House: Echelon Documents

A Story by Abishai100

Portrait of estranged/eschewed American Homeland TV-culture interest, ghost-exorcism, fathers-sons blood, and 'angelic' human-world theater for the books.

An epic family value Romanticism tale of eerie proportion, inspired (loosely) by House (Steve Miner).

DISCLAIMER: This work of creative fiction contains images/references with no commercial/explicit ties to any representative person(s)/body (e.g., NFL) and is cast as purely a 'personal' expression for social arts (for 'open' reviews).

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Let me tell you my story. I was living in a Homeland-Jersey prototype suburbia (Echelon) with my alcoholic/troubled father (Emit) who wanted to suddenly know more about my sports-culture language-arts reading for cyber-storytelling in the post-9/11 era West (American Homeland) of incomplete-distances readings for net-activity 'linked' Earth-intelligence confidence for sportsmanship/peace, for a residence-image of dominion fiction (hmmm).

My story would certainly draw even Martian interest or wonder or curiosity or storytelling, since it concerns how I'd negotiate my personal hobbies with Emit's troubled angst with stranger distancing and awkward father-son inquiries of ambition and American dreams for fathers-sons humor or psychiatry (hmmm). Even Martians would wonder what I'd balance for my personal life or Romanticism with Emit's 'cartoon-like' paternal insistence (ha).

I decided to showcase my special Thanksgiving-TV culture Western (American Homeland) sportsmanship 'trophy' for my cyber-storyboard, a Detroit-city QB-rookie gem/card of Super Bowl premonition-value, to alcoholic-dad (Emit) and hoped he'd think I was simply exploring the richly contoured shiny readings of Selfie-fanfare culture for football cleats/helmets (hmmm).

EMIT: This is glorious, sonny-gem.

ME: Thanx, Emit.

EMIT: This is certainly a TV-scale culture trophy for the books.

ME: Right, a Thanksgiving-culture symbol for Super Bowl futures.

EMIT: Thanksgiving and Super Bowl (TV) makes for Americana ghost-magic!

ME: Maybe that's why you think our TV-friendly house is haunted, Emit.

EMIT: Don't doubt it, sonny-gem...I hear attic-rumbles like of basketballs.

ME: Well, this Detroit-city QB-card is certainly Americana-tales ghost-magic.

EMIT: Write the story, and I'll read it in our attic with candles (to mice/ghosts!).

ME: Good for leviathan, Emit; maybe I'll invite my girlfriend over during your read.

EMIT: Well...we'll seize our haunted-house (Echelon) with this 'cleat' comedy.

ME: Fine (football stew).

Emit was appeased and found something to do to leverage his drunken insistence with a surprising 'ghost-magic' discovery drawing us ironically/miraculously closer for his wage against the supposed ghosts haunting/prowling our suburbia (Echelon) house (attic). On the eve of the incantation with my post-football writeup (Thanksgiving-TV culture trophies) line complete, Emit sat in the attic reading to the ghosts making noises, while my girlfriend who came-over (Esmerelda) sat in the TV-room watching Halloween horror-films for Selfie-interest.

ESMERELDA: Thanx for fleeing to this Inn-Express TV-lounge for getaway, darling.

ME: Emit was ranting and raving in that attic...I feared he'd storm down to us!

ESMERELDA: You knew he had his gun...it was surely wise, darling.

ME: Well, I got my Detroit-QB football card with me, so he can't entreat more.

ESMERELDA: Emit's a stranger, darling.

ME: I know it; this is a tale of mice and men more than fathers-sons, Ezzy.

ESMERELDA: This hotel-lounge will give us/Emit time to cool-off.

ME: Maybe I won't go home again (Selfie-like!).

Emit committed suicide that night; and one year later, I married Esmerelda and moved in with her and found life with her, a darling-scientist lady of social media photo-fanfare, quite a release from that haunted house of bad-sportsmanship memoirs. Did Emit see the ghosts which riled him up, and did they not pardon his fathers-sons awkward-courage for sportsmanship, after he had used my dared Thanksgiving-TV culture football story/tale as an 'exorcist' tool for bloody cleats?

The Saint Patrick's Day after the birth of our son (Damian), I cooked for Esmerelda ('Ezzy') a zesty Irish-curry stew, to forget about football ghosts, haunted houses, estranged/troubled fathers of the American Homeland; and I meditated on the blood-borne intuitions that afforded Earthlings, all/any Earthling, a purely human view for cultured residence 'masks' that would (surely) draw some Martian respects.