Audubann’s Weblog

(This is the first two pages.  The setting might throw some of you off, but you will have to just keep reading to understand how this will unfold and tie into the DC universe.)

The October night was unusually warm. It caused John to believe more and more in the theory of global warming. While fighting overseas as a marine, he was only concerned about whether or not he was going to have the supplies he needed in order to accomplish his missions. So what if the vehicles gave off a lot of carbon emissions? If terrorist destroyed the world, who could care less about global warming? A lieutenant once even told him that global warming was just something made up by pacifist who would say anything to convince the world that the military was doing more harm than good.

Sweat ran down his face and arms as he pedaled toward his apartment. He could see blue and red lights up ahead. The campus police had stopped someone. He biked faster. A few seconds later and he saw who was in the stopped vehicle. It was a young white guy with slick brown hair. He was driving a station wagon with a bunch of stuff in the back with a mattress tied to the top. He looked to be either moving in or moving out.

John slowed down a bit to see who the officers were. To his horror, he saw that they weren’t actually officers at all. They were Stackhouse and Mulroy. They were posing as cops and for some reason had targeted this poor kid. He was unsure of what to do. Those two were very dangerous, but he couldn’t just leave that kid to be hurt. He thought to call the real police, but there probably wasn’t enough time. Especially at this late hour, the cops were probably busy dealing with rowdy students partying after the football team’s big win.

He made a right turn down the next sidewalk and sped up. He went about 100 yards down and stopped. Catching his breath, he hoped that he had enough distance and that it would actually work. He started pedaling at a middle gear. He was rapidly switching to higher gears in order to achieve maximum speed from his efforts.

As he got closer, he could see that Stackhouse and Mulroy had gotten the kid out of the car. John was at a diagonal and couldn’t see much of his front, so he just had to imagine the expression of fear that must have been on the poor kids face as Stackhouse raised the real enough baton and brought it down across the kids shoulder. The kid cried out and slumped to the ground. Stackhouse’s face was a profile of demented glee.

When John was shopping for his bike a few months earlier, the store manager had convinced him that he should get the expensive Trek because it had a titanium frame. Just in case he needed something tough for the times he went mounting biking. John knew that he probably would never go mountain biking, but his years of military service had taught him that stronger was always better. Even if it costs a little bit more. Skimping out on good equipment is what often led to needless casualties. He was glad he paid the extra money and he hoped that the company’s advertisements about the bike’s frame were sincere.

He switched into the highest of the twenty-two gears and reached what he thought would be his maximum speed. The south part of campus was nearly empty because even the freshmen were out of their dorms partying. The bike operated smoothly and made so little sound that it was inaudible over the police cruiser’s running engine. Now came the really hard part. John almost wished that he was like Spider Man and had mounted a camera somewhere to take a photo.

Stackhouse and Mulroy were too involved in taunting the kid to notice anything else. Thank goodness the kid was already on the ground so that John wouldn’t have to worry too much about him getting hurt too.

With out about twenty yards left, he did it. He knew he had to aim it just right, especially with the forward momentum the bike would maintain. He also had to make sure it was sideways, in order to take out both. He turned to his left side in the seat so that he was riding the bike on sideways. It took time and distance. He was only ten yards away and then they noticed him, but it was too late. John slammed down hard on the left side pedal and hunched over. His muscles were still ripe from working out at the gym not more than ten minutes earlier, making this easier. The bike flipped up high as expected and he grabbed the top cross bar. With the speed he had going, the hardly needed to add any more torque. The hardest part was just aiming it correctly. The bike somersaulted and turned several times on its side in the air. It went cleanly over the top of the kid’s station wagon and slammed into the upper torsos of Stackhouse and Mulroy. They were thrown several feet back and before they even hit the ground, blood spurted out from where the bike connected with their necks and faces. Good thing they were a pair tall bastards.

John didn’t get to see the impact, but knew it connected from the sound their bones made as the titanium frame slammed into them. There had been times in Afghanistan when he had to fight up close and the sound of bones breaking was familiar to him. Unfortunately for him, the effort of throwing the bike at such a high speed had caused him to flip with it. He landed hard on his back two feet in front of the station wagon with the wind knocked out of him. Hopefully, the kid would have enough sense to run away or call for help, because John was going to be getting up for a while.

This is something that I wrote to my self two and a half years ago.  I did not have any way to save it and I did not want to simply print it out only to have it become lost.  Often times, I wonder if there are others who are going through what I did and feeling all alone.  Feeling as if no one really understands what they are going through and will never assist them in clearing the way.

When I wrote this, I was broke, homeless and saw no way for me to make it back into college.  I was angry and hurt at not having a family to help me.  I was also angry over my encounters with many people who just did not understand what it could possibly be like to only have yourself to depend upon.  No friends.  No family.  No agencies.  Just yourself.

Thank goodness I learned how to type and how to use emails.  I sent this document to myself and with everything that was going on, I forgot about it.  Now, two years later, I smile and am so damn proud of my self.  Not only did I achieve many of my goals, but I had the tenacity to write about my thoughts and feelings.  I articulated what I needed to.  Here on WordPress.com, I see that many others are doing the same.  I am not alone.

Entitlement

By

Etienne L. Fields

Being a young man in this state of Michigan has been very difficult at times. In large part, this is due to the stratification I have suffered under all my life. No matter how I see my self. No matter how good; moral; pious the people around me claim to be, there are always a large number of them who wish to oppress me. From trying to deride me for the way I talk to treating like a villain for demanding equal treatment in the work place.

There have been some persons in my life who have been healthy and supportive influences. These persons told me that I would love college –that once there, I would be free to develop my self and seek out what it is that I want to do with my life. But I haven’t been there yet. Even when at Lansing Community College, I was often restrained. However, I can see a significant difference between a community college student and a university student.

This difference that I speak of is not quantified in hard work. Nor can it be understood by averaging students’ grade point averages. The difference is the realization that a person not only has the right to expect the opportunity to self actualize one’s potential, but should demand it as well. Many people mistake this demand as a sense of privilege and self-entitlement that many Caucasians are said to possess. That Caucasians have an inherent sense of entitlement and should thus let it be expressed. This is a mistake. Just because I am not Caucasian doesn’t mean that I am not entitled to the same environment to develop who I am. Or what I want and how I intend to go about achieving my goals.

If I had my way, I would be at a university. I would be studying history, philosophy, religion and I would converse about these topics with others of like mind. I don’t mean those who simply hold similar opinions, but those who hold the same passions as I do. Outside of a University setting, people rarely discuss these topics in a healthy fashion. Rarely are they appreciative of a person who attempts to.

No matter who I am or where I live, I am entitled to the opportunity to self actualize. I am entitled to be inaccurate and then correct myself. I am so beautiful and I expect to be treated as such. I will not try to prove my self worth, nor gain the respect of others around me.

I am made up of so many wonderful characteristics. If people choose to only speak of my quote-un-quote negative characteristics and judge me upon those- all the while saying how different I am; how weird I am –that is up to them. I will not seek to prove to others about my own self which is self-evident.

If I choose to fly away, they will curse me and throw stones in attempts to sunder me. If I attempt to rationalize with them, they will laugh. Those who would wrench me apart for being better, do so because they choose to.

What is most saddening is that those who choose to attack me are the very reason I am better. They have lowered the bar. They have made themselves less. If I had things my way, I would not be alone in my flight. I would have somewhere to perch myself. If I had my way, I would not be alone in this. If I had my way, I would have the resources to go about this at a place designated for higher thought and significant action.

At a university, I would have my way.