. “John!” Reginald urged, “He’s still your son!”

“HE SHOULD’VE BEEN OUT THERE WITH THEM!!” John declared, loud enough to be heard two towns over.

From nowhere, Jayden barreled into his father, catching him at the midsection and knocking them all the ground. Pinned beneath them, Reginald had to struggle to get out from under John even as Jayden climbed atop him, and began throwing fist after fist into his face.

“Where was I, old man?!” Jayden seethed, “Where were you?! Or were you out looking for me again, looking for a way I had failed you yet again? Where were you when your children snuck away from your house?!”

Jayden was bloodying his father’s face and showed no signs of stopping, a dark red aura enveloping his body as he continued the assault. John was barely moving, although Reginald imagined that John was raising his hands in an attempt to fight Jayden off.

Jayden, now firmly pulsating a red aura, stopped beating his father and reached down, clutching him by the shirt and hoisting him upwards. “It should’ve been me?” He slammed his father back into the wooden floor with enough force to crack a rib, “It should have been both of us.”

Jayden seemed to become aware of his Luminescence only as he rose, and found all eyes on him. Reginald saw the emotions pass through the boy’s eyes; anguish, pain, shock, disbelief, and the color of his own aura; sheer, unadulterated rage.

Reginald wondered how long that had been building up.

“Reginald.” John was speaking, spitting up blood and teeth as he slowly rose from the floor. “I only have one son left. Get this thing out of my house.”

Jayden’s mouth fell open, but only for a moment. His father turned to the door and slowly plodded from the room, the bystanders making way for him.

As Jayden’s Luminescence faded, Reginald approached him, putting his arm around him. “Come.” he invited. “You can stay at my house until we get all of this worked out.”

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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Still Fighting For the User After Thirty Years

I was impressed with the idea of Tron: Legacy from the first trailer, but tried to remain objective; it’s a trailer’s job to hype the movie. Sure, the Tron universe looked much more evolved—and ominous—than its predecessor. Sure, Jeff Bridges playing both pro and antagonist looked as good as felt. I could even believe that Garrett Hedlund (Death Sentence, Four Brothers) could be a geek. An adrenaline-addicted geek, sure, but considering his past outings, I initially had a hard time buying him as being able to use an ATM without shooting it, much less hack high security. Plus, I’ve yet to see a film in 3D that didn’t induce a need for Tylenol. So, after nearly three months of waiting for Tron: Legacy to hit the big screen, was it worth the wait?

The answer would be a resounding, emphatic yes. Tron: Legacy is one of those movies that manages to get almost everything right, even drawing those in who have no idea who Tron is.

Kevin Flynn (Jeff Bridges) has had a rough go of things in the last few decades. After the destruction of the MCP (consider yourself old-school nerd if you didn’t have to look that up) and his subsequent rise to the top of Encom, he managed to get married, have a son, and lift Encom to the top of the software world. Then, one night, after telling his young son Sam a bedtime story, Flynn leaves for work and never comes home.
Fast forward to the present day. Kevin Flynn (Garrett Hedlund) is an aimless, albeit brilliant young man who likes to cause trouble for his father’s company. After publicly embarrassing Encom (a scene in which the uncredited Cillian Murphy plays the son of the original Tron’s nemesis), Alan Bradley (Bruce Boxleitner reprising his original role as Tron’s programmer) visits Sam’s home. It seems his father sent Alan a page from the old arcade, the one that’s been shut down for nearly thirty years. Kevin goes investigating, and, well, you can figure out what happens from there.

Hats off must first go to the special effects team of this movie, which in my opinion top Avatar. The world comes together beautifully and seamlessly. Everything in the Tron universe feels like it should be there. This is also the first 3D film I’ve seen that didn’t cause headaches; the effect is very subtle, and instead of feeling like you’re on a roller coaster that may be coming apart, you’re not even aware of how much you’re drawn into this world until you leave the theater. Gone are the lightcyles of yesterday, which were limited to straight lines. The Grid features new cycles that reveal twin engines, light trails that can be toggled and bend, flowing over three dimensions. This is Tron as it was meant to be.

The story holds up well; father and son reuniting, trying to undo Kevin’s mistakes and get the both of them home. The father-don dynamic feels very Disney, asking the hard questions while granting a happy, albeit bittersweet ending with a morale to boot. Daft Punk provides an atmospheric soundtrack that compliments the film perfectly, and is beautiful in its own right. Fans of the two-person group, and the genre, will find this money well-spent.

If Tron: Legacy has a failing, it assumes that viewers will have seen the original film, have a passing handle on modern tech jargon, or both. I saw this movie with a friend who had never seen the original (although he thought “the chick in 3D was hot”, there, Robbe, I said it), who kept asking me what a user was. Then again, the film was good enough to convince him to go hunt down the original, so it’s not much of a gripe. The disc battles aren’t that memorable; the ones in the first film didn’t work as hard and were more fun to watch.

Bottom line; if you have kids who’re into video games or technology, or you yourself are, go see this movie. If you’ve seen the original, go see this movie. If you want to know what the big deal is, go see this movie. This is the best outing I’ve had in the theatres in a long time, and I can’t wait to see what they include in the DVD. Tron: Legacy is a win.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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I started writing two or three years ago; up until then, I was only bitching about my childhood on myspace. Somehow, I found out about the wonderful world of web fiction, and it was off to the races. I’d been living with Universal Warrior, in one form or another, for almost two decades. I had originally wanted to start the story in the modern period, the era I knew best, but I had never explored the actual battle between Angels and Demons before, so Uprising became my first public venture as a writer. By my own standards, it started well, but was a disaster by the time the story finally wrapped up last year; suddenly, I’m managing blogs, promoting the story every which way on every social networking site I can get my hands on, and most importantly, writing copy. The story was released as a weekly serial, and cramming everything into seven days turned out to be more than I could handle. I kept pushing things back to the point where I walked away from the story altogether for almost a month. By the time I came back, I had no idea what was going on, and, well, let’s say the comments stopped coming as quickly. I’m glad the story wasn’t eviscerated. To my face, anyway.

Then, amidst the blogs, stories, and delays, something amazing happened; someone found my work and shared it with the world. Suddenly I was meeting all sorts of people who were just as creative and passionate about it as I was (mostly in Australia). I was introduced to this very supportive network of writers and artists who just wanted to make it, plus, they were willing to help anyone else along the way, once they saw one was willing to make the effort. Through this network, I met someone from my hometown, ironically, who was putting together a horror anthology and asked me to contribute.

There was no way I ever imagined seeing my writing in print, holding it in my hands. Suddenly a dream and hobby turn into a very attainable career. And now that I’m here, I’ve found myself asking what the next step is.

I’ve never thought you could stagnate and be successful. You have to keep growing, keep acknowledging your own weaknesses and then overcoming them. You have to keep challenging yourself.

I’ve never been good at planning, that’s where I’m weak. I still struggle with the fantasy that I’ll write a miracle best-seller that will land me the world’s fattest payment, allowing me to walk away from whatever job I may have at the moment and spend the rest of my life doing what I love. Yeah, that’s probably not going to happen.

I can write, though. I do have several goals in mind, and someplace I’d like to be in six years. Instead of wishing on a miracle (because let’s be honest, even for people who work hard, miracles are hard to come by), I can plan to see my dreams through…one step at a time. Patience is something else I’d like to be better at, anyway.

Honestly, it’ll probably be a long time before I’m able to quit my job, but luckily, I’m good at it. Here’s what I’d like to do next year, and I’ll have to flesh this out on my own this week.

• Complete at least two books, which includes the nearly-complete Atherean Defenders, due out early next year.
• Complete one screenplay (which will either revolve around my own IP or DC’s Blackest Night)
• Develop a Writing Blog
• Explore other storytelling mediums, such as podcasting and machinima
• Earn a certain amount of money on my writing)

Doing this will allow me to develop a backlist of titles and provide my readers with a catalog. It’ll also allow me to expand my skills as a screenwriter, and maybe sometime in 2011, I can finally get into animated filmmaking. It’s not much, but it’s something to build off of.

Thank you for reading, and all of the support thus far.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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I own none of the images in this blog. All of them are copyrights of the DC Universe.

This may be the best impulse purchase I ever made. This book had been staring at me, taunting me in its plastic-wrapped glory from the top shelf at Barnes & Noble (where you’re sure to see it), since I had started coming in to complete the Batman/Superman crossovers. Hell, I wasn’t even that big a fan of Green Lantern. I am now.

But here was this magnificent cover, entitled with part of the Green Lantern’s oath, completely in black, featuring Hal Jordan encased in a force field. Not a hint of fear in his face as he casually observes the horde of zombies very hungrily reaching for him. Like I said, at this point, not really all that big on Green Lantern, but I do kind of like the Justice League, and…wait a sec, is that Martian Manhunter? Wasn’t he killed in Final Crisis? God, is that Superman?!

The book was twice as expensive as the one I’d come in for, but what the hell, I make a pretty good living. Although there’s nothing worse to me than a bad story (I’d rather sit through overtime at work than deal with a crappy story), a cover like that begs your attention. So I bought the book.

I read the Death of Superman, the Broken Bat series, Infinite Crisis and Final Crisis, all of which were stellar reads…but Blackest Night is the greatest story I’ve ever read in a comic series. The story revolves around Barry Allen (Silver Age Flash) and Hal Jordan (Silver Age Green Lantern) as they mourn everyone who died in Final Crisis, including Batman and Martian Manhunter. Simultaneously, around the DC universe, both heroes and villains are taking personal time to remember everyone who’s been lost over the years. Something I thought was really cool; rogues who don’t get along meet in secret, putting aside personal differences for a moment to remember their colleagues. No one is immune from mourning.

In the midst of all this, black rings, similar to the one Green Lantern uses, fly throughout the universe, sounding like flies, saying only “Flesh.” These rings raid the graves of everyone in the DC universe (and I do mean everyone) who’s died, plant themselves on the finger of a corpse, and, well…”RISE.” And these newly animated corpses are in a foul mood indeed. They want to trigger an emotional response out of their targets so they can tear out their hearts when their emotions are at their highest. That’s right. Zombie super-heroes and villains.

There’s so much more to it than that, this is an epic story, but that’s the gist. Although the story centers around Flash and Green Lantern, it gives supporting roles to some lesser known characters in the DC universe and then tears the place apart. The real draw of this story is the human aspect, which is why I love comics in the first place (especially Batman); it doesn’t matter if you can run at the speed of light, have bullets bounce off your chest, or create anything out of sheer willpower; you see someone you loved rise out of their grave and come at you, you’re gonna have a reaction.

Ultimately, this makes for a very, very triumphant ending, even if you have no idea who some of the characters on the page are. I made the mistake of reading this at work, and I lost track of how many times I burst out with “HOLY SH*T!!”

And I kept thinking to myself, “this would make such a kick-ass movie!”
It’s one of those ideas that’s been bouncing around my head for months now, but I never touched it; too busy with Universal Warrior and work (yes, I take the job somewhat seriously, if I didn’t, I wouldn’t still be there), and, well, THE STORY ISN’T MINE.
But I think to myself; I know this universe, I grew up with these characters, I can make a movie for next to nothing with existing software, hell, I BOUGHT THIS COMPUTER just to do that.

I don’t imagine it’ll be all that good, if I can make it happen, it’ll be my directorial debut. I won’t charge anything for it. I will plaster across every screen that this story is the original property of a multimillion dollar conglomeration that I hope doesn’t sue me into the next century. But fans get together and do this kind of thing all the time, right? I mean, have you seen the mock-up Green Lantern Trailer on Youtube? I think it’s almost better than the real thing.

So yeah, I’ma give it a shot, start writing the screenplay at night.

Thanks for reading. If you’re interested in the book, here you go.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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This is going to be one of those personal blogs. Just letting you know.

I have to say up front; this has been the most successful year of my life, no questions asked. First, I was finally able to see my kids again after nearly seven years. In doing so, I was finally able to keep a promise I made to my oldest son seven years ago, and meet my youngest son for the first time. We stay in touch fairly regularly, but we don’t pretend as though nothing’s happened. I spend a lot of time answering questions about where I was. Some conversations are easier than others, but I’ll take this relationship with my kids over none at all.

I saw my parents again for the first time in well over a decade. It was brief, only dinner (their treat at an old family restaurant), but it’s led to regular phone conversations and a relationship developing between myself and my father. The past is the past, no amount of animosity or wishing things were different is going to change that, and I think we were both tired of being angry. We joke, talk about politics, dealing with our respective jobs and families, and it’s amazing; the more we talk, the more I find I’m a lot like him, with my mother’s balance. But the past is the past, and the bad blood is back there with it.

I am officially a published author, having contributed to an anthology now available on Amazon in paperback format, and I have to say, the success has been overwhelming. People now think I have all the answers, and since I’m not used to talk about my writing, the conversation usually gets awkward. I still think you get the ball and run with it, though; I coach people as best as I can when it comes to writing (although I still think I’m learning a lot of the answers myself), and a new friend of mine at work actually gave me the idea to start a writer’s blog—an idea which was endorsed. I’m releasing my first standalone book early next year, so all serious blogging plans are on hold till them. Still, it’s nice to see the future take shape.

And finally, I’ve taken serious steps to resolve my type-2 diabetes; I tend to do these things publicly (to show people that yeah, I may be crazy, but what I’m doing can be done). In two months, I’ve lost nearly ten pounds. I’ve all but cut junk food from my diet. I either work out or train five days a week. My average blood sugar reading is roughly one hundred and ten. To capitalize on the success, I was able to demonstrate a full 540 degree tornado kick to my friends at work today.

I still study martial arts—relentlessly—but not for the sake of violence anymore. I just enjoy training.

I didn’t think I’d live to see thirty. I’m thirty-four.

Sure, I worked my tail off, and had more than a few moments where I thought I was going to collapse and be done with it all, but in the end, this has been a kick-ass year.

So where to go in the coming year?
This is the part that gets really personal.

When I was younger, I got really good at solving other people’s problems. Or at least, I thought I did. I would either listen without judging (lord knows I don’t have the right to judge anyone), or do that really stupid thing no one else would do. I did it because I wanted to see people happy.

I still do. I like to make people smile, even if it’s for just a moment, even if I have to make a complete and utter fool of myself (and I’m good at that), I like to see people laugh. I like being the guy who says “It’ll all work out.” When everyone else thinks things can’t get any worse. I like to think I’m still good at it, but it’s not so necessary anymore.

Which leads me to finally, after so many years of ducking it, deal with my own drama.

I’m great at reading people and figuring out what they’re about, but when it comes to my own happiness? I have no idea where to begin. I don’t think I even know what I want. I have visions of where I’d like to be in seven years, but outside of that? I have no idea. Video games don’t give me the same sense of fulfillment that they used to.

I know why I refuse to let anyone get close to me, why I’ve screwed up every single relationship I’ve ever been in (including this one). I am insecure, but not because of the things I did in the past. It’s funny; all the things I did in the past were to keep attention away from the things I’m really insecure about.
I’m insecure because my interests never seem to run with everyone else’s, and those who share them…there’s almost always a catch. It’s why I’m much more comfortable on my own than with a group.

I love graphic novels, especially DC’s. I love stories of heroes vs. villains on a grand scale and there are certain writers (like Geoff Johns) I’ll buy without a second thought.
I love epic, classical music, most of which no one’s ever heard of. I don’t like most modern music. I like sweeping, dramatic orchestras from groups like X-Ray Dog, Epic Score, Immediate Music, and Two Steps From Hell. I could listen to them all day, and often do. I love video game soundtracks, especially the tracks found in fighting games (Dead or Alive is a long-running favorite).

And I’m afraid that when I really let all of my guards down, I’ll get burned. It’s why I keep most people at a distance.

But there are worse things to deal with. Maybe they’ll make another one of those damn Resident Evil movies.

Till then, thanks for reading.

(c) Avery K. Tingle for Akting Out LLC

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