Alone

The truth is,
we're all alone.
We reproduce to ensure we're not,
but they leave.
We marry so someone is there,
but they aren't.
We pretend that those we choose
to have in our lives
are substantially defeating our loneliness,
but as we talk to them
they can't understand.
Because they
are not us.

So we're all alone,
and we fill that loneliness
with everything we possibly can.
From buying shit we don't need
to friends who create more pain than they are worth
to vices that take us away from
the very loneliness we should face.
Head on.
Because while we are
lying on our death beds
what is going on in our own heads
is exclusive to us.
As it is every other minute
of every other day.

Sure, there may be people who try
to connect on some level.
And maybe they succeed
to a degree,
and maybe that is enough for some of you,
but it doesn't take away from the fact
that you're still alone.

I'd love to take every hand
of every person I have discovered
to be special
and walk through the dark with them,
to help alleviate that loneliness,
but the best I could ever achieve
is for them to just feel less alone.
Which is to say they are still
very much so
alone.

Loneliness does not come
from external sources.
It comes from realizing
no one is you,
and thus
no one can understand
You.

So let us find
temporary releases from that loneliness
and hope that they last
longer than most,
but never forget
that they are just that.
Maybe then, maybe just,
we can learn to appreciate one another
a little bit more,
and that dark walk
can be just a little bit less
Alone.

-Dustin S. Stover

There's no Tune

He tries to find the note, but it is like searching for something that doesn't exist.  The light feels blinding, The throbbing behind his eyes is mind numbing, but still he searched.

The guitar drops onto the guitar rack as he pulls out a bottle of pills.  He pops a couple to relieve the tension building behind his eyes, but it will take quite some time before the relief comes.  An argument forms inside his mind - does he give up on it all or does he fight to hold onto what he cherishes.

The keyboard, perhaps, will be easier to find the tune he searches for, so he sits at the bench.  His hands can't even reach for the keys - the effort feels to be too much as his eyes feel as though they are bulging out of his skull.

Years ago, it was discovered that he typed best while he wasn't looking.  It was as though he could sense the keys before they struck, and he could correct as he went along.  He opens his laptop and begins to type up a story, or song lyrics, or even simply words to fill up a page; however, as his eyes open, they reveal little more than a blank page. 

A memory appears as though it is filling the entire room.  A woman rolling her eyes and speaking about how much time and money are wasted on these instruments.  She takes a violin and smashes it into the desk, shattering it into a million pieces.  The words become more sympathetic, but not towards him.  "You are ruining our lives."

His eyes open again to reveal the keyboard in front of him still, but once again he does not reach forward.  He gets up and walks to his room without the note or tune being explored.

The bright light is still intensifying the pain behind his eyes.

Another memory - this one of a better time, a time of hope - fills his mind.  The notes come easy no matter what instruments he picks up, and he can hear them fitting so perfectly.  The beat he devours into on drums and the rhythm of the bass set the mood.  Synthesizer adds more atmosphere.  The melody of the lead guitar adds a real punch.  It doesn't even feel real at this point.

A lump works it's way up his throat before he swallows it back down.  It is a hard swallow, but he presses forward with it and it slowly reaches back down to his stomach.

An image of the broken violin fills his mind again.  Maybe this is what he should be doing, but he has lost everything else anyway. 

The headache has started to reside, but still fills a very prominent space. 

"Not tonight," he tells himself.  "Not fucking tonight."  He presses a key on the keyboard and it rings out, but it still doesn't fit what he is trying to find.  A chord, but still wrong.  He tries another position, but still wrong.  He glances back at the guitar, but interest just doesn't come. 

His head still has yet to escape the pain.  He closes his eyes one more time, reaching his finger and thumb to squeeze the bridge of his nose.  It helps slightly, but there is too much pain.  His eyes open, he gets off of the bench, and walks out of the room - flipping the light switch as he exits. 

Stumbling through the pitch black hall, feeling the walls for guidance, he eventually finds his bedroom.  His head hurts so badly that he refuses to even so much as turn on the light.  He knows where the bed is, he plops down into bed, and closes his eyes for one final time tonight.  Memories of the arguments, the broken violin, the feeling of worthlessness do not grant him the same luxury.

-Dustin S. Stover

Definitely not a Story of Love

He looked at her while she didn't even so much as give a glance.  Every day was the same story.  He had this misguided belief that if she would just look at him then he had a chance with her, but we all know that a look is just a look with little to no meaning more than that.

Still, his gaze didn't falter. 

He watched as she spoke to many other people, usually in a sarcastic manner to ensure everyone around her knew of her place in the societal hierarchy.  She knew she was better.  That just made him desire her even more.

There is always that point in time when a person comes face to face with what they believe they want only to discover just how wrong it is for them.  This story isn't about that, though it will definitely feel as though it falls along that line.

Our lonely hero decides one day that he will force her acknowledgment.  He bumps into her causing quite an awkward moment. 

"Why the fuck did you bump into me, asshole?"  Her voice is shrill and condescending.

"It was an accident."

"You gross mother fucker, just leave me alone." 

And just like that, our lonely hero felt completely crushed.  Their eyes met, at long last, and only for her to shut all his desires down.

Of course, that was a few decades ago.  Our lonely hero has had many failures within those fateful years - all of which contained fruitful nuggets of information he learned from.  His memory of youth was little more than memories of many mistakes, the likes of which he would never want to repeat.

Our antagonist, on the other hand, made but one mistake.  One mistake that she has had to live with ever since - marrying the first person who treated her like the condescending bitch she was and letting him make her into his submissive housewife, a mother to his obnoxious and bratty children.  Her memory of youth was full of fond memories, memories of dominance and being wildly desirable. 

Our lonely hero rarely ever thought about women who rejected him, especially the one who called him a gross mother fucker.  Meanwhile, she longed for someone to idolize her the way he did back in those long since passed days.

She knew he stared at her.  She knew him running into her was an attempt to gain her attention.  That just made her even more fierce, thinking that was the way to ensure he kept going the way he had for so long.

That didn't work, though.  The last day he ever looked at her with longing eyes was the day our lonely hero performed his little stunt for attention.  It was also the day, he would never find out, that she met the man that would transform her from the fierce bitch into the docile puppy.

The hero of this story learned, in no short part from his experience here, that the amount of effort one puts into winning someone over does not equal the amount of love a couple has for one another.  The antagonist learned what it was like to put forth all the effort and never learned that equality was far more a sign of love than effort.

The two would go on with their lives, never to meet again.  He traveled throughout the world, finding meaning in every little thing he did.  She stayed in their hometown convincing herself that her life had meaning.

-Dustin S. Stover

Happiness in a Void of Darkness is my collection of short stories and can be purchased at either of the links below.
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Authenticity

It was a terribly gray sky, though the rain wouldn't fall.  He sat with eyes sharply peering at the peak of a neighboring house, yet if he was asked what he was looking at he'd have no idea.  He had no idea. 

The funky bass line roars and her voice rips the sky wide open, at least inside his mind.  There is a synthesizer that breaks up the sounds of traditional instruments while fitting so effortlessly that without knowing better you'd believe it was being keyed the way a piano would.  Jazz drums is always his favorite to listen to.

It was all fitting perfectly for his day.  Solitude, contemplating life's trials and temptations, gray skies darkening everything around, and music that felt as though it was just as much a part of the scenery as the clouds in the sky.

Of course, this says nothing to what he was seeing while staring at the roof top.  He was seeing his former life fading from present day into the past.  His best friend died a few short days ago from a drug overdose, yet he was entirely oblivious of his friend's habit.

He is reminded of some quote he heard many years ago - one he cannot fully remember - that states something about never truly knowing someone until they are under extreme suffering.  It never made much sense to him at the time as he simply believed he could know someone with relative ease, but now thinking about his friend he understood that he never saw him suffering.

He tries to summon memories of his friend suffering.  Memories clear from distant fogs in which he would get drunk with his friend over some girl or the loss of a job - that time he had to sell his favorite guitar to make rent that month.  There was a feeling, at the time, that this was suffering, but it wasn't.  It was the evasion of suffering and he only now has he begun to understand.

A tear creeps out of the corner of his eye as he begins to think back on all the little signs of heroin usage.  The lame duck excuses of being too busy to reply to a text message after days.  The memory of how often his friend had been sick within the recent months.

More than those memories and the feeling of stupidity crawling around in his mind, he found a great sadness in how he would never be able to laugh at some stupid shit a customer said, or share this great jazz he was listening to now with his friend. 

This is life, though, and he knows that no matter how he feels that he will have to get up tomorrow and pretend everything is alright with everyone he interacts with.  The only break he will get from pretending is the point in time he is at the funeral services, but even that will feel so impersonal as everyone else there will be feeding off of the emotions of one another.  Aunts and uncles will be crying immensely even though they hadn't seen him in years and people who only knew him in passing will be talking about how great of a person he was, how terribly he will be missed.

He begins to acknowledge that life is just one big swath of falsehood.  A display of what humanity is supposed to look like - a heroin addict near killing himself playing it off as though he is just a little sick, people mourning the loss of a life they knew nothing about, and even his job of interacting with people with a fake smile to sell whatever shit he was pushing onto the people.  It is all fake.

Could authenticity exist at all in a society that rewards the inauthentic far more?  The creeping thought of this was increasingly spreading throughout his mind.

He then remembered his friend, the moment in time the two met.  They sat on the back steps of a house, party in full force inside, and discussed just how fake everyone inside the party was.  How everyone was showing off in order to one-up one another or just to get laid, how it wasn't either one of their scenes. 

They both went back to an apartment - he couldn't remember if it was his or his friends - and listened to albums all night long, critiquing the guitar playing, the drums, the vocals, and how well it all pieced together.  He remembered how authentic they were with one another about it all, unashamed to hate a song or band the other loved.  It was the start of an authentic friendship.  It was the start of an authentic friendship, and now he had a greater appreciation for that than ever before.

-Dustin S. Stover

If you find pleasure in reading my short stories, please consider supporting me by purchasing my writing.  It allows me to continue to pursue this crazy little hobby of mine as I attempt to turn it into a profession.

My collection of short stories is called Happiness in a Void of Darkness and can be found at the following links:
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Knock

It started out as a humbling drive into the sunset but emotions grew, and before he knew it he was well above the speed limit.  In a world of automated cars, people who find simplicity by having the technology do all their work for them, and priorities have shifted to pleasure long ago it becomes an act of rebellion to be perceptive.  That is where the hero, or villain, of this story will reside.

His car is of a vintage nature, a time when there was a such thing as a driver and a driver utilized three pedals and a stick between the seats to control the speed and acceleration of the vehicle.  It was small, only having two seats as opposed to the modern cars with cabins of bed-like seats, and was built with the intention of putting a smile on the driver's face.  Now only a few would know how to turn a steering wheel as anything more than a novelty.

While cleaning out his great grandmother's home, years ago, he came across a collection of books.  He didn't even know what they were - it had been decades since the last one had been printed and now people just listened to books selected for them by the state based on their age, gender, and racial background.

Among the books were the likes of Nietzsche, Sartre, and Camus.  His grandfather, still remembering the old ways of reading, taught him the words within the book and talked to him about their meanings.  While this behavior was not strictly forbidden by the state, it had been almost exclusively pushed out of societal norms. 

Now our hero has found himself at odds with society.  Upon re-reading The Stranger by Albert Camus he began to see himself in the character - not so much the kind of person who could kill a person and then show no remorse for it, but a person who perceived the world through a detached emotion.  Another thing he began to notice was that everyone around him held no distinct emotion to their experience, no unique experiences.

His car, which had been handed down to him from his father whom got it from his father whom got it from his father, was weaving between the automated machinery.  Each vehicle altering it's speed automatically to allow him easier access - a design feature programmed by the early programmers of automated cars to ensure those who still enjoyed driving wouldn't be held up while they were breaking various laws.  It was also a way for the state to monitor people who drove themselves - see too many cars in a location altering their speed and you know you have someone driving themselves.

His wife, whom he shared conversation with before this drive, had proclaimed him mentally unsuitable for children due to his perception of the world.  To him, this was not only an insult but an absurdity.  He knew the people of the world were lost.  They are lifeless, thoughtless, selfless shells of the humanity that had existed for hundreds or thousands of years. 

He remembered when he first read Camus' classic, how it made him feel when he read about that fateful gun shot and ultimate murder.  He felt conflicted.  He knew it was wrong for that gun to be fired, he knew it was wrong to murder someone, but what else could he have done in the situation?  It was the first time our villain of this story realized that people could have choices, and from that point forth he begun being paralyzed by choices.  He didn't want to same soup for dinner than his wife cooked night after night.  That old car that had been passed down between the generations suddenly looked like a viable means to get from point A to point B, at least if he could learn how to drive it - so he did.

He saw the different races of people, whom he had never really had any real interaction with before since they were forced to go to school together, take the same jobs as one another, and eat the same foods as one another - all dictated by the state, of course, because the state believed it knew what would suit everyone best.  Suddenly, however, he wanted to try the other ethnicities foods.  What about that round thing that was shared amongst an entire family?  What about that steaming hunk of meat that would be sliced into several slices, each going to the children, mother and father?  He didn't even have names for these things as the only thing he had to eat was soup - night after night, with the same ingredients. 

The conversations he had with his wife about other ethnicities, trying different foods, and how odd it was that these people did not share things with one another is what led her to believe him unfit for children.  In his society, little did he know, it was always the wife's job to report abnormalities within the household to the state. 

In his rear-view mirror he saw flashing lights coming towards him fast, but he had no idea what this represented.  All he knew is that each of the other cars on the road were moving to the side and stopping, automatically, while his car kept right on moving.

At one point, he stood at the door of another family of different ethnic background, but he couldn't bring himself to knock.  He just wanted to ask them a few questions about their lives.  He had heard once, in passing, that every ethnicity spoke a different language.  He just stood at the door, he never knocked, and they never knew.

There was a loud THUNK into the back of the car.  A moment later the engine died, along with all the lights, and the fuzzy sound coming out of the radio.  The flashing lights came up on him fast, it was several cars, and surrounded him on every side.  Guns pointing directly at him.

"Your wife has told us how you think, what you feel.  You aren't allowed to think.  You aren't allowed to feel."

His final thought was about standing at that door - how he should have knocked.

-Dustin S. Stover

If you enjoyed this short story and would like to read more of my work, or would just like to support me in a small way (but really, I'd prefer if you purchased to read) then feel free to click the links below to buy my collection of short stories, Happiness in a Void of Darkness.  And thanks again for taking your time to read.

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Humanitarians

We approached the big, brooding building.  It struck me the way an old plantation owner's house would strike a former slave, and perhaps that was the point.  No one buys a house like this without the intention of proving to those who gaze upon it that they are more important than everyone else around.

The giant white rectangle stretched three stories high and what felt like half a mile from one end to the other.    I'm not sure what I've done in my life to be affiliated with such people, but I find myself to be quite uncomfortable now.

The things we do for love, knowing it's futility and inevitable decline into the mundane, should always be a perplexing notion.  Here I am, though, walking towards the big double door entrance into a former slave owner's home.  A representation of every founding principle of a country that claims to have been for freedom.

The woman who answers the door, of course the mother of my fiancee, looks the part - a home maker wife of wealthy proportions with the most important decision of the day being what she will have sitting on the table when her all too wealthy husband gets home from fucking his mistress after a long day at work.  Or, perhaps, just the mistress's apartment he pays for.

Jamie never told me that this was the type of house she grew up in and, perhaps, that is why it bothers me so much now.  We met at a distribution of wealth protest on Wall Street.  Her and her well worn clothes and good weed, we spoke of how fucked up society was.  I was raised on the opposite side of the spectrum - getting a job at fifteen to help pay for rent and food for my siblings and mom, as her job didn't pay enough to support the rest of us.

That was years ago, though, and since then we've established a good routine of responsible adulting along with a healthy coping mechanism of occasional sex and limited communication, the way that married couples find themselves.

"Well good evening, Jamie.  I'm so glad you kids could make it for the weekend."  Jamie's mom gives her a hug and just peers at me while her head is behind Jamie's.

"It is good to see you, too, Mrs. Andrews."  Even the name sounds like she'd own slaves if she could.

The first thing I notice as we are walking through the massive, open entryway that stretches clear to the roof - balconies lining both sides with pillars supporting it all - is that there are women cleaning things.  Their french maid outfits look just innocent enough to be sexually submissive, but being fit upon black women seems quite an odd thing.  It isn't often, after all, that one sees African American women wearing french maid outfits in porn and where else does one see french maid outfits in today's society?

The deeper into this house I get, the more I feel like I am taking a trip back in time.

Jamie's attitude and demeanor instantly change with the scene.  Her flowing dress and unkempt hair now looking even more out of place on her body than I feel inside this building. 

One of the maids is sheltered off in one of the corners - a baby bump forming a relatively noticeable in the black and white dress she is wearing.  At least she isn't beaten for getting pregnant.

"Ah, kids.  Welcome, welcome.  Make yourselves at home.  I won't be long."  Jamie's dad, Roger, sits inside an office adorned by two big wooden framed glass doors, one of which is opened allowing the odor of cigar smoke to pour out of the room and into my nostrils.  Roger sits on a luxurious leather swiveling chair with a phone in his hand - an old phone that is still connected by chord to a box with physical numerical keys, hold and forward buttons.  I have no idea where he would forward a call to.

"The old fuck won't even know what hits him!" Roger's voice is boisterous and full of bravado, which leads directly into a cackling laughter before he says his good byes and hangs up the phone.

Out back there is a porch with an overhang and spacious seating.  It overlooks the yard which, in the distance, features a massive pond that is almost big enough to name.

"Do you have any new work coming in, poppa?"  Jamie says with a polite and subordinate tone.

"Oh, my little girl.  Don't you worry about me.  You know I'm always on top of the world."

"Oh, your dad, Jamie.  Never one to be humble, you know."

It is like I am sitting in some parallel dimension .

"Of course I have more work coming in!  The work comes to me!" 

The lemonade on the table seems more interesting than where this conversation is heading.

"What do you do for a living, sir?"

"Sir!  That's it, my boy.  I am a sir!"  Roger cackles with his boisterous laughter.  "I make deals, my boy.  I make deals happen.  What are your plans?"

"Me?  I was planning on starting a non-profit to help at risk children get off the streets and establish a new life."  Roger's boisterous laugh is more prevalent than the times before.

"Oh to be a youth again!  Wild dreams, wild dreams.  Let me tell you something, son.  You can't help other people.  You've only got to help yourself."

"You definitely help yourself a lot," Margaret, Jamie's mother, says under her breathe.  It is quickly ignored by everyone.

"Maybe, sir."

"Oh, daddy!  You have to show Kevin your collection!"  I swear that the Jamie I know was abducted once we got here and replaced with an identical copy.  The one I know would have scoffed at the idea of collections.

Roger leads me back through the massive open hallway and down into the cellar.  "This, my boy, is worth more than what most people will make in a year."  He pulls out a vintage wine bottle as I am noticing that the collection he is so proud of is a wine collection.  He holds out a bottle of unopened wine with what looks to me to just be old, but I'm sure he is right. 

"Wow, sir." 

And on it goes, Roger pulling bottle after bottle and telling me information that easily slips in one ear and out the other.  "This really is a remarkable collection you've got yourself here."  Maybe an hour has passed, or more, when I finally tell him we should get back to the girls.

"You go ahead, my boy.  I will be back up in a few minutes.  I've got to use the bathroom."

"Are you sure it is his?" Jamie's voice is weak in the distance, but still understandable.

"Yes."

"Hey, ladies.  That was quite a collection your father has, Jamie."

"Yeah, he has been collecting those since before I was born."

"Let me show you kids to your bedroom."  It comes as almost a shock that they wouldn't be forcing us to stay in separate bedrooms, but then again it is two-thousand and eighteen.

"What were you and your mom talking about?"

"Oh nothing, Kevin.  Nothing you need to worry about."

"I am going to go for a walk."  Jamie nods in agreement and gives her approval, but stays behind.

As I'm walking around the giant pond I am contemplating how easy it would be to get into the car and drive off.  The only things I've unpacked have been my toothbrush, soap and shampoo.  I wouldn't even need to grab those things they are so cheap.

"Oh, I'm sorry sir."  I was so lost in my own thought that I hadn't even noticed I had stumbled into someone else's thinking spot.  It was the woman with the baby bump.

"No, no.  I'm sorry.  I didn't realize anyone else was out here.  What are you doing out here?" 

She peers into the water without a response, but she had to have heard me.

"Do you mind if I sit next to you?"  Her hand gestures to the spot close to her.  I notice that this particular spot is shrouded in shrubbery to be unseeable from the house.  "Are you out here hiding?"

"No sir."  Her voice frail and fickle.  The lie is as clearly read as a children's book.  "What would you do if you got someone pregnant and you didn't want to keep it?"

"I mean, I would talk it out with the girl I got pregnant.  If she decided to keep it then I would do everything I could to be as best a father as I could be.  The act of creating the child would be equal part mine as her's and it isn't her choice to be born as the one who would carry the baby for 9 months like it wasn't my choice to be the one who doesn't."

Her eyes squeeze so tight that her face shrinks before a drop of water falls down her cheek.  The drop turns into a full stream as her body bobs as she is gasping for air.

"What if... what if she decided to have an abortion without... without you?"

I tilt my head back to the sky and take a deep breathe.  "Ultimately, I would hope I'd be a consideration in that whole ordeal.  I would really hope, but ultimately..."  A let out a sigh.  "Ultimately, it is her body."

"He says he will have me killed if I don't have an abortion."  Her voice is less frantic as her tears and gasping for air slow. 

"Is it your boyfriend?"

Her eyes squeeze tight like before.  "No, sir."

"Please don't call me sir.  We're all equals here.  Sir is just a bullshit word to make someone feel more important than others.  Even calling Jamie's dad 'sir' is my little way of mocking his smug ass."

She chuckles between gasps.  "It's his."

"His?"  I turn my head to face her.  Her face still pointed to the water, eyes closed with tears still flowing.  "Roger's?"

"Yes.  He rapes me.  Now he is threatening to have me killed if I don't abort his baby."

There's nothing I can say.  There's nothing I can do, but I know I have to try.  I put my arm around her and pull her close to me.  "I'm so sorry."

We sat there like that, not saying anything, for long enough for me to feel like someone was going to start looking for me soon.  "I know there is nothing I can do about this situation.  I am just so, so terribly sorry."

Jamie lays sleeping on the bed, but I shake her awake.  "Jamie.  Your dad.  She got one of the maids pregnant."

"He does that."

"What do you mean he does that?"

"She isn't the first one.  She won't be the last one.  Why do you think they all walk around wearing those outfits?  You think my mom wants to see short skirted black women running around the house?"

"Well, no, but..."

"Look, this isn't any of your business.  This is my house."

I look at my suitcase, still packed and ready to go.  I get my keys and grab the suitcase and begin walking out.

"Where the fuck do you think you're going?" 

"I'm going home.  I'm going home and I'm packing up all of the shit you have there.  You're not the girl I thought you were."

"Kevin, what the fuck?"

"Jamie.  The woman I fell in love with was someone who believed in equality.  Someone who believed that no matter what your social status was financially, you should always be regarded first and foremost as a human being.  Your dad raped a woman, got her pregnant, and now you're defending his actions by telling me that this is your house.  If you can't see the irony in that..."

"Any woman who takes the job here knows what it involves.  She should have been on birth control.  She is just trying to take my daddy's money."

"Fuck this."  I close the door behind me, but it wouldn't have mattered either way as Jamie was clearly not following me. 

As I approach the car I remember what started the whole argument in the first place.  I remember the look in that woman's face as it shrunk and began to cry.  I remember holding her in my arms and why my shoulder is still soaked.  I shove my bag into the car and run back to the spot I found her at as quickly as I can, using the light from my cell phone to guide me.  Not even a candle lights up anything inside the house.  The light from Jamie's bedroom is still as dark as it was when I walked out. 

I arrive, but no one is there.  Nothing, not even a trace.  I think about how it is perhaps the wrong place, but no, this place is shrouded from the house.  Nothing remains here.  I look all around for any signs of human life, but it is too dark and too late to find anyone.

Defeated, I turn and make my way back to the car, quickly, but no longer as fast as before.  Once at the car, I open the door but before I can get in I hear something faint. 

"Take me."

I look around, but it is no use.  It is still too dark and the light from the car door isn't illuminating enough. 

She crawls out of the woods beside the car, the woman from the pond still wearing that ridiculous maid outfit. 

"Get in.  Get clothes from the suitcase and change out of that bullshit if you want."

She slides into the back seat of the car as I start the car and drive off.  Her head rests upon the suitcase, her eyes closed, and her body looking at peace - a peace like she has never known before.

-Dustin S. Stover

Iron and Ink

Isolated iron is always cold.  Always.  Even on the hottest of summer days, heat radiating off the harsh metal, the sight of iron fills one's self with a cold darkness that captivates the imagination of some and fills another with desolate despair.

That was what filled his mind as he felt that painful heat through his work gloves, handling the huge iron beam thirty some odd stories above Earth's surface.

The pen always held such a warm and passionate feeling pinched between the fingers.  A universe of knowledge, passion, longing, lust, despair, and sadness she thought as she tried to push the keys on her laptop down in rhythmic fashion.

She couldn't find the words or passion or even a glimpse of that universe she longed for.

The philosopher in both of them begins to question why they are doing anything they do.  The reasonable voice knows they'll die if they don't - or at least be forced to find a new way to survive.

He takes the long drink of ice water, symbolic of the end of another torturous day of ten hours worth of heat - he had to sign on for that overtime pay.

The pay was great.  The pay is great.  The week is almost over and the pay is great - the chant repeated in his mind.

She held in her hand, between her fingertips, that old Montblanc pen she bought herself after her first big story broke.  She hadn't used it for years but believed it was the key to her next big ticket.  Of course, the doodles on her page didn't translate to her next big paycheck.

Before arriving home, he stops at a local liquor store to buy the beer that will get him drunk the fastest and for the least amount of money.  A necessity, he thinks, if he is to endure such coldness again tomorrow.

He rolls a joint before leaving the parking lot - this to prepare himself for all the commands of his wife once home.  He takes the first hit not long after he leaves the parking lot.  The first of many.

A page full of doodles lay upon the page as she brushes her teeth in an attempt to hide the smell of cigarettes.  Frantically, she sprays perfume and flushes the toilet to dispose of the butt.  A deep breathe fills the empty space and a tug to straighten her shirt sets her in motion to start dinner.

She peers down into the empty sink and realizes she forgot to lay out the meat for dinner.  Knowing it is too late to thaw now, she hits the number three on speed dial for takeout Chinese.  A distinctly American voice answers and she realizes her mistake - Chinese was four, three was the stress relief she was trying to give up.

He arrives home significantly more stoned that he wanted to be.  Trying desperately hard to hide it from his wife, he yells his hell while walking directly to the shower.

The shower loses him for far too long and his wife opens the door with hushed anxiety.  "Are you drunk or high?"

"Both," he answers while his wife shuts the door without a word more.

She springs to life when the door rings - perfect timing, she thinks as she ponders where she wants her story to go next.

He gets out of the shower and sees a notepad open upon the table, full of drawings and no words, next to a bag of Chinese food.  She is in the garage speed dialing number three.

-Dustin S. Stover

Kindle: Happiness in a Void of Darkness
Nook: Happiness in a Void of Darkness

Just Another Day at the Office

Susan, like always, beat me to the office.  It never seems to bother her that she beats the boss every day.  She deserves a raise.

I settle down in my chair after grabbing my cup of coffee from the break room, of course started by Susan as soon as she got in, and just enjoy the aroma.  Then, it happens, the real start of my day.

"..That's when I found out she had been cheating on me.  It was with an old coworker.  Apparently they had been... screwing.. God, just thinking about it makes me want to vomit... they had been doing it since I worked with him.  That was twelve years ago.  Twelve years of the two of them fucking... The two of them doing it behind my back... like... how did I not know?  How?  Just... I don't know how I was so stupid...."

"Before I got busted with all that coke, I mean, I was on my way up to being a big time executive.  Who gives a fuck if I was snorting coke like it was candy.  I mean, who gives a fuck?  I was fucking productive, man.  I tell you, I could work circles around every other fucking clown in that office, but no... no, I get fired.  I get fired because they found some white powder in my office.  Fuck them, man.  Fuck them in their assholes."

"I don't really know how to say it... I mean, I know he and I had an agreement.  I know we were supposed to do it together, but... I just couldn't... and I just... watched.  I didn't know what else to do.  I just watched, and cried.  I don't know what is worse, that it was the first time I saw a boy touch himself and it brought me to tears or if it seemed to make him more excited... Am I always going to cry when I see a guy touch themselves?  Do you think I'm a lesbian?"

I go into the break room for a refill on my cup of coffee, but I notice the back door is propped open by a little block of wood.  I walk to the door, open it, and find Susan taking a puff of a cigarette.

"Mind if I take a drag of that, Susie?"

"I didn't know you smoked."

"Yeah... You're right.  I guess today wouldn't be a good day to start, either."  I used my foot to put the block of wood back against the door frame before gently resting the door against it.

"My wife tells me I just make bad choices.  I mean, no fucking way, right?  It isn't my fault if I blow ten grand at the poker table. I mean, fuck, I could be on a winning streak and then, bam, wrong bet.  Shit, that's all down to luck.  It isn't a bad choice, it just means my lucky day hasn't struck yet."

"He touched me in my private parts.  That's what mommy told me to tell the police officer.  That's what I told the police officer."

"I blame it all on my mom.  She is the one who didn't teach me how hard life would be.  She let me have my favorite blankie in bed with me until I was 12!  It is her fault!  It is all her fault!"

"...I don't really know how to come to terms with it.  Every time I close my eyes, I see his hands wrapped so tightly around my wrists that my hands are going numb.  I can see outside my body, and I see my mouth screaming, but no sound is coming out.  I see his grin as he... I just..."

"Look, doc.  Are you a Doctor?  Did you earn that PhD?  Look, I don't belong here.  I don't have a problem.  It is just the fucking courts.  They ordered this shit.  If it weren't for them, I wouldn't be sitting here right now."

"I just pray every day and hope things get better, but nothing is changing.  My prayers just aren't getting answered, but maybe that just means that God's plan for me is to suffer like this.  Maybe God just wants me to suffer for all the sins I've committed in the past.  Maybe that is why he isn't answering my prayers."

"I bet you just doodle all day long in that notebook of yours.  Seeing patients day in and day out, have that little notepad out pretending to be jotting down bullshit about your patients."

As they say this, I am just doodling.  It is the fifteenth time this patient has been in here and it is the fifteenth hour he has spent accusing me of doodling in my notebook.  It is now the eighth time I've actually doodled in my notebook.

"I... I know I am so quiet.... my wife tells me all the time that I need to talk to her, just talk... but... I don't even like to order food at the fast food drive through.  She says that our sex life is boring and she wants to spice things up by wearing sexy lingerie.  I don't know how to tell her that I want to be the one wearing it...."

"Well, that ends our session.  If you see Susan at the.."

"Yeah, yeah.  I fucking know.  Susan.  Front counter.  Next appointment."

I close my notebook.

"Have a good day."

I pour out the remaining bit of coffee into the break room's sink, watch the black liquid form a small puddle near the drain, refusing to join the rest, and then twist the knob to force the water to wash the puddle away.

Just another day at the office.





Written by Dustin S. Stover

Displaying Love Accordingly

How does a couple overcome differences in showing love?

For the sake of saving time, I won't go into detail about the languages of love - for more research in the area do a quick google search of the five languages of love.  It is pretty self explanatory.

So what happens when the two people in a relationship have different languages they speak?  First, of course, is that if you display love by giving gifts and your spouse needs physical touch as their form of love then the spouse may well not ever feel that you don't display that you love them.  It could even push the loved one so far as to feel unloved.

The easiest way to bridge this gap is to, of course, listen - the most vital part of a relationship is communication, the two way communication - but listening isn't enough as it also requires action to change the way you display your love.

This brings about an important question - why shouldn't the loved one change the way they feel loved.  After all, if you're buying gifts for them then it is their responsibility to understand that is how you show you love them.

But, by default, love is to appreciate the other person as much as, or more, than yourself.  Therefore, in order to show that kind of respect and appreciation it is the one displaying the love's responsibility to ensure that the loved one feels loved.

Of course this goes deep because sometimes it is so against our nature.  Maybe you struggle being physical and that is the way your loved one desires to be shown love.  Maybe you can't afford that beautiful necklace, but that is what she wants.

As with all things worth doing, they are worth putting in an effort for.  A lot of this - financial situations aside - just requires thought and consideration before making an action.  Ask yourself before making the action, "what would my loved one want?"  "would they prefer this fancy meal or would they rather take a long walk holding hands under the stars?"

This obviously has to work on a two way street, as well.  What good is a relationship where only one person is displaying the love?

-Dustin S. Stover

Kindle: Happiness in a Void of Darkness
Nook:   Happiness in a Void of Darkness

Being Afraid of Love

Love is arguably one of the most dangerous things a person can do.  True love, that is to truly say that another person is equal or more valuable than yourself and to value your time with that person more than anything else.  To feel as though no amount of time is going to be enough time with that person.

So naturally, there are people who fear that kind of feeling.  They may not ever know that feeling for whatever reason - which, I used to believe that everyone knew this feeling at least once in their life but have recently met an individual who seems to have never grasped that emotion.  It has piqued my interest as I've begun to try to understand why.

See, most people fall in love when they are young, before they ever know who they are or what they want out of a partner.  This leads to the obvious inevitability of forcing a relationship to work, or making more sacrifices and compromises than would ever truly be healthy, or to the ending of a relationship and the forcing of self discovery.

To never fall in love, though.  How does one slip through that grasp?

The best answer I can come up with is the inability to love.  There are several reasons behind this, though.

Let us start off with the superficial reasoning - abuse of substances.  Without going into the various theories of why people become addicted to substances I will simply say that when someone abuses substances it blocks their ability to care for other people in any substantial way.  It is like wearing a mask to hide from all the real emotions one might feel if that mask is removed.

As I'm thinking about people who abuse substances I am also confronted with a correlation - those with the second reasoning, at least those in which I have personal experiences with, also suffer from substance abuse.

Which leads me into the second reason - selfishness.  People who focus in on themselves as the only thing, or major thing, that matters cannot possibly see an equality of value in someone else.

This naturally leads into more questions - questions that I will explore at a later point in time.

For now, feel free to share your experiences of someone being incapable of loving, whether it be you or someone you know.

-Dustin S. Stover

If you enjoy my writing and would like to see me continue doing so, please click the ad on my page or purchase my short stories linked below.

Kindle Version: Happiness in a Void of Darkness
Nook Version:   Happiness in a Void of Darkness

Compromise

I've been told my countless people, and even believed myself, that compromise was the most necessary part of a relationship - well, that and communication.  What if, however, that is wrong?

I am going to step away from relationships and go to work for a moment.  We all work and we all do things in our job that compromise our work, whether it be wearing personal protective equipment that we find to be unnecessary and make our jobs variably more difficult or if it is forcing us to work a schedule that conflicts with our natural sleep cycle.  We can all relate to that feeling of compromise for a paycheck.

The problem with compromising for a paycheck is that it almost exclusively leads to resentment for the work we do.  Maybe you love everything about your job other than that one person you have to work with every Wednesday - you're going to hate going into work every Wednesday.

How does this relate back to relationships?  Well, it is quite simple.  In order for the vast majority of us to alleviate that feeling of loneliness by being with someone else, we must compromise.  Sometimes it is something minor like not going to that one restaurant you love because your spouse hates it.  Maybe it is something more major like being forced to give up your favorite hobby.  Anyway you look at this, it has a similar affect as those compromises for a paycheck.

In order for us to get laid we have to compromise with the one we love, but is that really the best solution?

One day is going to come when you're, again, going to that horrible Chinese restaurant - you hate Chinese in this case - to please your spouse once again and all you can think is, "why the fuck am I always giving up going to that Italian restaurant so they can have their Chinese.  I mean, I'm going to have the shits tomorrow and the worst that will happen to them at the Italian restaurant is they dislike their food as much as I'm going to dislike mine tonight.  How can they not see my sacrifice?"

An easy remedy for this goes back to something I touched upon at the beginning of this blog - communication.  Talk it out and hopefully a resolution can be had, but what if it can't?  For this mental exercise we will assume talking has already happened and nothing has changed.

See, at this point every reader is thinking, "I KNOW!  RIGHT!  I HATE that Chinese place!"  Or just pretend you're saying that.

By the time the dinner is over, even if you don't notice it, your mood towards your loved one has grown more distant.  Hardly the healthy outcome.  Maybe it is such a small disconnect that you two still go home and practice your sexual fantasies on one another, or maybe when they roll over and try to put you in the mood - possibly even as a thank you for appreciating them for that horrendous Chinese food - you simply can't partake.  "Not tonight, honey.  I've got a headache," you'll say before rolling over and focusing on just how much you hate Chinese food as your stomach is growling with even more discontent than your brain is telling you to feel.

There is a multitude of compromises made every day in a relationship from small to large, but perhaps the easiest solution for the atrocious Chinese food is for you both to go to different restaurants and take it home to eat together at the kitchen table.  Bam, no compromises made and everyone goes to bed with a happy tummy.

Other situations are not nearly as simplistic.  I will take on the hobby aspect of this.  Maybe you love wood working, but your love hates the smell and is a much more modern house decorator.  The chairs you've made throughout your life, the desks, coffee table, and tv stand all need to be thrown out and sold because, well, your love hates them and wants that smooth black and metal finished product to match the robot feel of the living room and kitchen.

This can obviously upset even the most stable of people.  You can try talking this one out, maybe you take one room and decorate it with your hard work, maybe you take the whole house and they hate it, or you sell all your hard work on craigslist for pennies on the time you spent making it and you get sent into a deep, dark depression feeling like the things you value most in life are meaningless to the one you love.

Any of the options above are a really tough spot to be in since it will most certainly render a split in the two involved.  Suddenly it becomes a matter of forcing things that should never be forced.  Perhaps, then, the better option is to just find someone who appreciates the time and effort you put into it - maybe that is one of the things they even love about you and they wish to become very active in creating those amazing pieces of art.

Maybe the two of you can outgrow that outdated wood look and move into modern sculpturing to decorate your living quarters.

Compromise is a very tricky thing in a relationship.  Once you start compromise it is very hard to see where it will end.  A little bit here and there is alright, but when does too much become a breaking point and can no longer bridge that gap?  That, my dear reader, is up to you to decide.

-Dustin S. Stover

As always, you can find my collection of short stories for sale on Kindle and Nook at the following links:

Kindle: Happiness in a Void of Darkness
Nook:   Happiness in a Void of Darkness

The Most Pleasant Poem I've Ever Heard

There is a touch of sadness in your eyes right now.  You're talking about bad times through them, the things you've seen, and the things you've felt - whether directly or indirectly.

There floats an invisible ripple for a moment as I start to see a glimpse into something you don't want me to see.  We both acknowledge that I know it exists but before conversation goes any further the topic has changed.

A bubble forms out of your words, a never ending stream of happiness.  I believe it to be caused by our mutual enjoyment of one another, but I'm certain that you could find happiness in anything.  It is a part of you.  It is you.

Like the child with withered and torn clothing, too poor to eat meat from the market and survives on fruits and vegetables alone, yet even in the rainiest of rainy days he still finds himself outside dancing to invisible sounds and kicking a paper ball around the street.  He knows things could be better for him - how could he not - but he still finds a means to be happy.

And that's what your lips tell me while you speak.  They tell me there is happiness where the average person can find none.  Even if it is just your head hitting the pillow at the end of a long, hard fought day.

The trouble comes when our eyes lock.  The rest of the world floats away and it is just us.  I forget that I don't like it so much here, I forget that I work a job that pays me the least I've made in my adult life.  I forget that I have a past or a future or a present, for that matter.  All I can do is focus on your words, taking them in, absorbing what I gain from you.

And then you do this little dance in the sand.  Even though it is in the dead of the night, the hotel lights illuminate you as you laugh at yourself for being silly.  I don't see silly, though.  How could I see silly?

I see life.

And that, my dear, is why you're the most beautiful, the most pleasant poem that I've ever heard.

-Dustin S. Stover

Indulging in Experiences

I want to explore the different methods in which a couple can experience things together in this blog post.

Firstly, you have the obvious one.  The experiences that the two people mutually enjoy.  Maybe it is going rock climbing - which, this one has an added bonus of improving trust as well as the experience itself causing two people to grow together.  Maybe it is a concert for a band both companions enjoy.  Maybe it is fishing or whatever, just so long as the two people mutually find enjoyment.

But, let me dig in a bit deeper.  There is, of course, complications with this - at least, possible complications.  Maybe one person enjoys rock climbing because it clears their mind, it forces them to focus on one thing and making a break from the stresses of every day life.  The other person, however, could like the challenge of it - the ability to constantly get better at doing this.  Right away we can see the possibility of conflict in the mutual enjoyment.  One person tries to turn it into a competition with the other, the other person simply wants to escape stress.  

Of course, two people can meet in the middle on this as well.  Maybe that competitive nature of their significant other takes them even further away from their stresses.  Maybe they both slow down enough to just relax from it all.

There is another kind of experience that should also be discussed.  The kind of experience in which one person enjoys the experience and the other simply goes along in support.  Now, I could throw in my personal experiences into this mix; however, I'm just going to rattle off the various outcomes I can fathom from this scenario.

One would have the obvious side effect of the partner enjoying themselves as well.  Maybe it is from the sight of how much their loved one enjoys the situation or maybe it is due to finding out they have quite an interest in their experience.  This is the most pleasant outcome I could imagine.

Another outcome would be apathetic.  They really don't care.  This could easily be predictable behavior, it could create a divide between the couple, or it could render an apathetic nature as well.  I'd imagine that under the right circumstances it could even be a welcome response - perhaps you don't want your significant other to do said thing with you as you feel it is your alone time.  

Any way you spin the second method, though, it is far more enjoyable than the last response.  The final fundamental response I can imagine is a distaste for the experience.  Going back to the rock climbing, imagine how miserable you'd be if you were the one who enjoyed the rock climbing and your partner complained about it the entire time.  Or better yet, imagine being the one who hates it so much that you just wish the whole nightmare was over already.

This is easily the most divisive response.  Not only would it put the one who dislikes the experience in a bad mood (imagine spending 8 hours on the side of that mountain when you hate it), but that body language is going to feed into the one who'd normally enjoy themselves' bad time.  It is quite easy to imagine how resentment could grow from this - the mindset that, "well, I did this for you so what are you going to do for me?"  That kind of feeling is never positive in a relationship where respect and value is placed highly on one another.

Can you think of any other fundamental response to shared experiences?

-Dustin S. Stover

For more reading pleasure, check out my collection of short stories!

Kindle: Happiness in a Void of Darkness

Nook:   Happiness in a Void of Darkness

What People Need in a Relationship

I recently read an article about what women need in a relationship. It got me thinking that men are equally needy in a relationship but those needs get overlooked. Beyond men being equally needy, men and women often times need the same things.

After reading the article I posted a link to a social media site which got a few comments. I noticed that the comments all repeated a similar statement – men just need food, beer and sex. I happen to know this is false because I'm a man and don't drink alcohol at all.

I have compiled a list of things below that are universally needed in a relationship with some male only needs for good measure.

A person in a relationship needs to know you love him. It goes beyond just saying the words, too. Show them you love them and they will return that sentiment.

People need active support in his decisions. Anyone can say, “yeah, honey, I think it is a good idea. You should do it.” It takes a different kind of person to help the loved one figure out payroll in their new found company.

Space. Too much space is as damaging to a relationship as too little space and every person in the world requires their own amount of space.

They want to be understood. You don't have to know exactly what to say in any given situation, but they want you to have some degree of understanding where they are coming from at any time. You may not understand their excitement over a new pair of shoes or a pool table, but you should know that they will react that way when they get it.

People want to feel special. Why do you love the other person? There are millions of reasons why someone can fall in love with another person, but why do you love the other person? Once you've figured that out then learn to express it. Is it their intelligence? Do they make you feel safe? Can you open up to them entirely? Let them know.

Everyone wants to feel sexually desired. The way someone wants to feel sexually desired is as individual as the person, but everyone wants that feeling. Whether it is through raw lust, intimate passion, dominated or subordinate. The moment the other person stops feeling sexually desired then the sex life diminishes.

We all want our pasts to be accepted. We made mistakes, and every one of us are a work in progress in some way. It is the human way to evolve our personalities throughout our life and in order to do that we must make mistakes along the way. Some will be a doozy, some will be shrugged off as though they don't matter, and others really won't matter but we all want the other person to understand that we're not there any more.

Last, we all want a future with the one we love. I do not know of anyone who gets into a relationship and thinks, “this is it. My life can end tomorrow and it is perfect.” We all want to experience that future with the loved one otherwise we wouldn't be in the relationship. That means growing together through experiences. When the experiences stop then the life with that person becomes dull. Everyone needs a different amount of experiences as well, so again this all falls back on understanding your partner.

Lastly, and this goes primarily for men, we need bacon. Bacon is great. Men love bacon and always appreciate it when a woman makes us some.

What is Love?

I recently asked some people what their definition of love is, but before I get into a long monologue about that here is the actual definition.

Love (noun): An intense feeling of deep affection
          (verb): to feel a deep romantic or sexual attraction

So, yeah, about as basic and non-descriptive as possible.  So now let me go into a philosophical spiel about the things people told me.

On a more simplistic and basic level, I got the answers that would immediately spring to mind - to care about someone, a great and positive feelings towards someone, and I even got the, "I don't know, it is just love."  Of course, these answers really don't lead anyone to a conclusive feeling any more than the definition does.

My favorite thing someone came to me with was a poem by Luis Vaz de Camões (this being translated from Portuguese)

Love is a fire that burns unseen, 
a wound that aches yet isn’t felt,
an always discontent contentment,
a pain that rages without hurting,

a longing for nothing but to long,
a loneliness in the midst of people, 
a never feeling pleased when pleased, 
a passion that gains when lost in thought.

It’s being enslaved of your own free will;
it’s counting your defeat a victory;
it’s staying loyal to your killer. 

But if it’s so self-contradictory,
how can Love, when Love chooses,
bring human hearts into sympathy?

So, finally, we reach some depth.  Some real, true, meaning.  

And when asking myself this very same question - what is love? - I could only come up with one thing, one answer that fit with me.  Love is the feeling that there will never be enough time with that person.  Whether it is a minute or an eternity, the feeling that tomorrow still won't be enough time to embrace the person but even knowing that time is limited, as we cannot exist for an eternity, it is still worth it to spend what little time together that can be shared.

Now, of course, we all think of love as the epitome of how much we care about someone else, or an action of staying loyal to someone.  Eventually, even, love just melts away into what two people say to one another because of the length of time spent together, but I dare you, my dear readers, to rethink that.  Next time you look at someone you love, or you used to love that still inhabits your space, think to yourself - think to yourself about what you want to do with that person.  Think about how much you'd miss them should they not be seen again tomorrow.  Remember that, at least at some point, you felt that there would never be enough time in your life to spend with them and ask yourself, has that changed?  Have you ever felt that way about another person?

What does love mean to you?

-Dustin S Stover

The Dangers of Insecurity

A recent event got me thinking quite deeply about insecurities and, more importantly, how they cause actions that are, well, less than desirable.

And of course, I've touched upon insecurities in the past - how important it is to be secure in yourself as a person, to know your strengths and weaknesses.  I won't ever neglect that importance as it seems to be the foundation of being a healthy human being.

So let me get into more detail about insecurities.  First off, they always stem from feeling as though value is lost somewhere.  They, of course, are the ones who have all the right to decide your value in their life and not you.  The moment you place your own insecurities in front of their judgment, it is to say that you don't trust them to judge you.

Yeah, yeah, go on your tangents about how people shouldn't judge - and I don't believe the typical judgments are fair, to say that because you dress or look a certain way is to mean you fit a certain criteria is unfair to any and all - however, everyone has to judge the moment someone is to enter their life in any substantial manner.

I'm guilty of being extremely cerebral.  I have a very strong tendency to try to understand anything and everything I can, but I'm also guilty of having quite cloudy judgment of how other people perceive me.  This should come as no surprise to anyone who has laid in bed at night wondering why someone else likes them or what have you.

To get back on topic, though, let's look at some of the actions that can be caused by insecurity.

A most prominent action is to question the other person's motives.  This can go into a variety of directions - are you looking to gain something from me, are you genuine in your interests, do you really care at all?  So on and so forth.  This mindset always ends badly.  For obvious reasons, it sets someone on the defense or offends them.  At the very least, it makes the insecure person seem less desirable because they appear to be rather emotionally unstable.

Another common one I've witnessed is the controlling type.  I'm sure a number have seen this overly common type.  The type who tells their significant other what they can and cannot do.  The type that makes them feel inferior in every way just to compensate their own lack of value - after all, if they do everything the insecure one desires then it must mean they love them, right?  Well, obviously not always.  Most of the time it ends up being psychologically devastating and no one wants to spend tens of thousands to undo the damage of being put down for, possibly, decades.

A third type is the one that shies away from interactions.  Perhaps a girl is interested in a guy, the guy doesn't understand why so he avoids her.  Passing up on all experience with the other person altogether.  This feeds into an even deeper problem where the insecure one starts the vicious cycle of feeling undesirable because they don't experience a relationship the way other people do so they don't take up the opportunities to explore a relationship when it presents itself.

In all of these cases, however, the core problem is the insecurity itself.  It should not be relied upon anyone else to make the insecure individual feel secure.  In the cases in which there are questions in regards to where two people stand with one another, it should be discussed in a healthy fashion.  If that insecurity in the relationship or friendship still exists afterwards then there is a fundamental problem inside the relationship - that fundamental issue is trust, but that is a topic I've previously discussed and, I'm most certain, I will discuss again in the future.

-Dustin S. stover

A Short Story Dedicated to Someone Nice

I shrug my shoulders at the end of yet another date.  A meaningless, trivial date that goes nowhere in a hurry and finds itself sitting at that place of nonexistence yet trying to force something to grow.

She looks at me and asks me how I feel about the weather.  I look at her and tell her it is hot, sweltering, and close enough to Hell that it would easily be mistaken.  We both laugh as she agrees, but the conversation, again, falls flat.

And at the end of the night we go our separate ways.  We parked near one another so we did an awkward walk in silence in similar directions until we end the short stroll by saying it was fun - it wasn't - and that we should do it again - we won't, but we agree upon it anyway.

Once I sit in my car, the sound of John Zorn's barely considered music playing in the background, I let out a sigh and think about how, yet again, I've led another friend to their perfect match.  Yet, of course, I can't find anyone that sits well with me.

I suppose at this time I should reflect back a bit into my past.  See, I moved to this suck fest of a town a few years back.  Desperately searching for a place through various shady websites, I finally met someone who didn't creep me out.  The room mates name - Peter.  Well, it was Pete, but he introduced himself as Peter at first.

Pete was the type of guy who had a genuine heart but couldn't really express himself effectively enough to win someone over well enough for a second date, but there was a girl I worked with that had a bit of an awkwardness to her.  After schmoozing it up a bit during the work shift, months of schmoozing, it dawned on me that Pete and the coworker - Ashley - had a lot in common.  

I asked Pete how he felt about throwing a bit of a house party and he got excited to bust out some old board games he had never gotten a chance to play.  I asked some coworkers.  He asked some friends.  It turned out to be quite the event - that's a total lie, actually.  It was five people sitting around a house, casually drinking beers and trying best to make conversation even though we had nothing really in common other than work.

Well, except Ashley and Pete.  They spent the entire night talking.  In fact, she ended up spending the night on the couch that night because once their conversation ended she was too tired to drive home.  

When the lease for that house ended, Ashley and Pete got their own place and back to the shady internet I went.

I had a string of bad experiences.  A room mate who decided that three a.m. was the perfect time to clean house using, I'm fairly certain, a sledgehammer and chainsaw.  I lasted a couple weeks before I found myself in another house.  The second place was listed as a straight laced, no frills kind of house.  What I got was a complete stoner who always had company.  It was a good thing my job didn't do random piss tests as I'd have failed by second hand inhalation alone.  I lasted a little bit longer by staying for a couple days more than a month.

Then I found myself roomed up with a girl.  I'm not going to lie, she was quite attractive.  I was afraid initially that I was going to make some kind of move on her and ruin everything but we soon discovered that we didn't care at all for one another romantically.  Something about our personalities didn't mesh that way, but we became good friends.  

Jamie was her name.  She became a sister to me, but when I moved in she had just went through a pretty rough break up.  She was engaged to a guy for almost a year, and dated for four years prior to that.  Typical story of walking in on him with her best friend.  Well, not so typical considering it was actually her mom and not best friend.  And her dad was watching.  Talk about weird stories.

Jamie went up and down with it.  Not only did she lose her lover, she cut her folks out of the picture, too.  

As she was getting emotionally stable again, however, I found myself introducing her to a guy I was trying to start a band with.  Tommy.  

Now, Tommy is a guy that when you look at him all that you can think is tattooed freak.  Piercings, tattoos, scruffy beard, long hair.  Jamie, on the other hand, was an understated kind of beauty.  No tattoos, no piercings, raised relatively conservative - probably why we'd have never worked out - and someone you'd never peg to be into a rock star.

It happened, though.  To be fair, Tommy is one of the nicest guys in the world.  The band didn't work out - all because of my lack of motivation - but Jamie and Tommy sure as hell did.  They are married and just adopted their second dog.  They also just bought their own place, which means I'm back out.  She still doesn't have any tattoos or piercings, though.

I've had my fair share of dates throughout that time - even had a bit of sex, too.  None of them stuck, though.  A crazy girl who, on a first date no less, asked me how I felt about knives being used during sex.  Another girl fell asleep while we were on a coffee date.  One girl lacked the intelligence to hold a conversation about anything deeper than the latest chick flick she watched.  

I finally met one I could talk to, hold conversation with.  Actually, it filled me with hope for the first time in years.  Then I found out she was married.

The sex that came and went was only ever so-so, but that is because, as everyone should know, great sex comes from emotions and comfort.  That's something that no amount of talent can replace.

And now here I find myself, once again, ending a date with a someone, while I'm sure is a perfectly good person, I have no connection with. 

I start the move in process for my new place tomorrow.  Another single room mate.  Another match made in heaven coming up.  It just won't be mine.

-Dustin S. Stover

For my collection of short stories, click below.

Kindle: Happiness in a Void of Darkness

Nook: Happiness in a Void of Darkness

The Glue that Binds

I've seen a great deal more relationships than I could ever count.  We all have, really.  Whether it be the beginning of a relationship where a couple holds hands across the table or does that overly annoying sitting on the same side of the booth nonsense or it being the couple that has clearly been together for so long that they don't even care to make eye contact while they eat.

What, then, can make two people stay together?

I've put quite a lot of thought process into this question and I've boiled it down to two very distinct things - dependency and connection.  They aren't mutually exclusive, and most of the time a couple doesn't need but one.

As an example, I've seen relationships that the two fight incessantly, have no positive communication skills at all, don't even share the same interests, yet they stay together.  I've been close to couples like this, close enough to hear both sides of their stories and gotten quite a good feel as to why each one stays.  From this, the central point is that they depend on one another.  Sometimes that dependency comes from emotional security - knowing someone will be there.  Other times it comes from financial dependency - life is expensive for a huge portion of people.

Obviously this comes with an inherent grouping of problems.

The connection side of things, those long conversations about nothing and everything all at once.  The little experiences, like that hole in the wall restaurant, becoming some grand story symbolic of the love for one another, and all of those other small details that grow into massive lumps of butterflies in the stomach form into the connection we all crave.

That one sounds like the obvious winner of the competition of gluing, but is it?

Now, let me dive into exploring the consequences of each.

In the dependency corner, it can give one person more of an edge than the other - especially if one person is dependent on the other for tangibles.  The person in control of the commodities will gravitate towards feeling as though they are the more important role in the relationship, naturally.  It then becomes increasingly important for that person to become aware that they are choosing to stay in the relationship for a reason - they, too, are dependent on that other person.

Exploring the emotional dependency, then, we find that it becomes much the same power struggle.  For simplicity's sake, let's say a female becomes emotionally dependent on a male.  The male, at this point, can use that power to degrade the self esteem of the other person, to the point that it then becomes a feeling that they not only want the emotional support but feel they can't get it elsewhere, either.

The connection corner comes it with some pretty severe consequences as well.  For one, it can become quite addictive, yet when that entry level connection wears off and the day to day life starts reducing those hole in the wall restaurants to a simple meal it becomes easy to translate that to losing interest in the other person.

There is also the downside of, if the relationship ends, having to go back to those places and remembering the events that transpired - I still can't go to one of the coffee shops I used to frequent without being reminded of that fireplace lit conversation, just the two of us sitting there and the owner dimming the lights, making it look closed for all but us.

Anyway, communication is the real problem solver here.  It is equally important for all parties to know why the two of you (or three, or four, or more in some cases) stay together.  Not always will someone like to hear it.  It will always open the door to real conversation about things, though.

-Dustin S. Stover

Space and Distance

We all know those couples.  Those couples we see out and about, holding hands constantly, giving one another those super awkward glances of lovey dovey butterflies in your stomach that are sure to fade away within a month or two.

And like those puppy love induced romantics, we all know the couples who sit at a table together not even making eye contact.  The two have grown so stale with one another that not even the hand of God could swoop down and push them together.

I like to imagine they are all the same.  That old couple got its start being lovey dovey and vomit inducing romantics, but then I have to dream up a story that gets them to the point of misery and intolerance.

Usually the stories go something like this - the two smother one another until one has had enough.  The other keeps pressing to smother the other which makes the first start resenting the other.  Before you know it, ten years have past but they are totally dependent upon one another.

So what, then, could help this situation?  I believe space would be a good place to start.  Instead of two people smothering one another, why not give enough space to let the other person figure out the real you... or you figure out the real them?  Hurling one's self directly into the eye of the storm will never give an accurate portrayal of the other.

This, of course, should obviously be regarded as a delicate tight rope walk.  How much space is enough?  How much is too much?  This, of course, has the obvious answer of there being no definite answer.  Every person is different and needs drastically different things.

For example, I would be on one extreme of the spectrum - needing a lot of space.  Someone smothering me will get locked out of my life faster than they could say, "hey, what do you want to do for dinner?"

In fact, that is why a few of my relationships haven't worked out so well.  Go figure.

This will also change with time - people always need some space, even if they've been with someone for decades.  Maybe a week long fishing trip with the friends where the significant other isn't invited.  Maybe a spa trip.  Maybe just a nice long drive.

I think that having space is important for a multitude of reasons.  For starters, it allows two people to start missing one another.  I don't mean missing in the sense of them being lost, I mean it as a sense of missing the things they do - maybe the way they laugh, maybe the way they sign their name, maybe the way they make your favorite meal, it really doesn't matter what it is so long as it matters.

It also gives an individual the ability to process.  Maybe there was an argument that happened a month ago that had been laying dormant in your mind and it gives adequate time to delve into it, find out why it bothers you, and more importantly, understand their perspective.

Plus, it is just good to spend some time away to refresh.  A lover should never feel like a burden, but it is impossible to be around someone constantly without feeling a loss of individuality.  Refreshing the center of self can be empowering.

So then how much distance should there be in that space?  Well, again, that is a person to person basis.  Maybe it is just being in the garage while the other is inside.  Maybe it is going on a month long trip to Canada.  Maybe it is a six month hike through the Appalachian Trail.  Alright, that last one is probably pretty extreme and may end in divorce.  Use with caution (or take them with you.  That could be quite a fun experience!)

Any way you look at it, space and distance should be accounted for in every healthy relationship.  It could also say something pretty important about your relationship if you never feel satisfied with the lack of enough space.

-Dustin S. Stover

Kindle: Happiness in a Void of Darkness
Nook: Happiness in a Void of Darkness

Honesty and Why It Is Better to be So

Why do people lie?  There are times, sure, in which the person doesn't get caught, but what benefit does it really have to lie?

Humanity has a strong tendency to try hiding things from others by lying about it.  Hell, everyone does it.  It is pretty well ingrained into ourselves from the time we're born - whether it be to put on a facade of Santa Claus for children, giving money for lost teeth under the name of the tooth fairy, to the stories our parents read to us, all the way to our parents lying to us when explaining why mommy and daddy are yelling at one another (or any other subsequent event that would have a negative impact on perception of mommy and daddy together).

This, of course, never ends well.  A child learns that Santa isn't real, or the tooth fairy, and dreams get shattered with lighting speed.  We discover that, hey, our parents have some pretty serious arguments and, upon reaching that first major argument we have with our significant others, we realize they, too, are just human.

Essentially, being a teenager and early adult ends up being the harsh reality that we've been lied to our entire lives, but since it is all we know then how do we escape it?  Of course, this is where I interject and say, "understanding is the first step in the journey to resolve."

That isn't what this blog post is about, though.  This post is to point out some pretty major flaws in lying and how it impacts all those around.

This brings me to the act of lying.  Let's say, as a completely hypothetical, someone has made actions they are none-too-proud of - like eating a cake when they are claiming to be on a diet or cheating on their significant other.  Well, it is easy to understand why they wouldn't want to fess up to the action.  A whole fucking cake?  That's insane.

But then, you ate the cake.  Someone, somewhere is going to be wondering what happened to that box of cake mix.  What do you say?  Well, you don't want them to know so you say you threw the box out so you wouldn't be tempted.  Your significant other, the one you're lying to, believes you.  Cool, you've succeeded in eating that giant fucking cake.

But wait - the day after you ate the cake, and before you turned the dishwasher on to clean those dirty dishes, a friend was over and put their wine glass into the dish washer.  What did they see?  They saw that glass cake pan with the remnants of a cake on it.

Now, weeks, maybe months later that friend is over, hanging out with you and your significant other and something is brought up about cake.  That guilty conscience of yours is suddenly kicked into overdrive and, bam, you have to announce once again that you haven't ate any cake in 6 months or better.  The problem is,of course, no one brought up your lack of cake eating.  The friend, remembering in that very point in time, perhaps mentions the cake pan they saw that fateful day.  Maybe they don't, though.

It should be noted now that if they don't mention that cake pan then the situation is far worse.

If they mention the cake pan then suddenly you have to make up a new lie.  Perhaps, oh, you made a cake for a coworker but it wasn't the same cake mix - it was a cake mix you went out to buy after you threw the other one away.  Maybe you make up a lie about how it wasn't icing plastered on the side of the cake pan, it was something that resembled it.  Maybe you deflect and blame it on your significant other.

Anything that happens, however, everyone in the room is now noticing something even if they don't realize it.  They are noticing that you're acting off.  You're acting as though you're in on a secret that you're trying to convince everyone else that it isn't a secret.

Let me take a step back.  Let's assume that the friend doesn't say anything about the said cake pan and let me explain why the not mentioning it is the worse of the options.  If the friend doesn't bring up the cake pan they very obviously saw in your dishwasher, well, that means, quite simply, they have lost trust in you to tell the truth and simply have no desire to hear any more of your lies.

Now, back to the scenario of it being brought up - perhaps you get away with it.  The cake pan is dropped and no one has caught the fact that you just lied.  The problem is that they now noticed your actions being odd.  Maybe it didn't register, but from that point forth, every time your actions resemble those actions it will be related back to you acting funny.  Eventually, and this is an obvious one at this point, it is all going to link together - provided you stay in the people's lives long enough.  That eventual event is going to cause them to think about all those times - well, maybe not all, but enough.  Now is when your significant other loses trust in you.

Of course, how can your significant other talk to you about it?  You lied about eating a whole fucking cake, for fuck's sake.  Confronting you about it is obviously just going to lead to more lies and even if you come clean at this point, well, how would anyone know if you're omitting more of the truth?  Saying that you only ate part of the cake is a lie when you know you ate the whole thing.

Now, typically the people outside of the situation, but around it enough to witness it regularly, will catch on far sooner than your significant other.  They don't have the same kind of emotional ties.  Understandable, but then who do you have to turn to when your significant other leaves you?  None of your friends trust you, and if they do then they are probably just as untrustworthy as you are.

And there is the real shame in lying.  It isn't getting caught.  It isn't the fact that the whole cake is gone and you ate it all.  The shame comes when you realize just how alone you are and the only person you have to blame is yourself.  Eat the cake, just don't hide the fact that you did it.  Let those around you judge you or not judge you accordingly.  You'll find that those who accept the fact that you ate the cake make you feel far less alone in the world than those who just believe that you never ate the fucking thing in the first place.

-Dustin S. Stover

For my collection of short stories, find the digital copy below:
Kindle: Happiness in a Void of Darkness
Nook: Happiness in a Void of Darkness