DEFEAT. 045 – after words.

September 18th, 2011 by Rendar Frankenstein
[DEFEAT. is a   coming-of-death novella. Brian Galiano lends his artistic talents to each episode. this is the post-coital cigarette.]

Rimina Jacoby sat in Bandini’s Café, leisurely smoking a cigarette and drinking coffee. Black. Bandini himself had tried to persuade her to try the espresso but she said she’d seen what it was capable of. And frankly, she laughed, she didn’t think it would be quite strong enough for her taste.

With her gray sleeves rolled up to her elbows, Rimina handled a newspaper. Her eye searched the front page, settling on the date. “Yes, yes, yes…that is when today happened.

The little bell above the door jingled. The Woman in Gray Robes didn’t look up to see who was entering. She already knew. She had planned on meeting him here, at this moment. In fact, years later she would tell him to make sure he was there so that they could palaver. As equals.

Or as close to equals as they would ever be.

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DEFEAT. 044 – Ain’t No Damn Word for It

August 14th, 2011 by Rendar Frankenstein

[DEFEAT. is a   coming-of-death novella. Brian Galiano lends his artistic talents to each episode. the end is nigh.]

There is no tomorrow.
There is no yesterday.
There is only now.
And forever.

Daryl Millar stood outside of the high school gymnasium, peeking in through an open door. He could see that all members of the student body were taking their seats in the bleachers. All those in attendance, anyway. As is the case with any suburban high school, a fair number of burnouts and weasels and academically-uninterested driftabouts made a habit of not attending classes on Fridays. Especially those Fridays peppered with the self-aggrandizements known as pep rallies.

With that being said, the vast majority were present for Daryl Millar’s final stand. And the burnouts and weasels and academically-uninterested driftabouts? They didn’t get too far before they heard about it.

But before this could happen, before the news could spray over the town with the vigor of a severed artery, Daryl would have to wait. For the perfect moment. Otherwise, all would be for naught. An inability to exercise patience could result in the unraveling of his plan altogether.

Which, as Daryl saw it, would be tantamount to an unraveling of the very realities he was hoping to secure.

He watched. He waited. He resisted the urge to run to his friends when he saw them taking their places. 8-Bit, assisted by Riff, hobbled and crutched his way to a seat in the front row. Daryl couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he understood. He figured that they must have met before first block. He gathered that they’d have exchanged details about their last encounters with the third party of the triumvirate.

“Told me to play guitar.”

“Told me to believe in myself.”

Hell, Daryl mused, maybe Vanessa even met with them. Maybe she took my spot during the morning meeting of the minds. Yeah, that…that would make sense. Continuity would be provided. The three of them — the rocker, the gamer, the lover — together to venture guesses. Where was I? Why wasn’t I at the locker? What would I do today? It wouldn’t matter if they left questions unanswered. As long as they came together, in my absence, to ask questions.

That’s all that matters — asking the questions. The rest will fall into place. I’m sure of it.

He couldn’t have hoped for more; Daryl watched as Vanessa entered the gymnasium. She waved farewell to the classmate with whom she had entered, spotted Riff and 8-Bit, and found a spot next to them.

They’re all here. Now, what about my enemy? The Tyrant — where is he?

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DEFEAT. 043 – Postscript Four

August 5th, 2011 by Rendar Frankenstein

[DEFEAT. is presented in weekly episodes. the novella tells the tale of Daryl Millar - a hero who dies at the intersection of pop culture, science-fiction, war epic, and fantasy. Brian Galiano provides stunning original art for every episode. the end is nigh.]

I’ll never forget how he looked when I finally came face to face with him. Well, face to face with him again. Surely you know what I mean.

Don’t you?

It was just before 10AM when I came across Daryl Millar — just as I had planned it. His entrance at the pep rally would be about a half-hour later, so I figured this was the perfect time to reveal myself. Remembering the route he walked to school, I parked myself somewhere in the middle and waited.

He arrived right on time. Of course.

Before he saw me, his face was filled with fire. Not a blazing inferno of anger, but an inextinguishable torch of determination. There were no words that could persuade this hero to abandon his mission. Not that anyone else would have even approached him to try. After all, don’t forget that he was holding a goddamn sword. Not exactly an inviting image.

When I stepped in front of Daryl, he did not become upset. Perhaps somewhere deep inside, in the same viscera that told him to follow this course in the first place, he knew that I could not stop him. That I was not derailing his train of consequence, but offering a minor detour. With this comprehension in hand, he gave me an honest moment to speak my mind.

I told him who I was. He laughed at first. He told me I was just a pervert who hid in bushes and spied on high school students. I explained that I could understand his interpretation, as he had clearly spotted me on Monday, but that he was wrong. That I was who I was claiming to be. That given the revelations of the week, he should be more open to the idea.

And then I made an allusion to Crisis on Infinite Earths.

Daryl reconsidered his position. He looked as deeply into me as he could. Then he looked deeply within himself. I saw him thinking, considering all of the existential convergences. Intercourse under his belt. A sword that had traveled the world. A genuine gypsy mystic. Visions in basements and coffee shops. Friends in need. An adversary to defeat. His grandfather’s approval for whatever. A final word of warning coming from a traveler from afar. It all clicked.

Universal sequence complete.

We both acknowledged the surreality of the situation. I wanted to say something more to him, but didn’t. He offered his condolences about my right leg. He said goodbye and trudged ahead.

He hadn’t moved more than twenty paces when I called after him. Again, I knew it was useless but couldn’t help myself.

“Daryl! Wait! Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

He stopped but didn’t turn around. Over his shoulder, he called out to me. “Did you enjoy our conversation?

“Yes. Very much.”

“And do you enjoy the ability to have such conversations?”

“Of course! It’s my life’s work — everything I’ve ever dreamed of.”

“Then you know what I have to do.” He continued walking. “Besides, nothing’s stopping you from speaking with me again.”

I watched him unsheathe the goddamn sword and take a sneak preview of its glory. Walking down his chosen path, he was all right.

All right forever.

- E.B.

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DEFEAT. 042 – Good mourning, Black Friday!

July 30th, 2011 by Rendar Frankenstein

[DEFEAT. is a   coming-of-death novella. every week a new episode pops up, accompanied by an original Briano Galiano illustration. for fans of science fiction, fantasy, video games, comics, war epics, and feats of triumph]

The birds started chirping. The sun climbed with resolve, hurtling over the horizon with Olympian ease. The timer on the automatic coffee machine hit its limit and began brewing black inspiration. It was almost as though they had all taken part in a conspiracy, a plot to ensure a perfect beginning to an essential ending.

Did the birds, the sun, and the coffee machine actually know what a monumental day this was to be? No.

But Daryl Millar knew. He knew that this was the most important day of his life. He knew that on this day, he and his closest friends would celebrate together. He knew that they would revel in exultation only possible with immense sacrifice. He knew that this would be the last day of his life.

Daryl Millar woke up. He pulled open the shades and let himself be bathed in golden rays of wonder. He laughed to himself, thinking just how perfect this day would be. It all made so much sense, there was an undeniable purpose at hand.

Bending to one knee, the hero reached under his bed. With great respect, Daryl drew out a sacred tool. An instrument his grandfather had bequeathed unto him. The weapon that Clark Millar had pried from the dead hands of his last mortal enemy.

Daryl Millar held in his hands a goddamn samurai sword.

And in a few hours he was going to plunge it right into his own heart.

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DEFEAT. 041 – Second Wind 1970

July 24th, 2011 by Rendar Frankenstein

[DEFEAT. is a   coming-of-death novella. every week a new episode pops up, accompanied by full art by Brian Galiano. for fans of science fiction, fantasy, video games, comics, war epics, and feats of triumph]

Bursting into tears, the girl ran into her father’s open arms. She was seven years old and learning about the unfortunate end of life. Death. She was learning what it felt like to watch a loved one succumb, to fall victim to the force by which we are all eventually swept away.

He wasn’t her brother. But he sure felt like it, having been there for the duration of her entire short existence. From the very first day Betty brought her home from the hospital, the seven-year-old had been loved and protected by this surrogate-sibling. And now she had to watch as he withered away into nothing.

Nothing living, anyway.

“Daddy, why is this happening? It isn’t fair! I don’t want him to die!”

Stoically taking a rip from his pipe, the father looked at his only child. He was challenged in a way that was new and unnerving. Which was saying something, given the scope of his life experience.

He had survived war. He had moved to America with nothing and made something of himself. He had mastered the arena of political science, becoming the department head of a prestigious university.

And he had done all of this with self-assurance, an unwavering belief that the path he had chosen was the right one.

But now he wasn’t exactly sure what to do. He gently parted his lips, allowing for a light puff of tobacco smoke to billow upwards. The father savored the taste of the smoke and anticipated the rush from the nicotine. This was his ritual when preparing to do some heavy-duty–

“Daddy,” the daughter interrupted, “isn’t there anything we can do?!”

“I’m still doing zee heavy-duty thinking.” He hadn’t completely shaken his accent. Years later, when his daughter realized he had an accent, she’d find it endearing. But right now, she just wanted a solution to what had been described to her as an insolvable problem.

She had heard the word from all of them. Her mother. Her father. The doctor. They all had different ways of explaining what it meant. The maternal optimism that everything would be fine, despite what the word suggested. The paternal idea of confronting the inevitability of the word, becoming stronger in the process. The scientific defining of the word, plagiarized from a textbook. Yet, nothing curbed the inherent terror of the utterance.

Cancer.

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DEFEAT. 040 – Hours Before a Public Suicide

July 13th, 2011 by Rendar Frankenstein

[DEFEAT. is a   science fiction/coming-of-death/war epic novella, released in weekly episodes. at this point, you've either read every installment (unlikely) or you're waiting for the movie (also unlikely). if nothing else, follow the link and check out Brian Galiano's amazing art. blahblahblah!]

“Margie, wake up!”

The rotund younger sister ignored the request, turning over and darting her head under a pillow. She saw that the sun was far from rising and knew the schoolbell wouldn’t be ringing for hours. Her older sister probably just wanted to get something off her chest.

“C’mon, I want to talk to you.” This time, Vanessa coupled her appeal with a gentle swinging of a pillow. She had succeeded.

“Great, now you’ve done it! I’m officially awake!” Margie feigned supreme aggravation, shaking a fist in her older sister’s face and putting on her best scowl. But her natural joviality didn’t allow for such impressions to persist and she ended up chuckling, amused by her own antics.

“Seriously though,” Margie began after looking at the clock, “it’s just after three in the morning — what do you want?”

Vanessa plopped onto the bed. “I’m in love.”

“Oh, spare me!”

“I am.”

“With that Daryl boy?”

“He’s no boy.”

Margie halted her intended conversation. “Wait — what does that mean?”

The elder, more beautiful sister did her best to prevent the blood from flowing into her face. She failed. Blushing, she offered her explanation, “Well let’s just say he’s no boy and I’m no longer just a girl with monthly Womanly Responsibilities. I’m a full-fledged woman.”

Margie’s jaw nearly hit her potbelly. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing. You…you let that dude bone you?”

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DEFEAT. 039 – true believers

June 29th, 2011 by Rendar Frankenstein

Daryl’s resolve had been fully reinstalled by Vanessa, the love of his life. He now had a force fortifying him, filling the few remaining empty spots of his soul with purpose. With an emotional connection expressed physically, one is far less vulnerable to the wounds that Life so desperately tries to inflict with His rapier.

That is, of course, unless heartbreak is involved. For as rewarding as is the ascent to the top of the mountain, the tumbling downward is doubly painful. Given enough time, even the most sincere relationships can deteriorate, either losing their vitality or compromising until all that remains is a shadow.

And the shade is fine. Unless you’ve walked in the sunlight.

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DEFEAT. 038 – Cola-Flavored Love

June 22nd, 2011 by Rendar Frankenstein

[DEFEAT. is Rendar Frankenstein's unabashed love song to the very things that've kept him alive - sci-fi, heavy metal, fantasy, war epics, and pop culture. Accompanied by original art by B. Galiano, each weekly episode continues the tale of Daryl Millar - a hero guaranteed to die upon the novella's conclusion. All are welcome, but nerds are encouraged]

It was three o’clock in the afternoon. Daryl’d been sitting on top of the Pepsi machine for a half an hour. Perched above, he had clear view of the three suburban blocks in front of him.

It was a perfect panorama of suburban chaos.

Station wagons and vans whipped around corners, providing the day’s only excitement for their middle-aged drivers. Youngsters fleeing their elementary schools chased one another with no regard for their surroundings. Husbands rushed out of their front doors with their mistresses, returning to their offices after extended lunch breaks. Mailmen, finally shaking off their hangovers, swore at the ten-year-olds running through their paths of delivery.

All of these islands interested Daryl, but the makeshift crow’s nest had been designed in the hopes of spying one legendary continent. It was lush and full of life, capable of invigorating those few and far between who reached it. Daryl had ventured further into its jungles than any other, exploring the uncharted darkness that no man had ever before braved. Since leaving, it’d been Daryl’s desire to return as soon as possible. And return he would, for he could see his El Dorado on the horizon.

Vanessa.

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DEFEAT. 037 – Stranger Aeons

June 17th, 2011 by Rendar Frankenstein
[DEFEAT. is Rendar Frankenstein's unabashed love song to the very things that've kept him alive - sci-fi, heavy metal, fantasy, war epics, and pop culture. Accompanied by original art by B. Galiano, each weekly episode continues the tale of Daryl Millar - a hero guaranteed to die upon the novella's conclusion. All are welcome, but nerds are encouraged]
[cue soundtrack]

Cliff stood outside of the bus for an additional moment. His cohorts, having already boarded and begun drinking, urged him onto the mammoth transport. But there was an electricity in the air that made him want to linger. An elusive vapor swam about and Cliff wanted nothing more than to breathe it in forever.

But alas, he had to heed his friends’ calls. After all, it was a long ride to Copenhagen and the sooner they got into the bus the sooner they could get out of it. The partying — the booze, the drugs, the women — it was all a well-designed escape. While many fantasize about touring the world, sharing their art, they don’t consider the means of transportation. Too many people, cramped into too small a space, traveling too far.

Far from ideal and even further from comfortable.

But it was worth it. Every single second of struggle, every instance in which discomfort and uneasiness reigned supreme, the countless arguments and tiffs, all the nonsense was erased from existence on a nightly basis. Walking onto the stage. Hearing the intro tape. Feeling the crowd surge as they waited for lights to hit. And then performing — this eradicated the very molecules of personal turbulence.

It was the goddamn dream – living to express ideas, bearing one’s soul to others, knowing that your perspective is appreciated.

As Cliff climbed into the bus he was nearly knocked backward by the stench of alcohol. The refreshing late September air had been fully expelled and was now replaced with the fumes of Jägermeister and Absolut. Hell, if he weren’t such a trusting man, Cliff would’ve sworn that even the bus driver reeked of booze.

On most evenings the musician wouldn’t have so much as batted an eye, chalking up the bath of ethanol-cologne as another perk of being on tour. But now he couldn’t help but feel overpowered by surreality. It was as though he was beginning to transition into something greater, floating above his body and perceiving the scene from an entirely new angle.

An angle not of the first four dimensions.

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DEFEAT. 036 – Spiritual Precipice

June 8th, 2011 by Rendar Frankenstein

[DEFEAT. is Rendar Frankenstein's newest fucking story.   Presented in weekly episodes, the novella tells the tale of Daryl Millar - a hero who is guaranteed to die. For fans of pop culture, sci-fi, war epic, fantasy, and sick original art]

Daryl got out of the car, thanked his grandfather for the ride, and assured him that he wouldn’t need any further transportation. “Thanks Gramps, but after I see Riff, I think I’ll just walk to 8-Bit’s house. It’s nice out and I could use some fresh air.”

“No problem, kid.” Gramps gave the Buckley residence a once over, stifling his concerns about its dilapidated state and the as-of-yet-to-be-fixed window. Then he remembered the previous evening’s confrontation with Lieutenant Buckley. “You sure Riff’s dad is at work?”

“Yeah, Riff always has to walk to school on Thursdays because his dad has the earlier shift.”

“All right. But if he shows up, I want you to excuse yourself and head home. No need to stir the hornet’s nest.”

Daryl made his way to the front door and would’ve rung the bell if the door had been closed. But it was left ajar, no doubt the direct result of Larry Buckley drunkenly stumbling to his cruiser in the hopes of getting to work on time. As such, the hero walked into the house and called out to his friend.

“I’m in my room,” Riff groaned slumberously.

After climbing the stairs to the second floor, Daryl let himself into Riff’s room. The headbanger was in bed, doing his best to recover from his recent trauma.

His eyes were blackened.
His nose reset.
His spirit broken.

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