Parafilm. No joke. It's honestly a story. about parafilm.

Aigh-tuh. so. the style of Dean Koontz (no joke, I accidentally wrote Dead Koontz first time around.) is pretty basic; Part 1- a swift, mind blowing introduction with the capability to cause your head to pop like your mom's popcorn. Part 2- A kickin' body. Not as in "Daaaaaang. Dat gurl got a kickin' body." As you may hear in the hallways of henry clay. Though I will concede that our hero does, in fact, have a kickin’ body. Part 3- An end. Now of course, I'm not gonna include this part, but I just thought you might want to know that it does exist. oh yeah, and as a whole, his pieces tend to be not overtly descriptive, but mostly plot driven.

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She found it by accident really. Her troupe was taking a rest on a relatively dry spot of land and Para de Film had gone off by herself to… well… use the facilities. If you can even call it that when the only thing surrounding you is dense foliage. Para de Film was walking back to camp, about fifty feet away from the rest of the troupe when she felt the ground buckling underneath him. Before she had time to cry out, she fell down ten feet into a man-made tunnel stretching into the distance with its dark distances. Curiosity aroused, she decided to explore the hidden passageway. The tunnel had burning torches on mounted brackets every fifty feet. Taking a knife from her belt, she carved a large X into the wall, for whenever she decided to come back. Taking a torch from its mounted bracket, she continued down the tunnel after inscribing a large à symbol pointing in the direction she was headed. After walking downhill for roughly half a mile or so, she walked into a fantastically huge natural cave with a twisting pathway leading to the center where a stone pedestal rose up into the center of the cavern to rest slightly above the level of the ultra-clear water that filled half the cavern. Where the tunnel had obliviously been man-made, and crudely, at that, the massive cavern that stretched at least a mile across was clearly natural, with its rolling, smooth ceiling and walls. The water was entirely clear and Para de Film could see all the way to the bottom – more than fifty feet down. The water was so silent and undisturbed that it would be all too easy not to realize that it was there, but for the eerily glass-like reflection cast by the torch Para de Film held above her head. After extinguishing it on the ground, Para de Film put her torch into a bracket inlaid into the wall as if specially designed to hold the torch for any visitor. Having done so she realized there was a glowing light cast by the water that dimly lit up the entire cavern.

Awestruck, Para de Film walked to the pedestal resting barely above the water as if in a daze. Amazed by the beauty that Mother Nature had displayed all around him, she fell to her knees, her armor making a noisy clank that echoed twenty times over as it bounced around the walls of the cavern. Crawling to the edge of the platform, she nearly ripped off her gloves in her fervor and plunged her hands into the cool water, causing ripples to spread throughout the cavern. Drinking the water that she raised to her lips with slightly trembling cupped hands, causing water to dribble from between them and splash back into the water. As soon as the liquid touched her tongue, she realized that it was not ordinary water. While it had been refreshingly cool on her hands, as it entered her mouth it had started to warm. By the time, she swallowed it down her dry throat it was almost scorching hot. The water seemed to have an almost tropical taste. She knelt there on her hands and knees for several minutes until she was whisked away. Suddenly, Para de Film was sitting on soft white sand staring at a calm sea on a beach she had never seen, watching a beautiful sunset. Para de Film wanted to get up and try to find out why she had unexpectedly been transported to this serene landscape. She found that she was unwilling to move, afraid she would break the tranquility of the scenery she found on every side.

Suddenly, she was back in the cavern, lying on the ground, curled into a fetal position on the smooth stone surface of the podium. She realized that the landscape she had earlier found herself in was merely a figment of her imagination. Somehow, she knew that it had been real. There was no way it could have felt so real and simply have been fake. She wondered what had caused him to go into her self-induced excursion when she felt the torrid water bubbling up inside of him. Fearing she had been poisoned, her eyes grew wide with panic. She got to her knees and began to pray feverishly, asking her Almighty Lord to save him from a slow, painful death; that she would shelter him from the pain. Once she had spouted every plea for forgiveness that she could fathom, and the words began to falter on her tongue, she slowed and finally stopped. Then she sat down and folded her legs into a lotus position, appreciating the deadly beauty all around him.

She had found the fountain.

The entire camp was in a state of panic. Para de Film had vanished; disappeared into thin air on a trip to empty the tank. Everyone had searched high and low for him but not until more than ten minutes after it was time the group should have begun moving again. It was not a matter of loyalty, far from it. The men had wanted to turn back the moment their boots sunk into the stagnant mud. It was not even, because Para de Film had had the maps with him when she disappeared. It was because Para de Film was the only man in the entire company that knew how to actually read the maps. And God knew that it had been hard enough for him, too, a man that had devoted her life to the study of such things. Without him, there would be no returning home. Without him, they would be stuck in this uncultivated, jungle-themed hell that she had led them into for the rest of their lives, which, if they did not find him soon, would be shorter than they could hope.

In 1514, Para de Film returned to Spain with astonishing news of a discovery that would change the world forever. However, a fact less known to the public, the discovery of a new land was not the only reason for her sudden return. She also returned to tell the people of Spain about the fountain of youth.
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Log­: We are on the last leg of the journey and it is hard to believe that in a matter of weeks I will be home; back in the city that I have grown to know and love throughout the upbringing of my childhood. But more on that later.

When I first discovered the fountain, my first thought was of the look on the queen’s face when I told her of my discovery. Would she be able to speak? Would she demand that I take her along with me on my next journey? Would she even believe me? Then, I began to think. What would this world be if it were inhabited by undying creatures? Would the surface of the earth simply fill up with undead persons until the whole structure became so heavy that it would eventually collapse and fall into the fiery pits of Hell itself? Perhaps there was a reason that the almighty God banished the human race from the state of immortality? Would re-spreading immortality to the human race invoke the wrath of God herself? Would he reach down with her all-powerful hand and smite me? Was I really doing the right thing?

Finally, I came to a decision; I would have to destroy the fountain. Fortunately, I told only one person of the fountain itself. The only man that I discussed this with was my dearest friend and companion, Francisco Romano. Luckily, after many hours of deep pondering and debate in her cabin, (I found out later that the men thought that I was having an affair with my wife and that Francisco had been lying to me. Ha! The very thought of it!) We finally came to this same conclusion. So, we made a formal decision that we should speak nothing of the fountain and announce the voyage to be a failure in everything except the discovery of a new land. Else, someone else might discover the fountain before we can return. We concluded that we would return to the oversea island in exactly one years’ time to destroy of the shrine…
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- When Para de Film returned home, she became the subject of a lot of ridicule for her alleged “failure.” However, she stayed strong and, with the exception of her wife, did not tell a soul of the fountain.

The times changed and the seasons rolled on. Eventually, a year passed and Para de Film began to make plans for her next voyage to America…

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5/18/14

Log- After having decided to delay the voyage because of the particularly harsh winter, Francisco and I decided to meet again in approximately five months. Having done so, we had our supplies put onto a ship, hired some sailors, and set off. There is only one thing that presents itself as a problem and worry to me; my wife. Upon hearing the danger of our mission, she insisted that she come with me. I told her that it was too dangerous for a woman, and she became enraged. “I don’t care!” she screamed as she stormed about the house, “I can’t stand to wait for you to come home and then you not return for nearly a year! I’m going with you whether you like it or not!” So, I allowed her to come along. However, if there is any chance that she may be put in harms way, I will immediately return home and plan another voyage; one that I will not let her come.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Para de Film arrived at Florida a few months later. Upon arrival, the sailors began to set up camp while Para de Film and Francisco stayed in their ships cabin and worked hard over a map to plot the course of their previous voyage. Para de Film’s wife, Doña, walked in with a slight swagger.

“Now, honey,” she said with a slur, “you need to come ‘elp the rest of us set up camp.” Even from across the small cabin, Para de Film could smell the alcohol on her breath.

“I will. I only need to talk a little longer with Francisco.”

“But you need to ‘elp ‘em now!” Her face suddenly blotched up turning her face to a dark angry shade of red. "B****! You don't know me!" Then, she broke. She fell to the floor sobbing.

Unmoved, Francisco cast a look to the concerned face of her friend. Para de Film walked to her wife and helped her to her feet. Looking deep into her eyes, she said, “Doña, please, listen to me. You are drunk. Go to your cabin, and sleep. I promise, you will feel-“suddenly, she was cut off by screams from the outside.

Alarmed, Para de Film and Francisco ran outside followed by a staggering Doña.

The camp was in a state of absolute chaos. Men were running around on the beach below. The men still on deck were running also, but for a different reason. They were searching for the guns that they had had packed in crates. This was done for a very viable reason. No one would regret later on that they had packed the guns; they were packed to prevent the rusting on the parts. The salty sea air sped the process up more than twice as quickly. They would regret, however, that they had not had the guns unpacked as soon as the ship touched the smooth sand of the shore. Instead of doing, so, nearly all the men had rushed to the beach, desperate to have their feet on solid ground again. The rather small, pathetic, fraction of a camp that they had managed to set up thus far was being attacked.

When Para de Film and Francisco stumbled out in their dumbfounded stupor, this was what they saw. Hesitating for only a second, they quickly jumped into action. They ordered the men on the beach to use tent stakes, pans, tent poles, or anything else that could be used as a weapon. In the meantime, they were to retreat and draw back to the ship.
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Log- From the unexpected assault, there were fortunately only four casualties. Unfortunately, however, there were more than 50 injuries. (At least, by the most recent count there were roughly fifty.) In addition, there was another unpleasant incident; the natives that attacked us have taken my wife prisoner. It was in the midst of the retreat that I saw her. Somehow, in her drunkenness, she had left the ship and gotten to the beach without me having noticed. I can only suppose that I was so caught up in trying to save the lives of my men that I forgot to protect my own wife. At any rate, the last that I saw of my wife was of a native holding her up by her hair with a gruesome look upon her face. Then, they were hidden from my view by a mob of sailors running to the ship. By the time I had regained a view of the spot, the pair were gone. Knowing we had to retreat, I cast off. We have waited for three days to attempt to board the mainland. These past two nights have been the hardest and sleepless of my entire life. Both nights I was plagued by horrid visions of ghastly fates becoming my wife at the hands of the natives, as I was held captive and forced to watch. Among these outcomes were episodes such as being boiled alive, having her face sewn together while alive, being buries alive, having her organs extracted through her stomach, and others that are too vile to recount. The most horrifying element of these though, was that they were performed while she was alive. Tonight, this living nightmare will end. The outcome, though I do not know what it is, must be better than this uninformed fear. In one hour, a party of four other men and I, totaling five in all, will go ashore in search of my wife and to confirm the dead. We will board a small lifeboat that was on the ship for just such a reconnaissance mission. I must get ready now, for I must be prepared to go ashore.

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The night was abuzz with the incessant roar of woodland sounds; the chirping of crickets, the hoot of owls, the final squeak of their prey, and an ominous crunching sound, signaling the termination of their existence. Para de Film asked her God to bless these sounds only to ask for a curse to befall them a few moments later. she was thankful that the undulating roar of the swamplands on all sides muffled the sounds that she or her men unintentionally produced, and yet, at the back of her mind, she knew that if the rolling blackness that engulfed him actually masked her presence, it would mask that of an enemy, too.

So far, they had identified three of the corpses. They were now searching for what they hoped to be the final corpse.

Roughly a minute later, Para de Film nearly fell over the body. At first, she peered at it curiously, thinking that it was an oddly shaped log. Then her mind finally put together the image. She finally realized that she was staring at a corpse. Raising her head to whistle in an imitation of a whippoorwill, the noise agreed upon to be the signal, she flipped the body over. Then before she could utter a sound, she realized that she was staring into the face of her now-dead wife. Her tongue froze in her mouth, making any communication that she might, or might not, need, impossible. Now, however, she did not have the faintest desire to do any such thing. All she wanted right then was to curl up on the mossy, damp ground, and lament for the loss of her beloved wife. She was startled out of her reverie by the hooting of a barn owl, startlingly close to him. She looked up to see a native, glaring at him with hatred in her eyes, running towards him, completely silent. Then the night was split by a war cry. Startled, she realized that the bellow came from her own mouth.