Thursday, January 26, 2012

Sheltering the Helpless and Forgotten



The Issue at Hand
As the holidays draw ever closer, families of people come home from long days of work and school to shelter themselves indoors from the winter chill. As they take to their cozy domestic sanctuaries, so too do they bask in the warming ambiance of festive holiday music whilst lighting their menorahs or stringing their Christmas trees with a collage of dazzling decorations or preparing freshly cooked ham or turkey dinners. And, not only do the human residents rejoice in the wake of spirit-lifting season, but so too do their pets as well. Happy, contented cats and dogs take to the warmth and safety and security of their respective houses and the caring owners that provide for them. They look upon the ensemble of dazzling holiday decorations with captivation as the smell ham and turkey wafts over their noses or the strange melodies of “White Christmas” fills their ears as they bask in the serene warmth of a radiant fireplace hearth. In this scenario, pets raised in a stable, living background enjoy the peacefulness and serenity of the holiday season along with their human owners. For many household pets, this seemingly happy-go-lucky dream is in fact a reality.

 
Others however, are not so fortunate. Many pets who could otherwise enjoy the simple pleasures and luxuries of a warm home in full holiday turnover as well as a human owner to enjoy it with them lack both of these amenities. Here on Long Island, New York, let alone in countless other areas across the United States and the world, there are dogs and cats who, because of an unfortunate twist of time and circumstance, now have to spend their cold holidays out on the street or gradually become rehabilitated in a pet shelter or adoption center. These poor, forsaken souls, many of whom were forced to leave the loving care of their previous owners while others have a history of abandonment, negligence and abuse at the hands of less-than-responsible owners, sit idly by within their chain-link cages in their respective animal shelters as they take the long and tedious road to normalcy. For example, Zaz, a hefty grey tabby cat, sits in solitude within his cage at the Town of Smithtown Pet Shelter with a demeanor of dejection and sorrow, clearly distraught over the fact that he had to be parted from his beloved owner. Zaz’s previous owner, an elderly woman, was forced to part with the cat under threat of eviction by her landlord.

The Cat's Captives: How Felines Manipulate Their Owners


The predator lined up its target prey within its sights. The creature’s keen, almost supernatural senses had detected with unmistakable accuracy, the prey’s movements. With calculated, subliminal cleverness, the predator prepped itself for an ambush, ready at any moment to spring a trap upon its unsuspecting quarry.

With delicate, dexterous movements, the predator sauntered over into an adequate hiding spot on its four limbs. When it had positioned itself according to where its prey would surely arrive, it waited with inhuman patience for the opportune moment to spring upon the creature unfortunate enough to cross his path. Its dazzling and terrifying golden eyes twinkled with malice and its grey tail swished behind it with its eagerness.

Suddenly, the predator’s grey pointed ears perk up and twitch like radar dishes as its prey’s movements signal its impending arrival. It hears and detects step after step that the prey takes toward it; its advanced senses and its natural intuition as a tactician and a hunter allowing it to pinpoint exactly when and where the prey will reveal itself. As the prey’s obvious movements grow louder and it blatantly enters the watchful beast’s line of sight, then that is when the predator finally strikes.


With claws bared and terrifying roar being belched, the grey beast lunges from its secluded hiding spot and attacks.

The well-planned ambush set by the predator led to an attack that lasted all of two seconds. There was no biting or gnarling or unadulterated bloody violence like seen on National Geographic as a lion takes down a gazelle. Rather, this was an attack of a different sorts; the outcome of which was equivalent to that of a predator taking down prey in the wild: food.

In this particular scenario, the grey-furred “predator” was not a feral panther or a deadly cheetah, but was none other than a quirky little Russian Blue feline named Charlie. His prey: the blond-haired human woman that feeds him every day. His mission: snag at her sleeve as she walks by so that she’ll give up some cat treats. His well-planned hiding spot: the kitchen counter.

Those Eyes

It was four years ago that I had taken my first pet, Belle, to the veterinary hospital to be put to sleep. Furthermore, it was the first time of my brief existence that I had ever watched something, someone, very dear to me die right before my eyes.

I expected that day to just be like any other for me; cereal, shower, school, dinner, and bed. I had no prior conception that I would be standing next to a cold metal veterinary table watching the syringe go into my eldest cat’s front paw. Shortly after eating breakfast, my mother broke the news to me with a heavy heart that today was the last day for Belle.

“She spent the entire night throwing up. She doesn’t even seem happy anymore,” my mom explained to me dejectedly. “I don’t want to see her go on suffering like this.”

I sat over my breakfast idly, clearing a lump from my throat and trying to sift through the foggy haze in my mind. Was it really that time already? I was expecting it to be another year, or a few more months at least. Maybe that’s just what I wanted to believe though. Maybe in all my youthful naïveté I subconsciously thought that all of us, human, feline or otherwise, would just keep on going.

Untitled Sci-fi Novel Excerpt: Chapter 4- "Natural Born Killers"

This is another chapter of my untitled sci-fi novel. It is a flashback sequence from one of the main characters, Areya.

            833 days before arrival on Earth

The memory was as vivid and clear as Lictor’s face had been only minutes before. In this distasteful recollection, Areya, the young recruit merely five Varsolothian orbits old, stood in line amongst an eager yet firm battalion of green-skinned troops.

            The leader of the battalion, Force Commander Ackron, shouted out various names to the ensemble for roll call.

            “Septis, shock; Meegan, vanguard; Vicero, shock; Civilin, shock; Rhegon, scout; Necro, vanguard; Areya,” the commander recited. Time had seemed to stop as Areya’s name had been finally been called. “Scout.”

            Areya grimaced, gritting her teeth as she reluctantly saluted to the Force Commander Archon. “Scout duty…for her?!” she had thought at the time. She, like any trainee, knew full well that the shock and vanguard troops always had the up-close-and-personal blunt of the action while scouts were generally reduced to spotting targets and shooting out enemies from afar.

            Foolish spawn of an Orug! I am the most efficient combatant in this entire band of witless recruits and here I am being limited to killing Terestroicans from a thousand yards away…like a coward?! I want to go charging in with blade swinging and pistol blazing! I want to see the fear seep out of my enemies just before my blade meets their throat! I want those cowards, in their last moments, to know that they’ve just been slain by Areya, daughter of Veger, faithful servant of Varsoloth!

            After her battalion had been given their frontline duties for the coming battle, Ackron stood at the front of the battle-ready Varsolothian horde. In perfect unison, the unit clicked their heels together and gave the traditional military salute of crossing their right arm to their left shoulder-blade. The tall, muscled, green-skinned officer with a collage of battle ribbons pinned to his black armor plating began to speak to his loyal underlings.

Wednesday, January 25, 2012

Moonchaser Prologue: "Moonlight Ultimatum"

This is the prologue and an excerpt from my first sci-fi/fantasy novel called "Moonchaser"

Victor Carnassus bounded through the darkest vestiges of the forest, belching a hoarse pant as each thud upon a stick or a patch of dirt sapped more of his energy.

A short distance behind him, the shouts of his pursuers rang through the trees. This seemed to immediately quicken his pace and put a broadening gap between himself and the bloodthirsty huntsmen grasping at his heels. The miles of endless running through the trees was beginning to take its toll on Carnassus and even the strenuous breathing and throbbing pressure in his head failed to drown out the voices of his pursuers.

Finally, the frantic flight across miles of thicket became too much for him and with a burst of air from his lungs, he dove headfirst into a nearby tree trunk to grab a needed drink of air from the atmosphere.

Hunching his back against the tree, he made a quick dab of his fingers to the trails of minor flesh wounds darting over his skin from the countless whipping of tree vines and branches against his torso. He made a series of glances between the row of trees that he just ran through and the path which would lead him further away from the huntsmen. As he stared off behind him he began to see the blurred fluorescence of torchlight drawing nearer to the tree that he rested against.

The renewed sound of voices and the ever-nearing presence of torchlight shook Carnassus from his sitting position and got his feet moving in the opposite direction of the huntsmen once again. One of the hunters shouted out something incomprehensible to his ears; making it clear that he had finally been spotted.

Carnassus knew now based on his growing lethargy combined with the quickened pace of his pursuers that it would eventually come down to direct confrontation with the hunters very soon. He quickly banked to the right and darted for a small exposed area of the woods with which to lure the hunters to. Carnassus stood in the center of the circle of trees, alone and weaponless. He sluggishly reared to face his outnumbering foes as they quickly converged on the clearing.


Music Review: Echoes the Fall - "Bloodline"

Another review for EMURG.com music blog
Echoes the Fall is:
Jeromy Moorehead- Vocals (Current)
Mike Gable- Guitars
Mitch Gable- Drums
Trevor Keeling- Bass
Myles Byrum- Guitar

Former:
David Mackey- Vocals (Bloodline)

Bloodline, the debut full-length album by the five-man band Echoes the Fall, is a record that blends an original powerful sound with familiar styles trail-blazed by other popular bands of the last decade such as Trapt and Staind. The alternative rock quintet from Phoenix, Arizona manages to establish itself amongst other modern rock juggernauts with an album that doesn’t hesitate to make use of thumping, heavy instrumentals, satisfying choruses and opening verses, edgy and pulse-pounding riffs and others surprising amenities that will surely bring in a plethora of new rock and metal fans.
The album is kicked off with the opening track, “Break Away.” I was instantly hooked on this song


Tuesday, January 24, 2012

Untitled Sci-fi Novel Excerpt: Chapter 1- "Souvenirs"

This is the first chapter of my ongoing sci-fi novel (I do not yet have a title for the novel). The chapter is called, "Souvenirs."

1 day after arrival on Earth

Areya sifted through the dumpster, tossing aside broken electronic devices, half-eaten food scraps and other mundane objects as she sought out clothing in particular. Lictor’s alert grey eyes scanned both ends of the alleyway for unwelcome guests; fists clenched as if he were readying himself for combat. Neither of them wanted that to happen however; the last thing they needed was to have their cover blown after having only just landed several hours before.

            Areya suddenly gasped as she made a discovery. Lictor grew alert and narrowed himself out as he approached the dumpster warily.

            “What is it, cousin?” he asked mildly, although he was eager to see what his older cousin had found.

            She raised her arm up from inside the dumpster, revealing a small item hooked between her long thumb and forefinger. “It’s a headpiece! For little brother!” she exclaimed gleefully. Dangling from her fingers was a winter wool cap, small enough for a toddler to wear. Areya glanced past Lictor and to the miniature green form huddled in his makeshift basket. “Look little brother, a headpiece!” she repeated, this time to the green infant.

            The child didn’t hear her as his little chest continued to rise and fall in calm insentience. Areya threw the small article of clothing to Lictor who abruptly caught it and began to study it incredulously.

Music Review: Incura - "The Lost EP"

Music review I wrote for EMURG.com, the music blog I wrote for:

Incura is:
Kyle Gruninger - Vocals
Jim McLaren - Keys
Jon Olson - Bass
Gatlin Fitzgerald - Guitar
Phil Gardner - Drums

I was a bit incredulous going into this review due to having admittedly never heard of the band Incura, let alone listened to their music. However, this hesitation was short lived after one clean sweep of listening to the latest album by these Vancouver, Canada-based rockers. Perhaps the fact that I went into this with no expectations and no prior knowledge of the band is what contributed to my immense surprise when I heard a band with fluid instrumentals, clever and emotional lyrics, blended musicals styles and genres, and an overall revolutionary sound that will likely keep me and many other listeners coming back for more.
The 7-track album, The Lost EP, opens up with the song “The Greatest Con,” which I believe to be a wonderful opening to the album due to its fluidity, fast-paced instrumentals, powerful lyrics and entertaining chorus. From this opening track, you really get the package of everything that is to be loved and appreciated about this band. Vocalist Kyle Gruninger’s smooth yet edgy voice never seems