One Hundred Thousand Words

You are here: Home » One Hundred Thousand Words



Yes, I'm Lying Down

August 25th, 2012

One hundred stories were published, and over one hundred thousand words were written on these pages. It was as if each letter was a tear shed from my emotions and found its way onto the screen. I never thought our life would become this big and resonate with so many people. I did not believe that this would matter to so many people.

Initially, I did not understand why The Adventures of Captain Imperfecto would become so meaningful to so many people worldwide in the different ways it has. But as that fact has time to simmer in my mind, I am grateful and humbled that it has.

I wrote to vent, laugh, shout, remember, cry, and let in those I otherwise would never have let in before. These words speak for so many. From moms and dads, friends, brothers, and sisters from all walks of life, my words have hit a nerve of expression for many people.

Words comfort you when you're all alone. Words let you feel again. Words set you free. Words remind you of things that once were and are mementos of times of our lives, much like music to your ears; words are music for your mind. Words give you vision and enlighten your senses with hope. Hope is a good thing. Hope is salvation. Hope is the one thing that allows us to move forward because it builds confidence that there will be a better tomorrow.

When you sit in the dark, and you're by yourself with just your thoughts, and the only sounds you hear are the ones that go bump in the night, don't be afraid of the unknown that gives you those goosebumps and chills down your spine. Don't be scared of the noises around you. They are the familiar sounds of life that once filled your home with the joy you shared with loved ones. Be brave and face those things that frighten you. Be familiar with your surroundings and embrace the emptiness that has gutted your insides so that when you see the light, you'll have the courage to fill the space again with things that made you the person you used to be and the person you long to be.

Setbacks can knock you right on your ass. It's not easy to see your dreams broken before your very eyes. Like a hurricane moving through your soul, there is nothing but debris to clean up after the destruction has moved on. But you rebuild. Like dirt that has settled in layers to blur your vision, you sweep it away so you can see again. The waters that have sucked down your momentum will recede so that you may gain traction again. But it's hard, so damn hard to see the good, so damn hard to think things will be okay again. But you have to clear out the anger, bury it in the dirt that you wipe clean, and drown it in the water before it recedes so it won't consume you.

Whether it's baby steps, long steps, waddle steps, or short steps, everyone walks the same. The walk is long and lonely; ultimately, it doesn't matter what steps you take. You just have to place one foot in front of the other, plant your foot down hard on the surface, and push forward, followed by the other foot, and so on. I started my walk. I began with words and a blank sheet of paper. I started to rebuild with a blog site, hoping to heal myself, never dreaming that it would help others. I'm not there yet; I'm still far off, but I will find the strength. Even if it's one step or even one letter at a time.

 Here's to another one hundred thousand words.

https://twitter.com/FusaCmee

Christopher Fusaro. The author of Captain Imperfecto.

© Copyright 2012- 2024 Captain Imperfecto, LLC. All rights reserved. This material may not be republished, rewritten or redistributed without permission.  Please contact if you would like to re-publish in film, television or print. 

Also see us at www.captainimperfecto.com

Shoulda, Coulda, Woulda

You are here: Home » Shoulda,Coulda, Woulda

August 23rd, 2012

Standing alone facing infinity, wishing for an end to slowly fade into sight so I know I'm okay. It's such a lonely feeling when the ones you love don't care. It makes you feel dead inside. The noise around me is the only thing that lets me know I am still alive. My feelings were lost long ago somewhere out there, numbing my pain, feeling no hurt I could cause to others, not willing to care.

I reach out into the thin air, but my hands flail around, grasping at nothing because there is nothing to hold. My strength keeps me planted at my base as I try to reinforce my foundation with a positive outlook and imagine that there is something real and meaningful to tell me, "Things are going to be alright."

The road to despair is a long journey that requires you to look deep within yourself. Believing that there is a reason for this, then laughing out loud because that belief is such bullshit. You have to fight. You have to swing. You have to let go to regain the once was, and maybe someday, it could be, before you start believing in the never will.

The never wills will haunt you. It allows you to never believe in yourself and forces you to stop confiding in the system you programmed in your mind, placed there by years and years of your "life's lessons." I don't want to stare out in a world that could've been, when it should've been, was up to me. Standing here and looking out into infinity leads me to believe I was never here and, therefore, never was.

The should-haves lead to regret, which leads to tearing you up inside. It's hard to swallow, and when you do, it cuts up your guts until you choke on the blood, reeling in your reality of what would have been and what never was because you failed to do what was right for you. Your talent is wasted, and you are left with the thought that you can never be what you were meant to be, but now, by your actions, you're faced with the possibility of a never-be.

Life can be confusing and lonely. And the should haves, would haves, and could haves intermingle with one another as you travel down your road of self-misery to face the emptiness of space. But deep down, if you believe in who you are, there should never be a has been or could've been, only a here I am, this is me; I can be who I want to be, and I am because that is all there ever was. I am me.

I am the one who made the should-haves into reality and the could-haves that were already done. I can be who you want me to be because I am already the person I want to be. I sacrificed to become the one thing I can rely on because if I can't rely on myself, then I can never be, a will be, and will suffer the consequences of being a never was.

520 words

https://twitter.com/FusaCmee

Christopher Fusaro. The author of Captain Imperfecto.

© Copyright 2012 - 2024 Captain Imperfecto, LLC. All rights reserved. This material may not be republished, rewritten or redistributed without permission.  Please contact if you would like to re-publish in film, television or print. 

Also see us at www.captainimperfecto.com

Eye of the Storm

You are here: Home » Eye of the Storm

The rain drenches me, and my misery soaks it up like a sponge. I truly understand the meaning: "When it rains, it pours." The raindrops saturate my body, leaving me feeling helpless and cold. I strip out of my clothes, exposing myself to the elements. I am surrendering to the power of the rainfall. Thus, I leave myself vulnerable to all those who wish to stop and stare, but I do not care.

I don't run for shelter in the storm. I'm in the center of it all. I am the eye of this disaster that is waiting to make landfall. A hurricane warning has gone up all around me. I churn in the water, producing steam, slowly building up the low pressure, and moving my body into a position that causes destruction. My outer bands stretch far beyond my nucleus, touching the lives of others. Some of it is a good touch, but other times, it's a lashing out, causing a total disaster. I need relief.

I just want to heal. Heal those around me and be happy again. Give way to the sunlight as it breaks through these dark clouds. Allow those to enjoy what used to be, even though there will never be again before the gray skies. There are white caps from fierce waves and a surge of emotion, a danger on my surface. I want the seas to be calm so my loved ones can play again. So they can enjoy the day rather than always being afraid of the dark clouds in the distance. Beneath the surface, I bury more emotions in the abyss of my loneliness. It does nothing but churn the tide.

I look forward to the day when the light stays on rather than flicker between loud booms of thunder and despair. The light flashes, like my life, before my eyes. Like a child, I count my Mississippi 1 and Mississippi 2 to gauge how long I have before the clouds reappear and change the day to gloomy. I hope the breeze will come along and push the clouds away, avoiding what nature aims to bring me.

But I know that will only happen if I am in the eye of the storm. Under the false pretenses of a beautiful day. Because there is nothing but chaos all around me while I stay protected in the eye's cocoon. I will only be safe if I move within it, but I can not live this way. I have to pray for colder water so that it will lessen the strength and power that is pushing against me. Every time I think I made my exit, the storm acts like two magnets. It bounces me around inside, never allowing me to get out of the continuous cycle.

It's my heart and soul that I want to reconnect to make my own storm. My heart to make it through the storm and my soul to recognize who I once was. Only the loss of someone can tear such things apart. When the loss occurs, you are blinded by the high winds and stinging rain that aim to make things more miserable. Even though you realize that deep down inside, the fear paralyzes you from reacting to it. I feel better off drowning at sea than fighting such a battle.

Leave it to the weather person to ruin a day you expected to turn out perfect, especially at a time when you try to remain positive.

[voice over]

And now, for the best coverage in town, from the newsroom to the street to the political arena, Channel Four has it covered for you. We are first with news and first with weather. Now, our Doppler Four weather woman, Patty Pouper. Weather first, then news on today's tragedy, Patty.

"Hello, everyone. Patty Pouper with today's forecast. It's tiredness with a chance of sadness as depression is expected to move in later in the day. Expect choppy seas later, and be prepared for a broken heart. The chance of rain is high, with no light to dry it up and make the rest of the week tolerable. Save your time with an umbrella to shelter yourself from the storm. It will only delay the inevitability of falling over with no chance of getting up."

The weather is challenging to predict, even with today's technology. And no one can predict how the future will unfold. No one expects a hurricane to be named after them, but eventually, everyone will have that woeful distinction. And the vulnerability of everyone staring at you while your life plays out in anguish. You can only hope that people will understand rather than relate because who would want to relate to such destruction? You just have to learn how to weather the bad times and get out of the eye of the storm before it's too late to see the beauty that occurs after a storm. The beautiful rays of hope.

828 words

https://twitter.com/FusaCmee

Christopher Fusaro. The author of Captain Imperfecto.

© Copyright 2012- 2024 Captain Imperfecto, LLC. All rights reserved. This material may not be republished, rewritten or redistributed without permission.  Please contact if you would like to re-publish in film, television or print. 

Also see us at www.captainimperfecto.com

Frogs in Space

You are here: Home » Frogs in Space

August 20th, 2012

3…2…1…

“We have ignition and the space flight is on its way, as it clears the tower, heading towards space and into the stars on an historic journey.”

The g-force throws us back 10x our normal weight, as we are sling shot through the sky by the thrust from the solid rocket boosters . The vibrations from the sheer power is rattling through us so violently that I can barely keep my eyes on the controls to make sure the system is functioning. I have to look three panels over before I can zero in on the one I need. There’s nothing but blue sky out front as we leave our smoke trail behind, to settle among the spectators that ventured out to watch our flight.

The adrenaline is coursing through my veins, even though my body feels as flat as a sheet of paper. The mighty force is pushing down on me with all the pressure of a vice, squeezing every once of DNA out of me.

My arteries begin to constrict, choking off my blood supply to vital areas of my body. I feel light headed and the outer areas of my peripheral vision begin to blacken, darkening my field of vision as the constriction narrows in my view. The pressure is intense and I head to a blackout. I feel my space suit fill with air forcing my blood flow from one area and supplying the much needed organs with blood so that I may sustain conscientiousness.

The rocket cuts through the sky wrecking havoc on any air pockets that dare to stand in its way. The space craft rocks and rolls, as it ascends into space. The blue gives way to the darkness of space while we continue our rise towards the stars. The ship begins to slow, but my body still moves forward and gives my stomach a queasy feeling.

We made it! We are in space and what a glorious sight before me. I unbuckle my seat belt and allow my body to ride the gravity free atmosphere where I begin to do somersaults like a kid. All the training in the world doesn’t prepare for this moment. What a feeling to be light on your toes when all your life you have gravity pulling you down. I could stay…

“Daddy,” a voice cries out in my headset.

Here all day and become mesmerized…

“Daddy,” there it is again. As if God himself is reaching out to me.

My concentration breaks. I look down at my son who is pulling on my shirt. He reaches up his hands and hands me a plastic frog.

“Ribbit,” he says.

“Where did you get that frog Nico,” I asked.

“Ribbit daddy,” he says with a smile.

“Did you pay for that buddy?” I ask.

I take the frog out of his hands and notice the price tag is still on it. Holding the frog in my hand I stare back at the mural of the space shuttle taking off. “Man I love the science museum,” I say out loud while turning my head to look over my shoulder, where I perched Christopher, my youngest son, for our space flight.

“Okay, lets go back to the souvenir shop,” I said missing my chance to travel in space.

We walk into the store that is tucked nicely within the museum and I seek out the line so i can pay for the reptile. My sons run about the store playing with the other items that they sell.

From granite rocks, to ant farms and bugs, candy and games, science experiments and rockets…rockets!

“Look guys!” I shout, “rockets!”

They both weren’t interested. They were more excited about the plastic amphibians in a large clear bowl that is occupying their time while they fish their hands inside pulling the plastic creatures out, throwing the ones they didn’t like on the floor or maybe they thought they were setting them free.

“Two dollars and sixty four cents sir,” the cashier said with pleasure.

“Oh and I’ll take that rocket behind the counter too,” I said politely.

“This one,” she said grabbing a rather cheap looking one.

“Umm no, I think my kids, those two standing right over there,” I point, “ would love that one right there. The one that says Rocket 4-1S Built to Fly High in the Sky. Be your own Astronaut,” I said with giddiness.

“OK, yes they will like this one,” she replied. While raising her eye brows and tilting her head a little. An indication that she was on to me and she knew full well what kid is getting that.

“Let’s go home guys,” I said.

I walked out the door towards the main entrance that will guide us to the parking lot and the gray minivan awaiting its departure.

The boys and I walked to the car. I held their hands as we crossed the not so busy road to the van. I strapped them in their car seats.

Covering my mouth, “Okay NASA we’re ready for lift off,” I said in my best radio voice. “Roger, that Nissan Quest 1,” talking to myself as my sons look at me not sure what to make of all this.

3…2…1…

“Lift off!” I shout

I press the gas pedal as we drive off at mach speed 5 miles per hour.

“NASA thank you for the training,” I announce. I peer through the review mirror at my boys, who in return are staring out the windows.

We begin the journey to the sanctity of our house.

“Um Houston we seem to have a problem,” I announce again. My boys are still oblivious to my rocket humor as they continue to stare out the window.

I reach into the Science Museum bag and fiddle about the contents inside grabbing a toy from the inside.

“NASA, there’s frogs in space,"  I yell.

My boys turn their heads towards me and begin to giggle.

“Ahhh,” I shout, “frogs in space! Ribbit! Ribbit! Ribbit!”

My boys laugh out of control. I throw the frogs about the cabin of the van screaming.

“FROGS!” I shout.

The laughter fills the air; their joy is something I’ll never tire of.

“Well Mr. Frog,” I say staring at him before I toss him over my shoulder, “If you can’t beat them, join them. FROGS in space!” I yell.

https://twitter.com/FusaCmee

Christopher Fusaro. The author of Captain Imperfecto.

© copyright 2012. All rights reserved.

Also see us at www.captainimperfecto.com