The World Lost One of Its Best

Greg Comer is one of the best people I've ever known in my life.  If I had to make a list of my favorite people, Greg would be somewhere in the top five.  I admired him. I respected him. I loved him.  And I'll miss him till the day I die.

A man of many gifts and talents, Greg is the greatest story teller I've ever known.  I aspire within my own creative writing to share stories and I know a large portion of my love and passion for stories comes from learning from the best. 

Even more impressive was Greg's ability to make everyone he ever came in contact with feel better about themselves.  He had a magic with people.  He made you feel valued, important and loved.  Every time I was ever around the man he made me feel good about myself.  He was sincere, he was genuine and he was kind.   I can honestly say I think the greatest compliment I've ever received from another person is when they told me that I reminded them of my uncle Greg.

You know years ago, when I made the self discovery that I was not a Christian and I could no longer live as a Christian that was a very difficult time in my life.  I had a lot of friends and family turn their backs on me.  Treat me with animosity and hostility.  I can remember being scared to death to let Greg known.  In most cases in my life, I don't care what someone thinks about me.  But I always cared what Greg thought.  My admiration and respect for him was so high that while others opinions of me didn't mean much to me, his did.  When I told Greg I was an agnostic, he put his hand on my shoulder and said to me that I was a great kid before he knew that and I was a great kid after he found out.  The kindness, love and compassion he showed me during that time is something I'll forever cherish. 

A few years ago Greg and I went to the Olympic trials in Iowa City with his friend Willie. We had a very good time watching some great wrestling. Greg consistently entertained with his stories and good clean humor. In a lot of ways Greg reminded me of the late Groucho Marx.  He didn't have to use any cuss words or vulgarity. He could make you laugh just by being clever and witty. 

I have so many great memories of Greg.  So many.  So many more stories I could tell about him. 

He was a very special man.  People talk about how good of a friend he was. My aunt Brenda speaks of how loving and dedicated of a husband he was.  I think if there was an award given out for women picking out the perfect spouse for themselves, she'd be eligible for it.  I know my cousins Casey and Jake thought the world of their father too.   I hope by reading this you know what I thought of him as my Great Uncle.  Great is exactly what he was in every sense of the word. 

I love you Greg Comer.  My life is better because you were a part of it. 

Complete The Story: 13 of 198

Until that day, fear had been an idea, a concept. Now it was real: a feeling I would carry inside me for the rest of my life. The day began innocently enough, with the basic routine of waking up at 5:30 a.m. going to the school, running the halls for a half hour and then sitting in Derek Snakenberg's sauna for twenty minutes.  I'd go back home, eat a light breakfast, shower and head to school for the day.

It was late April, sophomore year of high school.  A poor wrestling season had ended for me in early February.  I had gone 14-25 that season.  Finished a disappointing fifth at sectionals.  My dad had recently broken up with his girlfriend and life for me at that time was bitter and depressing.  None the less, I still felt that I had a shot at glory.  That I stood a chance at accomplishing something.  That if, even though things seemed at times hopeless, if I stayed positive and optimistic and gave it my all, things still might work out for me.  I had two more years of wrestling left and despite how bad this past season had gone, maybe I might do well as a junior and senior.

When I got home from school, I noticed a vehicle in the driveway that I wasn't familiar with.  When I went inside, I discovered that my Dad's cousin, Gail was visiting from New Jersey.  I told her I was glad she was there to visit, and I'd be more than glad to catch up with her later, but I was busy at the time and had other things to do.   I put on a sweatshirt, my hawkeye wrestling stocking cap and headed out the door.  I had a 1.4 mile run that I did every night.  Back in those days it took me about 8 and a half minutes.   Today I'd be lucky if I could do it in under an hour.   After I got done running, I grabbed my bicycle and did the route two times.  I then went into the basement, and did a routine of pushups, curls, pullups and bench press.  Exhausted, I went back up stairs and took a shower. 

I now had time to talk to Gail. 

She couldn't believe my dedication and how fixated I was on being a successful wrestler.  She was shocked at how poorly I had done that year in spite of my efforts.  It puzzled her as to why I had such certainty, when life was showing me the polar opposite. 

She said something to me that night that has haunted me ever since.

"Are you sure this is what you're supposed to be doing?"

"What do you mean?" I asked her

"This wrestling thing.  Are you sure it's your purpose in life? That it's what you're meant to do?" 

My immediate answer was yes.  It had been the only thing for a long period of time that I had any talent and ability in.  Even though I wasn't that good at it, it was the thing in life I did better than I did anything else. 

Looking back, I guess I should've questioned it every bit as much as she did.   My junior year I went 13-12, sitting out part of the season with a torn groin and a torn left bicep.   My senior year I went 26-16, a third place finish at sectionals and a career record of 65-70.  Never qualified for state, never did anything in the sport worth mentioning or noting.  In the sport of wrestling my name means nothing and it never will.  It was not my purpose.

I don't regret anything that I did. I loved the sport and for six years of the 11 years I did it, I dedicated my life to it.  I get angry when people question my dedication. When they are leary of my work ethic, sacrifice and determination.  The sport of wrestling has a screwed up belief that the only reason you don't succeed is because you didn't try hard enough.  It's funny.  Not everyone can be Joe Montana. Not everyone can be Michael Jordan. Not everyone can be Cal Ripken Jr. But anyone can be Cael Sanderson as long as they work hard enough.  It's an insulting, degrading and cruel thing to say to those who had the heart, but nothing else, but it is the thought process of the sport.

So no, I don't regret anything.  It's what I wanted out of life and it's is what I thought at the time I was supposed to be doing.  I just wonder sometimes if I should've been more exploratory.  My only other talents in life were acting and creative writing.   I wonder sometimes if I should've divided up my time, and given more towards those endeavors. 

After high school was over, I knew then that wrestling wasn't my meaning. It's why I decided not to wrestle in college and instead dedicate my life to theatre.  Maybe acting and writing for the stage/screen was my calling in life.  Maybe that was my purpose. 

And truth to be known, I think maybe it would have been had I gone to another college.  I couldn't have picked a worse place to go than what I did.  It's a whole other story in itself, but Northwestern College theatre made me fall out of love with acting.  Matter of fact, it made me downright hate it.  A pompous group of individuals, who made up their minds that they hated me from day one.  With my build and my muscles, in their eyes I was an athlete and athletes DID NOT belong in their theatre. 

I'd discover years later as a member of Iowa City Community theatre that I was a good actor, I did have talent and it was something I was good at.  I was simply in the wrong environment, surrounded by the wrong people at NWC. 

And in being someone that searches for meaning, longs for purpose I wonder if I didn't screw myself somehow, someway by not going somewhere else.  I've talked with other friends of mine who had great experiences in college theatre at Iowa, Simpson, & Northern Iowa and I wonder sometimes if I had chosen one of those schools if my life would've turned out much differently. 

I was 16 years old when Gail asked me those questions.  16, and for the first time in my life, I made myself upon her questions, seriously question all of it. 

Today I'm 34, and for the past nearly 15 years of my life, I have felt my purpose in life has been creative writing and story telling.  That writing, fiction, non-fiction, blogs, short stories, novels, novellas, plays & screenplays is what I'm supposed to be doing in life.  Yet I've thus far gotten practically no where with any of it.  None of my novels or novellas are professionally published.  None of my plays are being produced.  None of my screenplays have turned into films or television shows.  Other than a few articles that I got paid $25 a piece for, I haven't a single thing to show for my writing. 

And that scares me to death.  It terrifies me.  It's all I have left in life. It's it.  I'm too old to have a serious shot as an actor. Even if I still have time left, you have to be in Los Angeles to even dream of getting a real shot at it, and there's no way I could afford to even try it.   Creative writing is it. There's nothing else in life that I'm good at.  If this isn't it, then there isn't anything.  I have no purpose. I have no meaning. 

And to some, that's ok.  They don't get why I have to be so obsessive and so determined.  Why can't I just get a factory job, get married, knock up Ashley a couple of times, have kids and God forbid be normal?  Well, because I can't.  That's not me.  That's not who I am.  That's not what I want.   I tried going that route once in my life and it was the darkest, most depressing, sad existence I have ever lived.  It may be right for others and I encourage them in that life, if that life makes them happy and it's what they desire.  But it's not me and it never will be.

I'm weird. I'm an anomaly.  I'm what seems to disappoint and piss my father off. I'm what my mom does her best to support but can't grasp or understand.  She doesn't get why I demand so much out of myself and work myself into fits of level 10 depression for not reaching goals she thinks were out of my reach to begin with. 

Cousin Gail I guess I have to admit today, as I should have 18 years ago that I don't know what the Hell my purpose in life is.  That because creative writing is the one thing left in this life that I have serious talent in, that I believe it is my meaning.  That obviously I have yet to give up. With novels, novellas & screenplays already written and more on the way, I'm still making a go at it. 

My greatest hope in life.  The best life has to offer me is the day I discover that I was right.  A published novel.  A screenplay turned into a film.  A position with a major magazine.  I have no idea what it'll be, I just know that I'll know it when it happens. 

And my greatest fear?  To one day discover with creative writing the same thing I discovered with amateur wrestling.  That it wasn't my purpose. It wasn't my meaning.  Only worse, it'll mean that I don't have one, and I never will. 

So far in life I've met three people in life that have gotten what I feel.  That have truly understood my thoughts and my feelings.   Dennis Doderer, Dan Kim and Jason Janes.  I'm very lucky to have Ashley Bunting in my life.  I can't say she understands or gets me completely, but she loves me and supports me.  As screwed up and difficult as I can be, especially when it comes to this sort of stuff, that in itself is a hell of a talent.  I'm not sure I could do it if I were in her shoes.

25 Remakes and My Reaction to Them 16-20

FLIPPER 1963 and 1993

CONCLUSION: Both are fun but rather forgetful.

The two films have nothing in common other than the title and having the main character a dolphin.  Considering the source material I'm ok with this.  I like both movies, feel that both are a bit underrated, especially the remake.  I think the film suffers from what it was Vs what people thought it should be.  That happens sometimes.

OF MICE AND MEN 1939 and 1992

OVERALL CONCLUSION:  The remake got right what the original got wrong

This in my opinion is exactly why a remake should be made. Not to rehash what was already done right in an attempt to bank on a sure shot success but instead to take a really good concept that failed in execution the first time around, and make it what it should have been. 

I realize the late 1930's was a different time and perhaps my criticisms are unfair considering.  Yet I have two major biffs with the film that I think were more so a result of poor choices than they were any restraints by the time period.  The first criticism I have is that I don't feel the tone is depressing enough.  The novel is hopeless and full of endlessness.  I didn't get that out of the 1939 film, but I did get it out of the 1992 film.  The 1939 version was nothing more than a film to me with Burgess Meredith in what I feel was one of his weaker performances.  The 1992 film was a life changing event for me that helped to formulate my perspective on life and my philosophies.  We're often told time and time again that life is not fair, and I feel the 1992 version illustrates that reality better than any other film I've ever seen.

My other biff with the 1939 version is that Lennie's handicap is borderline mockery.  That may be because mental retardation and other forms of mental disability wasn't well understood in the late 30's. Maybe they didn't have much to reference, but it seemed to me that Lon Cheny Jr played the role more so as the village idiot than he did someone with actual mental disabilities.  John Malkovich's version on the other hand seemed pure, raw and innocent.  Not a man playing a man with retardation but a man with actual retardation.

Again I feel that perhaps my criticism is a bit off considering 1939 to 1992, but we're not talking special effects here, we're talking performances and direction.  So maybe it isn't.

PET SEMATARY 1989 and 2019

OVERALL CONCLUSION: One of the most shocking, terrifying, heart-stopping and distressing films ever made Vs a film that's still good, but in many ways misses the mark on what made the first film so effective.

I'm not here to bash the 2019 remake.  I gave it as a stand alone film an above average review.  I liked it and I have a lot of good things to say about it.  But in comparison to the original it falls flat.  We're comparing a minor league baseball team to the MLB champs.  The minor league team is still good, but they're going to get their asses handed to them at the ball game.   That's the comparison here.

The true terror in PET SEMATARY 1989 was in the compromising position that the father had been put in.  It wasn't so much in the scary Gage coming back with a murderous vengeance as it was a father dealing with an immeasurable amount of guilt in a battle with his own sanity.  To me that was so much more fascinating as well as horrifying than was the more action based plot of the remake. 

I appreciate both films for what they were but I have to have the lights on, someone else in the house with me and we're cuddling when we go to bed after I watch the 1989 version.  The 2019 version I can watch in the dark, and sleep just fine.

PHANTOM OF THE OPERA 1943 and 2004

OVERALL CONCLUSION: Just the opposite of how I feel about of MICE AND MEN.  The 1943 version as how the film should be done. The 2004 version took everything that the 1943 version perfected and decided to do something different. It didn't work.

The 1943 film is a masterpiece.  A strong story, compelling performances and I think above all else which is weird to say for this time period, well paced.  The 2004 version had too much going on.  Too much added to it that served little to no purpose.  The original story stood fine on its own, it didn't need any fine tuning or perfecting.  The original was a tragedy through and through, one where you empathized with each character and related to both their feelings and their emotions.   The remake felt more like an episode of Maury where in the end you're so turned off and disengaged by the whole thing the credits are all you look forward to.

POINT BREAK 1991 and 2015

OVERALL CONCLUSION: How can you screw up a fun, action packed adventure like POINT BREAK?  Hold someone's beer.

The original POINT BREAK isn't going to win any academy awards but at least it was fun.  Keanu Reeves, Gary Busey and Patrick Swayze.  An action packed film full of interesting characters, fun fight scenes and a decent score.  The 2015 Remake was just awful.  It was God awful.  They took cheesy dialog and somehow made it even cheesier.  They took performances that were supposed to be overthetop and over dramatic and somehow made them even more laughable and pathetic.  Did Tommy Wiseau direct this?

25 Remakes and My Reaction to Them: 11-15

A NIGHT TO REMEMBER 1958 and TITANIC 1997

OVERALL CONCLUSION: I enjoy and appreciate both of these films a lot.  Feel both have a great deal of strengths and few weaknesses.

As well acted, directed and shot as A NIGHT TO REMEMBER was it's hard for me to believe that it was released in 1958.  Sixty one years ago they didn't have the ability to ooh and ah us with dramatic special effects, but they made up for it with an interesting story.  What A NIGHT TO REMEMBER has over TITANIC is that the cast and crew knew they had a strong enough and compelling enough story on its own that liberties need not be taken.   Don't get me wrong I love Cameron's TITANIC but feeling a need to center it around a love story gives it a sense of uncertainty and doubt.  As if Cameron didn't trust the story on its own to draw an audience.  Speaking a movie lover, I overlooked the inaccuracies in accordance to historical fact, but in contrast to A NIGHT TO REMEMBER what actually took place was just as if not more compelling.  Both great films, simply that one took what was realizing that it as it was, was interesting enough. The other, feeling a need to change what didn't need to be changed.

THE WICKER MAN 1973 and 2006

OVERALL CONCLUSION: I thought both of these films were pretty awful.

I enjoyed the 1973 version a bit more than I did the 2006 version. Both were difficult to sit through. Yet I felt the 1973 version was trying hard to get across the psychological wickedness of brainwashing and how people can be convinced of some really screwed up ideas through manipulation and religion.  I felt the 2006 version was more about the creativity in how best to torture Nicolas Cage. 

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST 1991 and 2017

OVERALL CONCLUSION:  BEAUTY AND THE BEAST 1991 is my all time favorite animate film and BEAUTY AND THE BEAST 2017 sucked the big one.


The 1991 animated feature was energetic, fun and exhilarating.  I laugh, I cry.  I even get up sometimes and to the best of my ability (which isn't worth a shit) I dance and sing along with the songs.  The film moves me, it makes me feel. The voice work of the actors and the attention to detail of the animators is so precise and oozing of tenderness and care. 

The 2017 version was lifeless and dull.  A bunch of classically trained and gifted singers who could not act.  Every scene was nothing more than a reading of lines and going through the motions.  There was no energy, no emotion, no passion.  It was painful to watch.   The 2017 version couldn't lace up the 1991's versions boot straps.

CAPE FEAR 1962 and 1991

OVERALL CONCLUSION: I must be missing something cause I thought the first film was barely mediocre and I thought the remake was even worse.

Not sure what the rest of the world sees that I don't.  These films were both a critical and commercial successes. Fans and critics alike are generally pretty positive about both the original 1962 version and its 1991 remake.  I on the other hand found the original film to be lackluster and only worth a view due to the performance of Robert Mitchum.  I thought the remake was even more nonsensical, ridiculous and melodramatic.  What an unrealistic story, told in a laughable way with performances that seem influenced by illegal drug usage.  C for the original, D- for the remake.

DEATH AT A FUNERAL 2007 and 2010

OVERALL CONCLUSION: Aren't comedies supposed to be funny?

I watched the American version first and I want to say I may have cracked a smile once throughout this cheap, junior high, fart and penis joke excuse for a comedy.  In my vast disappointment I was told to check out the British film because it was "so much better."   I guess I don't get English humor because while I did laugh once during the film, I found the jokes to somehow be even more trivial than the American version. 

25 Remakes and My Reaction to Them: 6-10

PSYCHO 1960 and 1998

OVERALL CONCLUSION:  I liked them both

Is there such thing as being "too respectful"?  Paying too much homage?  In my opinion, no.  To the rest of the world? Yes.  I do not agree with the analysis that the 1998 remake was a shot for shot carbon copy of the original.  To me it was clear that the original took place in the 1960's and the remake took place in the 1990's. A modern day version, with modern day topics, technology and ways of dealing with such matters Vs how things were in the 1960's.   I think the real problem with the 1998 version was two things.  A, some directors should be left alone and Hitchcock is one of them.  You can't out do the master, so why try?  Secondly, the casting in this one was off. Vince Vaughn as Norman Bates didn't work.

THE RING - 1998

OVERALL CONCLUSION:  The original Japanese version I found to be rather humorous and quite silly. The American version terrified me and gave me nightmares.


"All the best stuff is made in Japan" as the saying goes, but apparently that isn't always true. There are some things that the American's do better and horror is one of them.  I laughed my way through RINGU and had trouble sleeping after THE RING.  That's not to say that I feel all American films are better than Japanese ones.  The 1998 American version of GODZILLA was atrociously lame.  The 2000 Japanese version kicked major behind.  It was a night and day difference.

THE TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE 1974 and 2003

OVERALL CONCLUSION: One of the rare times I enjoyed the remake much more than I did the original.


Let's face it, Tobe Hooper got lucky.  There's only one reason TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE became a household name and that was due to a genius marketing strategy, "based on a true story."  Without that little tagline, this film would have fallen into the hundreds of other horro films in the 70's and been gone, lost and forgotten about a long time ago.  The film is absurd, the script is mundane and the performances are rather difficult to sit through. 

In all sense of reality, what TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE 2003 is, is simply what the original TCM would be if it had a better story, it was better directed and it had better performances.  Ever watch a B film that in nearly all categories more or less sucks, but at least it had an interesting concept? Think to yourself, now if done right, that could be a good film?  That's essentially what happened here.   

It's a shame that this film has been sequel'd  and remade to death.  I've seen all of the sequels and remakes/reimaginings and TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE 2003 is the only one that I'll conclude is good.  I do enjoy TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE 3: LEATHERFACE but that's more due to Tom Everett's performance than it is anything else.  The rest of the films frankly bite the big one Uncle Roman.

MAXIMUM OVERDRIVE 1986 and 1997

OVERALL CONCLUSION: A mediocre film from the 80's was remade into a mediocre film in the 90's.


I find both MAXIMUM OVERDRIVE and TRUCKS to be enjoyable enough to sit through.  Neither are going to win any awards with me, but neither bother me.  I feel MAXIMUM OVERDRIVE is more of a man vs machine film, full of action and determination Vs TRUCKS which has more of an apocalyptic overtone, full of an accepted fate and depression.  An ending of ambiguous unknown against an ending of doom and gloom.  If it's worth any consolation I feel TRUCKS is one of Timothy Busfield's best performances.

VILLAGE OF THE DAMNED 1960 and 1995

OVERALL CONCLUSION:  This is your shot for shot remake


It amazes me as many times as I've heard that PSYCHO 1998 is a shot for shot remake of PSYCHO 1960, that people don't say the same about VILLAGE OF THE DAMNED.   While I can point out the differences between the PSYCHO films,  the only difference between VILLAGE OF THE DAMNED 1960 and VILLAGE OF THE DAMNED 1995 is that one is in black and white and the other is in color.   I'm not saying that either is a bad film.  I enjoyed them both, but other than being a tad more violent, you can play these films side by side at the same time and you're watching the same film.  To some that is troublesome and I get that.  Why remake a film if you're going to put nothing original into it? I get that.  Yet I'd rather have that than for someone to be so original and creative in their direction, that they forget that this was someone else's idea to begin with.

25 Remakes and My Reaction to Them: 1-5

To the fixated film enthusiast perhaps things aren't as bad beneath as they appear to be at the surface.  If one looks at all the films that come out per year, originality might not be as dead as it seems.  So take what I say with a grain of salt.  Everything these days is a remake or what they refer to now as a reimagining.

Throughout the decades each generation had their own films.  The 60's had their horror, their action, their drama and their comedy.  As did the 70's, 80's, 90's and early 00's.  It's not to say that there weren't remakes and even reimaginings back then because there were. Some would even argue that the 1950's was quite reminiscent of today.  A decade where popular films from the 1930's and 40's were remade until the likes of Alfred Hitchcock and Robert Wise came along in the early 1960's and said, "We have our own ideas, thank you."

We're almost into a new decade.  Less than six months away and it looks like the era of every film we see on screen being a remake or a reimagining is here to stay.  Is this a good thing?  Is this a bad thing?

It depends.

I personally find it to be quite circumstantial.   The way I feel about a remake depends on a lot of factors.  I can best explain through example.

Here are 25 remakes and how I feel about them.

THE BAD SEED 1956 and 1985

OVERALL CONCLUSION: I like them both but I liked the Original better.

The original was more direct and to the point whereas the 1985 remake was quite subtle and ambiguous.  I felt Patty McCormick's performance to be better than Blair Brown's.  McCormick seemed like a genuine little psychopath whereas Brown seemed more like a spoiled brat.  I did like how the remake deviated away from all of the religious aspects, but even with the overabundance of Christian themes, the original was still more frightening. I appreciated the definitive ending in the original to the remake's abrupt ending.

FRIDAY THE 13th 1980 and 2009

OVERALL CONCLUSION: I like them both

The original is a classic.  One of the all time greats.  The remake felt more like a sequel than it did a remake and I for one appreciate that. As far as I'm concerned no toes were stepped on, no legacies were disrespected or tarnished.  It was nothing new or original, but fun for a viewing or two. No harm, no foul.

HALLOWEEN 1978 and 2007

OVERALL CONCLUSION: The original Halloween is not only one of the best horror films ever made, it's one of the best film's ever made.  The remake is the worst horror film ever made and one of the worst film's ever made.

I cannot praise John Carpenter's Halloween enough.  A simplistic yet deep story.  Top of the line performances and a score that not only sets the mood, but in itself becomes a character.  A mindless killing machine without motive, purely and simply evil.  Mystic and mysterious we wonder what he is, why he is and whether or not he can be stopped.  A young woman, compelling and interesting, we want to get to know her. We want to protect her and follow her.  An obsessed psychiatrist, we empathize with his situation and want to see good overcome evil. It's why over forty years later we still cherish it for the masterpiece that it is.

On the same hand, I cannot criticize Rob Zombie's utter rubbish enough.  I cannot bare myself the shame to even refer to it as HALLOWEEN.  Now I'm a fair person. I'll give credit where credit is due. The film was extremely well lit. It had a phenomenal cast (it's a shame he didn't give them anything worth a shit to work with) and it was well shot.  Perhaps that's what Zombie is good at.  Lighting, casting and shooting.  What he sucks at, and I mean to the degree of sucks at more than anyone else on this planet, is writing a script.  He set up rules and broke them multiple times through various contradictions of his own convictions.  Michael isn't purely and simply evil, he's a product of his environment, a mold of both nature and nurture.  While I love Malcolm McDowell as an actor he had no choice but to play Dr. Sam Loomis as a blabbering buffoon because of a poorly constructed script. Psychology 101, introductory class freshman year at any junior college in the country could figure out what Rob Zombie's version of Loomis was too stupid to see.  I could go on and on about how much I hate this film and why, but I think my point is clear.  If you're going to remake a film there are a lot of what you can do.  AND that includes doing your own thing, your own way.....but, but, but, but, but....in a way that doesn't completely shit all over the original.  These are beloved stories and beloved characters.  Whatever you do, don't ruin them.

HOUSE OF WAX 1933 and 2005

OVERALL CONCLUSION:  I enjoyed them both


It was the early 1930's of course melodramatic performances and cheap special effects are going to be a part of what you see on screen.  Exposition has to fill up the minutes because they don't have the technology at the time to replace it with the CGI that we take for granted today.  For what it is, I enjoy it.

As to the remake, I liked it a lot more than most people did.  The 4.3/10, C+ rating I feel was a bit harsh.  I thought the story was decent, the characters were likable and one of the things that it most certainly got right was making the protagonist as interesting as the antagonist.  Really the only thing that I felt the film did wrong was thrown in a cheap twist at the end.  Everyone and their dog saw it coming and it was unnecessary. If anything it cheapened the ending.  Instead of being left with the eerie and depressing feeling of "what's next?"  We're left with a feeling of, set up for a sequel we know we'll never get.

A NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET 1984 and 2010

OVERALL CONCLUSION:  There are things I like better about the original and things I like better about the remake.


I own both films and enjoy both films for different reasons.  I preferred the performances in the original.  I felt Robert Englund owned the role compared to Jackie Earle Haley simply playing another part.  Heather Langenkamp devoted to the role, deep and concentrated compared to Rooney Mara's above decent, yet not as strong performance.  Freddy's look was more appealing in the original as well.

Yet the remake had a better story.  A better explanation.  One that balanced the levels of not enough and too much quite well.  Gave where information was needed, excluding details that might come across as patronizing.  It was well directed and well edited. 


6-20 Coming soon!!

Complete The Story: 12 of 198

The darkness was thick and suffocating, like a heavy blanket had been thrown on the world. He had to get over the wall, had to get across the border before they caught him. His legs were jello, his feet ached and pain had made a proposal to his back that he knew would end in marriage.  His chest burned as he coughed and his lungs gasped for every atom of oxygen they could get.  For any other reason on any other day, he would have collapsed. He would have given up long ago.  In the physical fitness test at school, he had never completed the mile without having to rest first.  Now here he was, ten years older, sixty pounds heavier and he'd already gone two of what would be three miles.

Adrenaline a part of it, fear another.  Not only did he have soldiers on his tail, but an unknown uncertainty ahead.  Bears sometimes frequented these woods as did bobcats and cougars. Venomous snakes made their home there as well.  There was also the thought that once he made it to the border he might not figure out a way over the wall. If he did, how long would it take him to find a Chinlishmen? Especially one that knew Engese.  His Chinlish was rudimentary at best. Communication wouldn't easy.  Even if it were, what he'd tell them, they might not believe.  Hadn't he seen it. Hadn't he lived it. He knew he wouldn't believe it either.

As he ran, he thought about the irony of how he had ended up here in the first place.  How his initial hatred of the Asacks was the only reason he was here.  If he succeeded, he'd save them from Hell they were enduring. The beatings, the torture, the raping, the horrific experiments and of course the killing. They'd hail him a hero.  A savior who put an end to what they felt an endless inferno.

Did he deserve that recognition? Not as far as he could figure.  It had taken way too long to muster the courage or fearlessness or whatever it was that he now had. He wasn't even sure how to define it. Or how to even go about even explaining it. All he knew is that it was.   As he stared into the darkness that he prayed would soon become Chinlish light, he thought of the past.

He as did most Engese didn't care much for the Asacks.   Pretentious and ostentatious whatever you did, they always did better. Whatever you had, they always had more.  If they could boast or gloat, they never passed up the opportunity.  Most of the time, he was able to ignore them but on this particular day, a few of them boiled his blood to the point of melting steel.  He had been screwed on a business deal, one that he thought would help him from losing his house.  Worse yet, another Asack was buying up his property and there was nothing left he could do about it.

A mixture of depressed, suicidal and pissed off, he went to the bar that night trying to figure out what to do.  As he used alcohol as a means of psychiatric medicine, he over heard two soldiers sitting next to him making Asagink jokes.

His parents had taught him to never say that word. It was a derogatory term for an Asack. One you only used if you truly hated them. Until that day, while he had heard it many times, he himself had never used it.

He went up to the two soldiers and laughed, "Those f'n Asaginks."

They starred at him a moment and then broke out into more laughter.  As absurd as it was, it felt good to him to share this loathe of the Asacks with them.  His meaning was no more than to get some built up frustration of his chest.  A chance to vent with others who had themselves unpleasant dealings with Asacks.  He didn't know what was going to happen next.

A man he'd soon come to know as Superior approached the three of them as he greeted the other two men, asking them to step aside for a moment while he talked to the man.  He asked the man to express his feelings on the Asacks.  At first the man was reluctant, thinking that Superior might be an Asack himself. Or maybe a political correct policemen, out to shame him for what he felt was his right to rant.  The Asacks had screwed him out of thousands of dollars through the con artistry of a crooked deal. Another Asack was taking his home.  Didn't he have the right to at least bitch about it for a few hours?

Sensing the man's apprehension Superior told him a story of how a group of Asacks had screwed his family out of their local business when he was a kid.  As a result, they couldn't pay for his mother's treatments and she passed away.  It was clear to the man, that Superior wasn't acting. His hatred for as he called him, "The dirty Asaginks" was real.

"I hate the Asaginks too."

His own voice, coming from his own mouth and after hearing it, it took him a moment to realize he was the one that said it.  He looked around the bar to make sure that there weren't any Asasks around.  His hatred wasn't for the Asacks, it was simply for the two he had dealt with earlier in the day.  Had it been two Engese or two Chinlishmen, it wouldn't have mattered. He'd hate anyone who did that to him.  He knew that. Superior didn't.

"Do you have a place to stay?"  Superior asked him.

"No." He answered. "I don't."

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. I have $50 left to my name."

"I'll get you a hotel for the night."  The man couldn't believe the generosity of Superior. Why was he, who was still very much a stranger being so helpful to him?

"Why are you doing this?" The man asked. "I appreciate it but..."

"No buts." Superior held up his hand. "There's something I want to show you in the morning."

The man was expecting a cheap motel.  A bed with a heater would have sufficed as far as he was concerned but Superior not only had him put up in the fanciest hotel in town, he had him taken in a state of the line limousine.  It was the most comfortable and peaceful night's sleep the man had ever experienced.

A knock came at the door in the morning.  Four soldiers, two men and two women accompanied him.  Having brought tea and snacks, Superior asked the man to sit as he had some questions.

"You ever heard of Sector 15?"

He had and as far as he knew it was nothing more than the configurations of the ramblings of conspiracy whackos and jerkoffs who had nothing better to do than to scare the gullible with horror stories.  Supposedly it was a hidden sector, where all sorts of horrific and unimaginable things took place.  It was like the boogeyman, scary in thought but nothing more than dismissive bullshit.

It was real and if he wanted they'd take him to see it.

He had to agree to never speak about it. To never tell anyone or even allude to it.  He had to understand that if he did, that the consequences would be worse than he could ever fathom.  Once he agreed, he was blindfolded and hooded.

They rode in silence. The man wasn't exactly sure how long the ride took, but it felt a long trip. He figured somewhere around four hours. Mainly because he had fallen asleep along the way and woken up before they got there.  Once the car was parked, the soldiers guided him along until they came to an elevator.

It was a long slow descend. A good 10 minutes or more before they reached the bottom.  He heard a ding and the door opened.  He was then led out about 25 feet when one of the soldiers lifted the hood off of his head and took his blindfold off.

As his eyes adjusted to the light, he was taken aback by the immense size of the area. It was huge. Much larger than he could have anticipated.  As large as any arena he had ever been in.

Superior pointed towards the exit that lead back to the elevator. 

"You're allowed to go anywhere you please, with exception to anywhere you see a blue line drawn horizontally across the floor." He said as he pointed at the ground. "Don't ever cross a blue line unless you have permission or you've already been hooded and blindfolded." 

"Ok." The man agreed.

"You want to know what will happen if you do?" Superior asked him. 

"What?" 

"You don't wanna know." 

And it was left at that.

Superior then began to tour the area as the man walked behind him.  A cafeteria with the finest of foods and the most expensive of wines.  A spa with massage, a state of the line gym and any type of entertainment that one could imagine.  They walked into a casino as Superior handed him $300 and told him to go have fun.  The man won $1,500 in the course of about an hour.  He tried to split it with Superior as Superior told him the money was his.  One of what would be many benefits of being a member of Sector 15. 

Too good to be true. That's all the man could conclude as he sat with the Superior eating Japanese Kobe and drinking a glass of  Domaine de la Romanee-Conti.  If Heaven were real, compared to this, it was second rate. 

"Come on." Superior motioned him to follow. They walked to an area that looked like a barracks for a summer camp.

"Is this where we stay?"

The Superior smiled as he shook his head. ""No."

Superior's smile widened as he looked the man in the eye.

"This is where they stay."

"Who?" The man asked. 

"The Asaginks."

It dawned on the man where he now was.  What Sector 15 was actually about. He didn't have to be taken into one of those barracks to know what he'd see. He already knew and it was too late.  He had mistaken Hell for Heaven, and he now knew there was no escape.  He wanted to turn around and go back.  He wanted to tell Superior that he wasn't interested in seeing anymore and that he didn't want to be a part of this.  But he knew that wasn't an option he could take.  Superior was certain that the man's hatred for the Asacks was every bit as strong as was his. He had to make him think that. He knew if the Superior even entertained the notion that his hatred was any less, he might as well go cross that blue line right now. 

He followed Superior into one of the buildings.  Upon opening up the door, they walked in to see a group of Asack men scurrilously scrambling as quickly as they could to stand at attention.  From the looks of them, it was clear to tell that they had been beaten, and not properly fed. 

A male guard greeted the two of them as he took a cattle prod he was holding, screamed at an Asack who couldn't have been standing more still to shut the Hell up and zapped him.  The guard laughed and  Superior laughed as the Asack fell to the ground in pain.  Superior looked at the man, as he looked on in shock. He knew that he had to show a sign of approval. They had assumed he would enjoy it. Other wise he wouldn't be here. They wouldn't have brought him.  As much as the sight troubled him and as much as he wanted it to stop, he nodded and he laughed. It was the only choice he could make.

 From there Superior explained it all. For the lucky Asacks, they were killed.  The rest were subject for experimentation. Some for actual scientific advancement.  Some for morbid curiosity.  Either way for the Engese who worked Sector 15, it was for their enjoyment. 

"Who all knows about this?"

"Soon everyone will." The Superior answered. "Leader will convince all Engese. It is his plan."

"What about the Chinlish?"

"They don't know about it."

"What if they find out?"

"They won't. We've taken measures to make sure."

"That's good."

"Yeah, the only way they'd ever find out, is if someone tells them."

As they finished up the tour, Superior was about to suggest a position for him as he shouted that he would like to be a guard.  He knew that there was no way he could work in the death chamber or be part of the unspeakable experiments. As to the Cattle prod, that he would be expected to use, he had an idea around that.

When he went home that night, he spent three hours cutting out patches three to four inches in diameter and lacing them with adhesive to make them sticky.  He then cut out thick pieces of rubber and glued them to one side.  Leaving the other side sticky.  He put as many as he could into his boots. Some up the legs of his pants. Within the pockets and linings of his jacket.  Within his hat. He even put two in his underwear. 

When he arrived the next day a female officer showed him to the barrack that he would be in charge of. It was made up of twelve women. As they entered she told all of them to stand at attention as they quickly obliged. Without any reason other than her own desire, she prodded a teenager in the back as she screamed in pain. It wasn't until her flesh began to smoke did the female officer stop.  She then slapped an older woman in the face drawing blood as she rammed the butt of her cattle prod into the stomach of another girl as she fell to the floor gasping for air.  As she set her eyes upon a girl that couldn't have been more than four years old, the man's natural instinct kicked in as he snatched the cattle prod away from her.

She turned and looked at him in surprise. Thinking quick on his feet he smiled and said, "Leave me something to do."  She smiled back in his direction.  The thought of him torturing these women as she just had stimulated her as her eyes read him with admiration. It repulsed him as much as it disgusted him. 

"You can do with these women whatever you want." She said. "If they refuse or fight back or anything, they know the consequences."

She left as he turned and looked at the women. They looked back at him. Some with anguish. Some with disdain. All with fear. They wondered in what ways would he humiliate them? In what ways would he violate them and abuse them?  Would he make them watch as he raped one as a previous male officer had? Would he choke one to death as the female officer had a week ago?  They had become so accustomed to the treacherous damnation they now knew as life,  the anticipation of it was every bit as torturous. 

"Does anyone here speak Engese?"

The women weren't used to questions.  Especially ones as innocent as the one he had asked. Used to being met with a punch to the head, a kick to the stomach or at best a slap to the face, they all stood in silence.  They knew the ramifications of speaking, even when they were asked to.

He repeated his question.

"Does anyone speak Engese?"

A brave woman took a single step forward and slowly nodded her head.  As he approached her, she closed her eyes and as her body began to shake.

"Are you the only one?"

She was expecting pain.  A hit, a slap, a kick.  Her clothes to be ripped off.  The initial shock of another question left her in a confused state as she slowly opened her eyes and looked at a man who stood before her.  He wasn't like the male officer they had before.  Who consistently fed his sexual hunger using the women for his own sadistic pleasure. Nor was he like the female officer whose fists were always clenched with a wretched and wicked smile, whose eagerness to cause agony only superseded by actually causing it. 

No, he wasn't like either one of them. If anything, he seemed as scared and nervous as they were.

"We all do."  Her voice was so faint, that he barely made out what she said.

Slow and calm he walked closer to her and reached out for her.  Even though she didn't fear him as much as she had the other two officers they had previous dealt with, her heart still sank as he grabbed her shoulder and leaned his head in close by her ear.  For some reason she knew he wasn't going to hurt her, but the uncertainty of what he would do still left her in panic.

"Are we being recorded?"

As he moved away from her she looked into his eyes.  Were these the eyes of trust?  The eyes of a friend? Or was this some sort of morbid trick?  She debated whether to answer him or not.

Another woman approached as he turned and looked at her.

"No." 

He nodded at her as he slowly took off his hat and pulled out one of the patches.  The women looked on with curiosity as they had no idea what the patch was or what it was for.  He looked at the first woman he had been speaking with and motioned for her to lift her shirt up.  The male officer before him, through his impatience had trained the women to react within seconds of a command.  Before his hands left his own shirt in demonstration, she had her shirt off and her upper-body exposed to him. 

He took the patch, held it in his right hand and with a slow and methodical ease stuck it along her left rib cage.  She watched his hand, as his fingers smoothed out the wrinkles and made sure that the patch was firmly attached to her body.  He then grabbed the cattle prod and held up his left hand.

"Don't move."

It was hard to measure who was more frightened at that moment. Him or her. She had only been struck by the cattle prod once.  Attractive with large breast, the previous male officer found her more useful in other ways and for some reason the female officer enjoyed punching her more than using the cattle prod. Bruises throughout her chest, stomach and arms, but no burn marks was proof enough of that.  He was scared too though, because even though he was well versed in the nature of electricity, he still had doubt within his homemade insulator. 

As he fired up the cattle prod, he put it against the patch.  There was no reaction. No scream. No pain. He sighed a breath of relief as reached down picked her shirt up off the floor and handed it to her. 

She had been a little girl, not much older than the four year old in the room when she had last cried as hard as she was now.  Her sobbing was so uncontrolled she had trouble putting her shirt back on.  When this new male officer had first entered the room, she as did all the other women,  a preconceived hatred of him.  A desire to kill him, only held back by the fear of what would result by doing so. 

Now this man, whom only moments before she had abominate loathe, she now reached out and embraced him.  She held him so tight that even if he had wanted, he couldn't have escaped her. He gently reached up and patted her back for her to release him.  Thinking she was already holding him with as much strength as she had, she squeezed even tighter before she let go. 

He turned to the rest of the women, who starred at him as they had before, only this time in a much different manner. 

He began to take out all of the patches he had on him. 

"I don't have enough for everyone." He said. "I'll get more."

He then motioned for another woman to approach him.

"Don't everyone put their patches in the same place." He said. "Your back.  Your stomach. Your chest. Your legs.  It'll look suspicious, if I prod you all in the same place."

He watched as the women began to put the patches on themselves.  He did his best to memorize who all had a patch and who all didn't.  Of those who had one, who put it on their chest, who put it on their stomach and who put it on their back.

"They'll kill you."

The woman who had answered him when he asked if they were being recorded handed her patch to another woman as she spoke to him. 

When he didn't respond, she spoke again.

"They'll torture you worse than they have any of us."

He nodded his head.  She was right and he knew it.

"They'll make you regret ever helping us."

He turned as he watched two other women both who had given up their patches to put them on the little girl. One put her patch on the little girl's front as the other put her's on the little girl's back.

He didn't know nor did he want to know how bad it could get for him if he were to get caught helping these women. Yet as he looked at the little girl, so innocent and pure, he was sure as he had been of anything in his life of what he said next.

"No they won't"

He spent the next several minutes questioning how often they bathed and what to do with the patches during their mandatory showers.  The women explained to him that they bathed every other day and all showered together.  He knew that he would have to convince the female officer that he be in charge of the women's bathing as he told them each time he'd take the patches back.   He knew eventually the adhesive would wear and after so many uses they'd no longer stick.  Making new ones would be as expensive as it was tedious, but it was a new hobby he knew he had to intake. 

Throughout the next couple of days he taught the women how to give themselves bruises, scratches, and marks without hurting themselves much.  He learned quickly on his first day that it was expected that he hurt these women.  When the female officer came back to the bunk a couple of hours later, she was upset that there weren't any new marks on them.  He covered himself by explaining to her that he hadn't realized that she was serious when she had told him earlier that he could do whatever he wanted.  He explained to her that he thought his role was to simply supervise them. 

"Hell no I wasn't joking!" She shouted as she ripped the cattle prod out of his hand.

She took it and zapped a woman in the leg.  It wasn't where she had placed her patch, so her reaction of her  pain was real. 

"Serves you right you stupid whore."  The female officer laughed as the woman fell to the ground clutching her leg, screaming as the electricity ran through her body. 

"Let me try."  He held out his hand as the female officer handed him the cattle prod.

He could only hope as he motioned three of the women to come his way that his memory of who all had patches and where they had placed them on their bodies was correct.  He managed to laugh as he swore and called the women derogatory names.  As he quickly zapped each one, he questioned whether he was touching the patch or touching their skin.  As high pitched as their screams were, some even cried, he was sure that he had screwed up and zapped them for real.

It wasn't until the female officer left again, that he realized that he hadn't.  While the one woman still sat nursing where the female officer had zapped her on the leg, the other three women moved about freely as if nothing had happened. 

While he had figured out a way to keep himself from having to physically harm the women by creating the illusion that he had, there were still some other problems that he had yet to figure out.  The female officer wondered why he hadn't taken sexual advantage of any of the women.  It was all the previous male officer had ever done.

"I don't want to get any of them pregnant."  It seemed a legitimate enough reason. One that he hoped would be good enough for her and she'd drop the subject.

"They've all been sterilized." She responded as she laughed. "Fixed. None of these whores will ever reproduce again."

Thinking quick on his feet, he made use of the word again.

"I'm not going to let a filthy Asagink touch me"  He hated using the word in front of the women, but he knew he had to convince the female guard.

She looked back at him questioning what he had said.

"I'd rather with you."

Even though he did not mean at all what he had just said, he hoped she believed it.  The thought of being intimate with this wretched, disconsolate, miserable excuse for a human being made him nauseous.  Yet if sleeping with her kept him from having to violate these women, then it was a sacrifice he was willing to make. 

The worst of it was yet to come. 

Two days later the female officer came to the bunk accompanied by Superior.  He looked the women over and pointed at the old one as she stepped forward.  She stood in the middle of the room as the other women stood firmly in front of their beds.  He then motioned towards the female officer and the man to follow him out.

As the man followed Superior out the door, Superior turned to him and explained to him what was to happen next.  Every week, one of the women would be chosen, either by himself or by the female guard and he would be given the option of what would happen to them.  Killed or violated were always two of the three options. The other was something different every week.  You would think Superior a used car salesmen, as he gloated about the variety of the options.

The man didn't know how to answer or if he even could. He knew what he wanted to say, "nothing" wasn't acceptable. 

"Need more time to decide?" Superior asked.

"Yes."

"It's your first time." Superior laughed. "It can be hard to choose."

The man laughed nervously as Superior and the female officer roared.

"Wait out here." He said to the two of them. "I want to look her over real good.  I'll be back in just a minute."

He walked back in and shut the door behind him.  He knew that she knew what he had to do as he looked at her.

"Kill me." 

There was no fear in her eyes as she spoke.  No tremble in her voice.  It couldn't have been calmer.

"I can't go through another experiment or more torture." She said. "The last one was too much."

He looked around the room as the other women without uttering a word somehow communicated their approval.

It would get harder.  This compared to what it would be, was easy.  Yet at the time, still the hardest decision he had ever had to make.  As he walked out the door, he walked straight up to Superior and let the words come out before he gave himself time to think about it. 

"Shoot the bitch in the head."

He was looking at the female officer as he said it.  Yet neither she or Superior knew enough to know that he meant her and not the old woman standing in the middle of the room on the other side of the door.  The Superior handed him his gun and suggested that he do it himself. He handed the gun back to Superior and asked him if this time he could watch.  He told Superior had never shot a handgun before and wanted to make sure that he did it right. 

It was an image that he couldn't get out of his head.  One of many nightmares that he knew he'd relive again and again until the day he died. He kept envisioning the jerk of the old woman's head as the bullet struck her temple and her body fell to the floor. She landed with a loud thud, but it wasn't what disturbed him most.  Nor was the psychopathic response of Superior and the female officer.  It wasn't even the sick normalization of it all, that told him how frequent this was of an event.  It wasn't any of that. What disturbed him the most was his own ability to treat the event with such a lackadaisical approach.  He went to bed that night hoping that would be the worst of it. It wasn't.

They were paid on Friday.   A check so large that he had to check his bank account three times that day to make sure that it had cleared. It alone would cover all of his bills and expenses the next six months.

His original plan was to flee Engena and to never return. He figured there was no use in trying to save the Asacks.  There was no way he'd be able to access the elevator without getting caught.  Even if he did, he had no idea where it lead or if there were more obstacles and locked doors to get through. Besides, it was a slow, near ten minute ride to the top.  As highly monitored as the area was, there was no doubt as the elevator doors opened he'd be caught by other guards. 

So his goal was to save up enough money to fly to the Confederation of Amalga, sail to the island of Rich Port and rely on their lax laws to keep his government from ever finding him.  He figured if he got rid of all of his credit cards and his social media accounts, that it should be easy enough to disappear without a trace.  The people of Rich Port were known to be sleazy and desperate. Slip them a thousand dollars or two, they'd not only vouch you were Rich Portian, they'd call you their best friend since kindergarten.

It ate away at him none the less.  He couldn't keep the once a week choice from happening. That was a horror that both he and his now eleven Asack women, had to face. There was nothing that could be done about that.   But he also knew that he was keeping them from the beatings and the rapes that under any other male guard would take place. It was all he could think about when he went to purchase a ticket for Amalga. It's what what made him decide to stay instead.

One day while walking the grounds, he found himself studying all of the other guards and Superiors.  As he looked at these men and women, he wondered if he was the only one among them with a conscience.  He couldn't conceive how they could be so cold and cruel to the Asacks. Were they truly this sociopahtic? Is this really how they were? Or had Leader with Superior and the other superiors convinced them that the Asacks were truly these immoral abominations that deserved all that was happening to them?  Was he the only one who questioned this? The only one among them who knew this was wrong? 

Most of them he didn't know.  Most he had never seen, but he did know a few.  One, a woman with six children, who he had always thought of as one of the nicest people he had ever met. On the outside she had been a daycare provider.  One who other parents trusted with their children.  Here, if anyone enjoyed using the cattle prod, she was one of them. 

Another was a man he had always known as Father Hopkins. A leader of a church in the city, a man who spoke out against infidelity and promiscuity. He had came to the man's barrack once, wanting to know if he could have his way with one of the women.  When the man said no, his response was that everyone else let him.  The man replied that he was told he could do whatever he wanted with the women, and they were his.  He refused to share.  Father Hopkins smirked, shrugged his shoulders and said as he walked out the door the women in the other barracks were better looking anyway.

Hope lost for  all but the small amount that could be found within the solace of death. It was the only escape for the Asacks.  When the old woman had stood and asked that he choose for her to be shot, he had thought of her for the longest time as brave.  As fearless and courageous.  He now knew she was depraved of hope. That she had lost all her faith in humanity.  He understood her desire for death.

Superior called for a meeting a few days later.  These meetings from time to time were at random.  An issue or suggestion had been brought up that Leader thought all superiors and guards should be privy to and if asked, open to offer suggestion.  At the last one, someone had asked why the Asacks were not put to work.  It was met with a two part answer.   Engese still needed to work on the outside so that there would be an answer to production. If all the Engese were living luxuriously and yet doing no work, it'd get suspicious. Especially if things regardless, were still somehow getting done.  The Engese government had convinced all other nations including Chinlind that the Asacks were leaving Engena on their on volition.  An answer to the dwindling population of Asacks in the country.

As to the cover up for what they were doing, they simply were told if anyone ever asked that they work for the government.  A statement which had all of the negative connotation and ugliness one would associate with a lie, that was true.  That was addressed at the first meeting he had attended. 

This was the fourth and he wondered as he sat in his chair what it would be about.   As Superior came to the podium, he sat among the other 250 or so that were there and listened with anticipation.

"There is a traitor among us."

His heart sank as a vibration of trepidation tingled throughout his body. The one woman had told him that this moment would come.  He sat starring at Superior, waiting for him to call his name and point his finger in his direction.  Would their be a hesitation?  Would he take out his gun and immediately shoot him? Or would there be a moment of shame?

"Her!"

The man turned to see a young woman.  Small and petite. One he had came across a few times before. She seemed to always be angry. Every other word that came out of her mouth was usually four letters, followed by Asagink. He had watched her slap Asack men, and shove some of the Asack women to the ground and once even deny an Asack child his daily meal.  They weren't fed much to begin with.  Simply enough to sustain.  When he had witnessed her dump his tray of food on the floor and stomp it with her foot, he thought to himself what kind of a heartless heathen would you have to be to deny such a young child to eat?

He knew now that's exactly what she wanted him to think.  Same as was he, she had been putting on an act.  He wondered to himself if in the way he treated the Asacks if his charade was as convincing as was her's. 

"She has been conspiring to tell the Chinlish about Sector 15!" The Superior slammed his fist against the podium as he spoke. "She is as good as one of them.  She's a Asagink!"

"Asagink!" The crowd began to cheer.  He began to cheer with them.  As much a he was against them and for her, he cheered right along with them.

Superior snapped his fingers as a series of guards, both men and women began to attack her.  She fought back but it was no use. She was small to begin with. It wouldn't have taken but two average size men to have gotten her down, but with about 10 people, she didn't stand a chance.  As three held her down by her upper body and three held her down by her lower body, a female guard ripped her pants off.  He hated the people around him as they cheered and hated himself even worse.  He remembered once when he was younger learning about a holocaust and wondering why others didn't stick up for the oppressed. He could remember thinking those people cowards.  Yet here he stood.  His fist raised, his his voice booming.  He was one of them.

He thought that she might be subject for a public raping, but much to his surprise other guards came with a white wrap that they began to wrap around her midsection.  Exhausted she didn't have the energy to resist as they taped her arms to her side. Wrapped from the bottom of her stomach to the bottom of her neck, leaving her lower body and her head exposed. 

Superior walked up and removed a small squirt bottle from his pocket.  He began to dowse her legs and her feet.  He then pulled out a small book of matches, stuck one and dropped it.  Her lower body engulfed in flames as she let out the highest pitched screams the man had ever heard. He subconsciously began to run her way and luckily by the time he realized what he was doing, he was able to pass it off as simply wanting to get a closer view. 

It couldn't have lasted more than maybe fifteen seconds, but it seemed to last for hours.  Other guards came and poured a solution on her to put out the fire.  Her upper body had been wrapped to make sure that she would survive the fire.  To make sure that she'd live another day.  It was all the man would ever need to erase any idea he had ever had of being a hero.  He needed no other reminder. They'd give them regardless.

That weekend, her face was all over the news.  A story had been made up of espionage and her name, synonymous with Benedict Arnold.  Superior, the one who had "caught her" plastered throughout the newspapers, magazines and television as a national hero. 

A few days later they brought her out at a meeting again.  Superior reminded everyone of what she had done as she was held firmly as he took a sewing needle and shoved it through her eye.It was worse than watching her set on fire. 

It was then that selfless turned to selfish. He had thought that he could continue to bear it  but he couldn't. It was too much for him.  The torture. The violation.  It was a barbaric enough world in a society where it was tolerated. Here it was celebrated. It was encouraged. Pure lunacy. Whatever sanity he had left was telling him that this was it.  It was time to escape to Rich Port. He couldn't worry about his eleven Asack women anymore.  He had to forget about them and put himself first. 

That night he bought a ticket for Amalga and a return ticket for Engena.  Others took vacations from time to time and if questioned, that's all he was doing.  He then bought a gun and loaded it with bullets.  Only Leader, Superior and other superiors were allowed to have guns at Sector 15.  He knew he wouldn't be allowed a gun once he got to the airport.  Yet he figured if he were to be found out, hopefully it would be at home or maybe on his way to the airport. At least then if he needed to, he could end it before they got to him.

He figured he'd buy another gun once he arrived in Amalga.  He knew that they would most likely have surveillance on him. He pictured them coming out of nowhere to stop him the second he made a go for Rich Port.  Sometimes he pictured himself shooting a few of them first and other times he imagined himself wasting no time before he put a bullet straight through his own brain. Rarely did he ever picture himself out on the water, in his boat, headed for Rich Port.  He'd replay the plausible scenario over and over again in his mind. Not even within his own imagination could he picture himself actually making it.  That's how hopeless things seemed, nevertheless still better than staying.

That was the plan and nothing or so he thought, could change his mind.

The only prayer he ever recited, was that when picking someone out, that Superior would never pick the four year old.  Or at least not when he was there.  He knew eventually she'd be chosen, but he pleaded every night it'd be after he was gone.

It wasn't. 

His options for her were to A-have her violently violated, B-have her killed or C-to put her through severe emotional distress. He knew he couldn't pick violation.  He could never forgive himself for that.  He could never forgive himself for any of it.  His own forgiveness wasn't the question though.  It was her's.  Would she ever abscond and one day know something other than this Hell?  Would this be the only life she ever knew? Destined to what could be decades before she was finally put out of her misery. There was no right choice to make. No better among the two.

"Sure are taking your time on this one aren't ya?"  Superior's patience were wearing thin and he knew he had make his decision.

"B."  It came at a whisper.  

Superior went into the barrack and second's later he came out holding the little girl's hand. 

"Here." He said as he reached into his pocket, pulled out his pistol and handed it to him. "You do it."

It was a great juxtaposition of emotion that he felt as he looked the two of them over. He held in his hand a single shot pistol.  They could light him on fire. They could shove a needle through his eye. There was nothing they could do to him to make him shoot that little girl.  Yet he could take the bullet out of the gun, and ram it down Superior's throat, and find himself amused at how slow it took him to choke on it. 

He pointed the gun at Superior.

"What are you doing?" Superior snapped.

He wanted nothing more than to pull the trigger and to smell a mixture of smoke and sulfur as he sent a bullet through Superior's throat. Yet something, maybe it was logic, maybe it was fear, overcame him as  he instead turned the gun and held it out instead.

"I said C."

Superior laughed and took the gun.

"You really don't know much about guns do you?" He laughed again.

"No" The man answered. "I'm sorry, I don't."

"Never point them at anything unless you intend to shoot."

Oh, if only the sorry son of a bitch knew.

"I'll remember that." The man managed a small smile. "I plan on getting a gun soon. That way I can practice."

"That's good." Superior smiled back. "I'm sorry I misunderstood you. I could have sworn you said B."

This was nothing more than a joke to Superior.  A nonchalant question of chocolate or vanilla in an ice cream shop.  It made no difference to him.  A dead Asack or a suffering Asack.  Either way he was good.

They took the girl to a small room with a two way mirror.  She was put on one side of it as on the other Superior and the man sat together.  A guard came in on their side and handed the two of them glasses as he poured wine.  Something horrible was about to happen to a four year old little girl and they were being treated as if they were watching a play or a tennis match.

On the other side a guard came in with a dog. 

"Henry!"

She knew him.

She ran up to him and reached out to hug him.  The guard held the dog back as two more guards came in.  With machetes in hand, they sliced that poor dog to death.  They weren't quick about it either.  They'd take a slice, listen to him whimper, listen to her scream, take a minute and they'd do it again.

At that moment, he parted ways with fear forever.  He'd light himself on fire. He'd shove a needle in his own eye. Anything he knew was better than watching that child suffer. 

"I'll find a way out of here." The man thought to himself. "Even if there isn't one.  I'll kill all of you myself."

The desire was there even if the means wasn't. He didn't have a plan, but what the man did have was a refusal to give up.  He was determined to figure out a way to get to Chinland and inform the Chinlish of what was going on.   The thought of taking off in his car and simply heading that way had crossed his mind, but he knew better than to do that.  For two reasons. They had him under surveillance. He'd get no further than the post office, get a passport to cross over into Chinland and they'd have him swept up faster than an cleaning lady with OCD right before her overbearing and nitpicky mother-in-law came to visit.  Secondly, it wouldn't do any good anyway.  He had to be able to tell them where Sector 15 was.  He had to escape while he was there.

For all he knew Sector 15 might be out in the middle of nowhere.  It might be gated.  Hell maybe it was on an isle.  He was sure it wasn't an island as the car always seemed to be moving the entire trip every morning, but he thought it might be an isle.  For all he knew, there might be a thousand challenges, but for all he cared there could be a million.  No matter what it took, who or what he had to go through, he was going end Sector 15.

It would be a matter of trial and error.

His first thought was to see if it would be possible to become a superior himself.  Of everyone that was a part of Sector 15 they were the only ones allowed to cross the horizontal blue lines on the floor. Being four of them, one of which led to the elevator he was placed on every day.  He figured one was a backup elevator, another was either stairs or a ladder and the third some sort of control room.

"If you're really interested in becoming a superior." Superior said to him. "It will take two years of preparation and some vigorous testing. I'm not sure you're ready for that yet."

Superior was right, he wasn't ready for it yet, nor would he ever be.

He then began to study the superiors to try and see what it was about them that allowed them to cross over the blue line without it triggering the alarm system.  Did they have some sort of electronic key?  Was it something in their clothing or boots that kept the alarm from going off?

He'd soon discover through casual gossip with other soldiers and guards who had the same curiosity that it was a surgical implant.  He wasn't crossing a blue line.  There had to be another way to the top.

Call it divine intervention, luck or pure pomp and circumstance he received his answer at pure random a few days later.  Two of the guards who normally worked what was known as the disposal section had been killed the night before in an automobile accident.  By chance Superior came to him and give him the order of filling in for the day.

When he came to the disposal section, a mixture of guilt and shame tingled throughout his body.  He knew that they killed a number of Asacks weekly, but it never occurred to him to ask what they did with the bodies.

"We burn them." The other guard said to him.  We wheel them into the pit and we burn them.

"Where does the smoke go?" The man asked.

"Up the chimney"

As they lifted the carcasses of what were once Asack men, women and even children into the pit, he took a moment to look up.  From what he could see the chimney was made of brick, wide enough for about one and a half persons.  He had no idea how far up it went and he could only beg that it didn't narrow towards the top.  This was it. This was the answer.

"I was wondering if I could take a break from being a guard for a while and work in the disposal section." He said to Superior the next day.

"You want to work in the Disposal section?" This seemed peculiar to Superior as it was an area that stunk of death and was dreadfully hot from the fire.

"Yeah." The man answered. "It's peaceful there. I like being alone."

"Ok." Superior laughed. "Let me know when you get sick of it. "

In any other nation it might not seem such a chore to drive around the countryside looking for what could possibly be the chimney connected to the disposal section of Sector 15.  Engena though, was a different story.  As is Mendark known for its assortment of moulins, Engena was the land of chimneys and smokestacks.  There are literally hundreds throughout Engena, and while not all of them were made up of brick, that only narrowed it down so much.

The advantage that the man had, was he knew he could drive throughout the countryside without drawing too much if any attention to himself.  With the kind of money he was making, there was no reason why he couldn't purchase a new car.  Who, upon purchasing a car wouldn't want to drive it around?

Deductive reasoning mixed with what he had learned in physics told the man that the chimney couldn't be as far up as the elevator.   The elevator being on the far west end of Sector 15 and the disposal section being on the far east.   He imagined where the elevator was to be about 5,500 feet, where as the disposal section he estimated a few hundred.   He knew to look for an area with a building that was built on a large hill, butte or even small mountain.

When he got home that night, he took out a collection of golf balls that he had recently purchased. Golf was a popular game that Superior suggested he get acquainted with as it was a popular thing to do on days off from Sector 15.  He had about 75 golf balls and hoped when it was all said and done he wouldn't have to buy more.  He took out a jar of black paint and a brush, painting numbers on each of the golf balls.

He then took out a tablet and a pen.  Estimating that Sector 15 was about four hours from his home, he took off north that night.  He visited four smokestacks, dropping golf balls one, two, three and four down four separate chimneys.

He knew better than to think he'd figure it out on his first try, but he still found himself depressed and disappointed when he went to look for a golf ball and couldn't find one. 

Over the next three days he drove four hours south, four hours east and four hours west, visiting an assortment of chimneys he thought could be connected to Sector 15.  Yet each morning when he went to check the chimney, there was no golf ball.

Several days later, strategy and logic went out the window and even if he was sure that it wasn't the chimney connected with Sector 15, he threw a golf ball down anyway. 

He had found homes for all 75 golf balls and had every intention of buying more later that night when he came to the disposal area and found #72 at the bottom of the burn pit.   He couldn't believe it.  #72 was the Chimney connected to the St. Ryan Lathocic School for Boys and Girls.  A elementary for grades one through five.  Built on the butte in his own home town. From the top, he could easily spot his own house.

Altogether he had spent over sixty hours and over 5,000 miles traveling all over Engena only to discover that the very place he was looking for was less than a ten minute drive from his house.

He sat in his bedroom, contemplating what he would do next.  He could get in his car and casually drive towards the border.  Yet he knew that would draw immediate attention and he wouldn't get very far if he were to do so.  The border was only a few miles, yet it is where the Engese had the most security.

Although it would be more difficult, he'd buy himself more time by going up the chimney, escaping that way and going through the woods to the back part of the wall that separated the two countries.  It'd be a chore to get over that wall, but he was pretty sure he could do it. 

It usually took about 3 and a half hours to burn a set of bodies.  During this time he usually just sat and thought about things.   He knew that this would give him the time he needed.

Inside their barrack the 10 Asack women now three weeks removed from having the man as their guard, much as the man had predicted were now guarded and supervised by a new male guard. He as they knew he would was mean, cruel, abusive and advantageous.  All but the four year old had been violated at least once.  All, including the four year old had been beaten.  They often wondered what happened to the man who had shown them kindness.  Who had shown them compassion and that there were at least some Engese who still had humanity.  Some thought he had been found out and was being tortured or he had been killed.  Others thought that maybe he had abandoned them.  None knew that he was working in the disposal sight, nor did any of them know that today he was risking it all for their liberation.

He had thought about revealing his plan to the women.  To give them hope, but he didn't for two reasons.  He wanted no one to know of his plan.  The only way to completely eliminate the chance of someone squealing or revealing was to not tell anyone.  Secondly, when he thought of the absolute worst thing he could do to these women, he could think of nothing worse than to give them the hope of escape, only to fail them. 

Years prior, his father had bought him some climbing equipment including a rope ladder.   The man had never known his estranged father that well.  It was an odd situation.  His father had been married.  Married young.  Became a father two months shy of being of legal age to drink.  He was in his mid forties with three grown children. A mid-life crisis hit the man and he found comfort in the arms of a young secretary at work.  His affair led to her pregnancy, which led to the man.  He didn't leave his wife, nor did she ever discover the affair or that he husband had a fourth child.  It wasn't even revealed to the man who his father was until many years later.  On that day he gave him the climbing equipment.  A gift the man was almost certain he would never have any use for.

He had actually thought of selling it.  It was expensive, top line equipment but his mother suggested him to keep it.  She said his father might not ever  give him anything ever again and it would always be a reminder.

He thought of this as he hammered the ladder into the side of the chimney and rolled it down.   It was shorter than the distance he would have climb. Considerably shorter but once he reached it, it would speed up the climb. 

Thoughts of failure ran through his mind.   Someone might discover the ladder and the dropped climbing tools.  Maybe all of this stuff wouldn't work, or he wouldn't be strong enough or smart enough to use it.  He had gone climbing a few times with buddies during college, but he was far from an expert.

The morning went as it always did.  Superior and some guards came to get him, blind folded him and hooded him as they took their four hours of driving around to arrive.  He walked the walk to the elevator, took the ten minute plunge and then went about business as usual.

He looked up and saw the end of the ladder. It was a relief.  He had been wrong about the estimation of how far down the chimney was.  He still had to climb a ways before he got to it, but not near as far as he had thought.

He laid the last body down in the pit, took a deep breath and crawled past them.   His plan was to get to the top as quickly as possible, drop the match so that the bodies would start burning and make his way for the Chinlish border.   

He used hooks and grapples to get up towards the ladder.  It was a slower and louder experience than he had hoped for.  One that unfortunately drew attention.   As he reached the ladder.  He heard the voice below.

"What in the Hell are you doing up there?"

It was a guard. 

He had been discovered.

He began to climb the ladder as fast as he could.  His heart had never beat so fast.   As he reached the top, he was a mere foot from the opening a gun came into the distance.  The barrel kissed his nose.

"You traitor!" It was Superior. 

He was so angry that he couldn't say anything else.  Superior put trust not only into those he chose to be a part of Sector 15, but in his own judgment to pick out the right ones. He couldn't believe that this man was an Asack sympathizer.  An Asagink lover.  He not only felt anger towards the man, but shame towards himself.  He wanted to blow the man's head off.

Starring down the barrel of the rifle, the man thought to himself it odd that he made it this far only to be stopped now.  He closed his eyes as he saw a flash of light and heard a loud bang.  There was no pain. The surreal nature of the moment made him think that he had died.  That his spirit was leaving his body. 

"Come on."

The man opened his eyes.  The barrel of the rifle was no longer there.  It had been replaced by a hand.  It was a guards.

He took the hand as the guard helped him out of the chimney. 

He stood on the ground as he looked in the guard's other hand to see smoke still oozing from his pistol.  Superior, a bloody wound where his left eye once sat, lay lifeless on the ground. 

"Get going." The Guard said to him as he reached out and squeezed the man's shoulder. "More are one their way.  They'll be here soon."

"Thank you." The man said.

"Good luck."

Luck was already on his side. At least at that moment.  He knew the chances of Superior being accompanied by a guard who wanted to end Sector 15 would be slim.  As fate would have it, that's exactly where he sat.

He took off for the border.