TO BE CLEAR: I was informed afterwards that he and his girlfriend are both contributing, but I am too lazy to change the title.
Pat and I go back a very, very, long time. He was in a band that I played a lot of shows with when I was in All Cut Up at “The Parking Lot.”
In fact, he and I have such a long and strange story, it is hard to come up with one story about what to write.
I guess one of the more innocent things we did was that we used to go get soft drinks at a corner store between our houses, sit on parking stones, and discuss our views on society, music, and life. Yeah, that was fun! Let’s talk about that!
Oh, he was also my guitarist while I was in The Twin. I guess that was important. Especially because he, Steve and I created that band out of random jams we had for about five years prior to actually creating the band. It was interesting because we all came from very different influences, but had a mutual respect (mostly) for what everyone was into.
To keep on topic, the first time he came over after I got out of hospital was awkward and hilarious. He came walking into my parents living room about one week after I finally got out of hospital. In a thunderous voice, I said “Well looks who’s finally coming in here- showing off their two legs. Walking and shit.”
Though he laughed, I did not hear from him the next couple of days. I assumed that I offended him in some way- as if he did not know my horrible sense of humour. When I did get through finally, I found out that he had been horribly busy and the furthest thing from offended. In fact: he barely heard what I said. Jokes on me, I guess.
I digress. Pat is one of the few people who understands me on several levels, even though he is somewhat an enigma to me after all of these years.
I have rambled on about him and completely avoided talking about Becca. She is lovely, but I do not have any interesting or hilarious stories about her. Yet.
What I can say is that I have known her for a very long time and I hope that, someday, we will have some sort of interesting story to tell. Maybe something involving offending old people, or tackling people, or making really crude cripple jokes at my expense.
SIDE NOTE; He mentioned the story about dragons, so now I will launch into something completely fictional because I really want to.
It was cold. The trees were all still, as if they were anticipating something. Pat lay in wait for the serpent to fly overhead. It was the season that they were waking from a six month slumber.
“I trained for this…” He repeated this line over and over to himself, trying to psych himself for the task of defence that he has accepted. He knew that he would either survive the onslaught, or die in an anonymous blaze. Other than the other guard, no one knew that he was outside the city boarders.
He blew into his hands, praying that his breath would be enough to warm his hands. His sword was leaning up against the trunk of a tree, ready for a quick retrieval if one was needed. His armour was little more than leather, hastily strewn across his body. He hoped that it would be enough.
Suddenly, the wind picked up. He could hear a low groan pass over the land he was in. A sound similar to a drum being beaten could be heard in the background. It was coming.
Pat grabbed for his sword, checked over his body for weak points, and moved into what he thought was a fighting position. He was far from trained for this; he was far from ready. He had started to sweat though he was chilled to the bone.
The cries become louder and Pat starts to feel his heart racing. He tries to keep his breathing slow, but he can feel his body reject the very notion. He wants to panic. He needs to panic. He will not let it happen.
With a mighty crash, the dragon lands not two hundred feet from Pat. He readies his blade and lets out a mighty scream.
Pat starts to sprint.
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