Tuesday, April 30, 2013

Podcast #1 (Iron Man 3 and Christian Fernandez Dedication) ft. Louis

Hey guys! We just uploaded our very first podcast, and it's about our opinions about Iron Man 3. It's also dedicated to our brother, Christian Fernandez. It also has our other brother, Louis, but he doesn't say much in this. It's just us basically ranting off 'cause of the killer heat. So here it is! Enjoy!


- Mikey McMike

P.S. Follow us on our SoundCloud too: Just Got Played

Saturday, April 13, 2013

-STORY- Who Are You?

Hey, guys. This is the first article we've published ever after me and the rest of staff's Graduation. Yeah, it's been a while. But don't worry. We're back and we're definitely loaded. And here's another story for all of you people who want to get away form the harshness and sadism and cruelty of what we call "Reality".

Who Are You?

Knock. Knock. Knock. I heard knocks on my front door. I actually heard something. I actually heard! I got up from my bed and got my shotgun and went down the stairs to the front door. I don't know what kind of shotgun this is, 'cause I just got this from my dad's old closet. Who cares now, anyway? Who? This is all so weird. Too strange. Who would knock on my door? Who? I stood beside the door and leaned against the wall. Knock. Knock. Knock. There it goes again. I'm scared. I don't want to open the door. I don't want to. I'm never been so scared like this in my life... except one time.

I remember back when I was a kid. My mom left me when I was just 7 or 8 years old. My dad got into a very deep depression. He wouldn't talk for days. Months. Mom left us for God knows what. She just stole off into the night like nothing ever happened. Not to say that I didn't feel anything after that. I just always thought that she was just out to work and come back with toys or candy like she always does. But she never did. After realizing that, I cried. I cried for days. Months. My dad started to cry too. I guess he couldn't take it anymore. One day, I found him on the floor moving like some kind of insect. Shaking. Shaking so badly. Saliva foamed in his mouth. I stepped back and back and back, and started to cry. I screamed so loud that the neighbors came in the house to check. He was brought to the hospital and confined there for a couple of days. Turns out he overdosed on Aspirin and sleeping pills all at the same time. That was the only time I've been so scared like right now. So, so scared. I thought my dad would leave me too, just like what my mom did. And I was alone. So alone.

Like now. A deep pain dashed through my head. God. Headaches again. I've been having more of them lately. Maybe it's because I've been staying up all night, on guard. My eyes wide open. Honestly? I can't even sleep. And if I do, I'm half-awake. Sweat dripping down my skin. The feeling of a fever creeping up on my body. It's too much. God, are You there? But, I manage. I survive... so far. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. They're getting more violent now. Who is this?! I can't do this. I just went up again and laid down on my bed and let the shotgun stand on the right of it. I face it and think... How long has it been like this? Days? Months.

What happened? I just woke up one morning one day to see that everyone vanished. Every single person alive. The TV channels stopped airing. No one online on the Internet (or the Internet stopped working too, I don't know). Newspapers stopped publishing. No one on the streets, at work, in their houses, anywhere. No one. The radio just feeds off static. And that was my only hope. Like that movie where there was this guy who was the last man on Earth. But this isn't a movie. This is real. I am the last man on Earth... or so I thought until 10 minutes ago when I heard knocks on my front door. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. They're getting louder now. 'LEAVE ME ALONE!' I shout back to the door. And for a night, it does. Whatever it was.

While trying to catch my sleep, I remember the first day I had as the last man on Earth. I roamed the streets of the city with no fear, yet I still held my shotgun. The stores were empty, TV screens blank. Nothing. Nothing. The first thing I did, was to steal off some grocery supplies and headed back home. I got some clothes too. The whole world was mine. I would run off to the middle of the street and scream and sing and laugh. I was the happiest I've ever been. I was alone. That was all I've ever asked for. But that night, as I slept, I was expecting all of them, the people, to return by the time I wake up. But they didn't. And I loved that. I just want to be alone. I don't want any people at all.

I fell asleep in the longest time ever. I can't remember the last time I slept so soundly. That was probably a long time ago. When there were still people at all. Rain was falling down. So hard and loudly. The knocks weren't there too. Thank God. I went down to the kitchen and made myself breakfast... or at least what I call "breakfast". It's just a sandwich. I live off by stealing from supermarkets and malls. But that doesn't count as "stealing" anymore, right? Since there's no one to steal from. Until yesterday. Since yesterday, fear has caught me on edge. I don't want to go out anymore. And my supplies wouldn't last a week right now. I had to go out at some point. I sat down in front of the dining table and stared out the window eating my sandwich. Then out-of-the-blue, I hear my favorite and most hated song. 'Can't Help Falling in Love' I whisper to myself. This was played during the time I was in a restaurant back when I was a kid. When mom was still with us. That was the first time I've ever heard of that song. Then the other time, the one I hate, was when dad was dying on the floor when I was a kid, when he OD'ed. It was playin on his radio beside his bed. I've always noted that song ever since. It kept playing in my head right now. No. It's coming from outside. I ran upstairs, got the shotgun, and went back to the door. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock! Knock! The knocks were back. 'This is too much. WHO ARE YOU?' I asked. There was no reply but the continuous knocking on my front door. I slid down the wall and began to cry. Daddy...

Another memory comes into mind. When I was 13, my dad became depressed again. He would just lock himself in his room and wouldn't come out for days. Months. One afternoon, after school, I decided to go inside his room and finally talk to my dad. But after opening the door, I saw my dad laying on his bed with a rotten smell coming off him. He'd been there for a long time, it seems. Then the same scenario like back then played. The neighbors came and took him away... for good. Since then, I've hid and stayed away from people like the plague. 'Cause of the fear, of the assurance, that all of them would leave me someday. Not today. Not tomorrow. But someday. Complete isolation from the world, from people. Now look where that's gotten you, Patrick. Guess I paid the price? A taste of my own medicine? I don't know. I don't care anymore.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.

After dad died, I went away. For years, I traveled the streets and cities as a vagrant. Sleeping on the pavement. Eating on junk I see in the trash. And most than not, I kept being mugged. They would kick me and beat me down and run away with what I had at the time, which was mostly scrapped food or a blanket I found in the alleyways. Child Care soon found me wandering a random city and took me into custody. I was 17 then, I think. They kept me in what seems like an orphanage. The other kids tried to talk to me, but as they do I'd push them away. I didn't want anyone near me. There was this one time, a kid tried to talk to me. He wouldn't stop. He got to my nerves. And so I stood up and punched him in the face. He was knocked down, sure enough, but I didn't stop there. I kicked him over and over again. I grabbed his head by the hair and smashed his face against the wall. At the side, I saw a pair of scissors and grabbed them. As I was about to stab him in the stomach, security stopped me, grabbed me by the hand. The boy was laying there, bleeding to death. He was 5.

I faced trial in Court. I got a lawyer whom I don't even know, but since I couldn't provide for my own, the police gave me one. He pleaded for "insanity", but the Judge didn't seem that convinced. As the days went by, the Judge, out-of-nowhere, gave me a sentence to stay in an institution for the criminally insane. To stay inside a white room with a straitjacket. But since I've always wanted to be alone, I guess I deserved this. Wanted this. And so I gave in and stayed there... for years.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.

News had it that the lawyer who represented me lost credibility of himself and his license 'cause of the allegations of bribery. Figures. All his past clients had their sentences cleared and charges dropped. How? I don't know. They took away my gift! They sent me away from the institution and left me on the streets, again. I had nowhere else to go except the old house where my mom left us, and where my dad died. And so I went there. But on my way there, I was mugged again. But to the dismay of the mugger, I had no things of value with me. So instead, he stabbed me in the abdomen and ran away. I just lay there on the street, bleeding so profusely, with the whole world turning black. I think I lost consciousness then. Luckily, the old house was just nearby and so I drew my strength and crawled and I crawled and I crawled. For a while, I just lay on the floor, recovering. It was a miracle that I did. But it wasn't a "miracle" that I had no job, no money, and no life. I survived off from junk in the trash like what I did when I was a teenager. I've done this for years. I'm 27 now.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.

What kind of life do I have? Do I even have one? KNOCK! That jumped me off to my feet. 'WHO ARE YOU?' I ask. KNOCK! KNOCK! I'm getting scared. I back away and aim my shotgun to the front door. Like a river flows surely to the sea... It's still playing! 'WOULD YOU STOP THAT?!' I beg. Tears stream down my face. KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! Lightning flashed through the windows, and then came thunder. I was startled but that only made my grip on the shotgun tighter. 'Who are you...?' I couldn't take it anymore... The pain. The fear. And so I put the shotgun to my temple and as the thunder roared... BANG!

'Clear.' A charge was surged upon me and my body jumped off the bed, in restraints. I opened my eyes. A beep came out from a monitor at the side. Then from a straight line, it became a line of mountains. And the beeps continued on. 'He's alive.' a man in white said. There were people all in white around him too. They began cheering and clapping. I lost consciousness.

Take my hand. Take my whole life too...

I woke up one day in a hospital room. There were no flowers on the vase on the cabinet beside me. Nobody knows me, anyway. A nurse came inside. 'What happened to me?' I asked. 'You were found on a street near your house, bleeding to death.' the nurse replied. Mugged. 'Who brought me here?' I asked again. 'A man who just happened to be walking on your block. He brought you straight here.' she answered politely as checking my stats. 'Bring him here.' I demanded.

The man came in an hour later with flowers and two burgers in his hand. He sat down beside me and looked at me in the eye. 'Thank you.' I said. He put the flowers in the vase and the burgers beside them. 'So, how are you?' he asked. 'I had a dream.' I replied. 'A dream? What kind of dream?', 'I was the last man-- I was... I was... Everybody vani-- But there was... I-- I-- There were knocks on my front door.' I finally managed to say. 'Knocks on your front door? What do you mean?' he asked curiously. I stared out the window. Looked down on the streets and saw people walking, minding their own business. Living each and their own lives. Company. 'I'm Patrick. Who are you?' I turned around and asked him. 'I'm... Well, Patrick. I'm your friend.' he answered.

Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock. Knock.
And the door opened.

- Mikey McMike