The Ghost Writer (5)

Copyrighted

Sorry it’s so short…

______________________________________________________

“This is it Dean! I can’t take it anymore. I’m really starting to get freaked out,” Casidi greeted Dean when he came to pick her up for church.

“Baby, did it happen again?” His own confusion shown through those dark eyes.

Casidi merely gestured to her bedside.

Crossing the room in three strides, Dean bent over to inspect the typewriter.

“Are you messing with me Casi?” He asked, holding the pages between his thumb and his finger.

“No! I’m not freaking messing with you. Someone is messing with me!”

“Calm down, sweetheart. Where are the other pages?”

“They’re in my desk.”

Dean took a moment to read through the stack.

“This stuff really flows. Your dreams are intense.”

“I’ve never had a dream like this, Dean. And this has never happened. I want you to keep the typewriter in your dorm tonight. Please.”

“Of course. Now, come on if you still want coffee.”

“Please.” She mustered up a smile. Dean put his arm around her.

“What’s wrong?” He asked when she flinched. Casidi slipped her sweater off her shoulder to reveal the bruise.

“Who did that to you?!” His mood turned red.

“I did. In my sleep. Let’s just go.”

Dean hesitantly shut the door behind him. He didn’t like what was happening to his girlfriend. She was a mess. Hopefully getting the typewriter out of the dorm would be enough to calm her down.

Just as the door clicked shut, the window slid open.

“They’re going to move the typewriter. How are we going to monitor her if they take away that element?”

“Well we’ll have to figure out where the boyfriend lives.”

 

Advertisements

Adapting God (Stop Trying)

It’s not really the best idea to take an all-powerful, all-knowing God and try to squeeze him into your little worldview box.

He doesn’t fit.

I see it all the time, people deciding that God actually thinks one thing because it fits what they want to believe, what they’re comfortable with.

Listen, God doesn’t actually care what we think is right and wrong, unless it follows the Bible. There’s a couple glaring examples of people deciding God is on their side so that they don’t have to feel convicted. The most popular ones are homosexuality and abortion, naturally, with feminism and divorce following close behind.

God is very clear on His view of homosexuality. I’ve done a post about this even and you can read it here. Old Testament, New Testament, God is clear on what He thinks about homosexuality.

So you know someone who’s gay or lesbian, trans, bi, queer, gender-fluid, non-conforming, all these ridiculous titles. Everyone does. Does that mean God understands the situation and made it an exception? No. You can’t make God adapt to fit your situation. He doesn’t do that.

Hebrews 13:8 (NASB) Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever.

So what he said was right and wrong 6,000 years ago, is still right and wrong today. Just because the world is changing does not mean God is. The world is becoming more and more sinful. It’s up to us to see that sin is not ok, not try to fool ourselves and everyone else into thinking God changes with the world.

Same deal with abortion. It’s murder. We all know how God feels about murder. But for some reason, abortion is different than murder because everyone knows it’s just a group of cells right? Wrong.

Well, scientifically, we’re just groups of cells controlled by an organ in our heads. Life begins at conception. It is not up to us to end it. God doesn’t make exceptions.

Sure, you have free will. You can make exceptions to morality if you want to, no one’s stopping you really. Except certain laws, of course. But don’t try to pass it off as God saying it’s ok because times have changed. No where in the Bible does it say that.

I hope I’ve made my point clear. If you would like more verses just ask. If you have Biblical proof that God changes with the times and circumstances of your personal life, feel free to share 🙂

The Ghost Writer (3)

(Copyright)


Her attacker stood over her, face hidden in a shadow. Casidi’s side burned again. It’s like it never stopped.

“Casidi,” the sinister voice said hoarsely. “You’re about to be saved.”

Casidi didn’t even have time to be confused. There was a loud clang and her attacker fell to the side, revealing Dean holding a trash can lid.

“Cas! Come on.” He grabbed her hand and helped her up. Suddenly her side was healed.

“Dean, what’s going-“

“Who’s Dean?” He replied.

“That’s… that’s you.”

“No. I’m Charlie.”

“What?” Casidi stumbled as he pulled her along. “You look like Dean. Where are we going?”

“San Antonio.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s where we’ll find answers.”

Casidi’s alarm buzzed her back to reality. She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and took a moment to realize how weird it was for her to continue a dream the next night. As far as she could remember, that hadn’t happened before.

Her eyes roamed to her typewriter, almost subconsciously.

A fresh page, typed up. There was part two of her dream.

Casidi found Dean at lunch.

“You were there this time. You saved me from the guy who stabbed me.”

“I have been trying to tell you I’m the man of your dreams.”

“Except your name was Charlie.”

“Whoa, who’s Charlie?”

“You.”

“But I’m Dean. Why wasn’t I Dean in your dream? Do you not like the name Dean or something? I could change my name to Charlie if you feel that strongly about it.”

“Oh good grief,” Casidi laughed. “I like your name. I don’t know why you were Charlie.”

“You know, I read this article about how you never see new faces in your dreams. Always someone you already know. So maybe you were just using my face, and that guy isn’t supposed to be me.”

“Maybe. I wonder whose face the attacker had.”

“Who knows. Anymore weird typewriter incidents?”

“Yes, actually. Just like last night, every detail typed up to perfection. There was even a misspelled word crossed out.”

“Huh. What have you been eating before bed? More importantly…” Dean leaned across the table. “What have you been drinking?” He cracked a smile.

“A Dr. Pepper.” Casidi stuck her tongue out at him.

“Mystery solved! Don’t drink Dr. Pepper.”

“I had water the night before.”

Dean huffed and crossed her arms. “Stop poking holes in my half-baked theories.”

Clarification

Just to be 100% clear, since people keep getting confused about this:

I am not blogging to non-believers.

I am blogging to Christians.

You have to talk to the two groups differently on religious manners.

I am blogging about sin because the church has forgotten what God says about it.

WE ARE CALLED TO WARN EACH OTHER AGAINST SIN.

Read the above line again. I have the verses, if you don’t believe me.

I am not calling out any single people group, I am sharing what God says about certain things.

I don’t want to hear about your ‘feelings’ on the issues if you’re trying to prove me wrong. Show me I’m wrong in God’s Word.

I do not blog about all sins because for the most part, Christians still believe murder, theft, adultery, and other sins to be wrong. They’ve forgotten when it comes to things like homosexuality, divorce, and abortion. So that’s what I blog about.

If you don’t like my style, I’m sure there’s a blogger out there who is saying exactly what you want them to.

Believe it or not, my way is effective, maybe just not to you. Not everyone is like you. Try seeing a different perspective for once.

I am not Catholic, so if you are Catholic and try to argue with me on the validity of the Bible, please don’t, because we will just disagree.

I hope my stance is clear and that you can be tolerant of it.

The Ghost Writer (2)

Here is the second installment of my pet project The Ghost Writer.

(This idea is copyrighted by me)


The typewriter had been a gift from her boyfriend, Dean Calloway, for her 19th birthday. As far as Casidi knew there wasn’t anything special about it. It couldn’t read minds or anything. How her dream had ended up on there in the perfect mystery novel form was beyond her.

Finally, Casidi pushed the odd incident out of her mind and worked on her Modern World History assignment.

At 7:30, Casidi donned her jacket, packed everything into her book bag, and set out for the café. She and Dean have a standing date every Friday morning at 7:45 and they haven’t missed one since the spring semester began two months ago.

He was waiting for her in their spot. As soon as Dean spotted her, he stood up and pulled out her chair.

“Thanks babe,” She said as he kissed her cheek.

“Anything for you,” Came his reliable answer. He sat across from her and adjusted his brown-rimmed glasses.

“So… something weird happened this morning.”

“What would that be?” Dean pushed a mocha towards Casidi, like he did ever Friday morning.

“You know that typewriter you got me?” Casidi clipped her long auburn hair out of her face.

“Yeah.”

“Well, I had this crazy dream last night, woke me up even, and it had been typed up. Every last detail, just like some fiction piece.”

“You probably did it in your sleep. Didn’t you tell me you sleep walk sometimes?”

“Yeah, but do you really think I could do that in my sleep? I mean, it was written well, the spelling was all correct… I don’t know, I just think it’s really weird.”

“What else could’ve happened though?” Dean asked as he sipped his steaming hot Americano.

“There isn’t really another explanation is there?”

“Well…” Dean got a glint in his eye. “The typewriter could have come alive and read your mind. Or you’re being possessed by some evil Japanese spirit… have you been to Japan recently? Or you are unknowingly part of some dream experiment. Or you are doing drugs. So which is it?”

By this point Casidi was laughing. “Ok, ok, I wrote it up in my sleep.”

“Mystery solved!” Dean spread his arms wide, causing a few sleepy eyes to glare at him with distaste.

They continued on with their conversation, talking about plans for the day and assignments they hated, not knowing that the entire conversation was being listened to.


A Break From Reality

Time to inject some fiction back in my blog. Here’s a little idea I was playing around with.


Casidi Porter was slowly bleeding to death. She had escaped her attacker ten minutes ago and was being the chased through the dizzying streets of her city, holding in the gushing red liquid as best she could. The pain from the stab wound was unbearable. Her side burned with an intensity she had never felt before.

She heard footsteps, quick and heavy. Her heart leapt into her throat and she staggered along the alley wall faster. Any moment now the cold-blooded killer would be upon her. The lamplight from the street was not enough to navigate the dark pathway and she tripped over a garbage bag. She could hear the man’s breathing now, so peculiarly calm while she was in such a panic. Casidi wanted to cry out in agony and despair but she refrained.

“Where are you going, Casidi?” the sinister, smooth voice called from the beginning of the alley. It had a silken undertone that would’ve been comforting if the voice was not so cold. Casidi couldn’t hold back the whimper threatening to escape her lips.

“I’m coming for you, Casidi.” his laugh then echoed around her, bouncing off the brick walls and crashing into her ears. Casidi had only moments before he finished her off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Casidi shot up from her dorm room bed in a cold sweat. She frantically grasped her side, checking for the wound, but her hand came back free from the sticky red blood. Her clock informed her it was 5:12 am. She needed to get up in 45 minutes anyway, and there was no way she getting back to sleep. Casidi decided to start her day early.

Her room was dark and deathly quiet. She didn’t have a roommate, she was the extra person at the end of the hall. As she crossed the small space to the bathroom, she noticed something odd. Something had been typed up on her typewriter. She examined it closer and discovered, in shock, that it was her dream. Her dream had been typed up in every detail, from the pain of the stab wound to silky smooth tone of her assailants voice.

She didn’t remember doing that last night. She had just woken up.There it was though. Every breath, every footstep, every drop of thick red liquid that had splattered onto the cobblestone ground.

She settled on the insane notion that she had written the entire thing up in her sleep. But a doubt tugged at the back of her mind. The spelling was perfect, correct grammar, interesting sentence structure…. it was written up like a mystery novel.


I would love some feedback for this. It was my mom’s idea and I have a couple interesting thoughts concerning it. Please talk to me 🙂