Everyday Junglist
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About me. You know how everyone says to be a successful writer you should focus in one or two areas. I continue to prove them correct.
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2026 The War of the Americas. Top Story - August 2024.
Author's preface: The earlier parts of the story can be found at the links. Part I, II, III, IV, V, VI Sylvia sat quietly in the very back row of the heavily armored prisoner transport bus with her head down and her hands ziptied behind her back. Four Mexican soldiers armed with FX-05 Xiuhcoatl rifles patrolled the aisle of the bus which currently was home to Sylvia and at least fifty other American POWs. All had been recently arrested after they were declared enemy combatants following the United States bombing of several targets along the US Mexican border including the city of Tijuana and the (formerly) busiest land border crossing in the world at San Ysidro. That crossing had been reduced to a smoldering pile of rubble by US cruise missiles launched from just offshore, killing hundreds, including at least 150 US customs and border patrol agents who had not been prewarned about the surprise attack. Sylvia was well acquainted with firearms and had great respect for the FX-05 assault rifle which was designed and built by the Dirección General de Industria Militar del Ejército (General Directorate of Military Industry of the Army) through the Fabricas Militares (Military Factory). The name translated roughly as "Fire Serpent", or literally "Turquoise-Serpent" in classical Nahuatl, a language with which Sylvia was only passingly familiar, unlike the six other languages she spoke fluently which included Latin, Ancient Greek, and Middle Egyptian along with Spanish, English, Italian, and German. The fact that she was fluent in Spanish or any other language was something she kept secret from the Mexicans and everyone else. The more they saw her as just another ignorant American the better. Her knowledge of Spanish had allowed her to learn a few things the guards had spoken amongst themselves thinking no one would understand. Importantly, she had heard that the war against Mexico was not at all popular in the United States. Donald Trump had gravely miscalculated the appetite of the average American for bloodshed, especially when it was American's blood that was being shed. The families of the CBP agents killed in the bombing of San Ysidro border crossing had rallied a huge number of Americans to their sides in protest and marched on Washington en masse. Thousands or even tens of thousands of Americans had been arrested and imprisoned in makeshift prison camps scattered around the Washington DC area. She and the other prisoners had been constantly on the move for almost a week. Changing from bus to bus as they slowly made there way to wherever it was they were going. She had learned that they were still in the Mexican border state of Baja, California and were heading to a newly erected prison camp somewhere just south of Mexicali. She had feared they would be flown to the mainland and imprisoned there, but at least for now that did not seem to be the plan. Sylvia was very afraid of what she might find when they finally did reach their destination. She had only been interrogated perfunctorily when initially arrested, a fact she was puzzled by, but knew a much more serious interrogation lay in wait for her. She had been rehearsing her cover story and was prepared for anything they might throw at her. The fact that she had been rehearsing and preparing a similar cover story to use with her own husband had she not decided to tell him about her new job with the CIA made the process much easier. The CIA had also helped her considerably in this regard by making sure she had rock solid alibis in place for each and every place she would claim to have been, and every thing she would claim to have done and been doing over the past almost two years of living in Mexico and working in the United States.
By Everyday Junglist2 years ago in Fiction
Onomatopoeia
For those who never learned or perhaps have forgotten, onomatopoeia, in addition to being one of the most misspelled words in the English language, are words that are intended to convey noises or sounds. Think pow or ka-pow from the Batman comic books of old. The existence of onomatopoeia reminds us that in any exclusively visual medium such as writing, whether it be text only or illustrated like comic books or graphic novels, there are very few ways to convey the sound a thing makes. Essentially there is analogy to something else that makes a similar sound, perhaps physical/bodily reactions, and onomatopoeia. I am leaving out formalized systems of representing sounds like musical notes because they are only understood by a small subset of people and are generally only applied to specific types of sounds (i.e. musical sounds). None of those options does a very good job in my estimation and together they illustrate just how difficult it is to translate a sound into words or any other visual format in a way that truly captures the essence of it. The difficulty ultimately springs from the fact that all of those options for describing a sound, rely on a different sense, vision, to interpret. If one examines the other senses it quickly becomes clear that translation between any one of them to any other suffers from similar problems though the degree of difficulty varies with the diversity of language that has been developed to describe the particular sense in question. For example, for myself at least, it is easier, though still not easy, to describe how something tastes then how something sounds. This is primarily because many more words are available to describe the taste of a thing than the sound of a thing. That is interesting in its own right, but it becomes even more interesting when one realizes that words are also the only way to convey sight in an exclusively auditory medium. In that case the words must be spoken or written in a form that can be interpreted by another of the senses, like braille. In addition, words are the only option to convey taste in an exclusively taste based medium, if there were such a thing. The same of course goes for touch. In fact it is the case that it is not possible to describe any sense experience to another person (and maybe not even to oneself) without language and words.
By Everyday Junglist2 years ago in Writers
2026 The War of the Americas
"Where is Mrs. Platt?" The Seal again barked at Dom. Dom's mind reeled as he sought to provide an answer that would satisfy. He knew that if he told the soldier his wife was still in the house he would insist on a rescue attempt, and very likely would succeed. Dom was sorely tempted to do just that as it would result in what he very much wanted, Sylvia with him as they fled Mexico. However, she had told him she wanted to stay, that she needed to stay. He knew in his heart that she might never forgive him if he did not give her that chance. And, he knew, that ultimately she was right. She could do much more good for the war effort from behind enemy lines then with him safe in America. Having made up his mind he replied "She's dead." The Seals eyes widened "What? Are you sure? Are you one hundred percent certain?" The tears still in his eyes over the death of his two beloved dogs likely helped him sell the lie as he replied "Yes, I am certain. All she was doing was trying to stop the dog. She made a move to block him, and the Mexican soldiers just opened fire. She was shot multiple times. In the head and the body. No one could have survived. She is dead. Let's go." The seal radioed to his team that he and Dr. Platt were on the way out, back to the RIB. He instructed them to provide covering fire if needed and prepare for immediate departure. They both turned and raced down the long winding stairs to the beach as quickly as they were able. They faced no resistance and quickly reached the bottom, where sat the waiting RIB along with the four other SEALs that made up the extraction team. Dom had never even seen them until they were almost on top of them. Their camo was expertly crafted to the environment and their movements so precise and practiced they appeared as if ghosts out of the sands of the beach. They had all embarked onto the small boat when the first gunshots rang out. The sands of the beach exploded all about and rained down on them as the boat raced away at full speed. They heard shouts and a few bullets that whipped by their heads much too close for comfort though fortunately none found their mark and they were out of range within moments. Dom worried about any Mexican patrol boats that might be launched to intercept them from the Coronados. He did not know that the SEALs had already closely reviewed intelligence data on the islands from US spy satellites and concluded their was no real threat. The few small boats the Mexicans kept there were not fast enough or well armed enough to threaten the SEALs especially with US close air support launched from San Diego or the many US Navy aircraft carriers in the region only minutes away if needed.
By Everyday Junglist2 years ago in Fiction
2026 The War of the Americas
Author's preface: Parts 1, 2, and 3 of this story can be found here, here, and here. "Fuck Syl, only 10 minute left, what about the cats and the dogs?" He had just completed packing his small bag and stood in their bedroom near the large windows overlooking the patio and the cliff-face which dropped down about 150 feet to the beach and ocean below. Sylvia's heart dropped to the floor as she thought of her two cats. They were the only things she loved as much or more than Dom. She could not believe she had forgotten about them. Dom's thoughts had turned to their two dogs. They had been his best friends for almost five years now, the frisbee loving German Shepherd Mynos, and the Anatolian Shepherd, a gentle giant they had named Mythos. It would be impossible for even one, let alone two dogs to fit onto a small RIB packed with SEALS while trying to remain unnoticed by Mexican military. As he tried desperately to come up with an idea for how he could possibly bring the dogs with them, suddenly the door bell rang, and then he heard loud banging at the door. Sylvia looked at Dom eyes wide and whispered "Go Dom, now. Get to the beach. I will do what I can to stall them. I have been thinking. I am not going with you. I have to stay. Do what I can to help the other Americans who will have been arrested. The Mexicans don't know I'm CIA. There is so much more I can do from behind enemy lines then with you in the States. I must stay, and you must go. And you must go now." Suddenly there was an explosion from upstairs. They had blown the door. Six Mexican regular army and three Guardia charged through the door guns drawn yelling in English that they were under arrest and they had been authorized to used deadly force to detain anyone who resisted. Then Dom heard a low growl, "Oh shit, oh no, Mynos, no" he screamed and ran toward the door in the direction of the stairs and the dogs. Sylvia grabbed him, twisted his arm around behind his back, settling him into an arm lock from which there was no escape. The speed with which she executed the move was incredible. Dom had barely registered her movement before he was trapped and held fast. She held him tight against her body speaking into his ear as he struggled against her. "You can't help her Dom. You have to save yourself. Go, God Damn it. Get to the beach as fast as you can." He heard another growl, loud barking, and then a scream. Mynos had attacked the lead Mexican intruder and clamped down hard on his leg tearing out a big chunk of flesh. Blood flew in all directions. Then a gunshot, a yelp, and Dom new she was dead. Mythos heard it too and the big dog went berserk in his rage at the death of his long time companion. He charged the remaining army and national guard, managing to severely injure two in his furious attack before he too was shot and killed. From the sound of it, it took at least six shots to put him down, not surprising given his size and strength. "No, God damn it" Dom screamed. "God damn you. My dogs. My babies." He cried now as he screamed. Sylvia still held him tight, as he continued to struggle against her. Tears were now pouring down his cheeks, and she was crying too, for him and for the dogs. She kissed his ear said "I love you baby. I will see you again. Now go. Out the patio door, down the stairs to the beach, Run. As fast as you can. Run." then she pushed him away towards those patio doors as hard as she could, turned and sprinted out the bedroom door towards the soldiers upstairs slamming the door shut behind her as she went. Dom considered briefly following right after her, but he knew she was right, and there was nothing he could do. Instead he made for the back patio and the stairs leading down to the beach.
By Everyday Junglist2 years ago in Fiction
2026 - The War of the Americas
Author's preface: Parts 1 and 2 of this story can be found here and here. Sylvia was an intellectual and athletic prodigy. She had skipped high school and gone straight to college at age 14, graduating at age 18 with honors. In addition to her academic prowess Sylvia excelled in athletics competing at a high level in track and diving and winning a Georgia state women's championship in archery. After graduation, she went on to law school and medical school although she finished neither, instead opting to pursue her passion for laboratory research and animals, quickly completing a Ph.D. in veterinary science and animal health. Since then she had become a 2nd degree black belt in Krav Maga, the fighting style pioneered by the Israeli secret police, and one of the most dangerous forms of martial arts on the planet. She was just as deadly with weapons as her hands, and, in addition to her archery skills was a near Olympic level marksmen with the rifle, handgun, and the weapon she favored most, the crossbow. Her shooting skills were not all that surprising as she had grown up in the backwoods of Georgia and was shooting and hunting since almost before she could walk. She was also proficient or expert level with a variety of stabbing and stick based weapons. In his mind Dom pictured her as a cross between Linda Hamilton from the Terminator movies and Mad Max. Since they had moved to Mexico the association with Linda Hamilton in T2 had grown. In short, she was exactly the type of woman you wanted around for the post apocalypse, and their current predicament had him thinking along those lines.
By Everyday Junglist2 years ago in Fiction
2026 - The War of the Americas
Part I of this series can be found here. "Fuck Dom, that's Tijuana alright, and San Ysidro crossing has been totally fucking destroyed. How could we have not heard anything? or seen anything?" Dom considered the question briefly before responding "Don't know babe, my guess is must have been a cruise missile strike likely from a sea based destroyer off of San Diego. If it had been an airstrike surely we would have heard the jets." That was a question for another day, right now a more pressing concern was on Dom's mind, and he guessed Sylvia would have the exact same immediate concern. "How do you think Mexico is going to react baby?" Dom asked already knowing the answer, but hoping she might surprise him. "Not well Dom, not fucking well." Within minutes she was proven correct as breaking news coming from multiple sources indicated that Mexico had declared it was now officially at war with the United States having been attacked without provocation. That news was troublesome to say the least but what came next, was a thing they did not expect, but perhaps should have, and it caused the fear level in them both to rise to new levels. Mexico had declared all US citizens living in Mexico enemy combatants and ordered their immediate arrest and detention. Immigration records had already been pulled, both Dom and Sylvia were registered as temporary residents of Mexico, and national guard and regular military had already been deployed to the addresses on file to begin rounding up Americans. "Fuck babe. We need to act now. They could be here to arrest us at any minute."
By Everyday Junglist2 years ago in Fiction
2026 - The War of the Americas
When Sylvia saw the look of distress etched across the narrow lines of her husbands face as he turned from his phone to gaze up at her, she immediately knew the next words to come out of his mouth were not going to be good. "Shit babe, I can't believe it. I can't fucking believe it. That son of a bitch, actually fucking did it, fuck, fuck, fuck. We are screwed here Syl, Trump just bombed Tijuana." Sylvia's heart dropped in her chest. It took her a few seconds to process what she had heard, stunned was the understatement of the century. "Shit Dom, are you sure? Are you certain? What's the source? Maybe it's a mistake, or propaganda?" "It's no mistake hon I have video footage right here. I am looking at it right now." Dom, spoke more gently now after hearing the fear in his wife's voice. He was scared too, very scared, but when Sylvia got scared, he got terrified, because it took a lot to shake her, and this news clearly had. He beckoned her over to sit beside him, and she moved quickly to his side putting one arm around his neck and over his shoulder using him like a swing to maneuver herself into her seat next to him. The warmth and love between them was evident in that moment revealed in the comfortableness of their physical interactions even in such highly stressful circumstances. She stared at the screen of the phone Dom had placed between them and saw smoke clouds rising above the border wall near San Ysidro crossing, the largest and busiest land border crossing in the world connecting the countries of Mexico and the United States just south of San Diego, California. Formerly largest, given what had just happened, Dom thought to himself. Additional footage showed the remains of the crossing itself which had been reduced to rubble and ash along both the Mexican and US sides of the border. The screams of the dead and dying could be heard above the wail of sirens. Mercifully, the strike must have happened in the middle of the night, probably between 2am and 4am local time. That was when the San Ysdiro crossing was slowest, but slow for a place like San Ysdiro still meant potentially hundreds to thousands of border crossers both on foot and by car, not to mention the hundreds of US and Mexican border agents working both sides of the crossing. What about the US CBP agents? she wondered. Had they been tipped off about the strike and evacuated? Likely that would have sent alarm bells ringing along the Mexican side so sadly she guessed, correctly it turned out, that they had not been informed, and instead had been deemed acceptable losses for the greater good. President Trump would call them war heroes for their sacrifice, but a sacrifice made without any choice, is no sacrifice at all she thought. It would also later be revealed that Trump had wanted to strike at the height of rush hour to maximize the impact, but had been talked out of it by his Generals who wisely counseled that the loss of innocent American lives would be so high it might lead to mass defections among the troops and possible insurrection in the military itself. Fortunately, Sylvia knew nothing of this at the time, and, as upset as she was by those thoughts, she also knew that the loss of a few hundred border patrol agents could be nothing more than an footnote in a war that might cost tens, or hundreds of thousands or even millions of lives should things spiral out of control.
By Everyday Junglist2 years ago in Fiction
Frisbee and Crabs
In contrast to the hyperactive, frisbee loving German Shepherd Mynos, Mythos was the picture of reserve and calm. He was a big dog, very big. Anatolian shepherds, also known as Kangals, are one of the oldest, arguably the oldest, dog breed in the world, and are legendary for their size, strength, and power. They have the most powerful bite force of all dogs, ten times that of a pit bull, and can crush bone like candy with their powerful jaws. Curt had once seen Mythos reduce a two-foot pig femur to a powdery dust in under two minutes, so he knew that what was said about them was no hyperbole. Their size and strength served them well historically and they found uses in war, but mostly in times of peace, as livestock guardians protecting flocks of sheep on the Anatolian plains from large predatory cats and hyena. Despite their size and strength, they are the epitome of gentle giants and generally have a friendly disposition. Mythos was wonderful with other people, especially children, and had a gentleness of character that was very out of sync with his appearance. Mythos had a repertoire of facial expressions that was as expansive or more so than any human Curt knew. He had learned, or felt that he had learned, through years of close observation, to see the dogs mind, his emotions and thoughts, in real time. As they moved through his brain, they were projected onto his face like waves of water projecting on the surface of the ocean.
By Everyday Junglist2 years ago in Fiction
The Next Great Mental Health Crisis May Have Arrived
Author's preface: This story is primarily targeted to my neighbors in the small community where I live, but as a warning to the larger global community I felt I should go public with the issue that has hit my own neighborhood very hard. To any of my neighbor's who may be reading this I say congratulations for taking this very difficult first step toward healing. Know that I am here to support you in whatever limited way I can. To everyone else, I hope you can take what you learn from this story back to your own communities and spread the word. This is a global issue and the more awareness we raise the better. We can get through this, but only if we work together and know the signs to look for so we can quickly identify those who truly need help before it is too late save them.
By Everyday Junglist2 years ago in Psyche
