OryxTheCrake

http://betabeat.com/2013/05/department-of-homeland-security-shuts-down-dwolla-payments-to-and-from-mt-gox/

It seems like a twisted argument on human nature.

OryxTheCrake Two Down CHARACTERS Mayumi Isamu Hiroshi Susumu SCENE: February 1945, 179 American B-29’s armed with napalm and incendiary weapons punish the Japanese. One quarter of Tokyo is burning. The smoke is thick; burnt rubber and wood fills the air. Bodies fill the streets. Day in and out, the sounds of screams and moans – pain and anguish – pride and perseverance; the remaining people of Tokyo flood the streets, putting out fires, helping women and children, and the elderly. [Clack! Clack clack clack clack! Clak clak] Hiroshi: Mom, stop, I’ve got it. Mayumi: [takes the hammer from Hiroshi] you’re just like your Father. Never listen! Hiroshi: Don’t talk about him that way! I miss him! Mayumi: [looking straight into his intelligent, dark little eyes] I’m afraid I’ll lose you too, like Isamu! Mayumi: [pointing at a jagged board on the ground] Pick that up Hiroshi, and nail it to the window. Hiroshi: [looking about for his friend] Have you seen…. Mayumi: [grabbing for his shirt, but he’s too fast] Don’t even think about it! [Mayumi thinking aloud… I cannot lose him; he’s all I have… Tears welling up as images of Isamu flood her mind] Mayumi: [whispering for herself] There are others that need help. It could have been worse. Hiroshi will return. He just lost his Father. He’s coping. Hiroshi: Susumuuuu! Susumuu! Su! … SUSUMU! Want to do it again, like yesterday? Remember, I had the helmet first, so that means I get the sword today! Right? Susumu: Eh, I don’t feel like playing that today. Besides, I didn’t bring the sword or the helmet – we’ll have to play samurai some other day. Hiroshi: [disappointed, shoulders slump, head tilted down. Shooting his eyes through his long black hair] Fine… Susumu: I’ve got it; let’s go to the top of Mount Jinba! If we set out now, we’ll be there by nightfall. Hiroshi: No way! My mother will kill me! Susumu: Nah, I’m 16 years old. I’m practically your older brother. I… Hiroshi: [cutting him off] First of all, you’re only 14 and you have a bad leg. Do you really think you can make it? Susumu: After the orphanage burnt down, all my records went with it – I can be any age I want! [Sticks his tongue out at Hirsohi] [Hiroshi kicks Susumu’s bad leg and tackles him to the ground] Hiroshi: You could be Genghis Kahn for all I care, I’ll take you down. [A little smirk forms at the corner of his mouth] Susumu: [getting up, dusting himself off] Nice new boots! They’re shiny like your Fathers. Good tread, and strong shoe laces. Come on! Are you ready to go? Let’s test out your new combat boots! [Hiroshi and Susumu collect some things, and head out for Mt. Jinba] Mayumi: [whispering for herself] It’s a miracle… a miracle… [Sweat dropping from her smooth nose, and hitting the dusty floor. Walking onto the deck of her house, and heading inside; insulated, and comforted by her belongings in the house, she smiles at a picture of Isamu on the wall] Mayumi: It’s… It’s as if nothing has happened. I must keep the household together; you’re a disgrace to the family. [Muttering to herself] Tisk! [Cracks of light shown through the boarded up windows, rays catching dust on its way in, illuminating it against the dark room; the sun is setting on japan] Susumu: [waving to Hiroshi] Come on, I’ve got a bum leg, and I’m still beating you. Hiroshi: You may have a bum leg, but they’re longer than mine; you take big steps. Susumu: Come on, the sun is setting, don’t you want to see Tokyo from on high? Hiroshi: Almost… [Preparing rice balls, and potatoes; Mayumi tends to kitchen duties] Mayumi: Just a little more. Hum, hmm, hmm… [Humming as she cooks] Hiroshi should return at any time. He’ll be so excited to see his father. [Dumping carefully measured cups of dirt and rocks into her wok] Mayumi: Just a tad more… Hmm, hmm. [Adding grass clippings from outside] Hiroshi: Wow… look what’s happened. All I see is fog and little fire flies. Susumu: That would be smoke from fires. Not fog and fire flies. [A faint humming sound in the distance. Rising gradually, like a bow is being dragged against a deep bass string; from an imperceptible note, to an obvious hum] Hiroshi: You hear that Susumu? Susumu: Yeah, it sounds like many planes. It’s too dark now; I can’t see a thing… [In the distance over Tokyo, planes drop flares into the pattern of an X] Hiroshi: Oh no, something is going on. Susumu: It’s spotter planes. They’re marking targets. They did this last time! [The humming sound stops Mayumi in her tracks. She drops the bowl she was holding. It tumbles, and smashes on the floor] Mayumi: [Suddenly, like a shock from a defibrillator; Mayumi is back in reality] Where’s Hiroshi? He never returned! Mayumi: [Running out of the house, and into darkness] HIROSHI!!! HIROSHI!! COME BACK!! [Kneeling in the middle of the dusty street, sobbing] Hiroshi… I cannot lose Hiroshi… [Charging down the mountain like a billy goat. One foot in front of the other, making leaps and skids, Hiroshi makes his way down the mountain] Hiroshi: [Yelling aloud] I’ve got to warn my Mother, they’re coming! [The deep humming transforms into a thundering roar. Rising and falling with every passing bomber. Lights up ahead, and all around, illuminating the smoke; the scene is like fire and lightening] Mayumi: [In the middle of the street, alone, kneeling and holding herself, sobbing. Lights from the bombs touching her face, exposing the dust and grit on her skin. Once a young woman, now haggard by war] Hiroshi! Hiroshi: Mom! Is that you? [Approaching with speed, nearly tackling the dark mass in the middle of the road] Mayumi: Oh, my love! [Holding each other, crying] Hiroshi: We must get out of here! [The temperature is rising. Sweat dripping from both of them, they hold each other tightly. Bombs igniting objects left and right of the road, Hiroshi attempts to pick up his mother] Mayumi: [Rising to her feet, legs shaking] Come on, hold my hand, we mustn’t wait! [Heading straight down the road, desperately seeking escape, Mayumi grabs her only son and runs as fast as she can] [BOOM, Clack, clack… screech!!!] END SCENE: Susumu makes his way off the mountain, in search of his friend. Hours go by. Without standing landmarks, places are hard to find. Charred remains, smoke, and smoldering bodies littered about; no sign of Hiroshi. Just as he was about to give up, something shiny catches his eye. Pushing over an adult body, Susumu discovers a small human frame. Charred, blackened, unrecognizable – wearing shiny black boots… Susumu: HIROSHI!!! On the nights of March 9-10, 1945, 339 B-29 bombers dropped over 1,500 tons of bombs on Tokyo, Japan. Roughly 100,000 people lost their lives, and millions homeless; making this event more deadly than Desden, Hiroshima or Nagasaki as single events.

OryxTheCrake Two Down CHARACTERS Mayumi Isamu Hiroshi Susumu SCENE: February 1945, 179 American B-29’s armed with napalm and incendiary weapons punish the Japanese. One quarter of Tokyo is burning. The smoke is thick; burnt rubber and wood fills the air. Bodies fill the streets. Day in and out, the sounds of screams and moans – pain and anguish – pride and perseverance; the remaining people of Tokyo flood the streets, putting out fires, helping women and children, and the elderly. [Clack! Clack clack clack clack! Clak clak] Hiroshi: Mom, stop, I’ve got it. Mayumi: [takes the hammer from Hiroshi] you’re just like your Father. Never listen! Hiroshi: Don’t talk about him that way! I miss him! Mayumi: [looking straight into his intelligent, dark little eyes] I’m afraid I’ll lose you too, like Isamu! Mayumi: [pointing at a jagged board on the ground] Pick that up Hiroshi, and nail it to the window. Hiroshi: [looking about for his friend] Have you seen…. Mayumi: [grabbing for his shirt, but he’s too fast] Don’t even think about it! [Mayumi thinking aloud… I cannot lose him; he’s all I have… Tears welling up as images of Isamu flood her mind] Mayumi: [whispering for herself] There are others that need help. It could have been worse. Hiroshi will return. He just lost his Father. He’s coping. Hiroshi: Susumuuuu! Susumuu! Su! … SUSUMU! Want to do it again, like yesterday? Remember, I had the helmet first, so that means I get the sword today! Right? Susumu: Eh, I don’t feel like playing that today. Besides, I didn’t bring the sword or the helmet – we’ll have to play samurai some other day. Hiroshi: [disappointed, shoulders slump, head tilted down. Shooting his eyes through his long black hair] Fine… Susumu: I’ve got it; let’s go to the top of Mount Jinba! If we set out now, we’ll be there by nightfall. Hiroshi: No way! My mother will kill me! Susumu: Nah, I’m 16 years old. I’m practically your older brother. I… Hiroshi: [cutting him off] First of all, you’re only 14 and you have a bad leg. Do you really think you can make it? Susumu: After the orphanage burnt down, all my records went with it – I can be any age I want! [Sticks his tongue out at Hirsohi] [Hiroshi kicks Susumu’s bad leg and tackles him to the ground] Hiroshi: You could be Genghis Kahn for all I care, I’ll take you down. [A little smirk forms at the corner of his mouth] Susumu: [getting up, dusting himself off] Nice new boots! They’re shiny like your Fathers. Good tread, and strong shoe laces. Come on! Are you ready to go? Let’s test out your new combat boots! [Hiroshi and Susumu collect some things, and head out for Mt. Jinba] Mayumi: [whispering for herself] It’s a miracle… a miracle… [Sweat dropping from her smooth nose, and hitting the dusty floor. Walking onto the deck of her house, and heading inside; insulated, and comforted by her belongings in the house, she smiles at a picture of Isamu on the wall] Mayumi: It’s… It’s as if nothing has happened. I must keep the household together; you’re a disgrace to the family. [Muttering to herself] Tisk! [Cracks of light shown through the boarded up windows, rays catching dust on its way in, illuminating it against the dark room; the sun is setting on japan] Susumu: [waving to Hiroshi] Come on, I’ve got a bum leg, and I’m still beating you. Hiroshi: You may have a bum leg, but they’re longer than mine; you take big steps. Susumu: Come on, the sun is setting, don’t you want to see Tokyo from on high? Hiroshi: Almost… [Preparing rice balls, and potatoes; Mayumi tends to kitchen duties] Mayumi: Just a little more. Hum, hmm, hmm… [Humming as she cooks] Hiroshi should return at any time. He’ll be so excited to see his father. [Dumping carefully measured cups of dirt and rocks into her wok] Mayumi: Just a tad more… Hmm, hmm. [Adding grass clippings from outside] Hiroshi: Wow… look what’s happened. All I see is fog and little fire flies. Susumu: That would be smoke from fires. Not fog and fire flies. [A faint humming sound in the distance. Rising gradually, like a bow is being dragged against a deep bass string; from an imperceptible note, to an obvious hum] Hiroshi: You hear that Susumu? Susumu: Yeah, it sounds like many planes. It’s too dark now; I can’t see a thing… [In the distance over Tokyo, planes drop flares into the pattern of an X] Hiroshi: Oh no, something is going on. Susumu: It’s spotter planes. They’re marking targets. They did this last time! [The humming sound stops Mayumi in her tracks. She drops the bowl she was holding. It tumbles, and smashes on the floor] Mayumi: [Suddenly, like a shock from a defibrillator; Mayumi is back in reality] Where’s Hiroshi? He never returned! Mayumi: [Running out of the house, and into darkness] HIROSHI!!! HIROSHI!! COME BACK!! [Kneeling in the middle of the dusty street, sobbing] Hiroshi… I cannot lose Hiroshi… [Charging down the mountain like a billy goat. One foot in front of the other, making leaps and skids, Hiroshi makes his way down the mountain] Hiroshi: [Yelling aloud] I’ve got to warn my Mother, they’re coming! [The deep humming transforms into a thundering roar. Rising and falling with every passing bomber. Lights up ahead, and all around, illuminating the smoke; the scene is like fire and lightening] Mayumi: [In the middle of the street, alone, kneeling and holding herself, sobbing. Lights from the bombs touching her face, exposing the dust and grit on her skin. Once a young woman, now haggard by war] Hiroshi! Hiroshi: Mom! Is that you? [Approaching with speed, nearly tackling the dark mass in the middle of the road] Mayumi: Oh, my love! [Holding each other, crying] Hiroshi: We must get out of here! [The temperature is rising. Sweat dripping from both of them, they hold each other tightly. Bombs igniting objects left and right of the road, Hiroshi attempts to pick up his mother] Mayumi: [Rising to her feet, legs shaking] Come on, hold my hand, we mustn’t wait! [Heading straight down the road, desperately seeking escape, Mayumi grabs her only son and runs as fast as she can] [BOOM, Clack, clack… screech!!!] END SCENE: Susumu makes his way off the mountain, in search of his friend. Hours go by. Without standing landmarks, places are hard to find. Charred remains, smoke, and smoldering bodies littered about; no sign of Hiroshi. Just as he was about to give up, something shiny catches his eye. Pushing over an adult body, Susumu discovers a small human frame. Charred, blackened, unrecognizable – wearing shiny black boots… Susumu: HIROSHI!!! On the nights of March 9-10, 1945, 339 B-29 bombers dropped over 1,500 tons of bombs on Tokyo, Japan. Roughly 100,000 people lost their lives, and millions homeless; making this event more deadly than Desden, Hiroshima or Nagasaki as single events.

I wrote a short story, inspired much in part by freedomain radio, that I thought I'd share. Enjoy... Hopefully [] Heavy Armor A long, long time ago… The sun was high, casting shadows as long as an old man’s beard. The day was getting old, too. Many different shapes and sizes, some small, some large, green stems with little leaves, catching rays of light and tossing it in all directions; the large ones had purple rims with orange centers, while the smaller ones were yellow, my father called them weeds. He would yank them from my hand, or squirt them when living on the lawn. Left for dead, they withered up, and the wind blew them away. When my Father came home, he had a signature sound. I could always feel the car in my chest; reflecting on it, I’m not sure if it was loud, or if I was anticipating some grave evil. When his car thudded over the curb, slammed to a stop in front of the house, the car door would swing open, creaking all the way, followed by the sound of empty cans beating the ground; he was drunk, again. “I told you Mace Cowart” – heavy on the cowart, making it sound like coward – “I told I aint rais’n no sissy boy FAG!” his red face would spew; speckles of beer tainted spit would slap my 12 year old brow. “If you gonna play with flowers, you can join home ec and become a girl.” Although he never struck me, his words tore my soul to shreds. From that point on, I decided to protect myself. …”Ha, ha… watch this” I said. Forcing the wadded up - soaked in spit piece of paper into the straw, THUD! “Ha, ha!”… Weasel Jimmy as I called him, grasped the back of his head with his narrow hand, fragile bones and tendons reflecting whatever light was in the dimly lit room, turned around and shot me a wincing look. “Mr. Cowart! Out of my class this instant!” Mrs. Franken, my science teacher yelped. The red, well-worn public school door slammed behind me, practically losing more paint with every closure. My armor is becoming thick… …”Yes, that’s what I have selected. Sure, yes. I like its culture. Thank you!” I worked my tail off to attend that college. My mother always said I’d become something, and I had to impress my father. We’d share stories about where I’d take them after I made my millions; how fun. This was the same year I meet my wife, Maude. She, like I, was a business major. I fell in love when I turned around to watch the closing door slam shut before her, “ha, ha, thought you’d sneak in.” I said. Her face pierced the glass, nearly burnt it down, gave me a look I hadn’t seen in years; absolute power… …The same year my son Kindle was born, was the same year my father died. It was a terrible year. Had I known he’d grow to be a sissy, I’d of doubled down even more… …”Mace, you need to cut him some slack. He’s just a little boy; didn’t you enjoy painting when you were young?” Maude, with her open face, and stupid expression beamed up at me. “If he wants to be a sissy boy, he can join the girl scouts!” my scotch drenched breathe, pounded back. “Little Kindle is gonna go to college, and become a stock broker like his old man. He aint no flower collecting, painting, home making sissy boy!”… …On Kindle’s 17th birthday, Maude and I got into it. She shouldn’t have pushed me, she knew better than to make me that mad; if she’d just shut up about Kindle, it wouldn’t have happened… …My armor was thick by now, many layers added every year; as people pushed, and I punched back; I added another layer. Since Maude fell down the stairs, I hadn’t seen my son in over 40 years; when she died, Kindle didn’t say a single word. He picked up and left. Last I heard, he’d become some sissy painter out in New York. Very successful, supposedly. Had a family, kids of his own… One’s perspective changes, I suppose, when the volume is turned down, the day to day grind halted, hovering over one’s self, like a dream. Starring down at an otherwise empty bed, some old man at its crooked center, that can’t be me. Where is my family? The room is empty, except for the occasional nurse who changes me, bathes me, and makes me clean. In the corner of the room is my baggage, and my suit-and-tie armor folded neatly, lying on an empty chair. Transparent tears falling from my fading face, starring down at that unrecognizably ugly man. Weathered by time, wrinkled by cigarettes and booze, alone because of armor; “I’m sorry…”