Topic: A house like mine...

James Roe

Date: 2013-04-24 19:15 EST
http://i1203.photobucket.com/albums/bb384/flybandit/JamesRoehouse_zps4a9278ab.png

James sat quietly in his home, looking about at the vast expansion of rooms. Eugene walks in with a glass of white wine "Sir, something wrong?"

"Hmm, no Eugene. Well, Simply the fact I built the home around the idea of it being a social home for everyone to come and enjoy themselves, enjoy good food, expensive drinks, meet other people, to enjoy a good life. I had a home much like this in New York..."

Eugene sat down gently, He had heard this story a million times too, but a million and one never hurt anything.

"It was larger of course, had a dock where I parked my Hydroplane and my small sailboat. Never really liked to go out over the sea, too slow for men like me. I like to soar in the sky. Anyways the home I had was very similar to this one. Dozens of rooms, plenty of guest space, huge library, large kitchen with direct access to the wine cellar, everything a man could want. I hosted lavish, lavish parties almost nightly. Hundreds of people came! It was oh so much fun. " James smiled a bit and looked around "I should start hosting parties here. Eugene I will need to get in touch with a few places so I can host the parties. "

"Yes sir" He sprung up and went for the phone.

James took a sip of the white wine, still sitting there as he muttered "A house like mine is built for parties."

James Roe

Date: 2013-04-29 20:17 EST
A house like mine is where soldiers drill, dust till dawn. A house like mine is where business is held. A house like mine is where old demons still lurk.

James got up early one morning. He never got up before dawn, but something had stirred him in his sleep, which had left him staring at his ceiling for many hours that night. Getting out of bed just as a bird screeched loudly sent him to the floor, ears covered and eyes on the sky. He whimpered as if mumbling some unheard pray to God. When death nor injury came he stood up, eyes widened to look around the room in a blur as he stumbled about. Eugene wasn't up, so he just trudged onward, the floor seeming like mud. Every now and again he ducked his head as if trying to dodge something coming towards him.

To the room in the library he went. Opening the oak door and shutting it quietly behind him. Eugene was his friend, not an employee, as such he made sure to take care of him, which meant he got a good amount of sleep, often times James would wake up far before him and cook both of them breakfast.

In the tiny room he went straight for his rifle that hung just over the head of his seat, he grabbed it and brought it to arms quickly, in the British style. He was an American yes. A full blooded American. But his family, at least most of it, lived in Britain. The second he saw that his home country was off to war he faked his passport to say he was a citizen and went straight on over to join in the military. He fought for all five years of that god forsaken war. He was drilled to a fine point.

Drilled in such a way that's where he found comfort from everything. Rifle to shoulder, in front, spin once, then twice, the pop it, then back to shoulder, take aim, shoulder, repeat. For until daylight he did this. Over and over with a soldiers rhythmic. He never talked about being a soldier, nor did he flash around the fact he was always armed, he kept it hidden so he could focus on his business, which is why this little nook in his library was where he kept his past, locked away for him and Eugene to know about, that is all.

As dawn broke he moved to the kitchen where everything became business as usual. Pots and pans placed onto the stove, eggs cracked, bacon sizzled, waffles cooked, syrup warmed, oranges juiced, everything was normal. Eugene awoke and walked down in his Pajamas "Good morning sir. I see you wanted a hardy breakfast."

"Yeah." James replied in a single word.

"Another nightmare James?"

James frowned and nodded "all night, plus i was back in that hell hole. The damn bird made me thing and artillery shell was landing on my head."

"How long did you drill sir"

"too long."

James Roe

Date: 2013-05-02 00:16 EST
A house like mine is where words are not cheap. A house like mine is where skills are refined and talents are found. A house like mine is where sleep is rare and nightmares are common.

James woke early to catch his meeting with one of his managers. However that morning things were not going well. He had gottten little sleep and hardly any time to rest. He cooked breakfast as he normally did this early. Everything was normal except the fact that he had to get dressed earlier then he normally did. But not a single complaint escaped his lips.

The call, however, changed much of his attitude this morning. Meeting canceled. A gentle, non career ending curse escaped his lips as he now stood alone in his house. Eugene had plans. James had plans, but they got cancelled, which left him home alone until atleast 1 pm.

What could a man do with such time. What he wished he could do all along, try to sleep.


Only a few minutes passed and he was awaken by the screams of those long forgotten. Awoken to the cries of pain and the tears shed over lost comrades. The sounds of guns blasting away at an unseen enemy far away. Sounds of the screeching shell coming in far to close for comfort. James jolted up gasping for air.

"only a nightmare." He cursed the air with his words.

He stood and moved to head to the small nook in his home where his history was stored, but found himself trailing out to his back yard. He looked about it silently before deciding to do some hedge trimming. A skill he picked up when he first started working in Rhy'din.

Soon his hedges were perfectly squared off. He was out of things to do, since the business was set to run itself. He had lost his talent. He had lost himself.

James Roe

Date: 2013-05-13 01:17 EST
A house like mine is where guns are comforting. A house like mine is where explosions are music. A house like mine is where silence is filled with whimpers.

James shot up in his bed, gripping at his bare chest under the covers. "Just a dream... Just... a...dream..." He swung his legs out and placed them on the floor as he ran his hand through his hair. "Where is that poem.... I read that... where is it..." He had seen something in his dream. A poem.

Murmuring, it sounded something like this:

"The Human tragedy.

The constant rocking.
Back and forth.

He wanted to follow the call of the whistle:
?up and over? boys.
But his gaze was lost in the blackness.
His breath rasped and hushed by whimpers.

His young cheeks were white washed under the mask and
Blood.
His blonde hair was stuffed under the helmet and
Sweat.

The shells pounded against the dugout,
Deafening the second whistles rally.
But men streamed past him shouting
?We?re breakin? through
Today??

He clambered to his feet,
Knees buckled,
Hands trembled.
But on he trudged, out into the sea of lime.
Bullets sped past.
Screams filled the air.
?up and over? he went.
Only to find himself embracing the mud,
As if it were his mother?s arms."

He fumbled and stumbled around towards his room. Every few moments he stopped and looked around at the slew of books. Then he would simply fall and crawl, ducking around as if a artillery shell just went of next to him. He kept moving, and moving until he reached the door. Kicking it open and grabbing his rifle, hugging it to his chest. That night he fell asleep in a ball, rocking with his rifle back and forth.