CP Digital Darkroom

By Carlos Perez ·

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One last freebie pack for a while and then pack to writing. (Actually I’m at the hospital right now, so I’ll write while I’m here.)

Download link is on my websites Facebook Page, hit “like” if you appreciate the freebie.

UPDATE: Facebook Timeline Cover PSD Templates are now live, go download them.

https://www.facebook.com/CPDigitalDarkroomApp/app_220150904689418

I’ve been playing around with Photoshop at work instead of writing (oops) Been making these Facebook Timeline Cover Templates. Have 5 already made and am working on some more complex ones, although these are oriented towards photography pages etc, I will be making some for normal ones anybody could use, although you could use these for any page. 

Free download pack of the layered PSD’s is coming soon. Possibly by Friday if all goes well. As always the downloads will be free with the catch of you “liking” my websites Facebook page. (Link To Page [Sorry but my friend tells me this at least justifies giving things for free, if you don’t use Facebook definitely send me an email at admin@cpdigitaldarkroom.com and I’ll send you the files]) 

Here’s 3 previews of the simplest templates (the good ones are a surprise for release day :)

Sorry I haven’t really posted anything in a while, I’ve been in a writing slump of sorts. I’m still alive though, although this can be contested depending on your definition of alive (sometimes I feel like I’m a mindless zombie somehow making it through the day.)

Anyways, I created this nifty badge (similar to the one I use for my main site) to share with you guys as a consolation for my absence. It’s not really writer related but still, maybe someone will find a use for it.

Fully layered and organized, the PSD is ready for you to simply change the text or add your logo. It’s easy to do both, I’ve setup the PSD so you can do either easily.  Enjoy.

Download here: https://www.facebook.com/CPDigitalDarkroomApp/app_220150904689418

I gave you my world
And you threw it away,
I guess I knew all along
This would end up this way.
So I’ll have no remorse,
I knew it from the start.
Girls like you, oh,
Girls like you have no heart.

It was all my fault.
I choose to dance by satan’s side
And now I’ll pay
The price with my pride .
As I sit here alone,
You’re in bed with another man
But in the end, it’s all okay,
You’ll become a faceless name

That’s all you’ll ever be.

Don’t say a word.
There’s nothing you could say.
I’ve forgotten you exist,
To me, you died on this day
And as my heart mends,
I’ll move on
And you’ll become simply
Feelings that are already gone.

That’s all you’ll ever be,
A cheap thrill in the bay of pigs.
That’s all you’ll ever be.

12 days and counting
Tomorrow will be another
At night I think about your smile
It’s the only way I can sleep in peace
The air murmurs your name at every instant
And the moon has the same brightness as your eyes
I contemplate when you’ll be back
Without you I am worthless
Stretched across my bed, the smell of your memory
Makes me think about your lips
And the reality that the
Distance has us separated
12 days and counting
Tomorrow will be another

From the first time I saw you I knew
There would be very little I wouldn’t do
To show you I like and care for you

I let love die more than once
Afraid we would make a mess of it
But you keep finding your place in my heart
And I know now more than ever this could work for us

From the first time I saw you I knew
Even though the skies and seas are blue
Everything could change because my world belongs to you

This time I’m going to fight for once
I know what I feel and there’s no stopping it
You are the name etched into my heart
And all I can say is why don’t we try us

From the first day I saw you I knew
There would be no easy letting go of you
It takes a lot to say something is fate
But I really believe you were made for me

I think I have an alcohol problem…

(This is an old favorite of mine, one of the first stories I ever wrote. Enjoy.)

The flash is what I will remember the most. It was unlike anything I’d ever seen before. It was unworldly; ethereal. Everything after that flash will simply remain a scarred memory I choose to forget.

~~~~~

I’d been taking pictures that day: an assignment for a digital photography course I was taking. Up in the Blue Ridge Parkway, the natural beauty of North Carolina was surreal. Everything from the animals to the flowers had enticed me to keep shooting throughout the day. Though I had spent almost all day taking pictures of animals and critters, what I’d really been looking forward to that day was a landscape shot from the scenic outlook during sundown.

I’d spent most of the day hiking trough trails and capturing what I thought to be the better things with the world. That is my vision. I didn’t want to take pictures of things that were wrong with the world. I didn’t want to raise awareness about pollution or other ecological problems. My vision is to celebrate everything that is right with the world.

After going through one 8GB memory card I’d settled down by my Jeep and passed most of the early afternoon playing solitaire. Right before sunset—which every real photographer will tell you is the magic hour—I drove down to the scenic outlook and set up my equipment. The birds were chirping just right, the autumn colors were perfect, everything was ideal for a great picture. What I hadn’t been expecting was the explosion.

Usually when taking pictures of objects that are moving, I’ll put the camera in continuous drive mode so that it keeps taking a picture every 1/3rd of a second and that day hadn’t been different. There were a couple of eagles flying in the sky that caught my attention because of how they seemed to glow from the sun’s rays. I’d been about to turn off the camera to change the lens when it happened. First there had been a bright flash towards Pilot Mountain and then came a sound that of like thunder. As soon as I’d seen the flash I’d hit the lock button on my remote and jumped inside of my Jeep. The pictures I took aren’t important to me though. If I wasn’t a photographer by nature, I would burn the pictures.

~

You would think an event like a nuclear attack on the US would send the country into chaos, but luckily, our leaders had plans. Ever since President Truman, the country has had a specific order of procedure in case of nuclear war or other such catastrophic event. This procedure is called COG (continuity of government). Though the attack on the US did include a bombing of Washington DC, killing the current President, Vice-president and most of the congressman, there were already other leaders ready to act. That was part of the plan. We don’t know who these guys are or where they are hidden. We just know they are well secured along the eastern coast. I don’t worry for the well being of the government. The United States is a strong nation and it will see it through. But that day all I cared about was my family. That was another marvel. Even with the world turned upside down, I managed to locate my family. My mother had already been in the hospital even before the attacks. She was pregnant. My father, well, they located him for me.

~

I was sitting in my mother’s hospital room with my brother cuddled in my arms. His body moving up and down with each breath he took. My mother was in bed sleeping, weary from recent childbirth.

With my brother in my arms, I hadn’t been able to resist contemplating the fact that I would never be able to hold my own son in my arms. I would never be able to have a son period. I will never get to pass on the gift of life because I have congenital adrenal hyperplasia. The decease made me hit puberty at an early age, causing many changes in my body normal men don’t go through. One of those changes made me sterile. Even though my newborn brother is only that, my brother, he feels like a son to me. He is the closest I am going to get to have a baby in my arms, who is a small part of me—even if it is brotherhood.

I had my brother wrapped in a blue bunny blanket: it used to be mine. I’d had the blanket stored away hoping one day I would be able to give my son the same blanket I had slept many warms nights in. I’d thought I would never be able to pass it on to somebody after I heard of my condition but after many years my mother had come through. For eighteen years my mother had wanted another boy. We’d all given up hope when she reached her mid-thirties but at the last possible minute, she surprised my two sisters and me. At the age of forty my mother had another son and I finally got to pass on my blanket.


I’d put his hand in mine and was marveled by the clearer picture of exactly how small he was. His hand was the size of my pinky and his whole arms was the size of my hand—palm to fingertips. I’d sat in that room for hours. With the world thrown into chaos I didn’t want to be thrown in with it. I wanted to enjoy the small things in life. Whatever life was left. The potential radiating from him was amazing. I’d thought of the future and the type of force that would be needed to somehow fix what had been broken for so long. Even before the bombs exploded so many things were wrong with the world. How could peace be achieved when the only thing governments were doing was shutting up the other by killing them. Was that peace? Maybe one day my brother will learn from the distraught earth and be the driving force required to fix it back to what our forefathers had imagined it to be. 

My mother had then begun to wake from her slumber and I’d tried not to make noise in case she went back to sleep but my brother, sensing his mother was awake, began to whimper. I’d told my mom I’d take him outside for a bit so she could sleep some more but she was reluctant. “He’s probably hungry,” she’d said. I carried him to my mother’s arms and told her I’d be back after she was finished feeding him. I exited the room half reluctantly knowing I still had other places I had to go. 

Although it was two in the morning, the hospital halls were as busy as they had been in the afternoon. Normally I wouldn’t have been allowed to visit my mother that late but she had no one else: my father was in another hospital room two stories up. The nuclear explosions had left all the local hospitals over-capacity, understaffed, and running out of supplies. Our area hadn’t been the only one to suffer from an explosion but it was one of the worst after DC. It was estimated there were more injured survivors than there were unscathed people. But then again, that was to be expected.

My father had been working when the bombs made contact with the ground. Even though the building he worked in was a mile and a half from the epicenter of the explosion, the building wasn’t prepared for the force exerted. Nobody had been prepared for it. Who would have thought terrorists would target a low populated area in North Carolina?

My father hadn’t seen his son yet and was doubtful he will. He suffered a broken back, broken neck, massive blunt force trauma to the head with implications of serious brain damage. The neurosurgeons said that if my father survived he “may have profound deficits.”

I hadn’t had the best of relations with my dad at the time but with what was going on, everything that had driven me from him seemed little. All I cared about was his health and well being. As walked towards the elevator I couldn’t help but look at the carnage around me. I was in the area which had been sectioned off for pregnant mothers and less critical patients and still it looked hopeless in some cases.

As I walked past a room I caught a part of the ongoing conversation:

“…operation could lead to massive bleeding…we simply don’t know if he will be able to withstand losing so much blood…” I assumed that was the doctor speaking.
“Can you do a blood transfusion?”

“I wish we could. We are in short supply of blood and your son is type O negative.”

“That means he can receive any kind of blood right?”
“No ma’am that means he can only receive type O negative blood.”

I felt so sorry for the woman in the room. Even though I hadn’t seen her yet, I know she must have had face of defeat at that moment. I wanted to see my father, but I knew there was something I had to do. If I didn’t, it would haunt me for years.

I knocked on the open door and stepped inside. I excused myself for interrupting and again after I told them I’d accidentally overheard their conversation. I offered to donate some of my blood: I am type O. The woman’s face of defeat slightly warmed up and a shine was noticeable in her eye. The doctor looked at me and then at the mother. The doctor said it would be time consuming. Paper work would need to be filed. Permission from the parent must be given. I believe it was just a way for him to say he doesn’t need my blood. The mother said she approved of the idea on the spot and would give full permission. Then the doctor explained that my blood would have to be tested to see if it was O negative or positive. If I am positive I wouldn’t be able to give the little kid my blood. The doctor didn’t say it but I knew they also wanted to test to make sure I didn’t have any STD’s. No problem there I’d wanted to say. My condition had left me sort of an outcast. Lust and sex had been one of the least important things in my life.
I was led to a small room with a nurse. The nurse asked me a few prescreening questions I could have basically answered no to without even hearing the question. No I don’t do drugs. No I don’t engage in homosexual activities. No I haven’t been outside of the country in the past 3 years. No I have never had Hepatitis. With the questioning done, she pricked my finger and took a sample of my blood. She left the room, leaving me behind with my thoughts.

After a few minutes she returned and gave me the good news: I was type O negative. Of course I knew that though. Donating blood was something I’d picked up when I turned 18. Every possible donation day after that, I’d given blood. 

The nurse then cleaned my arm and tied a tourniquet around my bicep. My veins popped up and became clearly visible. She brought the needle out and I almost lost my breath for a second. It was bigger than I imagined. The ones at the Red Cross had been big but that needle had been enormous. My fear of needles hadn’t helped much then. I would see it through though. She gets closer to me with the needle and the predominating thought in my head is: Oh my God. This is going to hurt. 

Once the needle was in, it was all down to the time it would take the blood to flow into the plastic bag. The whole process took a little over 20 minutes in which all I had to do was squeeze a black handlebar like tube. Once finished she took out the needle and bandages my arm in purple gauze. I knew the 2 pints of blood I had given would help but it wouldn’t be enough if the boy lost a lot of blood. I’d done all I could though so I’d carried on.

On my way out of the room the mother stopped me and thanked me for donating blood so her son could have his operation. She extended her arms and wrapped them around me. At first I was confused but then I hugged her back enjoying the little things. 

When I was finally heading back on my way, I found myself with a deep desire to see my father. After seeing my brother it made me realize I will always be my dad’s little kid. No matter how old I get my parents will always see me as their child. I might be a man but in their eyes they still see my running around with the same blanket I’d given to my brother. Although my father may not be able to hear me, I still wanted to thank him for everything he’d done to make my childhood the best and for raising me to the best of his ability.

I walked towards the elevator with sweaty hands. My stomach felt weak and my face cold. I began to see yellow dots which turned into nauseating blurs. I’d grabbed for the wall for support but fell to the ground anyways.


I woke up in the same room I had left earlier. The same nurse was waving an alcohol soaked cotton ball in front of my nose. My speech was a little garbled but I think I’d made my point that I was okay and wanted to leave. She’d nodded her head and put her hand on top of mine. It wasn’t a sexual advancement. Of that I was sure. She was a young nurse—maybe early twenties. In the world we were living in, small connections with total strangers really made an impact. I’d smiled at her and then left the room. I walked back down to the elevator and rode two stories up.

On the 5th floor, I saw and heard a scene that made my stomach hurt again. I heard screams of pain from patients and I saw doctors doing the best they could to soothe the pain with medication. All their best efforts were not doing much in some cases. It was obvious that the fifth floor had been assigned for the “not going to make it” patients. Struggling to keep going forward, I’d reached my father’s room. I knew he wouldn’t hear me but out of courtesy I’d knocked on the door. As I walked into the room I heard a sound I had been trying to push out of my head since my first steps in the hospital. I didn’t cry; I didn’t feel angry. I had accepted the fact that my father might not make it out alive. Listening to the steady tone of the machine had brought calmness to mind. My father was in a better place. Anywhere would have been a better place at the moment. Heaven or hell. I sat down in a chair by the bed and turned off the monitor. 

~

The flash is what I will remember the most. It was otherworldly. It was surreal. It was a reality I had never expected to see in my life time.

Nowadays people fear death more than any other thing in their lives. I don’t get it. Why do they fear it?

Death is the end of all things. It’s the end of the pain, the suffering, all the bullshit we are presented with daily. It’s the end of all your troubles.

You no longer have to live with having to live by societies regulations or the norms that have been put upon you.

You no longer have to live with that hollow feeling inside of your chest every time someone breaks up with you.

Gone are the days in which you struggle at work, putting up with fascist sadistic bosses just to be able to put food on the table for your wife and kids.

People live with this fear of death and don’t realize that they are losing so much to that fear. They make their lives far more miserable and dull by fearing death than they think.

For example a person who likes the idea of going skydiving but fears that something will go wrong and die. His fear of death prevented him from exploring the idea of skydiving further. Thus he never does it, rather stays at home and watches other people do it on TV.

The thing I’m trying to say is that we should not fear death. Rather we should welcome it with open arms. Shake it’s hand and say, “Come in friend.”

Death is not going to be worse than life. You have already been through so much in life that death will be like a relief to you. 

Go out have fun and enjoy yourself. Liberate yourself from the invisible noose you have put on yourself.

Adam Brindle sits on a wooden bench, legs crossed in front of him, sucking on the sweet heaven he calls menthol cigs. I watch him from across the street, inside a local shop, hiding from his gaze—his eyes a crystal, diamond like blue.

I’ve always been fascinated by Adam Brindle. His eccentricities keep me guessing about who he really is.

After minutes of watching Adam Brindle, I’m convinced he plans on sitting on the bench forever. The bus has come and gone many times but Adam Brindle moves not a muscle. Finally, I step outside and walk over to where Adam Brindle is smoking his fourth cigarette. He looks at me and smiles, perfect white teeth and says, “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Flat and monotonous, his words hit me sharply. I can feel his eyes on me, taunting a red wave to wash over my face. I begin to feel a bead of sweat forming on my forehead. As I begin to back step I am stopped cold by Adam Brindle. “Come on now, You’ve been watching me for over an hour. You must sit and talk. Ask, ask as many questions as you want.”

My first instinct is to run, run away as far as I can from this man. Yet, I don’t follow my instinct. Instead I sit, obediently I take a seat next to the statue like man, thinking I am safe out in public.

Wasting little time, I quickly indulge in my questioning. I ask Adam Brindle how old he is.

“28” he says flatly.

I look at him and his attire, noticing he is nicely dressed I ask, “Why are you so dressed up for?”

He smiles a coy grin and answers, “I just came from seeing a dead friend.”

Intrigued by his lack of sadness I ask, “Did you not like your friend?”

Again he smiles, showing off his perfect white teeth. “Of course I liked my friend, I loved my friend.”

I look into Adam Brindle’s crystal clear eyes and ask, “What happened to your friend?”

This time he frowns ever so slightly but then smiles. “I got tired of the nagging, so I killed my friend.”

Clearly the man is lying. Right? He isn’t just going to admit this so calmly to me. Would he?

“How long ago did this happen?”

He takes a long draw from his cigarette and answers coyly, “About two hours ago.”

At this point Adam Brindle’s turns towards me and mockingly smiles his perfect white teeth. I knew he has to be kidding, there was no way this man had just killed someone. Adam Brindle’s countenance was calm. He wasn’t worried about a thing. No way he’d just killed someone and was lazily sitting on a bench telling me of his deed.

Convinced he is lying, I continue further. “What was your friend doing?”

Flatly he answers, “My friend kept telling me to get up and get them a drink. I was trying to watch a game of basketball and I hate interruptions.”

I bust out in laughter. The excuse he gave me convinces me fully he is kidding. Aside from being creepy, Adam Brindle has a very active imagination. Too entertained to end his game I ask, “So you’re running away before the cops find you?”

“No. Actually I’m going to the groceries to pick up some milk for my cat. The police? They’ll never catch me.” Adam Bridle brings his feet under him from their crossed position and throws his cigarette on the floor. He turns towards me and asks, “Do you think I should run away?”

I think about it for a second and answer, “Well assuming you did kill your friend, I’d say yes. You should run away. As far as you can. Get away before anyone catches on to what you did.”

“Do you think I could get away?” He asks.

“Yes. If you tried hard enough I think you could get away with it.”

“What about you? You know I did it. Wouldn’t you give me up?”

“I would probably think about doing it, but the fear of you returning to kill me would surely put me off from telling anyone.” I admit to Adam Brindle.

“Though I probably could get away with it as you’ve said, could I get away from myself? I know what I did and I will never be able to forget it. I loved my friend. If I ran away this secret would run away with me.”

“I suppose you’re right, but if you’re so worried about your conscience how were you able to just kill your friend you loved so dearly?”

“Sometimes we must do things we don’t want to but for the better of humanity we must.”

Adam Brindle watches as the bus rounds the corner and pulls up to the bench. Slowly he stands erect, directs his gaze to me and says, “The body in a trunk in my closet. I cut the body up and vacuum sealed it in small parts.”

Adam Brindle smiles his perfect white teeth and then gets on the bus.

I watch the bus until It’s gone in the horizon and then continue my day like nothing happened.

Sometimes inspiration fails me. Like a gust from the east coast, it flows through my fingers, ungraspable. This whole week has unfortunately been this way -_- hopefully tonight I can come up with something good to share, or anything at all, I just want to share.