The Story of the ToyMaker



“I am not a murder!” Shouted Charles. “I love my children! I love them all! Release me!” He screamed in cries that progressed into whimpers and he babbled. “I read her bedtime stories,” he muttered as the guards hauled him away. His last moments of coherency dribbled out of his mouth, “My son wanted to be like me. That is all he wanted. Is that too much to ask? God save my soul!”

I watched them haul my good friend Charles away where, he would be tortured and ultimately, face the guillotine. The present reader of this story might think me cold to allow Charles to be carried away in his reduced mental state. However, there is something that the reader must know- a commoner like me can make no comments in regards to what is right and what is wrong. Had I spoken they would have hauled me away alongside him. Yes, perhaps I should have intervened before Charles reached this point of madness, but I didn’t. Plain and simple. Let me tell you the story of Charles.

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Is Your God My God (PART II) TITLED: The Rantings From a Morally Corrupt Minister.       

preacher smoking

    The office was empty and had been for many hours as I tried to think of a story that was profound enough to last centuries. I wanted to be an author, and I wanted to tell a story to end all stories. Truth- any success as a writer was welcomed. However, my pen remained stationary.

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What is the Light in Your Life ?

what lights your life

Charles was having coffee with his minister. Of course, his mom prompted this meeting, and Charles only agreed to meet him to stop her nagging. He was 16 years old. “I cannot believe that there is an entity out there that created me. That is just what I think,” Charles says with glazed eyes. Even though he had his second cup of coffee in his hand, his minister was like a lullaby at bedtime. This conversation had been going on for 45 minutes, and it went in circles as the minister talked. “Charles, there is a God, and he loves you. He is real. He is as real as you and I. If you could accept him, he will be the light in your life.” Charles looked the minister in the eyes, and he says with confidence and a morbid tongue, “And yet those who do not accept him will burn in hell for all eternity. Yes, that indeed sounds like a very loving God. It is easy for those who are fortunate to accept him, but my life is not one of fortune. My life is one of darkness.” Charles adds menacingly, “Complete and total darkness. He does not light my world.” Charles stands up and throws down a five dollar bill for the coffee and leaves. The minister just looks onward with a troubled face and bent eyebrows, but Charles had no desire to listen to the minister spin the same shit over and over- like the spinning of a dryer- “The circle of life.”

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soup kitchen

    Charles stared at the television screen in the group home, but he had no idea what he was looking at, he just stared. He was high, and in fact, he was always high. No man would want to reflect on the life and terror he had experienced- drugs eased the emotional turmoil. It was people like Charles that I never could convict for using drugs. In fact, on some level, I supported his drug use. Why? I think for some people- drugs are the only happiness that they will ever obtain. Charles had a story that drained his soul until there was nothing in it but darkness. Darkness was all he knew. If drugs could be a light in his dying world- I supported it. There was a time when happiness and joy filled him like candy in a pinata. But also like candy in a pinata- it would be beaten out of him.

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Losing a Love and Losing Your Mind

painted black

    Charles sailed down the interstate. He was 38 years old, but he felt like he was 18. Even with his receding hair, he was a handsome man. In fact, he worked out at the gym three times a week and would run on the treadmill for an hour. His wife had nagged him to exercise after his doctor warned Charles that cigarettes and fattening food would be his downfall. His wife began to fix healthy dinners and- no- he did not like them at first, but Charles would grow accustomed to the food.

   His life was excellent. Everything was perfect. The keyword is “was.” Before long he would make partner in his firm, and his wife was pregnant with their first child. It was a boy and although he told his wife he would be happy with a boy or girl- the truth was he wanted a boy. A boy he could go to baseball games with, spend nights telling him scary stories on camping trips, a boy that would love working on cars, a boy he could talk to about girls… yes, he felt blessed. He held life by the strings. He was listening to the rolling stones when his cell phone rang. It was his wife, and he answered the phone, “Yes Dear.”

    “Charles,” she said in a troubled tone.

    “What is it dear?” He asked.

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Who I Am is NOT Who I Want to be: Falling in and Out of Love

mens weding ring.jpg

  I now sit in my penthouse as I toy with a silver ring. It was my wedding ring. My eyes fixate on the silver band, and I turn it sideways as I read the inscription, to my true love, Max. It would’ve been our ten year wedding anniversary. Exactly one-year to-the-date that he left me. I walk to the fridge and opening it; I pull out a 200 dollar bottle of champagne- Dom Perignon from the refrigerator. Although I had never cared for the champagne, it was Matts favorite. Let me explain how I find myself in this predicament- alone- on a ten-year anniversary,  nursing wounds that should have faded into the past. However, first, let me pop the top. I pour myself a glass and head to the balcony of this lavished suite. This cozy penthouse cost a nifty penny… and I think that is where it all went wrong… my success… my success as a homosexual.

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Losing the Love of My Life

guy at bar

I guess what bothers me the most is knowing that I will die with nobody batting an eye. Perhaps that sounds selfish- but the idea of dying alone has made me a regular customer at this bar. The only person who might notice my absence is the bartender that I tip generously. There will be others that will tip graciously and in time- I will be entirely forgotten. Is this God’s way of punishing me for something I now believe might have been my own choice? Or perhaps that is the liquor talking. I toy with my drink- my eyes glazed and wandering- as memories turn in my head like a photo album- my thoughts continue… Heterosexuals have the privilege of relying on their children, while I- I have nobody to depend on- nobody. I know there will come a day when I reside in a hospital bed- completely and utterly alone. Being alone in those moments is what scares me the most, and I have been alone most of my life. Even in this bar- surrounded by alcohol hungry customers as conversation flows as carelessly into the air like cigarette smoke- even now- I feel alone. My mind always replays the footage of the only person that understood me- the only person I loved- the only person who never left me on the roadside. I never felt alone with him…

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The Red Rose


  It was the 1960’s, and France was flourishing. Their economic growth was, on the rise, as the French had a great boost in their economy. Throughout the past several decades France had become increasingly powerful. In fact, during this period, they would succumb to the largest population of their nearby European allies, as their cities grew and they became wealthy. The French are commonly thought to be snobbish, by the accounts from those who wander the streets with maps and questions. The truth is- they like to enjoy life and having Americas peddling around their streets, as they ask residents for guidance to tourist landmarks- it would wear on the occupants- much like it would any flourishing city that wanted to exist peacefully. The French believe in moderation, and they also believe that life should be taken with strides. They are not accustomed to working endlessly- like Americans- No, they found relaxation was essential to a healthy and happy life. They worked hard and played hard.

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ChainSaw Charley


ChainSaw Charley

Sweat was dripping down his chin as he cut through the power line pole. The chainsaw ate the post- wood was spitting into the air- The power line pole groaned as it fell into the streets- the wires snapping. “No more light for anybody! Nobody can see in the darkness! Now you understand?!” Charles screamed as he stumbled blindly to the next pole. The chainsaws serrated blades rotated in a fury of madness as he tore the next power line pole down- much like the last- it began to lean until it finally toppled over- sparks jumping as the wires split. The neighbors were outside watching- the police would be there soon. Not a single person was going to try and talk any rational into a man wielding a chainsaw dangerously into the air- stumbling- as he screamed maniacally, “How will you see without light?” As people heard his insane ranting, it became apparent that he had lost his mind. Children were guided inside by their parents and told to lock the doors. Eventually, most of the adults would retreat to the safety of their houses while they looked from their living room windows as Charles continued in a fleet of madness. You could hear sirens in the distance.

  However, you might find interest in knowing exactly how this event came to transpire. Charles was- by all accounts- a happy man- a man that was always friendly, and he was a teacher at a nearby middle school. Although Charles may seem like a monster in this moment of insanity, you will see that most people considered him a victim. Let me explain:

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My Misery is Diluted by Coke and Rum


          A mist of rain began to fall as I parked my blood red Chevy truck in the driveway. I cast my half opened sunken eyes upward towards my two story house and wondered when I became so jaded about my life. In all honesty- it is not that big of a mystery. When our last child moved out of the house- the laughter vanished like birthday candles being blown out in a dimly lit room. The only noise was between my wife, and  I.

My kids have their own lives- they live in other states. In fact, they only call on holidays and birthdays- if that. Every time I talk to them, they promise they will visit home soon. Of course, I get my hopes up only to have them shatter. I think they do not realize they were shattering more than hopes- they were shattering my heart- and if my children did understand this, I guess I was nothing more than an old picture in a photo album- I was in the past and they were living for the future. Still- I gave them the best years of my life.

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