[DEFEAT. is Rendar Frankenstein’s truest attempt at fiction.   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]

Daryl leaned forwards and Vanessa leaned backwards. The hero planted a kiss on his girl’s neck. There was enthusiasm only teens are capable of, a willingness to jump right into the thick of things without worrying about details. And that was for the best, too, ‘cause if Daryl started thinking about the particulars he’d have realized he had no clue as to what the fuck he was doing.

Or, more appropriately, how to do the fucking.

But that didn’t matter, because Daryl was a teenager. And as such, he was imbued with that special prowess of life that is lost when one allows bills and taxes and getting to the office on time and counting calories and changing the batteries in the smoke alarm to take precedence. When that happens life is no longer an experience but a goddamn calculation. Less of something to enjoy and more of something to figure out. Not a gift, but an expense.

Daryl and Vanessa didn’t concern themselves with such misdirecting thoughts. Instead, they went full-throttle into one another, grappling with a passion that could’ve been mistaken for violence had clothes not been removed. Neither had ever gone all the way before, but there was no doubt in either’s mind now.

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[DEFEAT. is Rendar Frankenstein’s truest attempt at fiction.   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]

Wednesday morning.

Daryl woke up dizzy and thirsty, but he wasn’t convinced that he could blame it on the Colt 45. No, Daryl remembered that by the time he had come home and gotten into bed he had been sober. Practically. But trying to stand up, he couldn’t shake off his light head and tight chest.

“Why’re my damn lungs on fire?”

And then the recollection. Cigarettes and incense and smoke. He had been totally absorbed. Yes, Daryl now saw images of the mystic who had shown him…well, he knew what she had shown him, but it was too early to start trying to figure out what it meant.

“Hiya there, kiddo!” interjected Gramps, just in time to prevent the dangerous heavy thinking that sometimes follows an evening of heavy drinking. Easing his way through the threshold, Clark moved towards his favorite grandchild. “From the looks of it, I’d guess that someone had a good time last night!” The elder statesman of the Millar tribe slapped his grandson on the shoulder, laughing and remembering his own youthful indiscretions. “I hope she was worth it — and if I know you, I’m sure she was!”

“Nah, Gramps, nothing like that — it was a night out with the boys.” Sitting back down on the edge of his bed, Daryl shot a hand through his hair.

“Oh, I thought I had heard something about you taking out a lady?”

Remembering his plans for the evening, Daryl reassured himself. “Oh yeah! I’m taking Vanessa out tonight!”

Gramps inquired, with a glimmer in his eyes of a man who knows, “And what is it that you’re planning on doing with this Vanessa?”

“Well, I think we’re going to head to the movies.”

“Good idea — nice and dark, you can really make your move in a theater!”

“Gramps!”

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