Another snippet from a work in progress.


There have been only a few times in my life where I truly felt crazy. Most of those times it was due to drugs, but I don’t think this is the case. I think when someone says, “the little voice in my head was enticing me to do it”, or “I had a little conversation in my head…”, That they are totally sane, and in their right mind. Now, when I say those things, I actually, LITERALLY, mean them. I mean that I talk to myself, and myself talks back. If that doesn’t sound crazy, then I think that you might have some mental health issues as well.

I had a disgusting night out drinking, a holy bar bender for the ages, the ended with an almost fatal concussion. I wake up in a hospital 18 hours later, confused, and in so much pain I wanted to puke. I can barely open my eyes from all the crust in my eyelids and then I hear a familiar voice. The voice tells me to get up. It tells me to wake up and stop wasting time. The voice then tells me to get my ass out of bed and is sounding very impatient. I rubbed the crust out of my eyes and open them to the realization that I am the only one in my hospital room. Then I think why the voice is so familiar… it was me.

You see, at first I thought that I was obviously concussed, and possibly hung over. How could a disembodied voice be talking to me? I must be dehydrated or something. Painfully and slowly, I get out of bed in my hospital gown and walk over to the bathroom in my room. Turn on cold water in the sink and splash my face several times to refresh myself. I take a rough towel off the bar and pat it against my face, flinching from a bruise I obtained the night before. Then I hear the voice again.

“Hurts doesn’t it? Wasn’t a very good idea to get in a fight now was it? That idiot had three friends, not a battle you should have started.” The voice echoed in my head.

“Hello? Is somebody there?” I say, slightly panicked.


Something I wrote while waiting for the bus.


It didn’t take long for him to get to the railway from his apartment. On a Friday in the late morning he found it very strange that there was hardly any traffic.

He parked his car too close to the curb, tires screeching on the sidewalk. He put on his jacket and grabbed his satchel. He barely glanced at the ‘No Parking’ sign his car was near. He proceeded into the station as if he would never see his vehicle again.

He got his ticket after a short wait in line. The cashier politely asked, “Is that all the luggage you have Sir?” Without answering the man took his ticket and went to his gate. When he arrived in the outside boarding area, he instead sat on a nearby bench while others boarded.

Several minutes flew by. The cold winter air whipping the man in the face. He didn’t move a muscle. All he was doing was clutching his bag. He still sat there not moving even as his train departed. He needed the ticket to be here, just as instructed.

Finally the man moved, to check his watch. 4:04 pm. It was time. With shaking hands he slowly reached his hand into the satchel. He removed the only two contents in the bag, a small pill bottle with no markings, and a note that read:

If you ever want to see them again, do as instructed. 4:05 pm.

With zero reluctance, he unscrewed the small bottle and poured the contents into his left hand. Three fairly large grey pills. They were the shape of footballs. One at a time he popped them into his mouth, with each subsequent pill harder to swallow as they scratched their way down his throat. With the final swallow he began to choke slightly, coughing. An older man started coming his way, but the man just shooed him away with a hand gesture, he couldn’t afford the attention.

Now having his composure back, he sat up straight against the bench and waited. A few more minutes passed. How long do these pills take to kick in? He thought to himself. After once again checking his watch, he realized it had been eight minutes since the instructed time. Have I done something wrong? What will happen to them if I fail? Panic surged through his veins like a gasoline fire, consuming all.
Fear taking over, he stands from the bench and starts pacing back and forth. He retraced his steps and recalled what had happened up until this point.

It had been two days earlier, he had just got off work and needed to get some groceries before heading home. It was his turn to cook, while Jenny watched the kids. They alternate parental shifts to ease the load. He wanted to make tater tot casserole again, his wife made it a few months before and he hasn’t stopped thinking of it since.

As he walked down the isles gathering the ingredients, he realized he forgot something. Was one of the casserole layers corn, or mixed vegetables? He put down his grocery basket and took out his phone to call Jenny. Before the first ring was over, the call was answered. At first all he could hear was static, after which he checked to see that the call was connected.

“Jenny? Honey, are you there? I have a question about dinner.” No answer. In a small break in the static he started hear his two sons crying in the background. Strange thing to hear considering your oldest is twelve years old.

He hung up and hurried to the check out line, deciding on a bag of corn. He figured that if the kids were having a meltdown, he needed to be there as soon as possible to ease that stress off his wife.

As soon as he entered through the front door in the living room, the groceries were dropped onto the wood floor with a loud smack. The recliner was turned over on its back. The television was on. There was a single boy’s sneaker on its side. While taking this all in, he hears that the sink is running in the kitchen. Quick as he could he ran towards the kitchen, before tripping over his wife’s purse. What the hell is all this? What in God’s name is going on here? He thought to himself.

He quickly picked himself up, dusting off his shirt. Feeling a sharp pain in his knee, he limped to the kitchen. The sink was overflowing onto the floor. The knife block on the counter had been knocked over and from it there was a butcher’s knife on the ground. He looked closer at the water splattered floor and saw that some of the water was discolored. He reached for the towel that hangs from the refrigerator handle and then he saw it. Blood. Blood splattered on the freezer door, dripping down the main door, then onto the wet floor. It felt as though lightning struck his heart.

He immediately felt sick and dizzy with fear. His legs felt like they were stuffed with wet garbage. He slowly limped in the direction of the boys’ room in a haze. Why didn’t she call if someone got hurt? Why didn’t Anthony call me? The door to the room was ajar. Nothing. No one. He had never heard the house this silent since his first son was born. He leaned against the doorway to get the pressure off his knee and tried Jenny’s cell once more.

“This number has been disconnected or is not available at this time…This number….” The generic phone voice echoed.

He grunted a sigh with every limped step towards the master bedroom. That is when he noticed the sporadic drips of blood trailing from the kitchen to where he was heading, his bedroom. He grabbed the knob of the door and pushed it open with some effort with his shoulder. Nothing was askew, except the blood covered note on his bed:

The first thing you need to do is take a deep breath. Calm yourself. Regain your composure and read this carefully.

Your wife and two boys have been taken. They are alive, and for the time being, safe. I cannot at this time tell you why, for you must earn that knowledge as a prize. Everything will come to make sense soon enough.

You must follow my instructions exactly. You may not stray from the plan. Do as I say and your family will live long prosperous lives. Leaving the house, going to the police, or telling anybody will result in the death of your family, and then yourself.

Clean the house, as if nothing had happened. You cannot leave the house until 3:30 pm on Wednesday. Go to the Railway station on 3rd Avenue and get a ticket for anything southbound. Do not board a train. Simply sit on a bench in the boarding area. Only bring the satchel that has been placed under your bed. Follow the instructions to complete phase one. Do this and you will see your family again.

I wouldn’t worry about the blood. It is mine after all. That boy of yours is quite the fighter.

Do as I say,
Mr. X

Snippet from ‘Me, Myself, and Why?!’

A few minutes off trail lead me to a large area that has a wall of hedge like bushes.I squeeze between two of the hedges to get to my old hangout. The crappiest little tree house I could ever imagine lay before me, well almost lay. Two trees were in the clearing behind the hedges, and about fifteen feet up the two trees start crossing like an x. In between the two trees was what looked like a giant cardboard box.

Upon closer inspection, you could see it was actually made out of wood. Barely held together by the trees, and with years of weather damage, it looked to be on its last leg. It looks like a dog house that flew in from a storm, but I missed it dearly. Rotting and gray instead of brown. It is only a foot off the ground, four feet high, five feet across. I shake the water drips off of my jacket and climb into the little hole of a door hunched.

To my surprise and delight, the tree house can still withstand my weight. Even with the newly acquired beer belly. The years of moisture and lack of repair seep into my nostrils. I imagine it must be what the neighbors souls must smell like. Cold, dank, and rotting away.

I believe introductions are in order…

26 or so years ago a small creature was born. That creature was named Nicklaus Alexander Lindemann.

Hi, my name is Nick, and I am a quitter. I quit things. This isn’t complaining or any type of self-loathing, it is a fact. I will pick something up, and before too long put it back down. It is in my nature. I am ADHD, a serial procrastinator, and a fatal amount of lazy.

A short time ago I took a step back and looked at my life, every aspect of it, my successes and failures, all of my past and future dreams and goals, and I wrote them down. I found that my biggest issue wasn’t my job, my living situation, or the people around me, it was in fact me that was the problem.

I was now in my mid-twenties with little to show for it. I wasn’t the superhero I envisioned I would be when I was a kid. My own selfish behaviors and even crappier habits turned me into my own villain. My own archenemy. I needed to find a way to rectify this. I now had this knowledge, now what to do with it?

I had to come up with a plan. It had to be a good one, because I have been digging a hole for several years, and I was in dire need of a ladder.

I enrolled in college. I am trying currently for a Bachelors in Criminal Justice with a minor in Business. I’m aiming to be a probation officer for kids, being a troubled kid myself back in the day. I’ve been doing this for over a year now and I’m actually doing really well.

I met a wonderful and beautiful girl named Natasha. I vowed to be 100% honest and true, letting her know me inside and out, problems and all. We truly love each other and she has been the most supportive person in my life. I cannot believe how lucky I am to have her. I still pinch myself.

I have always been creative, and always have had a humongous imagination pouring ideas out all over the place. I would start writing poetry or a story, and give up on it before it started. I SAY NAY! I am a writer! I will finish my shit! I will own it.

I am now in the process of finishing my first novel, several short stories, and a poetry collection. I am even in the beginning stages of an Inspirational guide/self-help series ‘Finding the Superhero Within’. This blog will now be a part of my writing habit as well.

There you have it. There is the short and sweet version. It doesn’t even scratch the surface of all there is to Mr. Lindemann, but if you stick around, you might pick up more pieces to the puzzle. I’m still finding some myself.

If things aren’t going the way you want them to in life, take inventory. Take that step back, find out what is wrong, find what is missing. It could be the people you surround yourself with, which you might have to cut the bad fruit from the tree. I know it is hard to accept, but it can be that YOU are the problem. I promise you, once you own that, it is almost a spiritual experience.

Nothing is set in stone. Grab your life by the balls and start getting the results that you dream of. Stop wasting time. Start taking risks. LIVE YOUR LIFE. You only get one after all.


That little creature all grown up,

Nicklaus Lindemann