IT

Hey guys

This is just the beginning of a short story I've been working on. Let me know what you think of it and any ideas on where to go from here would be appreciated and taken into serious consideration!


Chapter 1:

IT didn’t know where it was. IT didn’t know what it was. It didn’t know who the men in white coats were surrounding the table, nor why it was strapped to the table, or much of anything, really. But what IT did know was that it wanted a drink of water.

IT decided that being strapped to a table was overrated, so it merely sat up, breaking the magnetically-sealed steel reinforced bands holding it like so many daisy chains. For some reason, all the…doctors, yes, that’s what they were, were yelling and screaming like mad. Perhaps they were in danger. But what could possibly threaten them in this….laboratory? Laboratory? Odd, it seemed like doctors should be in hospitals, not laboratories, thought IT.

Its thoughts were suddenly interrupted by an overwhelming pain in its…what was the word….oh yes, there it is: shoulder. Upon closer scrutiny, IT realized there was a tube inserted into its arm. In fact, there were several tubes, connected all over his body…wait a minute…his body. Well, no need for these, he thought, pulling them out of his arm. It hurt for a few seconds, but then the pain strangely vanished. He looked again and saw that his arm didn’t have any marks on it whatsoever; not even a small speck like when he got his smallpox shot.

Well, that’s…odd. I need a drink of water…

In the middle of the lab’s mayhem, he paused for a minute, just to review what he knew so far: 1) He was a he (somehow that seemed reassuring). 2) He was a thirsty “he.” 3) He was in a lab. 4) He was surrounded by doctors who seemed to be in danger. 5) Doctors belonged in hospitals, not laboratories. 6) He could apparently heal rapidly.  Lastly, 7) He had had smallpox shot at some point in his life.  A good beginning, he concluded. Men have started with less. Ah, 8) He was a man. At this rate, he shouldn’t have anything to worry about.

After concluding his list, IT (for he didn’t know what else to call himself) began to ponder the great questions of life: Who am I? Where did I come from? What am I? Granted, the last usually isn’t a great wonder to a great many people, but you’d be surprised. Maybe I can ask one of these doctors…they’ll surely know.

IT turned towards the nearest doctor and said politely, “Excuse me, but could you tell me what I am?” as nonchalantly as if you or I were asking for directions home. For some reason, the doctor only went white with sheer terror and in his haste to find the nearest exit, slipped on the liquid spilling on the floor from the IVs IT had taken out of his arm.  IT bent down to help the poor man and because the man seemed to be trying desperately to crawl away, grabbed the easiest thing available: the back of his collar. With no more effort than flicking a fly, IT lifted the man bodily off the floor with one arm and stood him on his feet. The man ceased screaming and merely stared at this seemingly Superman-like person holding him a foot off the ground. IT thought this was rather strange (when good manners dictated that the man should thank him) when suddenly an epiphany stuck him: Are they’re scared of me?

At precisely the wrong moment, while IT was holding a terrified doctor at arms length, men in green coats with… something… came rushing into the room. IT wondered what they were pointing at him for about half a second before realizing they were guns. Not only that, but in all probability, loaded guns.

For some inexplicable reason, in IT’s mind, time seemed to slow to a crawl. Bullets came out of the end of the barrels in a slow-motion flash of flame, coming in his direction. Without thinking, IT flew under the table, feeling the still slow-moving bullets whiz over his head. He came up three feet in front of the first man, who still had his gun pointed at where IT had been.

I’m moving faster than they can react, thought IT. Time hasn’t slowed down…I’m just speeding up…but how?

 IT grabbed the man’s hand, delivered a spin-kick to the small of his back, grabbed the gun as it fell to the floor without even looking, then pistol-whipped the guard. How did I do that? It asked himself, but had no time to answer – the second attacker was now dropping to one knee, spinning to face this new threat. As he watched the bullet come towards him in slow motion again, IT flipped backwards, letting the bullet travel under him and kicking the second gunman at the same time. This time he didn’t even ask himself how he did it. He was kind of beginning to take things in stride.

What now? IT looked at the two handguns he had taken from the …who were they…oh yes…guards. This is a Berretta 92F…accurate close-range weapon… And this is a Smith and Wesson model 5906… 9mm caliber…and I have no earthly idea how I know that… Why am I so thirsty?

By now, the room was empty, except for the bodies of the unconscious guards on the floor. Well, I might as well leave as stay here, IT decided, walking out of the room into the wide, white hall outside. Upon leaving the room, he noticed a plaque on the side of the door – “Biogenetics Computing Lab.”

Odd.

Russia Post 6: Ice Inside Your Soul

Hey folks

Well, today marks the return from yet another camping excursion, again to the quasi-autonomous republic of Adygea, camping on the shores of the White River. Steve took the kids first of all to “The Screaming Rock” named so because of the 25 foot or so drop to the flowing river below. Apparently it’s been a really rainy season, so the river was about 12 feet higher than normal, and about twice as fast. So with this comforting knowledge given by Steve, his kids (Madi, Cady, and Aubrey) all jumped in, followed by Rachel Fisher, Tasha Wilson, and Analea Thielke. Now, we guys were off course being chivalrous in letting the girls go first (it had nothing to do with hesitating about jumping 25 feet into a fast moving glacial river, I assure you). Once everyone else had gone, Caleb, Steve, and I all braced and jumped in.

I have swum in a lake on top of a Colorado Mountain. I have splashed in the Atlantic Ocean in the middle of December. I have been buried in a snowdrift above my head. I say all this to explain to you that I’m no wuss and that I have a very firm grasp on the concept of “cold.”

THAT was cold.

For a brief instant, I’m almost sure that my SOUL separated from my corporeal form and I could see my own body in the water. Then it came rushing back, with this intense feeling like a thousand needles were being jammed into ever square inch of my skin. Then I erupted from the water, gasping for breath, and attempting to swim to shore, as the current was taking me downstream and my hands were clenched into fists that refused to release themselves. I heard a voice screaming a battlecry that would have done the Mighty Thor proud. I suddenly realized that it was my own voice. So within a few moments of jumping into this river, I lost all sense of feeling, my motor skills, my breath, and my voice (I was hoarse for the rest of day).

So we pitched our tents and the next day, Steve and the rest of us set off on the rafts to go along the river. They were not HUGE rafts, only big enough for about 3 people, so I think the term “inflatable canoe” might be a better one. But Caleb, Jonathan Fisher, and I got in one, and Steve, Mr. Fisher, and Timothy Fisher were in the other. We rafted with fair ease, until we came upon one tricky part of the river, that had it been any other, drier season would have been no problem.

But it had not been dry and this was a problem. 

Caleb with the two Fisher boys... looking Awesome.

We dodged certain and possible pointy death at every turn. Trees with branches sharpened by the rushing water stood on the sides of the banks, which the rocks and currents endeavored to throw us against.

Well anyway, that’s what it seemed like… :P but there about Class 2 rapids with about two choke-points in the river that I put as a Class 3 rapids. It was a LOT of fun and you really had to stay on your toes to keep from tipping over. And everytime you hit a bump, FREEZING x20 water sloshed into the boat, drenching all passengers and sending us into the throes of hypothermia…. But we loved every minute of it! 

Steve & Christine Hayes , Terri and Matt Fisher

Russian Post 5: Bicycles: Transportation or Deathtraps?

Well, today not only represents Independence Day (Down with the British! Bring out your tea!!) but also it has been one full month since Caleb and I have arrived in Krasnodar.  

Well, probably the biggest of my adventures I can relate in Krasnodar (since Mt. Fisht) was taking my life into my own hands by venturing out on the streets of Krasnodar on a bicycle. That’s right folks, Kolya (A Russian friend of ours), Caleb, and yours truly took to the streets astride bikes. :-O.

For those of you who know me well, you will know that bikes and myself have less than an amicable relationship. In fact, I could say we pretty much hated each other. It’s kinda like having an evil ex-girlfriend that you can’t stand to be with but whom all your best friends hang out with all the time. But I stray from the point. For the first time in probably 3 years, I hopped on a bike and decided that I would face my past and DO THIS!

The resulting ride played out something similar to the plotline of one of the Final Destination horror flicks. Ever heard of Murphy’s Law? Yeah…

At first, just to get my guard down, the ride went smoothly; we were weaving our way through the traffic I have covered in a previous post, and the swarming horde of pedestrians that I am determined to dedicate a future post to. I actually succeeded in jumping a few curbs, which is quite a feat for me on a bike (please, hold your applause…stay seated, please…). Then, just as we got to just about the OTHER SIDE OF TOWN, it happened. For those among you who may not be well-versed in bike paraphernalia, the pedals (that’s those things you press your feet against to make it go) are supposed to remain firmly attached to the bike. Mine… didn’t. SOMEHOW, someway, the right pedal came unscrewed from bike and fell off. This is a bad turn of events. Fortunately, I was not around people at the time this happened. But I did lay my bike over mid-pedal, which was not a fun experience. But after finding a helpful Russian (another miracle) who loaned us a wrench and reattaching the pedal (quite firmly), we were on our way once again, with ignorant me thinking that the quip was “the thing that would go wrong for the day” and I could relax and enjoy the ride home.

I was wrong.

I WILL make a quick (and brief) comment about pedestrians now (to be expanded later). They’re CRAZY! Russia has crosswalks, same as anybody else, but apparently babushkas and stariki (translation: Old ladies and old men) think that they’ve lived so long, they can cross the street anywhere they FEEL like, and they can take forever to do it.

I digress.

This elderly lady then crosses the street in front of me… and calmly, I turn the handles of my bike to perform a standard “go around the pedestrian” maneuver. My handles turned, but my wheel didn’t….

:-/

Apparently the screw that affixes the handles to the wheel had come loose, and I could now turn the handlebars completely around, without so much as moving the front wheel… And now I am barreling down the street headed for an old lady.

Desperate, I reached into my Bag-O-LifeSaving Tricks and concocted a brilliant getaway plan: I threw my weight to one side, sending the bike crashing to the ground, with myself still firmly planted in the driver’s seat. (Word to the Wise: The designer that decided that the seat of a bicycle needs to be that skinny needs to be drawn and quartered. When your gluteus maximus slams on that thing hard enough… it can lead to major pain in posterior regions. Just sayin’.)  Now I have successfully avoided the elderly lady (who incidently, kept on walking; I’m not 100% sure she was even aware that I crashed my bike directly behind her) INTO the SIDE WALL of a building.

For those that doubted before, I CAN actually hit the broadside of barn. With my face.

We succeeded in jury-rigging the handlebars (with American Boy Scout skills) and made it safely home without further incident (like any more was needed).

I’ve decided that my obituary will almost inevitably read, “Traveled the World. Braved Many Dangers. Had Many Adventures. Killed by Bicycle.”

Do Svidaniya, my friends! And Happy Independence DAY!!!

Russia Post 4: Birthdays and Mountainsides

Soooo.....
The weekend was spent driving out to the nearby republic of Adygea, to climb one of the tallest mountains around... Mt. Fisht. The ridiculously short Wiki article can be seen  here. But anyway, we drove for about 3 hours with 13 other people, including Caleb and I.

So we get there, suit up with our backpacks and set off on what would turn out to be the MOST GRUELING TRIP OF MY LIFE (bar none). Don't get me wrong; it was beautiful, breathtaking even. These are some of the most impressive mountains I've ever seen. At the beginning, we were stopping every 5 minutes to take photos.... But then.... the ground began sloping up, and Up, and UP. The only hope we had was derived from one of the members of our party saying, "This whole trail is only 18 km, guys, no problem, no problem [in order for this to have its full effect, you have to say it in your best Russian accent]." Steeper and steeper the trail went, and the further up we went, the more rugged the trail became. No joke, we're walking through knee deep snow, we look to our left and we see.... Straight down to the bottom of the mountain. Yay for Vertigo!!!
Finally, 9 hours later... we arrived at the BaSE camp of Fisht. The scene that played out there was something like the love child of the Mos Eiesley Cantina from A New Hope and the Tibetan bar scene from Raiders of the Lost Ark. Rugged Russian mountain men (and I say that with no exaggeration) mingled with the Russian version of the Park Rangers and later, we would learn the national Junior Olympic Wrestling team was there too. Add hot stew, roaring campfires, and a VERY healthy dose of Russian vodka, and you get the idea. The sun had already gone down by that time, so we prepared our meal and our tents in the dark with a freezing wind coming down the mountain. And slept in our tents, huddling in freezing temperatures and wishing to God we were somewhere else...
The next day, everyone woke up, and nobody was prepared to even attempt to summit. So we decided to break up the hike we had done the previous day into halves, spending the second night along the trail. So we bade farewell to the summit of Fisht (nobody get me wrong, we were not giving up; we had hiked to the last vestige of civilization before the summit.   We camped easily at over 7,000 feet above sea level). So we began the trek back. And only then did I realize: It was my 21st birthday. Actually, I was sharing the birthday with another girl on the trip, who had turned 19. Granted, it wasn't the best birthday I've ever had. But as I looked around at the great group I was with, and at the wonderful creation of God, I began to think: It's not bad, as far as birthdays go. Thanks, God.
After camping about halfway next to a stream, and eating instant oatmeal over propane stoves, we finally made it back to the cars for the 3 hour drive back to Krasnodar. I sit here on the computer, feeling like two Japanese sumo wrestlers took 10 pound sledge hammers and decided to pummel my back for all they were worth, but still happy and contented and with a deep feeling of satisfaction and pride of a hike well done.
And sorting though all the Facebook messages and emails I had gotten on my birthday from all my friends in Russia, the United States, and around the world. Thanks, my friends. I love and give thanks for each and every one of you.
Do Svidanya, my friends.

P.S: Oh, and by the way, that "18 km" distance was as the crow flies. Actual distance, walking by the trail: 36 miles round-trip, which our group did in ONE day on the way there and then split in half on the way back. Just sayin'.

Russia Post 3: Hay!

Well, the last two days were spent in the Russian countryside in a little village of Ahktyrskiy, to the west of Krasnodar. A friend of Steve's named Tim came over from Maine along with a friend of his named Albert. Caleb and I met them in Krasnodar and they are a pretty cool couple of guys. So he told us he was headed out to the countryside to help a good friend of his (Tim used to be a missionary over here) who runs a drug and alcohol rehab center in the middle of EastNOwhere, Russia. He invited us to come along, and we accepted!

Well, the trip was about 2 1/2 hours of beautiful countryside. Beautiful and bountiful fields of wheat, corn, rice, all bursting at the seams. Then we hit this patch of bare ground.... it was bare for a couple of square miles. When I asked Tim about it, he said, "Oh, this is where the Soviet government back in the 50's spread nuclear waste on the ground in an experiment to see what would survive a nuclear blast." Oh. Btw, the answer is NOTHING, for those of you who are wondering....

So we get to Ahktyrskiy and we met Sasha, once an oil businessman who was converted to Christianity and was deeply burdened with the glaring need of rampant alcoholism in Russia. So he began a ministry, taking in addicts and letting them work on his vegetable farm, which he has recently expanded to include 350 head of sheep and dozen cattle, along with pigs, chickens, and ducks. The house the guys are living in is a cheap home-made brick covered with plaster and roofed with solid asbestos (oh, you think i'm kidding?). So what we did while we were down there is help expand the living quarters of the house by roofing an extra room that they had already built (there is about 12-15 guys living there at the moment). While some of us (Caleb and Alby) got busy on the roof, the rest of us (namely me and Tim) headed out to the fields to bring in the hay. Oh boy!
The hay was round bales about 5 1/2 feet tall and weighing anywhere from 300-500lbs apiece. Mode of transport: 3 guys roll them up a ramp onto a trailer by hand. The tractor used to pull the trailer is a 1977 Soviet collective model that has been taken apart and rebuilt so many times that I (noted mechanic that i am...not) can't even recognize the different parts of the engine. It was jerry-rigged by the mechanic at the shelter to PULL start: imagine starting your lawnmower or weedeater... now blow that up to the size of a tractor.... yeah, you got the idea... So we load these things, and the guy turns to me and asks (through Tim, my russian is still horrible), "Have you ever done this sort of thing before?"
So I sat back and thought, "Well, I'm working out in the middle of the countryside, in 90 degree weather, loading hay onto a trailer with a cooler of water in the nearby jeep."
Welcome to Texas, buddy. I felt right at home.
For those of you who know me, I have never been that much of a tea drinker, but in the past two days, I have consumed about 3 gallons of hot tea that for some reason Russians find a good idea to serve on hot days as a refreshment... I was tempted to ask them to put it in a cup of ice just to see their reaction...
The food has also been an adventure. We were introduced to the Russian plate of borscht, a dish that is basically meat and potatoes and vegetables in soup base. Rabbit kidney I think was a classic. I loved it, but others in our group were kinda weirded out... (I would mention names, but Caleb would be embarrassed).
So we are back in Krasnodar now meeting up with Steve, who has just returned from the US of A. The past few days have been an adventure and it looks like the next few days won't disappoint...
Do Svidanya, my friends.

Russia Post 2: Transport

Transportation. It is a necessity in any country. The need to get from point A to point B in the shortest amount of time, preferably without dying.

Here in Krasnodar there are roughly 4 modes of transportation. I thought I'd just put my thoughts on the subject up for any of you who may be visiting Krasnodar in the near future.

1. Bus/Trolleybus: These are your standard trolley buses, running regular routes all over the city. These will cost you about 10 rubles to ride, and are pretty reliable, except the engines are probably older than many of its passengers and to ride it means it's so loud you will probably not be able to hear yourself think, between the conversation of other passengers and the knocking of the engine as you tear down the streets.

2. Marchutka. There really is no equivalent translation into English for these things. On the outward appearance most of them are old VW vans or mini-buses that zoom around town on pretty much the same route as the trollies, but they can go faster... However, there is no limit to how many people can be on at the same time, and if you run out of seats, you just have to cram in tighter, with people standing in between the seats and practically sitting in your lap. When you see your stop going by, you have to yell at the driver (past about the dozen bodies between you and him) for him to stop. 9 times out of 10, he will pretend not to hear you, because he'd rather not stop and waste time getting passengers on and off the bus... (don't ask me to explain that logic). If on the odd chance he does stop in time or at all, passengers have to disembark to make room for you to finally get off. Or, more likely, you have to squeeze your way out at the same time others are trying to get in. Maybe there's a reason we don't have these in America....

3. Trams.The trams are about the equivalent to the subway system in other towns, but in Krasnodar it is all above ground and only has a limited number of stations in the city. Like most public transportation in Krasnodar, it is outdated, overworked, under-maintained, and overused. Not to mention unclean. But people still wait in lines to use it, as it is the cheapest way to travel. But there's a reason for that.

If you are thoroughly afraid now of public transportation here in Krasnodar, and you're willing to spend the extra cash, plus have a constitution of iron, I'd reccomend
4. Getting a Taxi. Based on the way that they drive, I've come to the conclusion that these guys are former tank drivers/ ex-Russian army truck drivers who have failed to notice that they are now driving unarmored vehicles. The roads are littered with people who have openly bribed their way into a driver's license, and the taxis are right in the thick of it, picking people up, and dropping them off wherever they need to go.The upside is these guys apparently have GPS built into their heads and can get you just about anywhere in Krasnodar for 150-200 rubles.

Have I mentioned how much I love walking? :D
No really, where in America can you say that stepping out your door to go to the supermarket is a head-to-head Mexican-stand off with Death? It's great and I enjoy the adventure. Thanks everybody.
Do Svidanya, my friends.

Russia Post 1: Lessons Learned

Hey everybody!

Before I say anything, just wanted to say thanks to everyone who I know is praying and has been so much of an encouragement to me. You guys mean the world to me and I want to all to know that.

Well, today marks the first week that Caleb Jones and I have been in Krasnodar City (called so because it is also the capital of Krasnodar Region). We are staying in a little house behind the Hayes' that used to be Steve's office, but now has been transformed into a mother-in-law suite. Anyway, it's comfortable for two bachelors like us.

Lessons learned in Russia so far:

• Use exact change: People will give you dirty looks otherwise. (i.e: I needed 30 rubles in change and the lady behind the counter gave it to me in 2-ruble coins). 
• Always keep something between you and the traffic. In Russia, 80% of drivers purchase their driver's license, instead of actually taking the driver's course. 
• It's cheaper to see a vet than to see a doctor and the vets are often better-equipped. Yay for Socialized medicine....
• Don't talk in English loudly in public. It says one of two things: 1) Please rob me or 2) I am a spy. 

But Russia is actually not as bad as one might think. Probably the most surprising things are:

• The houses are all crowded together or built one on top of the other. The father will build a house, and the son will build his house on top of that one... and the grandson will do the same...
• The pipes for the water are above the ground. Water may cut off for inexplicable reasons and everyone just waits for it to come back on again...
• The cars: You have everything on the streets of Krasnodar, from Soviet-era death-traps to brand-new Toyotas and Ferrari's. 

Well, one week is completed thus far. Caleb and I are really just getting settled in and meeting a bunch of the students that the Hayes' work with and it really has been great so far. Monday was English Movie Night for the local English club and Wednesday was the Sports day (where you learn traditional American sports. Baseball and Ultimate Frisbee are favorites). Saturday is Coffee House, so we're excited about that.

So far so good here in the Motherland. Das Vedanya, my friends.