Having a tough time with this NaNoWriMo business. Actually, having a tough time with writing in general. And my job, but you can’t fix every problem at once. You know, sometimes I wish I could go all Fight Club on people, but I think my alter ego went on vacation. So, I’m kind of just left with boring me. Does any of this make sense? It doesn’t really to me, but I have no cares. I need to spew words out. I need to get all of my frustration out in type so I can get over my writer’s block and my slump. This writing stuff is really a curse. Not like other hobbies. It’s extremely hard to turn off. The ideas and words pick the weirdest time to come at me. I’ve been having some crazy dreams that would make a good story, except it becomes a blur as soon as I wake up. I wish I could go up to someone and punch them solely because they deserve it, but people aren’t that cool about it. I can get fired for punching an asshole, but they don’t get fired for being an asshole? What’s fair about that? Not that anything in my life has been about what’s fair. I got the short end of the stick in the fair game. Being punished and denied rights for being gay is like a baby being aborted because someone was too stupid/careless to use common sense and protection. Pardon the analogy- it was the only one to come into mind. Not meaning to offend, although I am extremely offending by the state of affairs. Not being bitter, just not sure why it’s okay for someone to get married to someone just for the benefits when I can’t get married to the person I truly love. Hey, we’re living in the 21st century, aren’t we past all of our racist/genocide inspired tendencies? No? Okay, I guess I’m going to have a live a little bit longer when those stereotypical bullshit labels over my head. Because I really do hate men and I’m really trying to sleep with everyone’s wife and sister and mother. Lesbians don’t give other lesbians a bad name (for the most part), morons do.

Well, anyway. Think that’s about it for my rant tonight.

Good night. Plesant dreams and wonderful tomorrows.

An introduction would seem fitting to arrive at the beginning, yes? But how often does one actually introduce herself to a stranger before striking up random conversation? An introduction seems more odd than ordinary when you think about it. How would you respond to a random person walking up to you and saying “My name is… I grew up in… I like to do this for fun…” and revealing other bits and pieces of their life story. Depending on the situation, it might be awkward or it might be understandable.  What I know is that I rarely throw my life story out before actually knowing someone longer than a few questions and answers about the weather or the surroundings. So, in honor of that situational tradition, here is my introduction.

————

“So, what brings you to Guam?”

The question always seems to be the same. Having lived here for months now, it has become more understandable that a young woman with a light skin tone and an American accent stands out. Some of the locals ask the question most already know the answer to. This young woman, with her talk of Walmart and other businesses unheard of on the island, must be a product of the states. A few assume the answer to the second question correctly. This young woman came for love.

A trip to the other side of the world, far from home and from the familiar.

“You write what you know…”

If her new life were a book, it might catch the eye of some. She thinks to herself that it would be an interesting story to tell one day and seeks to preserve the memories in whatever way possible. Although the creation of the tale of her new life may be a milestone down the road, this new chapter in her life has already began. Each day, like every turn of the page, reveals the pieces merged together and how they combine to produce her life story.

And, hopefully, what a great one it will be.

                Three o’clock in the morning and the thoughts still swim laps in my mind. When one collection of ideas and ponderments dissolves, another immediately emerges through the fog. A minute passes then an hour fades from memory. Morning draws closer, slumber fails to. Giving into the thoughts, I rise from bed, the blanket sliding from my arms and chest. Cold air collides with bare skin and a shiver pulses through my spine.

                The remedy? A front-row seat to the expelling of words through keyboard clicks in the rhythm of various, undiscovered melodies. I will my tired body to escape a warm embrace and move across the darkened room towards a sleeping computer monitor. Nudging the mouse along the cushioned pad, I force the device to join me in another night of unplanned work. I pull the swivel chair under me and ready myself to let the ideas flow.

                The cursor blinks on a blank text document.

                The thoughts jumble. My mind attempts to translate the incoherent phrases. The thoughts multiply. They echo inside my skull like shrieking banshees. The intensity of the clues in my mind hits the limit.

                I close my eyes.

                Take a deep breath.

                Check how much I’ve accomplished.

                The cursor blinks on a blank text document.

                Fuck.

                Frustration begins to build. There’s no progress to be made here. I reach for a set of bronze and silver keys resting on the corner of the desk.

                Time to find a distraction until the urge to sleep returns.

                24-hour supermarket. The odd hours of the evening lure in the night owls, the weirdos, and the graveyard-shift workers. Walking towards the entrance, I notice the company’s makeshift smoking area to the side of the building. Alone, a blonde woman sits, a cigarette compressed between her lips. As I continue to stroll along, her eyes meet mine across the short distance. Her stare invites me closer; I redirect my path.

                “Haven’t seen you around here.” Her voice, thick with a southern accent, greets me.

                I mumble a reply. “I’m usually sleeping by now.”

                Usually, but not recently.

                “Don’t be shy.” She pats the spot on the bench next to her.

                I obey, making what little space I can between us without giving my intentions away. The lights overhead shine down on the blonde, revealing her to me. Her face resembles Keira Knightley, or one of those famous Hollywood actresses. Her teeth, which I see when she gives me a friendly smile, remain pearl white despite her toxic habit. I wonder how long until the tars and nicotine paint popcorn yellow across her teeth. She takes another drag, her pink lips closing as if preparing to receive a quick kiss.

                “Tell me- what brings you out here so late?” Her question outlined by a puff of smoke floats through the air.

                “Sleep and I weren’t agreeing.”

                “I know the feeling.” She offers me a cigarette.

                I wave my hand and shake my head, placing both hands between my thighs. The friction from my jeans and the confined space keeps most of the chill away. I glance at the name tag lying in her lap. The name faces away from me, leaving her identity a secret. “You work here?”

                “Temporarily.” The ash on the tip of the cigarette turns a light gray and begins to vanish in the wind. “Or that’s what I’ve been saying the past ten months.”

                I ask. “What’s the next step?”

                Her shoulders rise, then drop. “Be a celebrity, isn’t that really what everyone wants? I never knew what I wanted to be. I thought I’d start here and see where life takes me. Seemed legit in the beginning. What about you?”

                “I write.”

                Her eyes sparkle, her eyebrow arches higher. “Anything I’ve read?”

                I chuckle. “Not yet.”

                “How did you know it was the thing you wanted to do?”

                My lips curl upward. “It’s when you enjoy doing something regardless of how much you pay or even if you do. It’s when you produce something, then look back on it with amazement at what came from you. It never should be like work- it should always be enjoyable-“

                “But?” She interrupts.

                My smile has transformed into a frown. “But lately, it’s been hard.”

                She peers up to the sky. “Doesn’t seem like it’s be hard to write- well, as long as you can write, that is.”

                “What makes you think that?”

                She looks at me, smiling. “There’s stories everywhere. Even if nothing is going on, you still have something to write about. Hell, you can write about a leaf sitting on the ground!”

                She has a point.

                A cigarette butt falls to the ground. The blonde places her sneaker over it. As she twists her leg, the sole of her foot remains connected with the concrete under.

                “Promise me something?”

                I look from her back to her feet. “Yeah?”

                A promise made with a stranger is a peace treaty formed with a country you’ve never heard of.

                “Don’t give it up. Even when it’s tough, even when people don’t believe in you.”

                My own personal pep squad in the form of a nameless blonde.

                I promise her I won’t give up.

                She extends her hand to me, her pinky finger the only digit outstretched. “Pinky promise.”

                I reach my hand out, my pinky embracing hers. We shake. I pull my hand away.

                The blonde looks at me and smiles again. “Now, what are you waiting for?”

            Purpose: the reason for which something or someone exists. I was told my purpose is to annihilate the alien race. Humans, lesser beings who lack the abilities harnessed by my kind: the mastery over the elements or the strength to lift objects of all sizes. My mother calls them useless-defects. She sent me here to see the truth. To learn through observation and discover the most efficient way to destroy the humans. And, after years of mastering my abilities, I arrived here.

            What my mother led me to expect and what I discovered differed.

            Terra follows a group through a doubled-door entrance. As she moves into the large stone structure, a blonde woman blocks the group’s path. On her blouse a name tag shaped like Texas reads the name Sarah and the words “Tour Attendant” under.

            “Howdy y’all! Welcome to the Alamo!”

            As the woman continues to address the group, Terra raises an eyebrow and mouths the word “howdy”. Bringing the journal from her hand to her front, she opens it to jot “What do these strange words mean?”

            “Now, if you have any questions, there’s a whole lot of us roaming around here ready to find you an answer. Hope you enjoy your tour and have a great day!”

            The group begins to walk. Noticing their movement, Terra closes her journal and follows again.

            I spent much of that day learning of this monument known as the Alamo and the battles fought inside it. The humans were warriors in their past, fighting for survival against forces sometimes thought impossible to overcome. I continued to learn in an extension of this museum called a gift shop. This shop housed many items- some called souvenirs, others known as toys, and few labeled as collectables. The humans moved around the shop looking at the items, then took some to machinery that collected thin paper, money, and allowed them to take the items home.

            I began to ask for answers. I needed to know everything about this race. I asked a few where I could find out more about their history. Two walked away without answering. One assured me I would find my answers at the Library. When I revealed I knew nothing of the Library, the older man offered to show me the building he spoke of.

            The Library was filled with numerous shelves of books. Each held man-made printed text rather than handwritten sentences. A woman with snow white hair listened to my inquiry about the history of mankind. She pointed to the section where I would discover the tomes of mankind’s origin. I read until the woman came to inform me the Library was closing for the night. I allowed her to show me out then found a way back in when she left. That evening, I filled my mind with every piece of history the books offered me. When I had finished with history, I moved onto reading about technology and science. Before morning, I had learned lifetimes of information about my enemy. My journal had no more room for my written discoveries.

            I would need money.

            I returned outside, hoping to find my solution there.

Terra strolls along a sidewalk, observing the buildings she passes. While she moves by an alley, a hand grabs her arm and pulls her from the sidewalk. Darkness covers the alleyway, hiding the identity of Terra’s captor. When the grip on her arm tightens, she yanks it free. A light overhead flickers, briefly revealing the face of a man. The light flickers again and the man raises a gun, pointing it at Terra’s skull.

            “Give me your money!”

            “I have no money.”

            Metal collides with her temple. Terra falls to the pavement, her journal slipping from her fingertips on impact. The spine hits concrete, then the object topples over and lies flat beside the unconscious woman.

            I was sure I was dead the moment consciousness left me. I had not been careful enough and allowed myself to be overwhelmed by the enemy. I knew once I had been attacked that my mother was right. The respect I had gained for these lesser beings vanished.

            Then, I woke up.

            Rays of light enter the room, the sun shining on Terra’s face. Her eyes open, squinting then hiding from the source of the light. Uncovering herself from a green blanket, she observes her change of dress. A plain black T-shirt one size too big and a pair of matching shorts cover her body. Her hand slides across the smooth fabric of the shorts. She brings a hand to her temple, feeling the area where she had been struck. Her eyes search the room, the object she seeks missing.

            The bedroom door opens, catching Terra’s attention. A young man walks in and shows Terra a warm smile. She stares at him as he moves towards the bed, her hands balling into fists.

            “Glad to see you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

            “Where am I?”

            “Safe. I found you in an alley and brought you here. Do you have someone you can call?”

            She looks around the room again. “My journal, is it here?”

            He shakes his head. “There was nothing with you. I’ll let you borrow my phone so you can cancel your cards before they get maxed out.”

            Terra meets his stare, her eyebrow arching. “I don’t understand.”

            The young man moves alongside the bed, reaching out to feel around Terra’s head. Her fists clench tighter. “No bumps, can’t be memory loss. Where you from?”

            She attempts to retreat from his touch, her back discovering the headboard.

            He pulls his hand from her and sits on the bed. “You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need to.”

            “I have no money.”

            “Don’t worry about it. I’ll help you make some, and I can’t promise the return of your journal, but we’ll get you another one.” He stands and heads for the door. “I’ll be downstairs making breakfast, you’re free to join me when you’d like.”

            Her fists release. “I’m not like you.”

            He stops and faces her once more. “I’m starting to figure that out. However, it doesn’t change my decision.” He smiles again. “By the way, my name’s Alex. Nice to meet you.”

            I had a hunch that not every human was like Alex, but if more had the same capacity for compassion that he showed me, maybe his race deserved to live as much as mine.