CJT's Word Vamp

Guest Write - Joe Gensle

2011-10-28T00:00:00.001-06:00

Jenna's Mortadella

Jenna leaned heavily into the glass display front of the grocery’s busy delicatessen, jostled by elbows of the people on each side of her. Despite the crowd, the three deli workers seemed like slow drones, working steadily without a sense of commitment to serve patrons quickly.

Jenna looked at the pink stub of paper in her hand, noticed “18” in bold letters determining her turn in the order of those to be served at the deli counter.

“For the love of Jesus,” Jenna muttered, then looked down the counter toward the workers and shouted, “Hey! . C’MON!! I gotta get going!” Two of the workers ignored her. The third, a sixty-ish black woman with grey-streaked hair, paused and gave Jenna a glare that raised the light blonde hair, and goosebumps, on Jenna’s arms.

“God-DAMN!,” thought Jenna. “Where do they find these people,” she wondered.

Serving another customer off to the right, the black woman's duties brought her side-stepping within six feet of Jenna and ducked half her body into the case fetch a half-round of cheese. As the woman emerged, Jenna shot her a look.

“All’s I need is a half pound of mortadella.”

The woman locked eyes with Jenna, “Wha’s your number, honey!”

“Eighteen!” Jenna replied with a sharp snap in her voice.

“You gonna be waitin’ awhile.”

“What’s awhile! I’ve been here forever! How many are in front of me!??”

“Right! And they’s 266 billion trillion people in front of you, and you jus’ gonna have to wait,” the clerk fired back with another momentary, as unsettling, glare.

“The HELL you say. Where’s the manager?”

“Right! You lookin’ at her. Now, what!”

“NOW, you slice my eight ounces of mortadella or…or I’m leaving and calling your headquarters!”

“You ain’t leavin’ and you ain’t callin’ nobody. Know why?”

Jenna roiled in furious silence and contrived a facial expression of angered disinterest, almost of boredom.

Nose to nose save for eighteen or so inches of deli countertop between them, the black woman cocked her head slightly as she said in a mockingly, sing-songy tone, “I don’t care if you a lilly-white little paralegal who don’t like black folks none too much.. Who doesn’t got a lick o’ patience. And who don’t like nobody who doesn’t speak like YOU THINK they should.”

Jenna gasped and above the deli’s din, barked, ”YOU DON”T KNOW ME! I don’t know or remember YOU…hell, I don’t even SHOP here very often. How do you know I’m a paralegal?!”

Only a wide, tooth-gapped grin answered Jenna. After a pause intended to further annoy Jenna, the black woman continued.

“You always been an impatient, spoilt little cuss.”

“HOW DARE you speak to me like that!”

“I dare cuz you ain’t goin’ nowheres. You cain’t leave without yo’ mortadella. Know why?”

“I need for my recipe--but other stores carry it! I’ve been waiting an eternity, you bitch! And I’m leaving!”

“You will wait an eternity. They’s 266 billion trillion people ahead of you and when your number 18 come up? You ain’t gonna hear it and the wait gonna start all over again.”

Jenna was never madder, more frustrated, but couldn‘t move or speak.

The black woman grinned and continued. “This is hell. Yo custom made hell right here in my deli, outta all yo littlest pet peeves and weaknesses in life. You got no recipe. You don’t need mortadella, Mortadella is I-talian for “she’s dead,” and you is. Kilt this mornin', too impatient to use a crosswalk and that car run you down an' TOOK your legs. You bled to death through ‘em.“

Jenna looked down, screamed and screamed, now knowing why the lean against the deli case felt so heavy. It wasn’t a lean. She’d been clinging to it with her arms. Her plaid skirt was caked in dried blood, as was the lower part of her blazer. Until then, she hadn't noticed the crystal on her watch was broken, and the sweep-second hand wasn't moving. Screams diminished into sobs.

The black woman’s eyes now shone, and Jenna’s whimpering form had no escape, nor did Jenna’s eyes, again locked with the old woman’s.

“You died on the street and when God didn’t grab you up?? I sho’s hell did! HA-HA! You like that pun?? No, I knows you hate puns! I snatched you up! Well...down! Hah! Another pun! You’s mine and as soon as I turn to walk off , you ain’t gonna remember a shred of this conversation! It never happened.”

The black woman shifted the heavy, half-round of cheese into her other hand and walked down the counter with her back to Jenna.

Jenna looked at the pink stub of paper in her hand, noticed “18” in bold letters determining her turn in the order of those to be served at the deli counter.

“For the love of Jesus,” Jenna muttered, then looked down the counter toward the workers and shouted, “Hey! C’MON!! I gotta get going!”

The three deli workers ignored her. Jenna could swear that one of them, a sixty-ish black woman with grey-streaked hair, paused and seemed to snort with the slightest perceptible puff of vapor or mist…smoke(?) coming from her nostrils, never looking up or away from the back and forth rhythm of the slicer she operated.

The black woman returned the roast beef to the case and butcher-wrapped a package of sliced beef, setting it atop the counter. She glanced right, along the countertop, right at Jenna.

“Wha’s your number, honey?”

“Eighteen!” Jenna replied with a sharp snap in her voice.

The black woman looked to her coworkers and quipped, “She got EIGHTEEN! Hell, tha’s 6 + 6 + 6, iddn’t it??,” and the three women emitted a loud laugh.

“God-DAMN!,” thought Jenna. “Where do they find these people,” she wondered.

Joe Gensle's Kentucky-born and lives in the Desert Southwest with his Chihuahua, “Coconut.” He loves international travel and ridin' his motorcycle, 'The Groovinator.' In his ‘other’ spare time, he enjoys “wondering why if not how, polishing my collection of lug nuts, and feeding sea lions (to sharks).” Gensle describes himself as ‘”obligingly obese, Conservative, left-handed, and Roman Catholic without hesitance” and claims he never apologizes for same. He occasionally makes written deposits at sixsentences.ning.com and mudspots.wordpress.com. He‘s been featured on other sites, and the repository of his writing may be found at his blog, http://headseeds.blogspot.com/

A Frank Sinatra Challenge

2011-10-10T22:27:00.001-06:00

So, I wrote this piece based on a Frank Sinatra challenge for another blog, then received an email last minute that said, never mind don't submit your second piece, so here it is. My prompt was based on Frank Sinatra's song, "I See Your Face Before Me" from his album In The Wee Small Hours... So without further adu, I hope you'll enjoy it.

I See Your Face Before Me

I claim insomnia
you know I do.
I've practically screamed
it at you.
I don't have insomnia,
not medically at least.
What I have
is self induced-
when I close my eyes
whether in dreams
of dark or light
I see your face before me.
You stand beside me-
sometimes in front,
always hand in hand
a strength to me you lend.
In my dreams
I see you laugh,
I see you cry,
I see you just fine,
but no matter which dream
I always see you mine.
If forward, I came
And told you-
Even knowing you're
unreachable,
would that my love
haunt you so-
knowing I want you so?
But alas, no,
for I can't, I won't
destroy you
by telling you.
Because even if
You understood it- me-
all of my love
for you, its magic-
would seem nothing
short of tragic.
And knowing I can't
erase your beautiful face
before me,
I'll instead
feign insomnia-
For no dreams
are better
in my mind
than dreams that haunt
us both.

An Open Request For Guidance

2011-10-07T23:59:00.001-06:00

Ok folks, I'm about to get brutally honest, with myself and you.

No many people in this part of my life realize that I work in the fast paced business of Real Estate - and before you run off to read others' blogs let me tell you that no, I'm not a Realtor, I'm a paper pusher, an assistant who tries to put my best face/voice forward daily to keep, #1 myself employed, but #2 to help the 2 most amazing Realtors in business to continue to help people everyday with the most life impacting financial decisions they will ever make.

I'm proud to say that I work for, who in my opinion are, the most genuine, gracious, kind and caring individuals. Their regard for our clientele is above stellar, and their customer care is unmatched and unequaled by any agent(s) I've ever met or come in contact with in this business... and I think that's saying a lot considering I've been doing this now for over 8 years.

I was so inspired to write this tonight after we sat down to have a very goal impacting meeting earlier today.

I'm scared. I'm not used to seeing a "low" that we are now experiencing at the moment with exception to a few years ago when I was with another team. That team fell apart, and sad as it is to say, I'm now the only member left still in this business - although, I'll admit I did take a 3 year sabbatical to work at an animal shelter. There were a few things that made me feel committed to seeing that team make it, one being that I was given the option to become a business partner in the future, and seeing at the time the potential for that business to grow, I was completely on board. That was, until I received a rude awakening a few years later when our real estate market, like so many others in this nation plummeted and my top producing team leader finally had to close up shop and call it quits.

Now, with the aftermath still somewhat fresh in my mind, I'm afraid. I'm afraid to see / experience a similar possibility, although, I know its far from happening. That fear still eats at me, like an ulcer, demanding some if not all of my attention.

I'll be honest and admit that I have not been offered to become a business partner in this newest venture, but I've come to realize that I'm okay with that. I realize now that I wasn't ready to take that step when it was offered to me at age 21, and now that I'm 26, I'm still not ready to make a commitment of that magnitude. Don't get me wrong, I'm still very much committed to seeing this team become even more successful than it ever has been, I'm just not ready to be fully accountable if it doesn't... and yes, I know that was blunt. I still feel that with my previous team, there might have been something more I could have been doing to prevent the fall, and feeling almost helpless again causes me great anxiety.

I'm putting all my efforts and faith into one basket when I'm not home with my kids to do any part I possibly can to keep from experiencing what I thought a few years ago was a career ending disappointment.

So why am I writing this?

I guess to show myself, more than anything, that I'm committed, and to recognize a fear or weakness and to do my best to overcome it. I don't usually quote scripture, but in this case, I feel that its entirely appropriate.

From the words of Ether 12:27 (Book of Mormon):

"And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble, and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then I will make weak things become strong unto them."

And just as appropriate I think, my favorite words by the esteemed writing colleague, Richard Bach:

"Lean into your fears, dare them to do their worst and cut them down when they try. If you don't, they'll clone themselves, mushroom 'till they surround you, choke the road to the life you want.

Every turn you fear is empty air, dressed to look like jagged hell."

So here I am, writer friends, dedicated readers, family, friends, and anonymous alike, I'm asking you to consider, what fears do you have? Are they justified? And more selfishly, I'm asking, how do I improve and where do I go from here?

Any advice would be greatly appreciated...

If you, or anyone you know, is interested in having the Southern Utah experience, please feel free to click the link below, and take a peek into the amazing world my team and I can offer you.

www.BuyUtah.com

Best Regards,
Nic

10 Year 9/11 Tribute Piece

2011-09-13T18:36:00.001-06:00

This is the first year I haven't brought myself to pull out those carefully bundled pages in my old journal. The day is still young yet, and before I head off to bed, I may find my hands digging through the box labeled "Journals & Keepsakes" to hold that journal that's all but falling apart, my fingers opening to the section where those 9 loose pages are located.

Those 9 pages hold so much anger, confusion, sadness, and fear for what occurred today, ten years ago.

It's been said that with our generation and those older than I that the memories of 9/11 will fade or die when we do. That the event will be marked as a historic event only to be read by future generations as Pearl Harbor and World War II were for me in a text book. I can't find it in myself to disagree either.

This last Friday, I attended a brief tribute to 9/11 with my children, held at my daughter's school first thing that morning with the flag ceremony. I found myself embarrassed when reciting the pledge of allegiance as I hesitantly stumbled over a few of the words that once came to me as easily as my name. The words felt almost foreign coming out of my mouth, and I felt ashamed to think my patriotism has now come to this. I, who rushed off to join the military, to be a part of what keeps this country safe, who served proudly, felt myself struggling to remember the words learned in grade school.

Is this from my lack of faith in our now crumbling government, or a lack of faith in myself? I haven't yet found the answer for it.

I tell myself I won't read the words written by my own hand when I was 16 because I don't want to relive the roller coaster of emotions felt that day, but the reality of it is that I know I need to read the rawness of the incident as a whole in order to remember that there was a day in my life when our country came together, grieved together, feared together, and promised retaliation together.

Now, we need to come together again, and forgive together. So much racism has been born from that devistating day that we do ourselves a terrible injustice. our pride has cast a far wider shadow and we have created ourselves judges of man. Our own country demands freedom and agency to be given to all her citizens, and we are no longer presenting our country to the world in a way that garners trust and respect. How long before we are no longer respected among the other world powers, how long?

Stand beside me, pray beside me, remember beside me, what this great country should stand for, and the next time you see a flag, take off your hat, place your right hand over your heart and with humility and grace, bring yourself to pledge your allegiance to the flag of the US of A.

Don't forget what it means to be an American. We are, after all, supposed to be examples, a shining beacon, if you will, towards accomplishing world peace, freedom, and justice for all.

Colors

2011-08-19T21:11:00.000-06:00

Do you ever wonder sometimes, what would have happened if? I do.

I've met a wide variety of people, either through my work, or writing, or just out being myself. But I hold a fond connection to only a handful of people in my life. I wonder, if around this time next year, I'll pass through Denver, driving to a convention I wouldn't miss for the life of me, but have twice in a row. I'm sure I'll be thinking about friends, from all over, one from Detroit, one from Chiapas, one from Texas, and only a few others. I wonder, sometimes, how things would have been had I not missed those conventions, and if maybe I missed my chance to a taste of euphoria found nowhere else. I think I have, but I think I might not have at the same time.

Its confusing, this questioning what if, what would have, and what could be. While my mind wanders in circles, I ponder posts from friends, wondering where my muse has run off to this time, if he's just taken a sabbatical or a permanent vacation. Left in doubt, I try to put pen to paper hoping to ease a little lingering pain, and make sense of circles.

Tears long gone, but surrounded by reminders, photos of those few I hold dear, and even fewer I trust, at least one circle makes sense.

If the world where only black and white, I think I'd still be grey.

Karma or Trials

2011-07-29T00:06:00.002-06:00

A dark sky
purple clouds
peeking golden rays
wishing this sunrise
would last for days.

Struggling with two
but making one-
happiness
you think
has finally come.

Basking in love
you push it all out,
no more
darkness within
Only a fresh start.

Twisted curses
come back
haunting you so,
taking back
your soul.

Draped in black-
robes flowing
no one
but you
knowing.

A soul lost
in deep ever-after-
black
with curses create
a Goddess.

In the Beginning...

2011-05-26T16:58:00.002-06:00

“The mark of your ignorance is the depth of your belief in injustice and tragedy.

What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly.”

-Richard Bach
Messiah’s Handbook

How do you determine what is good vs. evil, right vs. wrong? Does your ignorance guide you?

We are in the middle of a war, and our battle front spans many worlds, yours and mine included. Like all great wars, this one is based on ignorance, our soul’s belief in injustice and tragedy.

What is your role in all of this? You are stuck between the lines on the pages of your life. You are only innocent bystanders at this point in your life, but when you die, the choice of sides will be yours unless this war is won during our mortal lifetime, then it is you who will be left to clean up the mess that’s left when two clashing armies fight until one reaches utter destruction. You will be the one until the new master realigns the balances of the divine.

Questions are soaring through your mind; lying on the tip of your tongue – I can feel them – trying to burst through your lips’ hold on them. Listen with all your heart and the answers you so diligently seek will be made known unto you.

I am Penemuel, and am counted among one of he fallen. Scribe to Appollyn, my job is to write of the events that transpire from our war for you and its history so you may understand and see without the veil being lifted during your mortal existence of what was, is, and may become. If we are successful in our endeavors, this will become a New Testament, scripture, and model for mankind.

Scribe was not always my calling. Before my fall, I was scribe to Him, Elohiem, God of our Heaven and Hell. I transcribed during the great council, and gave scripture to many of the prophets of old. My fall came however, when I parted with my notes of the great council and the first war in Heaven to an Earthly prophet. God told me that I had given too much, that I disobeyed Heaven’s law by imparting one of the greatest secrets of Heaven to Man. Man was not to know of the war, nor of the fall of over one-third of Heaven’s angels.

I gave too much when I told the prophet of old about the debated then agreement of the Beloved’s plan for salvation, your salvation, something many of us will never know unless this war is won.

God’s words still echo in my mind when I look at my wings, feathers blackened from my fall, gleaming under the moon or by the light of Hell’s fires, “You, Penemuel, disgust me with your presence. You who were one of my most loved will never know of such love again. You are no longer one of my accepted sons.”

That was many years ago, and now, I write for a new master, Appollyn or Death as you call him. I also write for myself, whispering words into the minds of man so as to see my work displayed where all of man can read them as well as to invoke God’s anger.

I write the deeds that God will never speak of to you – his blameless children – blind like sheep, and will always until my final destruction comes, continue to write words to corrupt and cause rebellion among you - you who are blind and being led only by faith in Him.

This is our story…

Apocalypse?

2011-05-23T08:38:00.000-06:00

The darkness, blacker than the depths of the sea threatens to overtake what's left of our humanity away. It's spreading like spilled ink on paper, through the minds of men. Its a virus threatening to infect every cell in our bodies.

I don't know how many have screamed at the top of their lungs prophesying its the end of times for us, and I laugh at their efforts as each given day pass me by and I find I'm still alive, or that people haven't just disappeared off the face of the earth.

The only disappearing act I'm aware of is when the soul leaves a body behind, and besides people dying of natural causes - which happens everyday - the only unnatural death is a life taken by brutality, not car accidents, freak accidents, but war.

With each bold statement of help comes the cries of young men and women as they die in hospitals from their injuries, or on a blood spattered battlefield, either way it's their cries that echo beneath words of promise.

Invasion after invasion, the only place of refuge now is the vast continent of Africa, and even then in time, darkness will flood the mind of some great leader, then his followers, flowing steadily down until even an entire country is infected, then the tribes left alone for ages will know a fear other than of harsh weather, illness and starvation.

It's survival in this corrupted game of life as we so call it. Men pray to the Gods when they march for battle, but the Gods aren't the ones getting their feet wet in the blood soaked dirt that lines our world.

The end of the world will come only after mutiny is released, and even then, not until mutiny after mutiny becomes the focal point and no one is left in the world but the lone survivor who will eventually die of natural causes.

Our apocalypse, you see, is not people suddenly disappearing, taken by unseen Gods, zombies or meteorites, aliens or global warming, it's politics and power. A darkness, deeper than the depths of the darkest sea and its tsunami like waves crashing over each one of us, will bring about our destruction.

Run towards the light and someday, who knows, you may be that lone survivor, left in peace to live our the rest of your days to reflect and write about the feral wars of man and final destruction of mankind on earth.

The Reflections of a Pride-Driven Ego

2011-05-16T19:02:00.001-06:00

Time flows freely, it doesn't take a genius to see it, but with that in mind- we all at some point grow an ego large enough to think we can do one of two things... stop it, or change it.

Sitting here at home tonight, I reflect on how many times my head has grown large enough to believe I could do anything. Those many times, too many years, too may numbers, leaves my pride feeling crushed.

A pocket full of change, a handful of pennies- each with various years remind me of the good times and the bad.

The first, weather beaten and almost black with tarnish has the barely readable year of 1996. In 1996, I was eleven years old, and got my first horse, found my hidden passion for books and was disliked at school for my ability to become teacher's pet.

The second, Brighter than them all, proudly displays the year of 2009. In 2009, at the age of 24, I became the best of friends with one of the greatest women I know, and still to this day treasure our friendship more than the rest. I also made a religious commitment to another and God that today I still don't regret making, but feel saddened that it wasn't meant to be.

The final penny, not as bright, but just as important yearns for its year of 2010 to be seen. I believe that 2010 was the year I begged, cried, and wished the hardest for time to be changed. 2010 was the year I decided that killing animals for a living was never meant for me, that after giving every effort to save a marriage my eyes were opened and my soul set free, but to top it all off, I struggled with a tear stained face as I watched my confused children try to take in their new living conditions and adjust as well as they possibly could.

Each tear I swept away gave light to their talents and above all, showed me what every parent should wish to see, that with endurance, struggles, and trials, no one, and I mean no one can ever take away your joys.

Today, I think I will forget about changing time, living in the future or the past, and just enjoy the present... I will enjoy the fact that tonight I get to snuggle with my girls and for a little while pretend that time has stopped, even if for just one brief moment, and believe with all my heart that time has stopped only for me.

From a Time We Never Knew

2011-05-14T17:27:00.000-06:00

Well call it the future and the past, what is and what may not be, what we know will happen, but pray it never does...

Where there once stood a bridge - a passage through time, now stands what we call the remains of the time dwellers. They were people from our future living in our past. Those who never existed but who we'll never forget. Their buildings, although in tatters remain as living proof to this belief.

They spoke our language, knew our names, complained of our technology being old and never up to par, treasured our books, and in their own home had and used what most could never dream of until it was introduced into our daily lives some time later.

Their diction was perfect, and slang unruly. Their houses lived in, but clean, and always everything they owned or did was asymmetrical, yet balanced.

The crumbling buildings still hold perfection in their midst- the way the paint blends with the bones underneath, those fading columns, and bent street poles, but what makes this old ruin something from the future is the way it floats, just above the sand, like a mirage - next to an old highway in the desert.

2011-03-15T16:46:00.000-06:00

Richard Godwin's "Apostle Rising"
reviewed by CNN

Click HERE to read it!

THE AWAKENING

2011-03-11T07:42:00.000-07:00

Is It Love or Love of Power? (pt. 7)

Selwin’s thoughts raced while watching the funeral pyre burn. What did the Oracle mean by: Reversed the pending doom can be - if only the blind will choose to see? The blind could never choose to see- they were either cursed with blindness by the gods or suffered an injury that took away their blessing to see; if the blind could choose to see then why would any of them choose to remain in a world of darkness?

“She loves you - the Goddess -” resounded in Selwin’s mind as he watched the flames feeding on his beloved, Does she love me enough to let me win her over, to keep her as my prize… like a dog on a chain? If only I could become her master, I would be mightier than any king.

With the fire long dead, Selwin gathered up the ashes and ever so gently placed them inside the urn, filled with grieving rage and a new longing for power, he sought Agrona’s temple with a newly found determination.

THE AWAKENING

2011-03-11T07:41:00.000-07:00

Visions From The Unknown (pt.8)

Gisa, having become so consumed in Agrona’s power, had over the last few months, begun to see visions from gods who were unfamiliar to her. Gods whose presence were known only to other gods. One of those visions included Selwin and his dangerous love of Agrona. Taking it upon herself to please her Goddess, Gisa told Agrona of the vision and in turn also told Selwin with her prediction of the reversed doom. Tonight another such vision came encompassing Gisa’s entire being: another man would come, one who had already chosen to see, and with whom Agrona would share her power. The god who sent this vision commanded her with his bone crushing voice, “Speak of this to no-one, High Priestess.”

Plan Backfired

2011-03-01T00:38:00.003-07:00

In the transition of Moderators over at Icarus' Flight to Perfection, my co-moderator, Cormac, was kind enough to post a 'going out in style' prompt for me. Okay, okay, so here's my story on the prompt...

Plan Backfired

A certain Utah Governor who took a presidential position had been receiving a lot of heat about his upcoming proposal of backing down from his position overseas.

Excitement was coursing through millions for an upcoming Superbowl party that screamed of being one of the best

An Egyptian President was surrounded by a heated debate demanding his resignation after his thirty plus year position.

News forecasts suddenly became focused on a burned piano in Biscayne Bay that had mysteriously appeared overnight with no possible explanation.

The (un-named Politian) announced his resignation and possible candidacy for U.S. President.

A group of select commercials played on Television the day of the big game with the incentive to win one million dollars.

An uprising occurred and the Egyptian President is now living in another country until things in his “home town” settle down.

Someone pipes up, claiming the piano, then someone else, then someone else. All we know is that it suddenly disappeared from the sandbar… strange?

One of these things relates to another…
One of these things was used as a cover…

Question is: Can you guess which one?

An author claimed that the piano was his, placed there for an unannounced book signing, a kid watching television decided he needed it as room decoration, and then the random man who steps forward saying “The piano belongs to me”.

Problem is: not one of the so called “claimers” could admit to how they put the fried baby grand on the sand bar.

Answer to which relates to the other: PIANO APPEARANCE and SUPERBOWL COMMERCIAL… really? You don’t believe me? Just wait… You’ll understand soon enough.

How did it get there?
Well, here goes…

My “Northern Utah” friends - see any connections yet - had decided to create one of those amazing million dollar winner commercials, problem was they had too many Chiefs and not enough Indians. Our conversation went something like this:

“I think we should have a totally awesome dog who takes out a door just for a bite of Doritos.”

“Dang it, dude, dogs are SO over-rated. I propose that we have the annoying co-worker who will rip your pants off or lick your fingers clean for a taste of Doritos.”

“Okay, here’s the deal,” I said, “as long as someone else gets the dog, I’m all for it cos, yeah, the rip your pants off, lick your finger coworker… that’s just NASTY!” I was thinking along the lines of doing a commercial for anything other than Doritos, but more along the lines of promoting book stores, *cough* Borders *cough* to hopefully gain a little more business before their big “going out of business” announcement.

Problem was, my high end friend at the *cough* bookstore, told me I was already too late and that they had already planned the announcement. There was nothing that would help… not even winning the million dollar commercial, because after all how far can a million dollars go when you are too upside down in debt?

Part 1:

In my pistation, I called an old military colleague of mine who said sure, he could have someone pick up a fried piano someone had managed to drag out to a place we call “two thousand flushes” here in Southern Utah and drop it someplace where it would get lots of attention for me.

The morning I turned on my television and saw where my found piano had landed, I knew it was time to put part two of the game plan in place… and as you will see, it still backfired in my face.

Part 2:

Online Writer friend of mine lives only a short distance from where “said” piano was found and said, “hey, I need a favor. *Cough* large bookstore going out of business hoping to promote books, can you pull a few favors for me?”

Backfire:

No television footage of the book signing happened, and *cough* large bookstore still made huge announcement and now I’m left thinking, God when I eventually finish writing my novel, I’m down to one big walk-in bookstore chain who can sell my book, DAMN YOU BORDERS! I mean, big bookstore chain!

Conclusion: PEOPLE NEED TO BUY BOOKS! Oh um… yeah, I mean that’s how the crispy fried piano ended up on the sandbar in BFE, I mean Miami. Yep, that’s it…

Foggy Appearances

2011-02-24T19:37:00.000-07:00

This little piece was part of a challenge from Diana E. Backhouse's photos on 6 Sentences... So here goes...

Foggy Appearances

He watched out the window at the advancing fog snaking its way around the converted medieval chapel he now called home, and knew she was coming for him. Her appearances were far and few between, but today her voice echoed the halls, its sound chilling to the bones no matter how close to the fire he sat. As evening drew near, an ache in his neck began to throb and he nervously paced across his study using his hand to try and damper the thud-thud of shooting pain. With each strike of the clock he found himself checking out the window toward the remains of the old cemetery. By Midnight, there was nothing he could see outside the window for the fog had grown to thick. He didn’t hear her silent footsteps, for she glided above the ground, but did feel the sharp pain as she sank her fangs into his neck; he took note as black clouded his mind that this time she would drain him dry and that later in the week there would be a fresh grave someone else would stare at long into the future.

What Was It Like?

2011-02-18T16:50:00.000-07:00

Well, it was about three months into the zombie apocalypse. You think your old Gran is kidding huh? Right… just because most of us don’t want to talk about them days doesn’t mean they didn’t exist.

I know, I know, you think I’m just a senile old‘un, just like you did when I mentioned a thing we called the internet, and computers, yes, my dears, we are definitely in the dark ages again.

Why don’t I have any journals? God you kids are pushy today aren’t you? Well, let me tell you, besides not wanting to remember everything that happened when we thought the world was going to end, but it just wasn’t feasible to carry around all them god-damn notebooks and paper. We didn’t have power for years so we couldn’t keep our computers running.

Yes, yes, I’m getting off topic. April 12, it was a few days after my birthday, and I remember thinking if we only knew when Easter was officially going to be, I’d been on the road with your Mom and Aunt and hadn’t seen a calendar for a little while, I was marking days on a stick so I felt like I could know the date if nothing else. I still had a watch so I could see the time, that felt good.

Hey, any little thing you knew when you met people made you feel a little good, at least we knew we were a little more superior than the zombies.

Well, it was weird, I remember watching the tv- now don’t start that again, I told you about the television before, mind sucking boxes, and the news came on.

Do you want me to tell the damn story or not?

Not a story, history, quit being smart asses or I’ll go back to bed and take another nap.

You know what, you little shits, talk to me about it tomorrow, and maybe I’ll tell you more.

Yeah, yeah, whatever, go see if your mom needs help.

In Memory of Our Loving Friend

2011-02-16T20:18:00.001-07:00

I woke up this morning to the news that a dear friend of mine had passed away. Not knowing what to say to friends and family of Little Evan, I instead was inspired to write this:

In Memory of Our Loving Friend - Evan G. Wilcock II

It’s winter with the call of spring
The clouds have opened
Letting down all its pain
Tomorrow with a touch of snow
We’ll see a world cleansed.

The moon almost full
Absorbs our cries, and
After she sets tonight-
The sun will rise;
Warming us with your smile.

You have touched so many of us
In ways you probably never known
Tonight Heaven mourns with us,
But with tomorrow’s calm
We’ll know you've found peace.

Book of the Year goes to:

2011-02-15T15:22:00.001-07:00

RICHARD GODWIN for his amazing book APOSTLE RISING!

The best book I've read this year, amazing crime thriller that I couldn't put down. Find out more!

APOSTLE RISING

Vivid Dreams

2011-02-13T22:23:00.000-07:00

There are times that I can tell you where some of my dreams originate from, like dreams of serial killers (falling asleep to watching too many episodes of Criminal Minds), or Werewolves (Van Helsing and Underworld 1, 2, and 3 all in one weekend), but others catch me completely off guard. Like the other night for example. I woke up, my heart racing after living a dream of the “Zombie Apocalypse” yes the Zombie Apocalypse… Even more disturbing was the appearance of a group of Cannibals that I met after stopping at a place near the waterfront to trade supplies. I evaded them once, but after they captured remaining members of my group, I had to go back, I couldn’t leave them to such a horrible fate, not with zombies around. We managed to escape by the skin of our teeth and swim to safety only to live to fight another zombie filled day.

Am I Afraid of the Dark?

2011-01-28T18:00:00.002-07:00

It’s dark as all get-up and I have the feeling of being watched although from where I can’t say. My mind conjures images of masked men lying in the shadows waiting to jump out at me, too many episodes of Criminal Minds, I guess. Thinking about ‘masked men’ makes me wonder, what makes a normal person snap? I mean, some individuals claim that they are born gay right, can others claim they are born serial killers or does something radical, maybe even unknowingly, change them somewhere along the way? I try to stomp out the cold and think to myself, why is it I don’t usually care for crime novels, but am a sucker for TV shows like CSI, Criminal Minds, and even The Mentalist (besides Simon Baker)? Hell I don’t know, ok yes I do… never mind, I don’t know, why these kinds of thoughts occupy my time when alone in the dark whispering to my dogs, “hurry up” and “it’s cold” while keeping the silhouette of my back door within sight.

Bring in the NEW YEAR

2010-12-28T10:21:00.001-07:00

With all the changes this year, I have to admit, I’m really looking forward to bringing in the New Year. I think that this has been my most challenging year so far (that’s not saying much since I’m only 25, but hey). With such crazy developments and changes over the past 12 months, who could blame me?

A rocky front at work has left me missing old co-workers and trying to welcome in the new while trying to stay on top of all the changes. The mindset of “no more euthanasia” for me at the animal shelter has really helped with my sleeping habits, and I can now say I remember what a real night’s sleep is - and I must say, I enjoy it immensely!

Hardships at home were no better. My marriage fell apart and progressed to the point of saying NO to my husband of almost 6 years. Packing his things and moving him out of our house was one of the hardest decisions I’ve had to make. Followed by a messy divorce (that still isn’t anywhere near finished), moving into a new home with my children, and trying to make a Christmas out of nothing (which I did thanks to the help of many great friends), its been a tough year.

Number 1 thing I learned this year through all of the hardships, my children are first and foremost the most important thing in my life, and Number 2, I can do anything I put my mind to, for example, the biggest thing for me, survive, second, be published in a book (I was published in 9!!!), and third, be the best person you can be no matter the situation.

Big things are coming next year, and no I’m not talking about the apocalypse, although it may be coming… I’m talking about progression and moving forward, and a positive outlook for my girls and I.

All the best to us all in 2011!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!

Check This Out!!!

2010-12-11T09:37:00.001-07:00

WOOHOO!
Here is the latest book that I've been published in!

For purchasing details CLICK HERE!

Lost Spirits

2010-11-20T03:35:00.002-07:00

His howl echoed through the night like a police siren. I felt a shiver crawl up my back giving me a chill. My eyes struggled against the oncoming darkness and I knew that this little trip up the mountain was a mistake.

Of all nights that I had to trespass into the world of darkness it was this night. I moved my pumpkins closer and watched as the candles sputtered then caught again. In town it was the night of lost spirits set loose to torment and to torture, while on the mountain among the trees and under the new moon it was the night of the wolf.

“If the wolf is truly your totem, then on All Hallows Eve you must commit. Candles—the only light to keep you company and if it be willed by the beast of night, then a meeting with he, you shall get.”

“This is stupid.” I whispered out loud to no one but myself. The candles flickered again, their wicks running low. The carved faces of the wolf grinned at me making me wish that I had not brought the pumpkins after all.

I jumped at the sound of an animal sniffing nearby to my left. I pulled my legs up to my chest and rested my chin on my knees. Rocking back and forth to keep from shivering, I told myself that there was nothing I should be afraid of.

A chorus of high pitched wails sang behind me. Instinctively my hands reached for my ears and I felt my eyes growing large as I stared into the night.

I’d spent my whole childhood and the majority of my adult life exploring the mountains but even I knew there were limitations and expectations that grew from the darkness of night. Unprotected and unarmed I felt desperate, exposed, and alone.

I searched the night sky for the moon, and not even an outline was visible against the dark. The full knowledge of it sank into me. I’ve always been aware of the moon cycles, and usually know when it’s going to be full and when it’s not.

Stars twinkled and I began to pick out constellations. I could hear the sounds of small creatures scampering around me, and then something brushed by putting out candles in two of the pumpkins behind me. My hair stood on end and I wondered if I was about to meet with a wolf, my guessed totem, or if I was just scaring myself further into the masochistic state I was in.

Rubbing the cold out of my arms I felt my hair stand on end and I quickly looked straight ahead. Two bright gold eyes were reflected at me just beyond the light of my pumpkins. They sat level with my own and although nature dictated that I should have looked down, I stared straight at them, my eyes daring his to come closer, to overpower me, or to just leave me be. It was a struggle to look at those eyes, for I knew that tonight, the night of the wolf, unarmed and alone I was inferior.

I could feel the weight of the pack as it circled me, moving closer, but still I did not move my eyes. One of us would have to break contact and I was going to do my best to make sure that it wasn’t me. In my peripheral vision I could see other sets of eyes appearing near their alpha.

I stood, not taking my eyes away from his in my small circle of wolf carved pumpkins. Without skipping a beat I saw the wolf raise his eyes and his head to the sky and release his call. The other wolves surrounding me echoed his chorus and suddenly my ears were telling me that with my head towards the blackest black I was echoing that call as well. My heart pounded loud in my ears when I realized that I was the last one howling and that their voices had grown silent.

The candles now having burned through the majority of the night, started to flicker their final goodbyes, and as each glutted to darkness, the wind seemed to whisper that my time had come. I slowly gathered myself, stretching the muscles that had grown tired of sitting. The alpha whose eyes I’d been staring into slipped into darkness as did the others with it. I stumbled out of my circle, toppling pumpkins as I went.

As if being pulled, I followed in hot pursuit. Running after them until my lungs burned, my heart pulsing so fast my chest hurt, and the cold numbing my limbs from exhaustion, and even still, I continued.

I found I could no longer feel myself as one, but saw myself floating over watching as my body ran, falling further and further behind the pack I meant to follow. I watched as my body stumbled, fell, and struggled to get back up. Watching from above and seeing my body giving in to it‘s exhaustion, I left it, left me, and followed the wolves as if in a dream.

I caught up much faster than I would have thought. The pack had surrounded a doe and was circling, preparing to take her down for the kill. Caught up in the excitement of things, I almost begged the nearest wolf to share his body with me. I wanted to feel what it was like to be part of the pack…

***

The chill of the breeze tickling my face along with the feel of ice cold clothing touching my body rose me from my sleep. The sun was already bright overhead. I rolled to my side to find myself amongst scattered pumpkins. Was it all just a dream?

Something to Tide You Over

2010-10-28T03:04:00.000-06:00

So I hate but also love how some of my friends are so much more ambitious than I am, right? Well, one of those great friends of mine has been what I call more than ambitious, but for a very great reason.

Richard Godwin has a new book called Apostle Rising that will be available soon for purchase, in the meantime, I want you to gear up for this fabulous read by watching the teaser on his site. Enjoy and anticipate as I am!!!

Apostle Rising by Richard Godwin

A Legend Comes to Life

2010-10-03T19:52:00.002-06:00

My eyes strained to see as I groped my way through the heavy mist that had settled. My foot caught on the edge of one of many headstones that littered the dark floor. Reaching out I barely caught myself before tumbling headfirst into another headstone. Carefully I stood, catching my breath and realized that I had made it. The headstone that had stopped my fall was graced with an ornate angel atop and said to be haunted – for the angel represented the angel of death. What’s the big deal—it’s just as statue, I wondered, until I felt the bite of a sharp blade sliding across the front of my neck.

A New Writing Site / Community

2010-09-26T10:54:00.001-06:00

I'm so excited to announce that I have joined forces with Cormac Brown in the creation of a new writing site.

Icarus' Flight To Perfection

This is a once monthly site where you are given a handful of either starter sentences or words to choose from and a few weeks to write and perfect your piece. I highly suggest you check it out!

-Nic

My Tribute

2010-09-11T12:00:00.001-06:00

“Tonight’s the night. The plan goes forward.” Extremists in the Middle East whisper amongst themselves this day. As the specific hour draws near they go to their prayer rugs and kneel down to pray.

Today was the day that a man, bent forward from time boarded an airplane holding his wooden cane. Not knowing that his life was but a thread from death.

Time froze today when men came forward, sharp blades in hand, taking control of the aircraft and everyone aboard.

One flight full of people, whose thoughts were torn, fought back in order to save more. In the end, their heroic act ended with their plane crashing into the mud of a Pennsylvanian field.

This morning nine years ago I walked into school unknowing. As I walked around the corner into my first class, the time around 7:40 am MST, the Television blared bright and loud. CBS was broadcasting a tragedy in the making.

My teacher, a man named “Huck” Shirley came out of his office, tears in his eyes, and looked at the few of us sitting there, on the floor, on desks, standing, wherever we could possibly get the best view of the television from.

“Write.”

I turned to look at him.

“Write, everything, take out a notebook and write. Don’t stop, write about what you are seeing, what you are feeling, thinking, events as they unfold, write. If you are smart you will write all day. There will come a day when your grandchildren will want to know what happened today, and you will not want to forget it, not one single piece of it.”

I was one of the few who did what he said.

I was glued to the Television in my Humanities class the moment the second plane flew into the Twin Towers at the World Trade Center. I watched as people jumped from windows stories high, the clouds of smoke billowing into the sky. I watched as the buildings crumbled, turning into a mess of ash, steel, rubble and stone. I cried. I cried for the loss of so many, I cried for the anger that filled my soul. I cried for Revenge.

Every year on this day, I take out my nine pages of notes hidden away in an old journal, written my Junior year of High School. Every year I reflect on my thoughts at that time, my feelings then, and what I know now.

With two children of my own, the words Mr. Shirley said that morning mean more to me than any I have garnered from any teacher. “Write… When your grandchildren are conducting interviews for school, what will you remember? If you were given the opportunity to interview grandparents who survived WWII and interviewed them, it will be much of the same, how much will you be able to tell them, and what will you tell them of the world before and the world after.”

So take a moment of silence today, to remember the day that united our nation, the day that we all grieved for the loss of people we didn’t even know. Remember 9/11.

The Key to the Future (an I Dare You Challenge)

2010-09-03T06:34:00.002-06:00

JM Prescott hosts a blog that offers weekly I Dare You challenges. This week, something a little different occured. Paul Phillips has been asked to do a Guest Challenge. His challenge this week for us was this:

All of us humanoids (and semi-humanoids like myself) have been through passages: a passage of time, a passage in our lives that were good or bad, an underground passage and so on. Write something about one of these - or an option of your own - and get it on in. You know you want to! - Paul Phillips

I was stoked to find out that Paul De Denus took home the trophy this week, but I did make Honorable Mention! So, here it is!

HONORABLE MENTION
The Key to the Future

It’s the passage of time that I’ve been expecting. The time I knew was coming since my birth on this desperate planet. It’s what I live for, and what I’ve lived for this entire time.

I wasn’t sure if it was going to look like this, or be like this, I just knew that I would need to be.

They used to call me a guardian, but now they call me THE guardian. I am the sole protector of our future—the future of mankind as we know it. 2012 came and went, and what no one realized was that Armageddon wasn’t meant for 2012. It was meant for 2013. 2012 was the last year that man was supposed to live before God or The Gods destroyed him most utterly.

I now keep a group of fifty, moving them from safety to safety.

There are three other adults, all teachers, or all teachers now; I can’t recall what their previous professions were. The rest are children, ages six and up. The youngest being my own. They are our future, the key to life as we once knew it. My mission was to keep my own two children alive, they had to survive what was coming, and now more so than ever.

The plagues sent upon us have each taught a valuable lesson, of which survival is key. Survival is what I teach, living off the land, treating personal illnesses, and most importantly, how to kill the creatures that haunt Earth’s remains.

The people should have seen it coming, should have known. Earthquakes were the start then storms of tremendous size, volcanic eruptions followed, and lastly a starless and moonless night that covered the sun. A darkness so black that you couldn’t see the hand in front of your very nose. It was during the black out that people disappeared, snatched by something or many somethings that came in the night. Luckily my children were home with me when it hit. This is what I’ve lived for, to be their deliverer.

My best friend knew, just knew as I did that this was what she was meant for. She told me one time that she didn’t see herself progressing on into the future past the point of deliverance. She knew that it was her calling in life to fight to the death for someone she loved desperately. Her daughter is one of the others in my group of occupants. She was safely delivered to me by her mother who then died alongside me fighting the demon souls sent to reign.

The sunlight shrouded in darkness lasted five days. It was after the sun’s face shone that we saw our final plague. Scripture told of Heaven on earth, but didn’t tell us that Angels would be the only ones to glorify it, that they would take their enjoyment from wiping out man as their sacrifice to an unknown deity we call God.

We’ve taught the children to pray, to give thanks daily for our food, our shelters, our safety, for the very breath that we still have. I will not allow the future to be accursed for not giving thanks to a deity if it is what will save them.

As an Aries I’m prone to be fierce, a fighter, a survivor, but I cannot be sure if that alone is why I have been left here. My battles are not against one or many Gods, it’s against time and the creatures who claim themselves king.

Note that this is my testament. I will survive long enough to ensure the safety of my group, and to see that man will once again be favored of God.

I am The Guardian.

The Lightning Bird Continued

2010-08-24T19:32:00.002-06:00

Another prompt sent me spiralling for my pen and paper so here is the next installment of Visions of Jihp Ch'iich...
----------------------------

The damage was done. There was no turning back. Cora hefted her bag and the chest out of the jeep and headed into the Museum at Rio Bec. The sign at the entrance warned that it would soon be closing time. Cora, unsure of what or who she was waiting for, walked to the center where a large banner was hanging. It depicted each of the Mayan Gods that had been found and identified. Setting down her things, she studied the banner intently and took notice that The Lightning Bird was not among those displayed. She felt a rage well up within her that she normally wouldn’t be bothered with.

Why am I here? Cora demanded to know. The only thing she knew was that The Lightning Bird had told her to visit the old site, collect something, then from there to go to the Temples at Rio Bec where she would be given further instructions.

A voice interrupted Cora’s thoughts.

“The ancient culture is amazing, isn’t it?” A man’s soft voice swept away her frustration.

“Yes, quite amazing, I must agree.” Cora turned to look at her intruder and felt herself grow unsteady as a blast from the past stared back at her.

His smile was the same one she had known from her years as an archeologist.

“Javier?” She wobbled and took his outstretched hand to steady herself.

“Hello, Coraline.”

“But…but…but we looked everywhere for you… all of us… there was blood… God, I thought you were dead- we all did!”

“I thought I was too.” His smile disappeared and a note of seriousness took over his face. “Cora, I knew you would come, I… I was shown.”

“The Lightning Bird?” Cora watched as he nodded. He bent over and picked up her bag.

“You’ll need to carry that,” he indicated towards the chest, “I’m not allowed to touch what isn’t rightfully mine.”

As Cora followed Javier out of the Museum and to his truck, she wondered what he had meant by ‘not rightfully mine’.

FFF#39

2010-08-19T09:21:00.001-06:00

To my FFF readers, I apologize if this leaves you with questions. I started a story a while back called the Visions of Jihp Ch'iich' that has taken on a life of its own. When I read the starter sentence I knew I just had to keep writing. So if you feel lost, and when you have time, a little bit of time, then read the post just prior to this one called The Visions of Jihp Ch'iich'.

FFF #39

She knew time was running out, fast, but opening that door was Pandora’s Box all over again.

Cora was still running from the Law, and if Lance was part of the search party, she knew it wouldn’t take long for him to make the trip to see if she had come back to any of their old dig sites. She was only here for one thing, and that was something she wasn’t privy to know yet.

Cora’s mind replayed what had happened the last few weeks, and how she managed to cross the border, all with help from The Lightning Bird. A trail of death seemed to follow her, sacrifices to The Lightning Bird, all the way through Texas and Mexico. She couldn’t help but wonder what her visit to the last dig site would bring, but visions granted by Jihp Ch’iich’ showed that nothing had changed since she and her team had been there almost nineteen years ago.

Nothing had changed. It was as if opening Pandora’s Box when she took on the job of trying to find the undiscovered Mayan temple. The world of hurt her team had experienced from awakening the ancient God, Jihp Ch’iich’ was overwhelming and now that Cora had embraced it and was about to take her new found devotion to the next level.

Cora had immediately made her way to the entrance that Alex and Savanna had uncovered with murals of the lightning bird, and the scrolls – the scrolls that contained the history of their dig site. Her footsteps echoed on the old stone floors as she made her way into the adjoining chamber. The door they had not moved past was waiting. Brilliant pictures of priests and priestesses laying prostate before the mighty bird, their colors reflecting brightly in her flashlight.

Snapping out of her trance, the thought, time is of the essence, flicked across her mind and with hands on the ancient door, she steeled herself for whatever lay in wait.

She was greeted by a long staircase descending into the unknown. Cobwebs told of its centuries of misuse. Each step downward gave her the feeling that she had waked this path many times, maybe in another life. Lighting decorated the walls against eternal black making the descent seem like one of death. The bottom revealed a chamber painted in white with a gold sun rising and rays of radiant red shot outward dividing the white.

Five hallways led from this point and the innermost hallway seemed to call to her. Not knowing to where it led, Cora followed, curiosity peeked.

A chest lay at the end of the hallway. A rough carving on the top depicted a woman dressed in Mayan attire, white with red and gold streaks, surrounded by lightning. A cut on the woman’s arm with a trail of blood leading to a depression at the base of the lid gave Cora the notion that blood was needed before opening the chest. Cutting her hand she placed it in the depression then found herself saying Mayan words she had never before repeated.

Opening the lid of the chest, Cora was startled to see a pair of large red eyes staring back at her. Catching her breath, she realized that it was only a painting on the inside of the lid.

A dagger lay on top of a pile of white, red, and gold feathers.

Cora closed the chest and carried it out to the hallway, through the chamber, and back up the darkened staircase. Her ride was still waiting even though dusk had begun to set in. She climbed in the jeep and asked to be taken back to the temples at Rio Beck.

Visions of Jihp Ch’iich’

2010-08-19T09:08:00.001-06:00

I started this as a submission for the HOWL anthology earlier this year. When it wasn't accepted, I just kept working on it and it continued to grow. I haven't really done much with it in months, and with the inspiration from Friday Flash Fiction, I managed to pick it up again and find another avenue to continue from. An avenue that I had been struggling with, so in order to catch my fans up, here is the story, practically in its entirety to the point that I have it minus the next post that begins with the starter sentence provided by Friday Flash Fiction.

Visions of Jihp Ch'iich'

by Nicole E. Hirschi

     Have you ever danced in the rain, been intrigued by the lightning, loved listening to the roar of thunder? Those who do are more likely to be chosen.

     Fear for the lives of those around you if you are chosen. She has chosen few, and those few are left to wander the world alone in darkness serving only her.
     Be warned, she does not forgive easily and she will have her chosen servants…

***

     “Maria, don’t go out there. Please, Mama said don’t go out there!” Javier begged his older sister.
     “I have to get Pako, I can’t just leave him out there in the lightning.”
     “But Maria!” Javier cried, “There’s something bad out there, I know it!”
     “Javier, let go of me now! Pako is in garden, I will get him and come right back I promise. The only thing out there that’s bad is the lightning.” Javier sniffled; his eyes begging his sister not to go out into the lightning storm. Maria held him tight by the shoulders and out away from her, “You stay right here. You can even leave the door open and watch me. Okay?”
     “Okay.” Javier knew that he didn’t have a choice. No matter what he told his sister, she wasn’t going to listen. Bad things happened in the lightning storms. Javier had had many dreams about the bad things that happened. His six year old mind just couldn’t explain what he had witnessed in his dreams to his family. So instead he watched; waiting and knowing what was going to happen.
     Maria, soaked from the rain was just opening the gate to the garden when a bolt of lightning hit the barn, the boom making Javier’s ears ring. Not taking his eyes off of his older sister, Javier saw her slip in the mud and get back up again.
     “NO!” Javier cried when the large bird swooped down and sank its deadly talons into Maria’s back. In horror, Javier plugged his ears with his hands when he heard her screams, not daring to look away. The bird the size of a man was standing on her back, talons ripping clothing and flesh while its beak was tearing handful size chunks from her twitching body. Javier whispered prayers, paralyzed from his fear and unable to do anything else. The white bird whose feathers glowed red and gold finished its meal leaving the mutilated body of Maria behind.
     Hours later, Javier jumped at the touch of his father when he and his mother came home from their evening out.
     “What are you staring at?” His father asked sternly.
     Javier couldn’t utter a single word, but pointed in the direction of the garden.

***

     “Dig a little more while we have the light!” Cora commanded her crew. She knew she had to find something of interest to show the Mexican government soon, otherwise her permit would be revoked.
     “I still don’t understand what you’re hoping to find CJ.”
     “Lance, how many times do I have to go over this with you? We’re here based on the recent translations of the scrolls found at the Hormiguero site.”
     “How do we know that they weren’t just stories? You know, stuff those Mayans told their kids to scare them?”
     “We don’t.”
     “I just think this is a waste of our time, and our sponsor’s money.”
     “You can think whatever the hell you want, but I’m here to find something until the government tells me my time’s up. Besides, it’s up to our sponsor to decide how they want to spend their money.” Cora turned and walked back to where she had spent the majority of the afternoon digging.
     Running her fingers through the rich soil, Cora thought about the letter from their sponsor, the one she hadn’t shown to Lance.

… a recent discovery of scrolls translated by Professor Stratton at the Hormiguero Temple site claims that a Mayan city existed halfway between the Calakmul site and the Rio Bec site. Your archeological team was referred to us as specialists in the Mayan culture, and we would like to sponsor your search for this lost city…

     If her sponsor believed there was a lost city here, then she’d be damned if she wasn’t going to be the one to find it.
     “Cora, a weather alert just came over the radio saying that there’s an extreme storm warning in effect for this region.” Alex called, radio held high above his head.
     “Alright everyone,” Cora sighed, “you heard Alex. Pack up your stuff and head back to your tents.”
     Listening to the pitter-patter of rain on the roof of her canvas tent, Cora started to record the events of another disappointing day.

June 23
Our expedition is yet to find evidence of a Mayan city that was supposedly in this region. We tried the carbon scanner again today; the images were still obscured and unreadable, as they have been the last two days. We have had extreme rain storms the last three days and yesterday’s was followed by a lightning show that lasted late into the night. I am concerned that with only fourteen days left, our expedition will be unable to find something sufficient to back up the theory of a lost city in this location as theorized by Professor Stratton through the scrolls at the Hormiguero site.
CJT

***

Cora was roughly awakened from her dream when her cot shook violently dumping her onto the floor. Sitting up and rubbing her tired eyes she tried to figure out what happened. A loud whistling noise sounded, followed by a massive boom and Cora felt the ground shake. She could smell smoke and with a pounding heart, crawled over to look out the window of her tent. A flash of lightning lit up the night sky and she could see the evidence of where the previous bolt grounded. Trying to recollect fleeting remnants of her dream - a mysteriously large white bird whose feathers were laced with red and orange, and the lightning, which Cora figured she must have subconsciously included. She fell asleep next to the window watching Nature’s brilliant lightning show.

***

     Javier pulled his books out again to study the name of the new deity, Jihp Ch’iich’, to find if there was any possibility that the symbols which had been running through his head for the last eighteen years matched up with the name translated by Professor Stratton.
     Since seeing his sister brutally attacked by the large white bird, Javier had no desire to speak aloud again. He practically made himself a mute. It wasn’t that he couldn’t talk- it was that he chose not to. It wasn’t until he was a teenager and his parents took him to see an ancient Mayan city that Javier realized the symbols he had dreamt about since a child were Mayan Symbols. He made it his goal to become as educated as possible about them.
     While Javier’s parents believed that a psycho had murdered Maria, he knew he didn’t imagine the bird. It was the same bird who had attacked and eaten the remains of people in his dreams over and over again for as long as he could remember.
     He had joined Cora’s team in order to be able to get a closer look inside the new discoveries. His hopes of finding a way to relieve his nightmares had been dashed after each site they explored left him empty handed.
     Javier could find nothing in his books that mentioned the deity spoken of by Professor Stratton. He sat at his desk and began to pray to the ancient Mayan Gods, a habit that came more from talking to himself than from anything.

…ancient gods of the past, please help me to discover if this Jihp Ch’iich’ has anything in common with the bird who killed my sister and who continues to haunt my dreams…

***

“CJ,” Lance hissed, shaking her arm, “CJ wake up!”

     “What is it Lance?” Cora yawned and opened her eyes. It was still early morning. Panic was visible on Lance’s face.
     “Did something happen to the equipment?”
     “No, the equipment’s fine. CJ, Javier is missing!”
     “Missing?” Cora sat up.
     “We’ve looked everywhere. All of the trucks are still here, and there are no footprints to or from his tent that we can find.”
     “How then, can he be missing, Lance?” Cora eyed him, waiting for him to crack up and say gotcha.
     “I don’t know! Damn it CJ! You need to come see his tent.”
     “Gimme a sec and let me change. If this is some kind of sick joke, Lance, I’m going to be pissed.” Seeing Lance shake his head no, Cora quickly changed her clothes.
     “It looks like some kind of animal attack. The whole south side of Javier’s tent is destroyed.”
     “Did anyone see or hear anything last night?” Cora questioned him still waiting for the punch line.
     “Everyone swears they only saw the lightning and heard the rain.”
     “Are there any animal tracks in or around camp?”
     “Only the usual that we’ve seen every day, nothing that I can figure could have caused the amount of damage done to Javier’s tent.”
     Javier’s tent came into view. Slowly circling his tent, Cora gasped when she saw the shredded canvas.
     “What the hell?” She cursed under her breath. She slowly approached the tent frame and touched a thick piece of canvas waiving at her. Starting near the top of the tent, the slashes stretched to just above the ground. There was no doubt in Cora’s mind; whatever had done this kind of damage was huge.
     She looked down at the ground searching for any tracks or signs that would explain this to her.
     Cora turned and stepped through the tattered canvas into the tent and looked around. It looked like a tornado had whipped through; Javier’s belongings littered the ground. The bedding was in the same shape as the canvas wall and his cot was tipped over on its side. When Cora reached over to set it upright she quickly retracted her hand when she felt her fingers grip something wet and sticky. Looking down, she noticed the entire palm of her hand and fingers were covered in blood.
     Cora turned her head and heaved. She had never been good with blood and knowing that something terrible had happened to Javier only seemed to make matters worse. Her stomach churned and she ran out of the tent and spilled her stomach contents in a patch of bushes.
     “Are you okay CJ? What is it?” Lance came up behind her and placed his hand on her back. Cora heaved again.
     “Just get me something to clean my hand with, please Lance?” Her ragged voice begged.
     “Do you need to sit down?”
     “Just get me a goddamn rag, you moron!” Never once in her eight years of running expeditions had someone on Cora’s team been attacked. Sure local members would drive off with some of their gear every once and a while, but nothing like this.
     “Lance, have Alex call the sponsor and tell them what happened to Javier. Someone needs to tell his family, and find someone to clean this up. I want this tent down before the rest of the team comes back to camp tonight.”

***

     Cora and the remaining members of her team arrived at the dig site and were surprised to find the ground littered with charred spots.
     “Come on baby, please work for me.” Cora cooed to the carbon scanner, begging for it to work this time. Pushing the green button and waiting, she thought about Javier and what might have happened to him. The thought of the canvas strips dancing in the wind began to make her feel ill again. The familiar crunch of the ink cartridge sliding along the rail brought Cora’s mind back into focus and she waited impatiently for the image to be done.
     Dark and fuzzy again! Cora was ready to pull her hair out. She carefully searched the grey mess looking for anything that might stand out.

June 24

We made our first big discovery today! I was able to make out something of interest on one of the carbon scanner prints. We uncovered what seems to be part of a structure. The discovery came at dusk and when we shined the light on the stone, found what looks to be a large bird carved into it. This may be the evidence needed to support the theory of the lost city I’ve been sent here to find. The team, although excited, are still disheartened over the odd disappearance of Javier Gonzales. Part of the team spent the day searching the surrounding area for him.
We were entertained by lightning storms again last night. Burn spots in camp and at the dig site tell us that lightning struck numerous times. With our dig tomorrow we hope to uncover more that will help convince the government to extend our permit.
CJT

***

Cora closed the journal and put her pen down. Thinking about the stone they had uncovered today she leaned back in her chair and stared at the roof of her tent. Finally pulling herself out of her chair, she walked over to the chest by her cot. Digging under the clothes, she pulled out the letter from her sponsor and re-read it.

…from the translations we have concluded that the city was a tribute to Bolon Dzacab, the Lightning Deity. It was a very large central trading post. Another translation claims that the people were visited by Vucub Caquix, the bird demon. The city was later found abandoned of all people and thought that a war between Bolon Dzacab and Vucub Caquix destroyed the city and took all the inhabitants as sacrifice. The final translation that we have come across, which Professor Stratton has had the most difficulty with, claims that the inhabitants of the city were worshiping a new deity…

Cora could hear the screams outside her tent which were only drowned out by lightning connecting with the earth. Cora stumbled as the ground shook with each strike. The screams became faint as she tried to find where they were coming from. Tent to tent she ran only to find gaping holes in each one.
“Lance! Lance! Oh God, Lance!” Cora cried for her brother when she reached the last tent and found it unoccupied. She fell to her knees and sobbed. Picking herself up, Cora rushed back toward her tent. The hair on the back of her neck stood. A blast of lightning struck nearby leaving her ears ringing and knocking her to the ground. Getting her feet under her, she looked up and saw a giant screeching bird soaring toward her, wings extended and talons ready. She put her hands up to block the attack. Cora screamed as pain erupted where its talons sank into her chest.

***

     “Cora, come quick! We’ve found something!” Alex’s voice called out.
     Alex and Savanna had uncovered an entrance earlier and had been clearing dirt and sand out in order to see what remained inside.
     “What is it?” Cora asked as she leaned into the ancient doorway.
     “Come look at the walls Cora.” Alex motioned her in.
     Cora stood in the middle of the room, her mouth gaping as she took in the paintings on the walls surrounding her. They depicted lightning storms, fields with people working crops, and a temple where a man standing was painted in all red. Cora’s eyes stopped when she looked at the wall behind her. The mural showed dark clouds as the sky, a giant lightning bolt, and where the bolt would have met the ground, stood a giant bird, all white, with small streaks of gold and red.
     “There’s more Cora!” Savanna pulled on Cora’s arm. Cora didn’t turn, she was too stunned to move, her eyes just stared at the bird, and the bird seemed to stare right back.
     “Look!” Savanna held her hands up.
     “My god! Are those..?” Cora could barely speak.
     “Scrolls!” Alex exclaimed.
     Cora sat down on the ground, too overwhelmed to do much else. Her thoughts raced telling her this was unreal.

… The final translation that we have come across, which Professor Stratton has had the most difficulty with, claims that the inhabitants of the city were worshiping a new deity, Jihp Ch’iich’. We are curious to know if this city did indeed exist, and if so, if the information contained in these translations are correct…

“Cora! Thank goodness! You really had us worried- passing out like that.” Alex helped her sit up. Cora put her head between her knees to help pass the nausea.

June 29
We have uncovered a large portion of the structure. Photos have been sent to the Mexican government as well as the request for additional time for the permit. I have sent letters to recruit more team members to entice them to help in the expedition.
Two more team members have disappeared similar to Javier, and another seven--all locals—have packed up their belongings and left saying that the site is haunted either by some strange beast or by ghosts that come in the night when the lightning is at its worst. Our numbers are now down to five: Lance, Alex, Savanna, Gerardo, and myself.
Lance has told me that he is worried for the safety of our team and feels that we no longer have sufficient numbers to make sure our camp or dig site are safe. The white bird continues to make its debut. Each time I find myself dead and wake up in a cold sweat with the shakes.
I have decided to continue the dig against my brother’s advice. I refuse to be chased away by some unknown that seems to have made off with Javier, Travis, and Orin.
CJT

***

     “CJ,” Lance interrupted Cora’s thoughts. She turned her full attention to him, “I’ve finished preparing the scrolls for the trip.”
     “That’s great news Lance. I knew it wouldn’t take you long.”
     “Here are the photographs.” He looked at her with a sad expression. “I don’t want to leave you here alone CJ.”
     “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m not going to be alone. I’ll still be here with Alex, Savanna, and Gerardo.”
     “I just don’t feel comfortable with it.”
     “Lance, you’re only going to be gone a few days, and I’ll be working on translating these, so there won’t be much going on.” Cora watched as he sighed and rolled his eyes.
     “Promise me CJ that you’ll stay out of trouble.”
     “I promise Lance, but I can’t guarantee that trouble won’t find me.”
     “I know how you are.” Lance grinned at her, “Be careful Sis.” He stepped in and gave Cora a big hug.
     “I will. Now go.”

July 2
Lance has finished and left with the scrolls as well as the other items we have uncovered from the site to update our sponsor and also to check and see if our permit has been extended by the Mexican government. I have the photographed copies of the scrolls and will begin translating them as soon as I am done here. I’m positive the government will give us more time because of our findings, but the worry of them not is still prominent in my mind with only five days left of the expedition. Either way, I believe we have been successful.
CJT

***

Cora had been working for almost two days straight and her eyes were killing her. The scrolls she had been able to translate so far matched up with Professor Stratton’s translations at the Hormiguero site.

Scroll translation of exhibit A:

In this year, our city has encountered much growth. The location between Calakmul and Rio Bec has proven to be a prosperous one. The riches we now have are proof of our faithfulness in Bolon Dzacab (Lightning Deity) for he has blessed us. Our crops have grown tall and we have been visited with lots of good rain. The priests, myself included, believe that we will continue to be blessed so long as we keep offering part of our crops as sacrifice.

Scroll translation of exhibit B:

The last two moon cycles our people have suffered from the attacks of Vucub Caquix (Demon Bird) on Bolon Dzacab (Lightning Deity). Lightning has destroyed our crops and alter of sacrifice. Two priests have been taken as sacrifice by Vucub Caquix (Demon Bird). Our people are afraid and have started to leave the city.

Lying on her cot, sleep evaded her. Unable to toss and turn any longer, Cora made her way back over to the desk and looked at the third photograph.

Scroll Translation of Exhibit C:

Many people have left despite my reassurances that we will soon be safe. I am the only remaining priest left because of my faithfulness. While praying to Bolon Dzacab (Lightning Deity) in a lightning storm a few weeks ago, I was given a vision. We are to worship a new God, Jihp Ch’iich’ (The Lightning Bird).

     Just as Cora finished the translation on the third photograph, a crack of thunder sounded causing her to jump. Not again! Cora thought. Almost five days since we had any lightning…
     The light had faded in Cora’s tent to the point where she could no longer read comfortably. She went in search of a lantern. Finally finding it buried beneath dirty laundry she lit it and turned to a clean sheet of paper in her journal to begin the translation of the next photograph.
     Just as she finished, Cora felt the gooseflesh rise on her arms.

Scroll Translation of Exhibit D:

Jihp Ch’iich’ (The Lightning Bird) has blessed us. The people who still live here have begun to worship her as she has requested. Our crops are growing again and we have started to prosper. As High Priest, I have been given another vision. Jihp Ch’iich’ (The Lightning Bird) appears during the lightning storms to bless us. As the first lightning bolt strikes the ground, she is left standing beneath it. The largest bolt that meets the ground is where she chooses to bless us by laying a sacred egg deep in the earth. If any man, woman, or child finds the egg, it will bring him or her great blessings. Once the egg is laid, Jihp Ch’iich’ (The Lightning Bird), returns to the heavens when struck by lightning. The sight of Jihp Ch’iich’ returning is remarkable, she glows like the sun then bursts into flames and is gone. I have watched such a sight with my own eyes.

An eerie silence descended on Cora making her feel uncomfortable when finished with the fifth photograph.

Scroll Translation of Exhibit E:

Jihp Ch’iich’ (The Lightning Bird) has been angered and claims we have become unfaithful to her. She has started taking blood sacrifices during her visits which she buries with her egg. Many of our people are fleeing our city now. I refuse to leave Jihp Ch’iich’ (The Lightning Bird), I am her faithful servant.

Is this what has been happening in our camp? She wondered as she opened the door to her tent. Bright flashes could still be seen in the sky, but the rain had stopped. Cora turned back to her desk. The final photograph lay in wait to be translated.

Scroll Translation of Exhibit F:

This is the last writing I will finish as High Priest. I stand alone with my acolytes of which we number four. All other people have fled or have been taken as sacrifice by Jihp Ch’iich’ (The Lightning Bird). We have lost faith in her, and she in us. She is coming.

     Dropping her pen with relief at finally being finished, Cora heard a blood curdling scream outside her tent and began to tremble. More screams combined with a horrible screeching sound filled her ears then silence. Shaking, she walked to the door of her tent and looked out; a flash of lightning lit up the night sky and Gerardo’s mangled body could be seen a few yards away.
     Cora rushed to him, seeing a gaping hole in his chest with ribs protruding and intestines pulled out she dropped next to him not sure what to do, only knowing that he was going to die. He gurgled something unintelligible with blood foaming at the edges of his lips. Choking, Gerardo coughed up a mouthful of blood that he unintentionally spit on Cora’s face. Fear of death or was it something else in his eyes screamed at Cora.
     She caught a glowing streak just out of the corner of her eye and turned to see the white bird glowing red and gold shredding the canvas of Alex and Savanna’s shared tent. Its loud screech sounding like nails on a chalk board multiplied and played on speakers at a concert made Cora grab her ears and shudder falling to her knees. Not taking her eyes off of the bird, Cora watched as it entered the tent and heard Alex’s war cry and the gun shots that followed. His screaming was cut short by a blast of lightning and the thunder that followed. His body suddenly flew out of the tent and landed near Cora with a loud crunch. His body lay in an unnatural way- his head turned face down while his body faced upward. Blood was seeping through his clothes and as Cora began ripping his shirt saw that puncture wounds had come from his back through. She rolled him over and saw where the bird’s talons had ripped his flesh open disfiguring his back.
     Looking up, Cora saw a figure running towards her and she could tell it was Savanna. Her old age was making her slow but it was what was behind her that stopped Cora from running to her aid. Just behind Savanna, the white glowing beast of a bird flew. The wing size was amazing Cora thought and almost wished she had a camera. It sank its talons into Savanna’s back slamming her into the ground. Its beak grabbed the back of her head and as it lifted her face up, Savanna looked at Cora and cried with all her might, “God save us all!”
     The sickening crunch and grey mass spilling out onto the ground as the bird crushed Savanna’s skull made Cora loose it. She vomited, then wiping her face, stood up and faced the bird. Its screech sounded again while it stood on top of Savanna’s still convulsing body.
     “Jihp Ch’iich’, The Lightning Bird.” Cora’s whisper barely escaped her mouth. The bird’s head snapped towards her. Cora was sent to the ground as it began to tremble like an earthquake. The bird flapped its massive wings and squawked . Cora felt the ground beneath her shaking harder. She rolled a few feet away from where she was and watched the ground. It sounded like something was tunneling.
     The top of the soil began to churn. Out of the mound of dirt that was made, a miniature glowing bird crawled out. Screeches from all directions sounded and when Cora looked around her she saw more of the little devilish creatures- four of them in all. They each made their way to a body and began to feast on her friends.
     These are my priests reborn, in a few years I will return for you. The thought entered her mind along with pictures of Javier and others whom she didn’t recognize each dressed in clothing that resembled different periods of time.
     “Never!” Cora screamed rushing at the little birds who were feeding off of the flesh of Alex’s broken body. All of the babies took to the sky. The Larger bird rushed towards Cora, wings open and talons ready to kill. Just as it was within reach and Cora knew her death was emanate, the sky opened and lightning streamed down striking the ground. The bird stopped in mid-flight and beat its powerful wings. One bolt struck the bird; flames erupted and Cora found herself covered in grey ash. She turned and saw each of the smaller birds be hit and ignite just the same way. Just as suddenly as it had begun, the lightning quit. Exhausted and Terrified, Cora felt a sharp pain in her chest and blacked out.

***

     Lance woke in the dead of night and knew something was terribly wrong. He could feel it. He dressed quickly and threw his bags together. He checked out of the hotel on his way through the lobby. His three day meeting had seemed to go well, but had felt sick the last day and a half.
     He threw the jeep into drive and sped towards the dig site.
     The sun was just beginning to show above the horizon when he pulled into camp. Destruction was everywhere. Tents were hashed or missing with only the frames left behind, equipment scattered, and not a soul to be found. Blood and pieces of flesh were lying all over the camp site as if one of the panthers they had seen stalking around their camp had drug its kill through.
     Lance ran to the dig site and calling for anyone. He searched the ruins finding no one. In his frantic search to find someone Lance rushed back to camp. He was almost to Cora’s tent when he saw someone lying on the ground partially covered with canvas. He rushed to them and found it was his sister. After checking for any open wounds and finding none, he awkwardly picked her up and took her back to the jeep. She groaned as he situated her, but otherwise was silent.

***

     “Mr. Thompson?” A man in a white coat approached.
     “Yes Doctor?” Lance returned.
     “Your wife seems to have-”
     “My sister.” Lance saw the confused look on the doctor’s face, “She’s my sister, sir.”
     “Ah, your sister seems to have suffered a mild heart attack. The length of time she went untreated left her with some blood loss to the brain and it has affected her mental state.”
     “Which means what exactly doc?” Lance looked at him with alarm. He had been waiting for almost five days to hear any news.
     “It means, Mr. Thompson that your sister is now suffering from paranoid schizophrenia and will have to be watched very closely for the rest of her life, as well as have her heart monitored to make sure that she does not suffer another heart attack.”
     “What do you mean paranoid schizophrenia?” Lance looked at the doctor confused.
     “You better come and take a look for yourself.” The doctor led him to Cora’s room and opened the door. “This has happened each night that we have put her on meds to make her sleep. Each morning we come in to find this.”
     Cora’s room was covered in Mayan symbols.
     “Where did she get the red paint?” Lance asked looking at the symbols closely, some he recognized, and some he didn’t.
     “That’s not red paint Mr. Thompson. It’s blood.” Lance’s jaw dropped and as he stared at the walls, all of it sinking in. “We’ve had to bandage her hands each morning. We’d like to keep her here for a while longer until we can make sure she is safe to go home with you.”
     “There won’t be any more archeological sites then will there?”
     “I’m afraid not, her credibility will no longer be acceptable based on her mental state.”

***

July 14
I can only remember bits and pieces and I’m not sure what is truth and what isn’t. I remember hearing the screams and seeing Gerardo dead, his body mangled. I also remember the bird, the giant bird taller than I am. Its white feathers had spots that glowed red and gold in the night. Alex was thrown out of his tent I saw the bird brutally kill Savanna then remember seeing little birds that were the like the big one glowing and eating. I tried to chase them away then the lightning started striking the ground again. The large bird flew at me and I knew I was going to die then it was struck by lightning as were the baby ones. I remember being scared out of my mind then waking up in the hospital with Lance where I’ve been since.
CJT

***

August 12
I have finally been allowed out of the treatment center and have been able to come home with Lance. He has told me that we are moving back to the states and are going to live in our parents’ home. I haven’t been home in years. I think that Lance has finally quit questioning me about what happened and has instead resorted to giving me sad looks. I still can’t bring myself to tell him any of it; I’m not sure what exactly occurred that night.
CJT

***

     Lance had moved Cora home to the states and tried to take care of her as best as he knew how. Her break downs were overwhelming. Lightning and rain storms were the worst. She would go into such a state that nothing could calm her and she would wall herself up in her bedroom closet and hide. Lance would hold her until she stopped shaking which usually wasn’t until hours after the storm had stopped.
     He knew something at their last site had affected her, but couldn’t figure out what it was. He had sent letters to every place he could think of still trying to find any of the members of the team to find out what they knew had happen. He had not been successful. It was as if each of them had completely disappeared from the face of the earth. Of all the people, he never expected that he wouldn’t be able to find or hear from Alex and Savanna, they had become almost like parents to the team.
     Lance was even more disappointed when he contacted the sponsor and found that the scrolls he had delivered from the site had been stolen before they could be photographed or translated.

***

June 6
We had tornado warnings again today and the lightning terrified me beyond words. I hid in my closet again knowing that it’s coming for me, I still can’t get the thoughts out of my head.
“These are my priests reborn, in a few years I will return for you.”
It is coming, just like the scrolls said it would. If there is a God, please help me.
CJT

***

Cora knew that she was making her brother suffer. She just couldn’t explain to him the horrors that filled her mind all day, but even more so at night. The bird debuted over and over again in her dreams, killing and feasting on her friends in camp to people she had never met or known. She still had not forgotten the threat and knew that the bird was coming for her. Maybe if she walled herself up it wouldn’t find her- posh! She knew there was no hiding from a Nightmare, and especially one that was known as a God.
She had made Lance board up her windows in her bedroom. She couldn’t stand the site or sound of the birds as they danced on the window seals. Each time she heard a bird it echoed the call of The Lightning Bird in her mind.

***

November 24
I know it’s been over a year since I’ve written, but Lance has met nice woman, Reshell and has told me that he’s going to propose to her. Maybe she will help me find some normalcy in life.
CJT

***

March 30
I’m an Aunt! Lance and Reshell had their first child today, they named him Tyler. He’s so beautiful. I wish I could meet someone and have a child of my own.
CJT

***

February 8
I overheard Lance and Reshell arguing again today, I’m sure that I will be leaving soon. She doesn’t want me to influence her children any more than I already have. I can’t help but be scared. The time will soon be upon us.
CJT

***

     Lance’s wife, Reshell, couldn’t handle it any more. This was the third time she had walked past Cora’s room and saw red symbols covering the walls in two weeks. The first time she had seen the symbols a few years ago, Lance had explained them as Mayan. She had helped Cora bandage up her raw and bloody fingers and spent the rest of the day painting over the blood that they couldn’t scrub off the walls.
     “It’s me or it’s her, Lance. I can’t live with this constant state of madness!”
     “I can’t just throw her out on the street! You know what her condition is like!” Lance had argued back.
     Cora heard the arguments and knew that the time was close. She packed all of her things and waited.
     “For the sake of our children Lance, please if not for us. Don’t make them watch their crazy Aunt any longer.”
     “CJ’s not crazy, Reshell.”
     “Oh really Lance? Have you bandaged her hands? Have you scrubbed the blood off her walls? Have you painted her room? Have you listened to her talk to the kids Lance? Have you? She goes on and on about how they have to listen to her and stay away from the birds – any birds. Tyler is so terrified that he doesn’t want to go to class anymore because his teacher has a canary in there. He won’t even play on the playground because he’s afraid the pigeons may, in his words ‘bring the prophecy to life’.”
     Reshell had finally convinced him and the next morning Lance was driving her to an institution.

***

April 2
Boy, if Reshell thought I was crazy, she hasn’t seen anything! I’ve never seen so many crazy people in my life! I might be afraid of the lightning and birds, but these people are freaks! The dreams still haven’t stopped. I keep seeing Mayan symbols over and over again in my head. The nurses are worried because they say I have been screaming in my sleep. It’s this place. I know it is.
CJT

***

     Cora hadn’t been able to sleep for days. The doctors had tried to medicate her but it only seemed to make things worse. While medicated, she couldn’t remember what occurred when she went to sleep. She only knew that once she did, she would wake up and find symbols all over her room painted in her own blood.
     She had heard the maintenance men complaining about having to paint her room again. She had no idea how many times they had painted her room, but knew that each time they had placed her in isolation. She had spent more days in isolation than she could count.
     This was the longest amount of time she had ever spent in isolation consecutively. The lights had turned off and on five times now. Each morning they were turned on, and each evening they were turned off. The time seemed to drag by for Cora, and each time she would come close to sleeping, she would think of the bird and force herself awake.
     Her eyes swam beneath heavy lids and her body ached, begging for space to move. Did she just see the lights flicker? No, it had to be her imagination. Cora stared at the light set in the ceiling tiles daring it to do it again. Something rumbled from the ceiling like feet running across the floor above. The light flickered again. The room began to spin as her tired eyes focused on the flickering light; slowly she began to zone out.
     Faster and faster the room was spinning until out of the flickering light the red eyes of Cora’s nightmare appeared. Its flapping wings grew out of the ceiling and the body of the bird hovered above her covering her in darkness. The only light in the room came from its red eyes and glowing red and orange feathers against white ones.
     Your time is nearing. I will soon expect your tribute. You’ve been warned.
     Cora woke in the morning in a strait jacket strapped to a white bed back in her original room. Her doctor was sitting on a chair near the bed reading a book, a clipboard on his lap and pen scribbling something down occasionally. Looking up he saw she was awake.
     “Well good afternoon Ms. Thompson.” His voice was sickly sweet.
     “Cora or CJT and why am I not in the isolation room?” Cora asked curious to know just how she had come to be in a strait jacket and in her own room.
     “We had to move you. You decided to destroy everything in there and used the glass from the florescent light in the ceiling to cut your hands and paint the walls. This time Ms. Thompson, I have taken pictures of the walls and would like you to tell me what the symbols mean that you continue to paint.” He held a photograph above her face.
     Cora studied the photograph as intensely as she could with the stabbing headache that felt like it had come from a night-on-the-town. Her eyes grew big as she translated the phrase again in her mind.
     “Well Ms. Thompson? What does it say?”
     “It says ‘I serve Jihp Ch’iich’, The Lightning Bird’.”
     “Why, Ms. Thompson, would you write that?”
     “I…I…I don’t know, doctor.” She wished she could put her hands on her head but being confined as she was, it was impossible. She settled by clenching her eyes shut.
     “What about this one Ms. Thompson?”
     Cora again opened her eyes and studied intently.
     After a few minutes of racking her brain at why she would have written this in her own blood, she hesitantly said, “I will give my doctor as tribute for Jihp Ch’iich’… for The Lightning Bird.”
     “Ms. Thompson, these symbols were repeated all around the room from the floor to the ceiling. Will you tell me what happened at your last archeological site?”
     “No doctor, I won’t, and its Cora or CJT.” Seeing the burning look in his eyes that he got whenever she answered this question, she decided she had better tell him the truth. “Because Doctor, I don’t know exactly what happened myself.”

***

     “Doctor Mackert?” The nurse asked while leaning around into the open door of his office.
     “Yes?” He answered without looking up.
     “The patient in room C302 is requesting to see you.”
     Doctor Mackert’s eyes shot up from his paperwork that he had been working on. “You mean, Ms. Thompson?”
     “Yes Doctor, CJT as she’s requested being called by the nursing staff.”
     “Tell her I’ll be there shortly.” Doctor Mackart took out Cora’s file and wondered about Cora’s sudden request. She had refused to talk to him multiple times about her last dig site, which he knew from her medical records and doctor in Mexico must have been the cause of her current mental state.
     Sighing, Doctor Mackart picked up his clip board and pen and headed down the hall to the elevator in order to meet with his most interesting patient.

***

     Cora’s dreams had been littered with visions over the last two weeks and she knew from last night’s dream that the time had come. The God she had come to fear so much was coming with the approaching storm. Her dreams had told her that she was chosen to be a priestess for Jihp Ch’iich’ and that the remainder of her life would be spent serving this ancient and powerful Mayan God.
     She had planned the attack of her doctor right down to the T and was prepared to finally make it happen. She had worked her sheets enough to tear off a few long strips and had hidden them under the edge of her mattress.
     Stage one of her plan had begun by telling one of the nurses that she wanted to see Doctor Mackart. She decided that the only way to keep him in her room was to read excerpts out of her journal in order for him to see what she thought might have happened at the last dig site.
     Cora looked up as he opened the door and came in, a curious look on his face.
     “You wanted to see me Ms. Thompson?”
     “Doctor Mackart, how many times do I have to ask you to call me Cora or CJT?”
     “Well Ms. Thompson, I like to maintain that Doctor – Patient mentality and in order to keep myself from allowing our relationship from becoming any more personal, I prefer to call you Ms. Thompson.”
     “I never thought of it that way, Doctor. However, I think that we should spend a little time today and get to know each other a little more personally.”
     “How so?”
     “I’d like to read some of my journal entries to you.” Cora pulled out her leather journal that she had been writing off and on in, mostly important events or information that she had kept about dig sites she was working at, and after the latest one, the rest was filled with important family events and her thoughts about her own personal hell she was living in.
     Doctor Mackart’s face lit up with excitement.
     Cora opened her journal and began to read the events that had transpired at her last dig site. Doctor Mackart interrupted occasionally and Cora made sure to wait for him when she saw he was writing something on his clipboard that he thought to be important.
     The hours faded and soon it was getting late. They had heard the dinner bell sound and remained in the room, Cora reading while Doctor Mackart wrote his own thoughts on what he was hearing.
     Cora jumped at the first sound of thunder that echoed through the building once she finished explaining what she thought she remembered of the attack at the site. She felt better seeing the anxiety show on Doctor Mackart’s face as he jumped as well. She had done a good job at drawing him into her trap. Thunder ripped through the air until fairly soon that was all that they were hearing, clap after clap after clap. Cora told him of her vision of the Lightning Bird and how it had come to her in the isolation room.
     “Doctor, remember when you asked me about the Mayan symbols I had painted in my own blood the next day?”
     “Yes Ms. Thompson, I remember clearly.”
     “Remember when you asked me why I would have written the phrase about making my doctor the tribute?” She watched as he nodded. “Well Doctor, tonight is the night that Jihp Ch’iich’ is coming for her tribute.”
     She watched as Doctor Mackart digested what she had just said to him and how he squirmed in his chair.
     “You are my tribute to her. She is coming, and its best you say your prayers but know that she is the God to whom you should be praying.”
     Doctor Mackart laughed out loud. “Ms. Thompson, that’s the silliest thing I’ve heard any of my patents tell me in over fifteen years.”
     Lightning began pounding the grounds just outside the building harder and harder making the thunder into one continuous roar.
     Cora’s hand reached under her mattress pulling out the strips of sheets she had previously hidden there.
     “She’s coming Doctor, prepare yourself.” Cora’s voice was quite calm as the doctor looked to the barred window at a flash of lightning.
     A loud explosion sounded and the block that made up the wall blasted inward. Cora choked on the dust filled air and knew that lightning had struck the wall and created the opening that she could now see through the clearing smoke. Doctor Mackart screamed as he was pelted with small pieces of cinderblock and then knocked cold. Cora jumped without hesitation when she noticed that he had blacked out. Taking the strips of sheets she quickly tied him to his chair and gagged his mouth.
     Doctor Mackart’s eyes fluttered as he began to come to. The fear in his eyes made Cora suddenly laugh hysterically, and the thought that crossed Doctor Mackart’s mind was that it was the first time he had thought that his patient, Ms. Thompson, might actually be more crazy than he had originally assessed.
     Cora spread her arms wide and suddenly words were coming out of her mouth that she had never heard or spoken in the Mayan tongue.
     “I live to serve only you, Jihp Ch’iich’. As your faithful servant and priestess to be, I am prepared to give you this tribute and pray that you will accept me as worthy. Allow me to live and rescue me from this hell and you shall have all the tribute you desire!”
     Cora danced in circles around the room repeating the words she had spoken as if dancing to the unheard rhythm of the thunder. Lightning struck where the whole had been made and in the clearing smoke the massive shadow of the Lightning Bird could be seen.
     The power went out of the building and Cora stopped dancing. She turned to the Lightning Bird, glowing red eyes stared her down. Cora dropped to her knees and with raised hands repeated the chant while looking directly at the Bird.
     Doctor Mackart couldn’t believe his eyes, the whole time Ms. Thompson had been telling the truth unless she had some way of hypnotizing him while she was reading from her journal. That must be it, he thought, she has hypnotized me and when I wake up, I will be fine.
     The ear-splitting screech made Doctor Mackart second guess his previous thought. He called to Cora through his gag, but nothing discernable could be heard above the thunder pounding the earth outside. She lay prostrated before the mighty bird and he guessed that she was praying to it. His whole body shaking, he stared at the bird. The bird rushed at him, its beak wide open and wings spread wide. Doctor Mackart begged to Cora until the air was pushed out of his diaphragm by the bird climbing on top of him. Its razor sharp talons sank into his stomach and he let out a high pitched squeal.
     Cora only dared look up for a second and regretted it instantly. The Lightning Bird was pecking out the doctor’s eyes while ripping its talons back and forth, scratching like a chicken does for seeds, sending flesh flying everywhere and blood spurting out of his stomach. She turned and pressed her nose back to the ground hoping that it would all soon be over, but also knew that her time was next. There was no way she would walk away – her visions had told her that much. Cora felt something wet hit her face and when she turned to stare at it, noticed it was the doctor’s heart – she had taken enough anatomy classes to be able to identify it easily. Panic set in and she quickly shuffled away from it backing into the corner. Her knee brushed up against something and as she turned to look at it found it was a severed leg that had been ripped from Doctor Mackart’s body.
     The Lightning Bird, having finished its meal, turned its attentions to Cora, and for once, she knew what thoughts must have crossed Javier’s mind.

***

     “Thompson Residence.” Tyler, Lance’s oldest son had answered the phone.
     “Is Mr. Thompson available?”
     “May I ask who’s calling?”
     “This is Doctor Fischer with the El Paso Mental Health Institution.”
     “Just one second.” Tyler took the phone to his father, “I think it’s about Aunt CJ, Dad.”
     “This is Lance.” Lance’s hand shook each time he got a phone call from the institution about his sister. He still had a hard time living with the knowledge that he had abandoned her.
     “Mr. Thompson, this is Doctor Fisher, I have some terrible news about your sister, Coraline.”
     “Ye, yes Doctor Fischer?” Lance wasn’t ready for this day.
     “Coraline’s gone missing.”
     “WHAT?!” Lance was thinking of her death not that she had escaped, “Is this some kind of joke Doctor?”
     “No Sir, we don’t know how it was done and we’ve searched everywhere. There was a lightning storm last night here in El Paso, and lightning hit the building just outside the room where she was staying. We will continue to search for her and have notified the proper authorities. One problem we seem to have is that she managed to attack her doctor who was in the room with her at the time of the lightning storm.”
     “Oh dear God. Is he okay?”
     “Unfortunately, no. Authorities will be in contact soon to meet with you to try to figure out what her motives might be. In the meantime, we’ve found her journals and thought you might want to read them. We have made copies of them of course, and will study them.”
     “Thank you Doctor, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
     Lance couldn’t believe what he had heard as he hung up the phone. He sat in his chair stunned.

***

Lance had answered all of the detective’s questions as thoroughly as possible, but still felt it wasn’t enough. He had no answers for the things that Cora had done or said. She never did tell him what had occurred at the dig site. He was horrified to find out what had happened to Cora’s doctor, and in a way relieved to know that he had made the right decision in placing Cora in an institution because her doctor’s death could have been his son’s or possibly his wife’s.
Still he felt guilty in knowing that there was nothing he could do now other than take Cora’s personal items home which consisted of a few photographs and her leather journal. The ride home from El Paso was exhausting, and it wasn’t until Lance had been home for a few days that he realized he had forgotten to look at Cora’s journal.

***

Random journal entries recorded by Cora aka CJT:

(Not dated)
I have survived in this hell hole for twelve years now, the dreams fill my mind day and night. I hear the bird screaming in my head. One night, a few weeks ago, the lightning was so bad that I bloodied my hands trying to get out of the door into a smaller room then blacked out. I woke up in an isolation room and the doctor asked me if I remembered anything. I told him no, and when I asked him why he told me that I painted symbols all over my room in my own blood. I’m scared. They let me back into my own room this last week and you can still see where the symbols were. They are faded but still visible – the symbols are the same ones that I see every night in my dreams.
CJT

----

(Not dated)
I have been held in isolation again but this time I painted copies of the murals I remember seeing in the temple where Alex and Savanna found the scrolls. Doctor Mackart seems to think that I am finding ways to express my suppressed memories since I refuse to talk to him about my time at the dig site. I have not heard from Lance for a long time, and really miss him.
CJT

----

(Not Dated)
The Lightning Bird came to me while I was in isolation and when I awoke, I was in a strait-jacket. Doctor Mackart put pictures in front of my face and demanded that I translate the symbols that I had painted while there under the influence of the bird. What I read surprised me, for one I had written that I serve Jihp Ch’iich’ and in the other one I put that I would make my doctor tribute to her.
I don’t understand what is going on in my head. I keep having dreams and now after having the bird come to me again I’m really scared. When the bird visited me in isolation it told me that I would need to prepare tribute for her.
I have no idea what I am going to do.
CJT

----

(Not Dated)
Today is the day, the visions have told me so. I have dreams of people dancing and they are saying things I don’t understand but occasionally one comes to me and speaks in Spanish telling me that I am being prepared to become a priestess to the God, Jihp Ch’iich’. I know that my plans to capture my doctor are crazy, but I hope for the best and am ready to move onto the next life if needs be. I’ll miss you, and if Lance has a chance to read this, know that I am not crazy. I know what I think I saw at the dig site occurred and that Javier and the others were killed by The Lightning Bird.
CJT

***

Lance had often wondered about the site they had left, and if anyone else had continued the expedition afterwards. With such an odd turn of events he wasn’t sure if the sponsor was going to try to send another team in or not.
Curiosity was going to kill the cat and Lance knew that after reading Cora’s journals he had to make a trip back to see. He began planning a vacation with Reshell to visit a few Mayan sites and other tourist attractions in Mexico where they could take the kids. Lance discreetly planned the vacation around the sites closest to where they had been working on uncovering their last site. Lance couldn’t believe all that he had read. She was crazy, but yet, she had such normal thoughts. Something about this wasn’t adding up. He hadn’t heard from any of the other expedition team members, but he figured that they were busy with life. Besides, he knew that there was just no way he was going to find them now, almost twenty years later.

FFF #38 A Simple Request

2010-08-17T11:42:00.002-06:00

I know I'm a little late on this one, but the words hit me today, and they had to be written, so forgive me this.
FFF #38 A Simple Request

Like a snake
You coil
Your foul body around...
Careful or
I might
Walk into trouble.

You toil with tools
Not fully understood
While I sit
Watching
Tracking Your
Hidden motives.

Keep sifting
Through the rubble
And maybe-
Just maybe
You’ll find
Something of value.

You’ve hurt me
It’s true
Your
“behind the scene”
Attacks
were brutal.

Moving forward
I’m now doing.
If you’re not careful
You’ll find
The trouble
You’re brewing
Will backfire
And bubble.

So for my sake
And yours
I’m asking you
Woman to woman,
Woman to man-

Please,
STOP
Stewing and brewing
Your hatred
And just leave me
And my writing be.

Do You Know What a Blog Stalker is?

2010-08-07T03:21:00.041-06:00

Blog Stalkers or Cyber Stalkers are becoming quite the rage, and no I'm not talking about following your friend's blogs, I'm talking about malicious behavior to try to hurt someone, physically, or mentally or both. I came across an article that I thought interesting... So if you don't know what a blog stalker is, take a look and ask yourself...

Are you a BLOG STALKER?

Cyberstalking aka Blogstalking is the use of the Internet or other electronic means to stalk or harass an individual, a group of individuals, or an organization. It may include false accusations, monitoring, making threats, identity theft, damage to data or equipment, the solicitation of minors for sex, or gathering information in order to harass. The definition of "harassment" must meet the criterion that a reasonable person, in possession of the same information, would regard it as sufficient to cause another reasonable person distress.

Stalking is a form of mental assault, in which the perpetrator repeatedly, unwantedly, and disruptively breaks into the life-world of the victim, with whom he has no relationship (or no longer has), with motives that are directly or indirectly traceable to the affective sphere. Moreover, the separated acts that make up the intrusion cannot by themselves cause the mental abuse, but do taken together (cumulative effect).

When identifying cyberstalking "in the field," and particularly when considering whether to report it to any kind of legal authority, the following features or combination of features can be considered to characterize a true stalking situation: malice, premeditation, repetition, distress, obsession, vendetta, no legitimate purpose, personally directed, disregarded warnings to stop, harassment, and threats.

Many cyberstalkers try to damage the reputation of their victim and turn other people against them. They post false information about them on websites. They may set up their own websites, blogs or user pages for this purpose. They post allegations about the victim to newsgroups, chat rooms or other sites that allow public contributions, such as Wikipedia or Amazon.com.

When prosecuted, many stalkers have unsuccessfully attempted to justify their behavior based on their use of public forums, as opposed to direct contact. Once they get a reaction from the victim, they will typically attempt to track or follow the victim's internet activity. Classic cyberstalking behavior includes the tracing of the victim's IP address in an attempt to verify their home or place of employment.

Some cyberstalking situations do evolve into physical stalking, and a victim may experience abusive and excessive phone calls, vandalism, threatening or obscene mail, trespassing, and physical assault. Moreover, many physical stalkers will use cyberstalking as another method of harassing their victims.

The current US Federal Anti-Cyber-Stalking law is found at 47 USC sec. 223.

The first U.S. cyberstalking law went into effect in 1999 in California. Other states include prohibition against cyberstalking in their harassment or stalking legislation. In Florida, HB 479 was introduced in 2003 to ban cyberstalking. This was signed into law on October 2003.

I found it interesting all the ways to be able to track and identify them. The Author of one article I found even went so far as to say that most victims are targeted by a mentally unhealthy person who has developed an obsession.

So again, ask yourself:

Are you a BLOG STALKER?

FFF #37 Impressing the Chicks

2010-07-28T19:19:00.001-06:00

“As with juggling, the key to life is to keep the procession moving steady and don’t look down. That’s how Evil Kenevil did it.”

“Really?”

“Most likely; dude, how else do you think he survived all of those jumps? He had to of had some type of motto.”

“Guess you’re right, but, I don’t know…”

“Don’t know what? Spit it out Bro.”

“I mean, are you sure I’m all cut out for this? You seem so sure about yourself when you’re riding and all, but this kind of stuff… just scares me.” Brad looked at his older brother questioningly. He was the play baseball, run track type of kid, not the ride dirt bikes and do tricks kind of kid.

“Dude, look the chicks are gonna dig you, that’s what you want, isn’t it?” Eric revved his bike for emphasis. “Now watch what I do, and remember, don’t look down!”

Brad watched as Eric hit the jump at full throttle and landed it perfectly. He revved his bike getting a feel for the clutch, and then thought to himself, Well Evil Kenevil, here goes!

His heart raced, lungs caught in his chest and head screaming, What the hell are you thinking! Brad took to the air. It was the moment that he ignored Eric’s advice and looked down that he realized he was never going to make it to the other side of the jump.

His body reacted of its own accord and he baled from the bike. Brad heard it hit with a loud thud at the top of the return hill while he fell watching the ground race towards him.

Brad made contact with the ground accompanied by a sickening crunch. He passed out before the pain reached him.

Brad woke in the ICU at the hospital and found first that he was connected in every possible way to something and then felt himself alive with all the pain coursing through him.

He could hear Eric talking, “I swear Mom, I knew he could make it, and I told him the same thing Uncle Rob told me, you know, about life and not looking down!”

“It’s a miracle he’s still alive Eric- I swear to God. You’re Uncle’s going to get the reaming of his life.”

Brad heard the door open then shut and saw his mom sit down in the chair next to the bed.

“How bad is it ma?”

“Two broken legs, four broken ribs, two cracked ones, a dislocated shoulder and a broken hand. Brad, you’re lucky you didn’t die! What were you thinking?”

“Guess God didn’t mean for me to be like Evil Kenevil, did he?” Brad tried to laugh, but winced in pain. “Tell ya what Ma, that’s the last time I get on a dirt bike. Screw impressing the chicks.”

2010-07-27T23:01:00.003-06:00

Then said Jesus, "Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do..."

St. Luke 23:34

An Ode to Winter: It's Not the Only Chill

2010-07-17T18:29:00.001-06:00

A Siren went off in the distance. We were all nervous, even the horse whose ears perked at the sound. Easy boy, we all whispered to him, trying to get the shakes out of our voices. The wind was starting to pick up and it was deathly cold. Even the gulls, it seemed, new better than to be out on a day like that. We waited, stamping our feet, for the man rowing the boat to get to shore where we could take his load. He was alone and we hastened to drop the gate on our wagon. As the last box of cartridges was loaded, we turned back to thank the man, only to find that he was already rowing back to his ship and crew. The salt burned our noses as we waved, although I doubt that he could see us in the fading light. Bone cold, tired, and hungry we decided now was our chance to get back.

My grandfather’s voice faded as I stared at the old photograph wondering what it would have been like to have been watched, photographed, and then fired upon. The heat wave of the bombs dropped the next morning was said to have burned shadows onto buildings. What would it have been like? My mind tried to come to terms with that of a WWI survivor and fell short. Removing my eyes from the picture, I looked at the dusty old film reel at the bottom of the box.

“Daddy, can we go home yet?” My daughter’s voice echoed to where I was at downstairs. Would she remember him?

“No, baby, Daddy has lots to do to help clean out Grandpa’s house. Do you want to come and see some pictures?” Her light footsteps treaded on the old wooden stairs.

“Are they pictures of Grandpa?” Her four year old voice told me that these pictures would hold more memories than his brief presence in her small life and I was struck with another wave of grief.

God be with you till we meet again.

FFF# 36 Shopping with Women

2010-07-17T14:38:00.004-06:00

“In the distance I saw all kinds of birds circling over something, but I couldn’t tell what from where I was. I was getting pissed off! The closer I tried to get the further it seemed to be.”

“Looking at it from your point of view, then yeah, I would be pissed also.”

“You know that feeling when you wake up sweating and think ‘thank goodness it was only a dream’?”

“Yeah, who doesn’t?”

“Well, finally I managed to make it over to what the birds were circling, and it scared me so bad that it woke me up.”

“So what the hell was it?”

“It was my mother-in-law.”

“Did you tell your wife?”

“Hell no, she already knows I can’t stand the woman, and if this comes out, then there’ll be no more sex for a month.”

“Damn, she’s got you whipped!”

“Shut up you fucker. And what about you, Mr. Purse holder?”

“Hey, at least she buys purses that aren’t way girlie like your wife, I could at least get off saying that this one’s a murse.”

“A what?”

“A murse.”

“And what the hell is a murse Larry?”

“You know, a man purse.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve heard all day.”

“Shhh, here they come.”

***

“Oh hey honey, did you and Shelly find what you were looking for?”

“Yeah, take look at the new purse I helped Shelly pick out!”

“That’s a cute one for sure, isn’t Larry?”

“Sure is.”

“Let’s go look at shoes Maggie.”

“I saw some great ones a few shops back, here you boys can hold these bags for us."

“Okay hun.”

***

“Looks like no more Murses for you, purse boy.”

“Fuck you.”

WOOHOO!

2010-07-15T23:37:00.001-06:00

How EXCITING!!!

I've now been published in my
6th book this year!

Interested in Purchasing?

CLICK HERE

FFF #35 Disillusions of a Chemical Compound

2010-07-12T12:27:00.006-06:00

“I don’t disagree with you, but you have to admit, this puts me in a delicate position.” In truth, Sean thought she was more than half mad.

“Will you help me?” Bridgett knew that she was asking a lot of her friend.

Sean shook his head, her plead was innocent, but the fear in her eyes had shaken him. “Yeah, I guess so, but I don’t know how much help I can really be.”

Bridgett pushed her glasses back up her nose, nodded her head, and turned back towards the door, “I’ll call you once I know how to proceed.” She hesitated at the door, hand on the knob. She turned and stole a short glance back, “And Sean, thank you.” It was barely a whisper but just enough that he heard it.

He watched her walk out of his office then sank into his overstuffed chair behind his desk. Never had he heard such an outlandish story, and never in a million years did he expect that he would promise to help his best friend spy on his boss.

He opened the daily paper for the first time today and his interest peaked when he read the headline taking his mind momentarily off of Bridgett’s request.

***

Bridgett half expected to run into Dr. O’Conner on her way out of the building and prayed that she wouldn’t say or do anything that would lead him to suspect she knew something about his wild rampages.

She knew what she had seen, and even the look on Sean’s face told her that her story was bordering on insanity. A man turning into a monster, climbing rooftops, chasing unsuspecting women, it was absurd, yet she knew what she had seen with her own two eyes, and they had never before led her astray. She didn’t allow herself to think of the other horrific events she had witnessed the previous night.

She made it out of the building and onto the street without mishap and as she walked around the corner to her car she worked on steadying her racing heart.

***

Dr. David O’Conner looked around him in surprise when he woke with a start. He was lying huddled behind a large dumpster in an alleyway and had no recollection how he had gotten there. His clothes hung in tatters, dirty and covered in a crusty layer of something dark in the early morning light. Even with the confusion as to where he was and the amnesia he seemed to be suffering from, he felt euphoric.

It was the best walk home he could ever remember having.

“July 12, 2010. The mixture that I found in the old case did not prove fatal, but did however cause a form of amnesia along with a nice high when I awoke. This may be the tonic that I’ve been searching for, but will not know until I can find further proof of my outings after drinking the potion. I will try again tonight.” Dr. O’Conner pushed stop on his tape recorder and looked at his ruined clothes lying on the floor in the corner of his bedroom. He couldn’t possibly imagine what kind of trouble he had gotten into last night to rip his clothing to shreds nor could he figure out where the dried blood came from. He had searched his body over this morning and found no signs of cuts or bruising.

***

Sean waited for his boss to come in, they were very late for an important meeting with the university and he knew Dr. O’Conner to be a very strict man when it came to time. He had tried his house and his cell numerous times only to get the answering machine or voicemail.

“Damn it, David! Where the hell are you?” He questioned to only himself. Finally seeing no way around it, he called out to Madeline, his secretary, and demanded she call the University and tell them that he was on his way.

His last call to Dr. O’Conner ended with a rather gruff voicemail, “David, I don’t know where the hell you are, but you better not leave me hanging in front of the Dean at the University or I swear to God…” Sean knew he better just hang up and not finish that sentence. He hastily paid the cabbie and headed in to his meeting.

***

Bridgett dressed in her darkest clothes, hard to find considering she was a light person, and her wardrobe was packed with bright colors. It was almost dark and she had a long walk ahead of her if she was going to find her way back to the place to spy on Dr. O’Conner.

She threw on the midnight black cloak she had purchased from an antique peddler on her way home from her meeting with Sean. It smelled of mothballs and of being shut up for far too long.

Bridgett opened the long locked away chest in her bedroom that held things she had inherited from her father when he had died and took out an ancient military short sword lashed it to her belt and her father’s .45 Colt. She loaded it with shaking fingers and stuffed it into the back of her pants.

Bridgett stepped in front of her full length mirror and pulling the hood up over her head she thought she looked like something from Van Helsing. The handle of her sword glinted from just behind the edge of the cloak and her deep green pant leg ended when it met a black military style boot.

Thank God her father was a small man otherwise some of his old things would never have fit.

***

Dr. O’Conner placed the video recorder on the bookshelf in his office at home and turned it to record. Stepping back and near his desk, he looked directly at the camera.

“July 12, 2010, my name is Dr. David O’Conner and I am testing a tonic that I have acquired to see if it has the desire effects it claims to have.”

He took the small vial out of the weathered brief case and held it up to the camera. With a dramatic flick of his hand he drank the vial down and waited.

Dr. O’Conner thank you for giving me free reign once more.

Dr. O’Conner looked around the room, his eyes wide. “Who’s there?”

He turned in a full circle and seeing no one thought he must have been hearing things. He shrugged his shoulders and settled down into his favorite reading chair and pulled out his latest historical crime novel.

***

“Sean! Sean! Oh God Sean!”

“Calm down Bridgett! Take a deep breath and tell me what the hell is going on!”

Between Sobs, Bridgett tried to spit out her story of seeing Dr. O’Conner leave his home and in the field behind his house change to a horrible beast that resembled something like a giant.

“Bridgett! Have you been drinking? Where are you, I’ll come pick you up.” That seemed to catch her off guard, and he could hear her take a deep breath.

“I have to go Sean - he’s on the loose again. I have to follow him!”

With that the phone clicked off and Sean sat stunned looking at the wall across from him.

***

Bridgett had been following the beast most of the night. She thought beast but wasn’t sure what else to call it other than a giant, but that wouldn’t be right either. He still looked like a man, just a huge one.

Her hurried conversation with Sean she knew would leave him with questions, and with any luck maybe he would find it in himself to go to Dr. O’Conner’s home and have a look around.

She didn’t stay long to look at the girl that the beast had killed, raped, and then fed from. He was so fast that she didn’t have much of a choice but to keep running after him.

He had climbed onto a roof top again and was racing farther away from her. She rounded a corner and looking up saw that she had lost sight of him. A feeling of disappointment and dread filled her and she wondered who the next unlucky woman would be who would befall the creature.

***

The creature who had taken over Dr. O’Conner’s body knew he was being followed. He could smell her dying perfume on the breeze and see her shadow as she raced after him. Her smell was intoxicating. She wanted him, he knew it, and his instinctual side told him that he could not stalk what was stalking him. Finally seeing his opportunity he turned and followed his new prey.

***

Sean sat in his chair upset over Bridgett’s phone call, but even more upset that Dr. O’Conner had stood him up in front of the Dean. He was not impressed. The presentation had not gone well at all, and part of that he blamed on stress of worrying about his no-show boss.

He poured himself a glass of scotch and after slugging it down, poured another. With a new resolve he grabbed his coat off the coat tree and went to get into his car. He had some questions that needed answers.

***

Bridgett walked slowly back to where she had parked her car a little ways away from Dr. O’Conner’s home. All that running had taken a lot out of her and she was also trying to sift through many thoughts of confusion, fear, and the unknown.

Her body registered fear before her mind. Something behind her shuffled and stifling a cry she turned to see what was behind her in the dimly lit street.

She saw nothing and drew closer to the buildings lining the side she was closest to. Putting her hand on the sword hilt and another on the gun she waited trying to make her body stop shaking and willing courage to help her in whatever might occur.

She felt something sticky drip onto her shoulder then smelled a foul odor on the air above her. Without thinking she quickly ripped the sword out and straight up into the air above her. She heard a grunt as it sank into something solid then her world went black.

***

Sean pounded on Dr. O’Conner’s door and after about ten minutes of no answer he finally tried the door. It wasn’t locked and stood partially ajar. He let himself in and called out as he went, “David, David are you here?”

He finally made his way to the home office and noticed an open briefcase containing a few vials full of liquid and across the room a camcorder the red light still showing that it was recording.

He pushed stop and rewound the tape. More questions filled his mind as he listened to and watched the short documentary prepared by Dr. O’Conner. He also watched as a change seemed to take over the man in the chair reading before he stood and left the room with a wicked smile on his face.

Sean gathered up the vials and the briefcase then took them back to his apartment where he figured he would do some testing to see what the vials contained.

***

The beast held Bridgett tightly under his arm as he ran the rooftops towards the edge of town. An old church stood as the last remaining marker of the city limits. His laugh broke through the fog in Bridgett’s mind. Opening her eyes she saw the beast that held her and a scream ripped through the night sky.

An evil smile looked down at her as he stopped on top of the old church and set her down on the rooftop. His laughter made her cringe and the drool sliding down the left side of his chin made her nauseous.

“What do you want with me?” Bridgett managed to squeak.

“The same thing you want with me honey.” His gruff voice seemed to coo as he held her up and buried his face in her hair.

She tried with all her strength to push him away from her but to no avail. “Dr. O’Conner? Dr. O’Conner I know you’re in there.” She cried, “Please Doctor let me go.”

More laughter broke her pleading. She became submissive knowing it would do no good to fight as he started ripping her clothes away from her body. “Dr. O’Conner is out, and I’m afraid he’s no longer accepting appointments.” A Sob welled in Bridgett’s chest threatening to come out. “You’re in the company of one Mr. Hyde.” Another throaty laugh echoed around her.

***

Such an odd combination of compounds, Sean thought to himself as he dissected the potion in the vial. He knew his chemistry skills would come in handy one day. I’m surprised that drinking this didn’t kill the man!

***

Dr. O’Conner awoke closer to home this time but in a grove of trees. His clothes shredded again hung around his body. He had the faint suspicion that he might have ran into someone he knew the night before, but couldn’t be certain. The amnesia it seemed won out again.

As he made his way through the back door to his house and into the office, he noticed that the briefcase with the vials was missing. In its place the camcorder that had been on the shelf was lying open the tape missing.

***

Somewhere in the darkness of the outer world, Mr. Hyde waited in anticipation of the next doctor who would pick up the vials and set him free once again. He licked his lips in anticipation knowing that the world of Dr. O’Conner was much more fascinating than the world of Dr. Jekyll.

Please Tell Me I'll Wake Up Now

2010-07-11T07:02:00.001-06:00

It had been more than a rough patch—this was what she called life dishing out its worst right when she needed it the least. She had called her brother and told him she was coming home to visit, that she just needed to feel normal again, if only for a day or two.

Haunted by fleeing remnants of his dream he awoke nauseous and knew he needed to call his sister. His unanswered calls left a sinking feeling in his stomach, and he knew she was in trouble.

The obituary was a wakeup call to many and the funeral even more so: a sleepy semi driver had stolen their whole world in less than a few minutes and kept driving not realizing that it was a car he hit – not a deer. “I’m sorry for your loss” didn’t cover the brother's grief knowing that he was the last person his sister had confided in.

Sacrifice (This includes all 3 Parts)

2010-07-03T21:37:00.003-06:00

The children had quit crying and now sat clinging, terrified, to their mother. Her pleas were silenced by his chanting. The words of the ritual echoed deep within her and her body began to dance to the flickering candles against her will. She was a lamb being sent to the slaughter house. With fear in her eyes she watched as her hand picked up the blade before her. She screamed silently when her hand plunged it into her heart.

***

The boy sat quietly next to the man who had taken care of him for the last six months now. He called him papa, but knew that he wasn’t. Occasionally, a lingering memory of his mother would sneak into his dreams and he would wake. The truck rattled across the icy road. A heavy wind gust picked up and the boy snuggled even closer to his papa. Papa had told him that today was Sunday and that they were headed to a church service.

***

He felt the boy move in closer and put his arm around him. The boy, a miscalculation from the last ritual, was someone he felt himself becoming attached to. He felt the heavy candles in his pockets and the cold steel of the blade in his boot; it had to end tonight. He had been searching months for the perfect sacrifice to put an end to the heavy Russian winter. He felt the truck slowing and knew this was their stop. He helped the boy out and they headed on their way to meet an unsuspecting woman and celebrate the end of winter with a sacrifice of two.

Choices

2010-06-30T12:32:00.003-06:00

“There must be some mistake!” I cried as I turned to look at him from the rain filled basin. “This can’t be my life!” God just smiled and put his arm around me.

“Well, I guess you better choose the other side of the coin then if you expect to live it another way.”

Great News Today!!!

2010-06-28T20:14:00.001-06:00

I found out this morning that the piece I wrote for The Mysterious Dr. Ramsey contest was accepted into the latest 6 Sentence Anthology Book.

Interested in purchasing this fun book of Flash?

Click HERE

Inside the Curious Mind of ME

2010-06-28T02:05:00.001-06:00

All I’ve been able to do since watching The Silence of the Lambs today while my kids were napping and Red Dragon last weekend when they were away, is think about the mysterious mind of Dr. Hannibal Lector. He’s always on my mind, sometimes in the front like tonight, and at other times slinking around in the dark shadows and crevices. If ever there was a person that I would want to meet it would be him, don’t ask me why, it’s just an infatuation, or so I keep telling myself. I want to know how his mind works; after all I love his infectious mind games that he plays with the FBI agents and his psychiatrist, it keeps me wanting to know more and why they never really ask is beyond me. I’ve always had a thing for cannibals, and I guess that’s why I love vampires so much… they are so similar yet not so. I wish he had a journal to his mind, something tangible that I could read through, because then maybe I could find the answer to the one question I constantly ask my sick and twisted self: how was it that he became what he was?

Born to Kill

2010-06-27T04:37:00.004-06:00

His smell permeated my senses causing me to change targets. A much more primal instinct overtook me and suddenly I could see him standing amidst the large group fighting for the government handouts. Starve the people until the threats could be removed, had been their orders for the last year. The government had seen a drop in morale in the troops, especially those employed that weren’t natural born killers, like me. I was disgusted for having to beg, but still I followed suit until I was standing just behind him; I leaned in close and whispered “gotcha”. His surprised expression never registered to those around him. My kiss on his neck had turned him to stone that simply disintegrated, dust was all that was carried away on the light breeze.

A Lucky Find

2010-06-27T03:46:00.000-06:00

I couldn’t get the image out of my mind. It was difficult trying to picture the young boy finding the treasured painting that was hiding up in the attic.

It was a masterpiece, no, not like the masterpieces that we normally think of, but this was the beginning of the mastermind of one of the greatest artists who lived. Antonio Bertatoli, whose grandparents had migrated to the states from Italy shortly after World War II to the ghetto streets of New York, was a legend that would take the world by storm. His paintings amazed even the most reknowned at an early age and it was easy to see why.

A chest found in the attic by this little boy contained the beauty of the young Antonio and all I could do was sit next to the bid chart and draw spirals wondering what the boy thought he was uncovering.

A pair of yellow gloves hung out of my back pocket waiting for me to take them out again in order to place the prized watercolor / charcoal mix into its protective frame.

A nasty thought came to my mind, could I? Was there any way whatsoever that I might possibly? No, this is 2030 after all, there would be no possible way for me to steal the painting and get away with it.

I placed the prized possession in its frame and sealed the vault. Taking my notebook and bid sheet with me, I knew what questions would await from the museum, silently preparing myself with the answers.

While closing and locking the door, I decided to tell them that I needed a raise, and yet, I know that I will be no closer to getting it than the janitor or security guard.

Losing Battle

2010-06-25T14:41:00.003-06:00

“Mom, I think you should let me drive today.” She looked at me with those gorgeous blue eyes that were always hard to turn down.

“No way! Why would I ever pass up the option to drive, especially now?” I stubbornly questioned her.

“Just because the cars hover now doesn’t mean you can drive all wreckless.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you drive like a bat out of hell Mom, and add that to road rage, you can be downright scary to ride with!”

“Well Hun, all I really want to do is see how these hover cars work, and if they are any more fun to drive than the regular old cars.” I whined. I knew I was losing.

“Mom, these aren’t the things of the past that you are used to driving in po dunk USA. I think you should probably take a driving course.”

“Driving Course!” I was appalled, I passed Driver’s Ed with flying colors, granted it was back in 2002.

She sighed, “Well Mom, it is 2030 after all.”

This was inspired by today's Thinking Ten prompt of 2030. Thought I would try something a little different!

A MUST READ!!!

2010-06-21T22:05:00.001-06:00

One of my good friends, Richard Godwin, has a piece up @ The NOT right now, called the ICONOCLAST.

This is one of the best pieces of writing that I have ever read and I highly recommend it for EVERYONE to read!

Historical Fiction, Art, Noir, Crime, its all packed in there perfectly.

So what are you waiting for??? Go READ IT NOW!

ICONOCLAST

Personal Business

2010-06-18T11:26:00.002-06:00

“Velcome Monsier!”

“Merci, Madam Cochette!”

“Zee, I tol’ jou dat jou ‘ould catch on.”

“Yes, yes, even if it’s only a little.” David didn’t dare admit, but when Mrs. Madelyn Cochette flashed a smile at him, something made him feel slightly uncomfortable. He wasn’t sure if it had something or everything to do with her youthful face, or something else. “You have a beautiful home here Madam.”

“Oh, please, call me Madelyn, et dis is my ‘ome, Le Chateau Cheval Blanc.” She turned on her heel and led him from the parlor to her study. “I ‘ope my doorman greeted jou properly.”

“Yes, yes indeed.” David was hoping to get past all the small talk and to his insurance update for the young Madelyn Cochette quickly in order to get back home to his wife. He had to be frank with himself; he didn’t trust himself around her.

“Can I get jou zomeding to drink David?” Her emerald green eyes seemed to be drawing him in.

David tried to speak, but it came out in a squeak. Clearing his throat, he tried again, “No, I’m quite alright, thank you.”

“Ef jou insist. Now, David, tell me about ze accountz.” The small talk was over it seemed.

David rushed to get through his prepared speech. Madelyn was a good listener and always remembered what he told her. As she questioned him about each detail, he darted glances all over the room, and wondered if he was being recorded.

“David, did jou ‘ere me?”

He snapped out of his thinking trance. “Er, no, I’m sorry.”

“Do jou ‘ave oder dingz on jour mind? We can discuzz dis at anoder time, perhaps?” Her response startled him.

“No, Mrs. Cochette—Madelyn, I mean. This is fine.”

“Are jou zure? I don vant to ve keeping jou vrom someding.”

“No, no, I’m sure I will be fine.” David desperately lied. He had to get out of her house. She was oh so enticing and he didn’t want to cross the client / personal boundary line with such a woman as Madelyn. She was smart, witty, but also destructive – and David didn’t feel like being on her wrong side today.

“Shall ve talk about zomeding else, David? Vat jear vere jou born?” Caught off guard, David stammered for an answer. “Vat jear David?” She commanded.

“Uh…er… 1947.” He finally managed to spit out. What was it about her that made him squirm so?

“Very good David, zuch a great jear 1947 vas.” She smiled to herself and he wondered what she was talking about.

“I guess so, I mean, I wouldn’t really know, you know?”

“Oh David! Ef only jou could ‘ave been dere. Such vundervul musique et danzing. Et vas tres magnifique!”

David wondered what she was talking about. The young Madelyn couldn’t be any older than twenty five and it was 2010 for Christ’s sake.

“Well, I had best be going.” David tried to make a move towards the door, his attempt to hide his discomfort failed.

“No, no, no, David, jou must ztay, I enzist! Ve ztill ‘ave much to talk about.” Her smile had a mischievous tint to it.

“But I think-”

“No, David, do not dink about anyding.” He stood stiffly as she approached and put her hands around his neck. A shiver ran down his spine as she leaned in close and lightly planted two kisses, one on each cheek. Her lips lingered near his ear after the second kiss, “Jour blood David, it zmellz like an old bottle ov vine.”

Before David could think to push her away and make for the door, Madelyn’s deadly fangs sank into his jugular.

David’s last thought as his blood ran dry was: Is this dream a fantasy or a nightmare?

FFF #33 - The Secret Passage

2010-06-15T00:27:00.005-06:00

It was a shortcut that I would regret for the rest of my life, and one that I certainly have done.

No one knew what we were up to or where we went. We always spent our time exploring, and finding new places to check out to make use of our creative minds.

I don’t really remember now how we even stumbled up on the place, just that we did. It had been in the spring / start of summer; we were spending a lot of time outdoors again.

Between my house and hers there was a lot of undeveloped property. Granted we only lived, you know, maybe a little over half a mile from each other if you were lucky, but this made things a lot more interesting and we figured it shortened the distance, even if it was only by just a little.

Behind Charlotte’s house there was a ditch, a large irrigation ditch and just on the other side of that was a large man hole with pipe that ran diagonally from her house to the field about a half a block from mine. What made it really exciting was that it went underground!!! When we had found the pipe to begin with it was an instant hit and we gathered flashlights and headed down below to find out where it went.

The pipe was large at first, large enough for two almost teenage girls to fit through and crawl in. It wasn’t until about oh say a little over half a block before the pipe began to get smaller. There was one spot where it even got so small that we could barely wiggle our way through on our bellies using our elbows as leverage to pull us forward.

Our ‘secret passage’ as we called it was also our hideout. It was pretty cool once you could get past the creepy spider webs and the waves of claustrophobia that hit. We would make sandwiches and hideout from our parents there, from friends we didn’t want to spend time with, or just if we were having a bad day.

Eventually the summer ended and Charlotte and I were expected to head back to school. Throughout the fall we used our shortcut and hideout to travel from each other’s houses, home and back. The following spring there were suddenly big plans to develop part of the field behind Charlotte’s house.

We ignored the large equipment and kept at our usual quests to discover. Never once did we give a second thought about the danger or risks involved in using the “shortcut”.

We both had grown a little and it was even tighter to get through the small pipe opening in the middle where things shrunk considerably, but still we managed.

It was about a week before school was about to start when it happened. We had been talking about the new houses that were being built just behind Charlotte’s house. They were huge and expensive. Worried about school work and home we needed a break; we headed for our secret passage and climbed in. We had sat inside and talked for a little while before deciding to head towards my house.

We had just managed to get to the halfway point where the pipe and us were a tight fit. I yelled back and told Charlotte, “Man, we’re gonna have to stop coming this way, I can barely fit!”

“I think you’re right.” Came the muffled reply.

I was almost through, wiggling as quickly as I could when I heard the roar. We still had a good half a block to go before we reached the next man hole to get out. The noise pounded my ears like thunder striking right outside your window. I heard an “OH GOD” before the rush of cold water hit me from behind. Small spaces scare me a little, but water scares me a lot, combine the two and you have one terrified person. I scrambled, holding my breath to make it through the tight tunnel until I could get out. I had made it to the end and scrambled up the ladder. I clambered over and sat trying to catch my long lost breath on the cement encasement. The minutes seem to drag on waiting for Charlotte to emerge from the tunnel. After waiting what I thought had to be close to ten minutes and not seeing her come out I ran as fast as my thirteen year old legs could carry me to home.

Two hours later with a back hoe, a crew of EMS rescue, firefighters, a water master, and a whole bunch of sheriffs, the skinny part of the pipe was exposed and being cut open with ‘jaws of life’.

I was questioned thoroughly before, during, and after my best friend’s funeral about our adventures in the pipe and suddenly I found myself ever regretting that we had found it.

I mean really, as far as shortcuts go, it actually took us more time in the long run because of all the crawling and wiggling we had to do than to just walk the normal distance on city provided sidewalks.

Each fall I leave a note of I’m sorry with a small piece of pipe that I buy from the hardware store. It serves as memory that I somehow survived when she didn’t and when I shouldn’t have, but other than that I can’t tell you why. Just that it’s a prompting that I have.

Every Breath You Take

2010-06-13T00:48:00.003-06:00

The ‘No Trespassing’ sign was dangling from the fence like a bloodied tooth before the final pull. I pushed the gate open to expose the long deserted property that lay behind it. No one knew about this place, and if they did, it was just a memory that had long been forgotten.

I pulled her limp body out of the trunk of my car and walked past the open gate following the well beaten path that wound down into the trees.

***

“Hey Trent, what’s your part in this whole talent show / skit thing?” Ronnie asked. It was hard to hear him above the auditorium full of students on the other side of the curtain.

“I told you Ronnie, the band and I are gonna rock the place!” My enthusiasm was apparent. The band had been over at my house the entire week practicing for this. I was planning on singing to her then giving her a promise ring, I knew she was the girl I wanted to marry. She was perfect.

“STONEHAM HIGH, ARE YOU READY FOR SOME ROCK-N-ROLL?” The announcer shouted.

The whistles and screams were our ‘Q’ and we headed out on stage, Max and Derek with their guitars and Dusty with his drum sticks. I had the mic.

“I’d like to dedicate this song to my girl, Bree!”

The band started up the music and I started in with the lyrics, “Every breath you take, and every move you make, every bond you break, every step you take, I’ll be watching you…”

I could see her face flush when I sang out, “Oh, can’t you see, you belong to me, how my pour heart aches, with every step you take…”

The school was wild when we finished the song and I couldn’t see Bree any longer.

After taking hundreds of bows, the group and I finally made it back stage. On top of all the cases for our equipment I found a stuffed animal along with a hastily handwritten note:

Trent,

I’m sorry, but I can’t be your girlfriend anymore. I’m in love with someone else and I haven’t been able to find a way to tell you. I’m so sorry.

Bree

***

I laid the body down on the cold dirt floor in the cellar underneath the dingy cabin. Her eyes began to flutter and I waited patiently for her to come to.

I smiled down at her. I could hardly hear her whisper, but knew exactly what was said, “Trent.”

“Bree. I’ve waited a long time for this.”

Tears seeped from the corners of her terrified eyes.

“Don’t be scared Bree. You knew something like this would happen, or you should have. How could you have forgotten the song that I sang?” I asked her as I gently stroked her face with the back of my hand. “We were high school sweethearts, and meant to be together forever.”

She struggled to sit up.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” I said as I pushed her back down and stuck her with a needle. Her body went limp again. I continued to explain to her, “You see, I’ve been watching you…”

I reached over her to turn on an old tape player then began to pour colored sand from a bottle into her mouth and down her throat.

As I watched Bree’s life fade, I sang along with the tape, “Since you’ve gone I’ve been lost without a trace, I dream every night where I can only see your face, I look around and it’s only you I can’t replace…”

When the song was finished, along with her life, I packed her sand filled body outside to the old well. I held a moment of silence, then dropped her body into the darkened hole. With new hopes of being able to move past her again, I walked back up the beaten path to the open gate.
----------------------------

Song:
The Police, Every Breath you take

FFF #32 Betrayal & Revenge...

2010-06-08T09:55:00.002-06:00

So much for plan B, Marci thought to herself as she hit the ground running. Tonight I’m going to kill the bastard!

The apartment she had just left was her best friends, and when she didn’t receive any answer after ringing her intercom, she booked it over to the emergency chute stairs and raced up them. They had been left down for times when Tiff wouldn’t answer the intercom because she had her ear buds in playing too loud.

Marci had climbed the four flights of stairs to Tiff’s window and peered inside. She could hear music coming from the spare bedroom. She slid the window up and climbed through.

***

As Marci rounded the corner near Stoneham High School she tripped on the curb. She had been too busy trying to get the image out of her head that she wasn’t paying attention to her footing.

When Marci had searched the apartment except for the spare bedroom, not sure if someone was staying there or not, and found the place vacant of Tiff, she had no choice left. She hesitated with her hand on the door knob and willing herself forward, Marci pushed open the door. What awaited her was something she never expected. Tiff and Marci’s fiancé, Brad, were going to town. Marci quickly shut the door and without thought raced back to the window and down the chute stairs.

How Marci had made it down the stairs without killing herself was a miracle, but now, sitting on the curb, tears welling in her eyes, Marci tried not to scream with rage as she looked at her ripped pants and skinned knee.

A thought hit her sitting on the curb. There was only one thing in this world that mattered more than any woman, it was that damn pickup. He had taken it to his Gran’s and hid it there so it wouldn’t be hit at the wedding party next week. The damn wedding! Well so much for that too!

Marci picked herself up and took off running again, but this time with purpose in mind.

***

The ‘No Trespassing sign’ was dangling from the fence like a bloodied tooth before the final pull.

Brad had brought Marci to the property many times. He was insistent that she know where all of his family lived and or where they all hung out.

The thick trees gave an eerie feeling, but Marci knew it was just because of what she had in mind.

There were only two large sheds on the property. Coming up on the first, she took a deep breath. Gripping the doors with both hands she heaved backward forcing the doors to open. There is sat, his beauty. The only thing that truly mattered to him, the unfaithful bastard! The shed was full of useful items for what she had in mind to do.

Reaching first for the crowbar that leaned against the wall, Marci took it in hand. Seeing before her eyes the image of two bodies moving together, she took her first swing. The rage within forced her to continue and before long all the windows were smashed and she had left dents all across the body. Flakes of cobalt blue littered the ground and stuck to the crowbar.

A large pair of scissors from the work bench was used to take the leather off the seats. Marci poured paint thinner across the carpet and dumped what was remaining over the engine. A full gas can was placed in the back of the bed and with matches from the corner near the old woodstove; Marci lit the match and threw it into cab of the truck.

Flames roared behind her as she hurried back to the gate.

Climbing over the fence, Marci wondered what Tiff’s excuse for betrayal would be.

Guest Write - Teresa Cortez

2010-06-04T16:05:00.002-06:00

Greenpark Glow

Greenpark Radiology was my first full-time job after x-ray school. St. Elmo’s Fire was on VHS video by then, 1986, the theme song often playing on the radio as I drove to Houston’s Medical Center in the mornings, I can see a new horizon/Underneath the blazin’ sky / I’ll be where the eagles / Flyin’ higher and higher...

The movie and song underscored the selfish passions and short-sightedness of most 22 year-olds. The film characters were my age, their whole lives ahead of them, luminous particles, blue flames. I never thought beyond their invincibility.

I learned I was pregnant with my first child during the first week on the job. My manager, Randy, wasn’t thrilled. I assured him I was just as surprised as he was and that the pregnancy wouldn’t affect my job performance. He gave me a "we’ll see" look as we discussed the details of radiation exposure during pregnancy and how much maternity leave I could take.

I kept my promise and worked just as hard as anyone else. I wore heavy lead aprons and lifted 14x17 cassettes which weighed at least a pound each; there were six to ten of these necessary for every barium enema we performed, plus a few 10x12's and 11x14's, all juggled in a rush before the patient lost barium all over the room. It wasn’t easy work.

When not in fluoroscopy I worked in mammography. The job wasn’t physically taxing but required more sensitivity; patients often came in scared, either of the procedure itself or the possibility of cancer. When I was eight weeks pregnant a patient came in with a lump in her breast. Her situation was complicated by the fact that she was also eight weeks pregnant. We worked carefully around her pregnancy, the delicate first trimester, a critical stage of development and sensitivity to radiation.

The patient’s name was Pam. She was 29 years old, tall with thick dark hair past her shoulders. As I wrapped the lead apron around her pelvis we talked about our pregnancies. She’d struggled for ten years to conceive. Her baby was a miracle.

Both of Pam’s breasts felt abnormally firm but I figured this was due to pregnancy changes. Then her films emerged from the processor showing tiny flecks, like sand, scattered throughout both breasts.

I took the images to the radiologist, Dr. Gregg, "Is this what I think it is?"

"Inflammatory breast cancer? Yes, I’m sorry to say," then he called Pam’s obstetrician to discuss the terrible diagnosis.

There are many types of breast cancer and Pam had the most aggressive type. She was young and full of pregnancy hormones which would ignite the cancer as a lit match to straw. Her prognosis was grim.

Pam’s doctors recommended she have both breast removed and undergo chemotherapy. They would have to take the baby. I was devastated for her. She didn’t deserve this. No one did.

Randy was missing a lot of work around this time. He was openly homosexual and cases of AIDS were increasing. We feared the worst but were prepared when he returned to work and announced that he was indeed infected with the disease but taking AZT. It was supposed to be the new miracle drug.

Randy had hidden his sexual orientation at his previous job, even going so far as to have a picture of a dead woman on his desk claiming it was his fiancée. He "came out" just before taking the management job at Greenpark . But he never came clean with the lies he told about his childhood, claiming to have grown up with a nanny in a mansion and to have attended prestigious boarding schools, etc. He told us his well-to-do parents were dead.

The AZT took its toll. It made Randy too sick to work, leaving him wilted in the file room on a fold-up chair. "I can’t do this," he’d say.

During his last day before taking a leave of absence he said while slumped against a countertop in the employee lounge, "When you wake up every morning, you better live for yourself . Put yourself first ."

His words made me uncomfortable but I agreed to follow his advice. He later removed a few personal items from his desk, photos of exotic vacations, happier times, and placed them carefully in a cardboard box. Dr. Gregg and another technologist helped him carry his things to the elevator. Randy and I waved to one another as the doors were closing. I never saw him again.

***

A decorator was hired to redo a small room we weren’t using at Greenpark. She hung stunning wallpaper, replaced the carpet with a warmer, softer plush. She put two wingback chairs in far corners of the room, a round table and small lamp between them. It was now the nicest room in the suite and labeled "the news room", the place where patients received their mammogram results.

I watched as the final finishing touch was added, a small dried flower arrangement placed on the small table. I was mentally preparing myself to make the call for my own HIV results; I’d asked to be tested due to the pregnancy and paranoia of the times. I made the call from a payphone outside our office, terrified after watching Randy’s nightmare. I thought of him, now living at home in Dallas with parents who weren’t dead after all. They weren’t well-to-do. They’d never lived in a mansion, hired nannies or placed their son in any sort of boarding school. Randy’s whole life had been a lie.

"Hello ma’am?" the voice on the phone asked.

"Yes?" I swallowed hard and watched people enter and exit the elevator nearby.

"Your results were negative."

***

Life remained busy at Greenpark and my pregnancy was coming to an end. I continued to work hard, thankful to be busy which took my mind off the challenging last weeks with ankles that looked like tree trunks wearing shoes. When it was possible I sat in the lounge and put my feet up. It was during one of these breaks that the front desk called to say I had a visitor waiting in the front lobby.

I waddled up front and opened the lobby door. I recognized only my visitor’s face. I asked her to come with me to the news room where Pam and I sat together in the soft lamplight. She was as pregnant as I was.

"I decided to have the bilateral mastectomy but no chemotherapy. I’m due in two weeks," she said, smiling and rubbing her large round belly.

I had no words at first, then smiled and congratulated her, struggled to hide what we both knew, that her decision was bittersweet.

***

Pam no doubt lost her battle with cancer. Her daughter would be the same age as my own. I’d love to tell her how honorable her mother’s courage was, her example in the face of a terrifying and unfair illness. She could have focused on the storm in her life but instead kept her eyes on the faint glow most visible in low-light, the luminous blue-violet flames.

Teresa Cortez is a freelance writer who lives in Sugar Land, Texas. She writes nonfiction because real life is strange enough. You can view more of her work HERE.

Hiding in Plain Sight (Canvas Challenge)

2010-05-31T22:02:00.004-06:00

All of his adult life he has spent his time hiding in plain sight. No matter the job, no matter the crime, no matter, no matter, no matter.

Daily he is seen, the same corner, the same position, the same shopping cart full of the same things, such useless things to most of us, but to him… these things are his life.

Hidden in plain sight, he watches, listens, memorizes and mentally files away his findings.

Looking at him you’d never guess. You’d never guess that he is one of the wealthiest men alive. You see, he’s paid to watch a building; paid to note the comings and goings of said officials, American or otherwise.

You will never see the reflection from the lens that feeds to the camera hidden deep within his cart, nor the tape recorders or notebooks held within his carpet bags. He’s unleashed hideous rumors about affairs, given tips about terrorists, provided proof of secret meetings, and all while posing as a homeless street bum.

Question is: who is hiding in your plain site – I think I know who is in mine…

It Runs In The Family

2010-05-29T14:04:00.004-06:00

Today would be different, I told myself. I knew that if I could do it – quit that is – I would be free.

I walked towards the bus stop on 5th and Broadway. I had to get a job, making myself busy would surely do the trick. It would take my mind off of what I couldn’t seem to do by myself.

I didn’t notice him at first; I was too busy counting the steps from the corner of 4th and Broadway to 5th and Broadway. It’s a little obsessive – compulsive I know, but I have to know if it’s the same amount of steps every day.

He stood making animals from balloons, telling jokes, and even sprayed someone with a fake flower attached to his shirt. Clowns have always scared me. I tried to look away from him while I waited for the bus to arrive. He just didn’t get the picture. After trying everything to get my attention, I looked him in the eyes. He must have seen how empty I was within because he finally turned and walked away.

You can’t quit, a voice commanded in my mind. You know you can’t quit. You’ve been looking for this one for a while – and he’s been waiting for you too, you saw it didn’t you, when he looked you in the eyes! He knows!

I slipped away from the crowd and began to trail the clown I had tried so hard to avoid. He led me to a large circus tent. I didn’t even know the circus was in town. Was I starting to miss things – hiding out in my house?

I waited until it was dark, hiding in the shadows of the tent.

“I’m going to the loo, Frank, I’ll be back in a few.”

“You better hurry, we’ll be up soon.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I could hear him say to Frank.

He walked past me without batting an eye and I grabbed him from behind. Stifling his shocked cry with my hand and breaking his neck with the other. He slumped to the ground. I drug him to an empty barrel just outside the holding tent for the elephants and using all my strength heaved him inside of it.

I found my way home to my apartment and standing in front of my door I fumbled for my key. I drove back to collect my trophy and tried not to bruise him as I moved him into my car, then into my apartment onto a rolling gurney. It was a good thing he wasn’t a fat man, sure made things a lot easier.

I pulled the ancient metal first aid box out from under the spare bed and blew of the dust that had covered it since its last use.

I smiled as I read to myself the name of my father and MEDIC engraved into the lid of the box, and then opened it to reveal the contents kept within.

Pulling out the scalpel I began to cut through the clown’s skin where I knew the seams would be unnoticeable. That’s the key you know, making the seams unrecognizable.

Pulling and cutting his skin away from the muscles made me excited. This was going to be perfect, something that, had he still been alive to see, would make my father very proud.

I finished the taxidermy job of the clown by pushing in the glass eyes. I stood back to admire my handiwork and suddenly I was no longer the doctor, but the kid with the red cap learning what my father was doing to some of his patients, trying to perfect the craft. He died before he ever had the chance, and now, as his daughter, I finally had the chance to do so.

I looked around the room to see where I would put my latest creation when I noticed one of my father’s awards from the war. It’s the perfect place, I thought, he couldn’t be more proud!

This award is presented to Hannibal Lecter for superior medical skills while traveling abroad and in the field…

Guest Write - Julia Davies

2010-05-28T00:01:00.001-06:00

Discovery

It was like waking up after you'd been ill for a long time, she thought. She didn't really have a clear sense of where she was, she vaguely remembered being... well being somewhere else in a house, a familiar place, her house? She thought that must be right but it felt like trying to remember through thick curtains. Trying to think but she just got a blurred shape, and the feeling that she did recognise the memory.

Now, she was belted into the passenger seat of a car, parked by the roadside in a forest. It was quiet and dark outside, and as she looked to check on her surroundings her vision wobbled, slid. Shaking her head she blinked quickly, but the view stayed indistinct, and as her eyes refocused she realised it was rain sliding greasily down the windshield. But something was strange... when she tried to recall it she couldn't pin the thought down...

"So, I'm in a car," she reasoned, talking out loud to be reassured that she could reason and function. "I guess I didn't drive here or I wouldn't be belted into this seat?" She felt oddly divided, like her attention was not where she was now, but being pulled elsewhere, a kind of searching, seeking for something that was not entirely pleasant, but she yearned, hungered.

"So I'm in a car," she tried again. "I'm alone, but maybe there is someone who drove me here? It was almost impossible to see outside of the car, for the rain blurred the outside world. There were no lights that she could see, looking directly ahead there was only the glimmer of the hood reflecting what slivers of light fell through the trees. The gloom was not frightening or threatening though, and she knew that this wasn't how she normally felt about being somewhere dark and wet and alone. She wasn't scared. Was that a good thing?

"What can I remember? There must be something that will remind me where I am and why," she thought. Under her rib cage she felt something contract, or clench. And again the feeling that she was focussed somewhere else, somewhere outside her body. She let her mind drift off to follow that sensation. There was something at the edge of her perception, but she wasn't sure what. It was intense, a concentration of something, a burning core and she wanted to reach out to it, wanted to reach out and pull it towards herself. Wanted, yearned, and as she wanted inside her something stirred, something pale and torpid uncoiled within her.

"Oh for f*cks sake," she chided herself. "Can I not just keep my mind on my problem? I don't know where I am or what I'm doing here? I can't remember how I got here. I can't remember who drove me here and..." She didn't want to finish the thought. She didn't want to acknowledge the slowly dawning truth. She gazed at the rain on the windscreen again, sharp splashes pulsing against the glass. The distinct drops burst and spattered and disappeared into the watery film covering the windshield, fading into the foreground.

"I can't remember how I got here, and I can't remember my name!" Panic rose, she twisted in the seat, struggling to get out, feeling held down, constrained. Oh, God, I can't get out, I can't move, I can't, I can't...

When she came to herself, she remembered the familiar convalescent feeling she'd woken up with last time. Looking down, the seatbelt was still tight around her, pressing her down into the seat. Her mouth twisted as she tried a wry smile. How stupid to have panicked over being belted in! She reached down and pressed the seatbelt release, catching her long fingernails as she did so. The belt snickered back across her body as she thought "Long fingernails? I bite my fingernails, don't I?" But when she brought her hand up to her face the nails were perfect and long, and maybe even painted as they were a much darker colour than her skin, which did seem pale in this light. Disquiet rushed through her, but how absurd to look at yourself and think "These aren't my hands."

"I have to get out of the car!" she thought. And no sooner had she completed the thought than the door was open and she was standing outside of the car, twirling back to it to shut the door. Twirling, she saw movement, she saw a blur of motion reflected in the glass of the window. A fleering white oval. Pause. Stop to think. Stop to process the visual information and assimilate it, place it into context.

"My face!" she realised. "That was my face reflected in the window," and she drew closer to the car door to see herself more clearly. As she bent down to the window a curtain of white blonde hair fell across the pale reflection and made her draw back in shock. "I am not blonde!" but even as she thought it she was looking at the image in the window and losing the indistinct memories of herself as a different person, feeling them dropping away from her.

She gazed at the window, she couldn't say for how long, transfixed at the face that was hers but somehow new to her too, a glamorously pale version of what she remembered. She gazed, and barely noticed anything else. It wasn't until a she heard a faint rushing sound that she glanced at the tall trees around her.

The two Elders in the forest who had called her here watched, waiting for the moment she would recognise herself for what she had now become. The shorter of the two suggested sending a small mammal to her to see if the time of knowledge was yet upon her, and the taller concurred.

She had that feeling again, burning, empty hunger, and scented warm wet life through the dripping off the branches. Her lips drew back.

Julia Davies is a practised reader and practising writer; living in Siegburg, Germany. Her blog can be found HERE

Guest Write – Walter Shumate

2010-05-21T00:01:00.006-06:00

Redneck Voodoo

"I don't care if you're the Wicked Witch of The West, I done paid you, you're gonna let me talk to Dewey," said a lanky, sandy-blonde woman as she paced through the living room of her friend's double-wide trailer. She put her hands on what could generously be called hips, and what would be better referred to as vertical lines. She ran her feet on the carpet, getting it to pull from the floor in places. She walked in a crooked path as she paced the floor, avoiding the dog-urine stains. "I swear, Sue Yeary, if you're tryin' to trick me..."

"It ain't that easy, Carla Beth, I told you that!" Carla Beth's friend was round everywhere. Her hips peeked between her grey jogging pants and University of Kentucky t-shirt. She brushed raven-dyed bangs out of her face. She was sitting on a ratty brown couch, behind a glass-topped coffee table. There were various small animal bones, a lock of sandy-blonde hair and a lone candle on the table.

"Well, why not?"

"You're ignorant. It ain't like Dewey's got a cell phone over on the other side! We gotta reach out to him!"

"I'm gonna reach out to you, if you don't..."

"Shut your mouth, Carla Beth! Sit your tail down and let me get to work."

Carla Beth pulled up a plastic deck chair, the only furniture in the living room other than the couch, coffee table and broken-down TV stand, and sat opposite Sue. She put her elbows on her knees and leaned in. "Whatever, this better work. What do you do now?"

Sue put a sausage-like finger up to her mouth. "I done told you to hush. I'll let you know when you can talk again."

"This is ignorant." Sue glared ad Carla Beth from across the table, and she bit her lip.

Sue took the lock of hair and smelled it. "You sure this is yours?"

"Wal-Mart don't sell hair, Sue."

Sue didn't respond to Carla Beth's attitude. She held the hair over the candle. She spit on the lock, twisted it around her left index finger and let it fall into the candle. The flame popped and hissed as hairspray ignited and hair burned. Carla Beth wanted so badly to tell Sue that it smelled plain nasty, but she held her tongue.

Sue whispered something that wasn't quite English, and wasn't quite like anything Carla Beth had ever heard. She lifted the hair from the flame and started to undo the ribbon around the lock. She took one of the bones and tied a few strands around it. She picked up another bone, and continued until all the bones where wrapped in a few hairs each. Sue took the remaining hair and held it back over the flame. She let it burn until the flames almost licked her fingers. She dropped the remaining stubs of hair into the candle wax.

"Give me your right arm, Carla Beth."

"I will not!"

"Carla Beth, you're gonna give me that right arm of yours, and you're gonna do it now."

Carla Beth rolled her eyes, but she did extend her arm. She held it, limp-wristed, over the coffee table. "This better not hurt."

Sue turned Carla Beth's hand so that her wrist was facing up. She then took the candle and turned it upside-down over the wrist. Wax dribbled onto the skin and immediately started to cool. Carla Beth sucked wind through clenched teeth as the wax ran halfway down Carla Beth's wrist and started to solidify.

"I'm gonna beat the hell out of you if this don't work, Sue."

"Hush, it's almost over." Sue closed her eyes and raised her head as if praying. A low, soft mumble built in her throat, working its way past her teeth and out into the room as a simple, powerful command.

"Dewey Raney, your wife wants to talk to you."

There was a painful silence. "Dewey, you be a good boy and come on out."

Still, nothing. "Dammit, Dewey, get your ass out here now!"

Carla Beth had started to stand up, but what she heard next made her fall back to the floor. Sue's voice had changed. It was deeper, like she was pretending to be a man. It wasn't what she said, so much as how she said it, that let her know Dewey was really here.

"Dammit, Carla Beth! I told your momma you wouldn't let me get any rest, no matter where I was at!"

"Oh, shut your mouth, Dewey! My momma wouldn't speak to you that long, and you know it."

"What do you want?"

"Where'd you hide the money?"

"What money?"

"Don't lie to me, Dewey! I know you was makin' meth in the trailer out back of our land!"

"It ain't like I tried to hide it."

"Well? Where's the money you made from sellin' it?"

"What makes you think I made that much money off it?"

"Because we got a new big screen TV and Ford pickup, and I know you wouldn't have spent that if you didn't have more squirreled away!"

"Fine, it ain't like I can use it anymore. I'll tell you, but you gotta promise to buy momma a nice car."

"Jesus, Dewey, there's that much?"

"There's enough to buy all y'all nice new cars. Now promise."

"Fine, your momma's gonna get a nice new car."

"Good. There's a UK poster up in that trailer. It's one of those schedule posters I got from the store. I put the money in the wall behind that poster."

"Good Lord, Dewey. I'm gonna be rich."

"You're just gonna spend it on liquor and cigarettes, Carla Beth. Look, there's one more thing I want you to do. You have to do this, you hear?"

"What? Who else I gotta buy a car for?"

"No, this is important. I had a partner, and he's gonna come looking for that money. I want you to take it to the bank and deposit it. Don't use our account, either. Get a new one."

"You think he'd steal that money?"

"Carla Beth, he's a drug dealer, not a preacher!"

"Okay, you don't have to keep yellin' at me. Who was your partner, anyway? I bet it was that ignorant old Tommy Siler. He always was meaner'n a striped snake."

"No, it wasn't Tommy Siler. He's dumber'n a bag of hammers. It was Scott Yeary."

"You mean Sue's…"

The next thing Carla Beth heard was the deafening roar of a close-range gunshot. She put her hands to her belly and felt something hot and wet. She pulled them away and saw dark blood. Her legs buckled and she fell to the floor. She smelled stale dog urine. She faded out of consciousness as she saw Sue Yeary setting a pistol on the coffee table. She pulled a cell phone out of her pocket and dialed a number. The last thing Carla Beth Raney heard was Sue saying, "Scott, your little sis done made us both rich."

Walter Shumate is an amateur author editing his first novel. You can read his creative writings Here, or head Here to see his take on being a father. You can also follow him on Twitter, @pshumate.

Assumptions

2010-05-19T17:09:00.005-06:00

I’d flown thirteen timezones just to see him. It was like “slow day” at the airport and I kept wondering, God is it going to be like this everywhere I go in this country? The more impatient I became at customs, the slower the line seemed to go. I was afraid I was going to see the woman stand up and put up a closed sign telling me I’d be spending the night in the terminal. It seemed like hours before I was the one in front of the counter showing her my paperwork.

Approved and through to the next section of the crowded airport I began my desperate search for the man I had been waiting ages to see. My mind swam as I turned circle after circle eyeing those around me and not finding his face. I circled four, five, six times and still no site of him.

An older woman approached me with a sign in her hands, letters spelling out a favored nickname. I looked at her in confusion until I realized that I had seen her in pictures, his pictures.

“You look just like the photos he showed me.” She said smiling.

“And you look just like the ones he showed me.” I replied in kind.

She drove me to her house and told me how he had asked her to pick me up and that he would meet me at her place. It gave us time to talk, and to get to know each other and compare our very different cultures.

After arriving at his mother’s home and settling in to the bedroom I had been provided, I quietly sat on the bed wondering about his absence.

He arrived later that night, and I could hear him telling his mother and father that they had been held up in traffic. I stepped out of my room and headed towards the entry where their voices were echoing from.

I looked past his mother and father and stared at her. I stepped back into the shadow assessing this intruder. She was gorgeous in her skirt and button-up top but what caught my eye was the shining diamond on her left hand. His mother hugged her and I wondered who she was and why he had never mentioned her.

“Did things go okay at the airport?”

“Yes, she’s in her room,” His mother happily replied, “and she’s just as sweet as you said she would be.”

I stepped out from behind the wall and approached them, a faked smile on my face. Not knowing who the woman was I no longer knew how I felt about the man I had flown 22 hours to see. He hugged me to him and I stood a little stiffly and half-heartedly hugged him back.

“I’m so glad you made it in time!” His smile was the one I had fallen in love with over and over again each day.

“What am I just in time for?” I nervously asked.

“Why, the wedding of course!” He pulled her from behind him and introduced her as Megan. I held back my tears, softly congratulated them and asked to be excused. I returned to my room, packed what I had unpacked and for the first time wondered why I had never doubted his love and how I could assume so much.

Guest Write - Doug Mathewson

2010-05-14T00:01:00.003-06:00

Bread Knife

Our bread knife had been missing for better than a month. Ikea had one with an asymmetrical wood and stainless handle that appealed to my inner Swede for only seven dollars. Where the original bread knife had gotten to was beyond my imagination, and below my cut-off for concern. Time passed, bagels were sliced and toasted, the new knife edged its way into our daily lives. The transition was as smooth as buttering toast and we moved on.

On-line sources were not expansive enough for what I required. For reasons peculiar and picayune I decided one afternoon to use our old really big library style dictionary to look something up. “The first clergyman was the first rascal who met the first fool.” was a quote from Voltaire but in what context? Who did he say it to? Was he just being clever, or was he making a point?

I needed the two thousand page dictionary to discover the truth. My discovery was very different. There was our old bread knife! It had been used (I don’t know when) as a book mark. The entry “costumbrismo” was underlined. There was an old photograph (very wrinkled) that had been folded and refolded years ago into quarters there as well. It was a sepia toned image of a chicken pulling a toddler in a little two wheeled wooden cart, and “Havana 1873” written on the back in florid script. Written down the book’s margin in red was “Zarzuela” followed by four exclamation marks.

With my head buzzing full of 18th century French philosophy and 19th century Hispanic art I thought “I can make a cardboard scabbard for the old bread knife and seamlessly join it with gaffers tape to the black wooden block containing the new bread knife. Brilliant!” I was suddenly stunned by my entire lack of imagination. Given this sprawling mash-up of information and concepts in art and the humanities I was still mentally dealing with the bread knife!

Inaction would have been unacceptable. I refiled the errant bread knife under “R” in the dictionary to indicate both “redundant” and “resolved”. I put the folded chicken cart picture in my wallet for another day.

Doug Mathewson is an editor and author of short fiction who likes books and art. He lives near the water and is easily distracted. He edits at Blink|Ink, hangs around at Full of Crow and posts his work at Little 2 Say. He says to stop by some time.

In Memory Of...

2010-05-12T16:28:00.001-06:00

It was in the midst of the storm that a ray of sunlight lit up a rainbow brightening the outlook considerably. Then as the storms combined into one giant mass and continued to wreak havoc the happiness of the rainbow faded away leaving a dark and dreary place.

Hurricane after hurricane slammed against the levies until what was left of the once happy city was found in death, sunk below oceanic tides.

The sun rose to an unnatural height in the sky begging for attention to be shown. After the storms were chased away by the warm rays of sun, it was the first day in many that dark clouds and destructive storms hadn’t circled overhead causing mass destruction. The tides returned to their normal state.

Out of what remained of the sunken city came the birth of something more, not just a city, but a community where love, laughter, and music dominate all.

Patience

2010-05-11T09:17:00.000-06:00

Alen knew it was a short amount of time before his emotions won out and he broke protocol. His plans were in place, and he knew it was just a matter of playing the waiting game in order to complete them to painstaking perfection.

He was just so tired of those Fuckers who kept trying his patience. The little voice in his head kept asking, why Alen, why wait; you shouldn’t have to deal with them anymore; you have everything you need, just be done with it. But he knew that if he wanted to get all of them, he just had to wait.

Just to be sure he had enough supplies he ordered one more set of everything he needed and once it came spent his a very crucial week constructing the final model. Looking over everything he knew his collection was complete. They littered the floor of his apartment and he couldn’t help but think of how perfect his apartment had been. He had chosen Apartment #4E over the Studio on the west side because of its obvious seclusion.

Finally time was upon him and he spent preparing everything to the smallest detail for what was to come at the end of the week. Saturday morning, everything was in place and Alen stood back and admired his handiwork. They would never know what hit them. As the senior activities chairman for the University, he had setup a party that was to be the hit of a lifetime.

Dressing up for the occasion in his suit he greeted each student as they came through the door and they each sauntered past with a confused look on their face, asking each other what he meant when he said, “I hope you’ve enjoyed this year and that your memories of the past will forever stick with you even to the end.”

With a martini in one hand Alen waited for the correct time. He had been waiting for this moment for over six months now. They would pay; they would pay for his humiliation.

Fingering the button on the remote hidden in his pocket he counted the seconds. Standing up to the microphone the music abruptly ended.

Alen held his martini in the air waiting for the crowd to notice him then when he had everyone’s attention said, “I’d like to thank each of you for coming tonight. Little do you know, but each of you has made an impression on my life. With very special thanks to you, I hope you have enjoyed tonight since it is to be your last!” His pocketed hand pressed the button just as he took a sip of his martini making his toast complete.

That one second between the button being pressed and the bombs exploding, a feeling of perfection and accomplishment washed over Alen.

The first wave of explosions rocked Alen, but it was the second delayed set that had everyone in the room screaming in fear. Alen smiled as the roof cracked and came tumbling down on top of each of them. Their cries were silenced by the third wave of explosions that took out each wall and the floor beneath them killing everyone inside.

Each homemade bomb was set in a strategic location. Alen was surprised the day he walked into his CAD class to find that they were studying the architectural designs of the Mason D. Stringham Cultural Hall. It was the perfect place for the revenge he sought. He studied the plans intently and even made copies of them staying after class to do so.

Each major strong point on all three floors contained a bomb and Alen made sure that he had included enough bombs to bring down the entire building and also enough to make sure that no one walked away.

Authorities searched his apartment finding it surprisingly clean, which was the same when they searched all of the other student’s residences trying to find out who had secretly bombed one of the city’s most historical sights full of college students.

Three months later, a padded envelope arrived at the local police department and when opened contained a letter that told of how Alen sought revenge and how easy it had been for him to gain the necessary designs for making the bombs from the internet as well as purchasing the equipment from locals. It was signed, “Have a GREAT day…Alen” Also found within were the copies of architectural renderings from his CAD class, bomb designs from the internet, locations where he had purchased supplies and even pictures of the completed bombs in his living room; what finally stunned the detectives was that Alen had even gone so far as to photograph each bomb location within the Cultural Hall with bombs in place and each pictured contained a number that matched the locations marked on the Architectural plans.

“Study this information intently folks, it’s our job to find the threats within our society and stop them before they cause destruction such as this!” Lt. Sherman told his class of bomb squad officers in training, “Tomorrow we will be studying the Oklahoma City Bombing; you might want to bring your hard hats…” Lt. Sherman laughed at his own joke as he dismissed his class.

All in the Name of Freedom

2010-05-10T06:11:00.002-06:00

The siege having lasted through the night provided the enemy with the confidence that soon they would see a white flag being hoisted. The grime covered soldiers within the fort assessed their situation and thought it a miracle that they had only lost eight men. The tattered flag still waved in the breeze giving each of them a flicker of hope. As the morning wore on, both sides began suffering drastic losses. Just when it seemed the enemy was gaining the upper hand, reinforcements arrived attacking the enemy from behind, and the war was finally won. The battlefield was strewn with the carnage of death until Ian was asked to pick up his toy soldiers and get ready for lunch.

A Friday Spectacular

2010-05-07T00:01:00.005-06:00

This week I'm doing something a little different. Normally I have a Friday Guest Writer on the site. However, this week I thought I would grace you with a selection / teaser from a Novelette I have been working on. I hope you enjoy.

Visions of Jihp Ch'iich'
Written by Nicole E. Hirschi

Have you ever danced in the rain, been intrigued by the lightning, loved listening to the roar of thunder? Those who do are more likely to be chosen.

Fear for the lives of those around you if you are chosen. She has chosen few, and those few are left to wander the world alone in darkness serving only her.

Be warned, she does not forgive easily and she will have her chosen servants…

***

“NO!” Javier cried when the large bird swooped down and sank its deadly talons into Maria’s back. In horror, Javier plugged his ears with his hands when he heard her screams, not daring to look away. The bird the size of a man was standing on her back, talons ripping clothing and flesh while its beak was tearing handful size chunks from her twitching body. Javier whispered prayers, paralyzed from his fear and unable to do anything else. The white bird whose feathers glowed red and gold finished its meal leaving the mutilated body of Maria behind.

Hours later, Javier jumped at the touch of his father when he and his mother came home from their evening out.

“What are you staring at?” His father asked sternly.

Javier couldn’t utter a single word, but pointed in the direction of the garden.

This Week's Challenge

2010-05-06T13:00:00.009-06:00

Don’t Look Back (Monday)

In her rush to get away from her pursuer, she ran. Tiana tried not to look back, but couldn’t be sure that she had escaped. Each look back cost her time. Her pounding heart and burning lungs reminded her that she was still alive. Tiana prayed that she would be able to reach the ruins deep in the woods beyond Campanella Point. Only there would she be safe—it was only there that the bells of the ancient city promise to keep her assailant at bay.

The Chase (Tuesday)

Nothing else mattered, he thought, other than catching his prey. It had been too long since he had his fix and nothing was going to stand in his way to get what he wanted. She had fought hard when he had first grabbed her. He had always enjoyed a good game of cat and mouse, and when she escaped his hold, he willingly let her run. He followed her scent on the air like a hound tracking game.

Unexpected Visitors (Wednesday)

The old witch had been watching the woman as she ran closer and closer to her sanctuary. She watched as her legs gave out just before reaching the dilapidated stone wall that separated the ruins from the surrounding landscape. Closing her eyes and feeling with her mind she reached out to the woman who was now struggling to crawl over the wall. The old witch could feel the woman’s pain and exhaustion and wondered why she still persevered.

An icy chill spread through the old witch as she caught a glimpse of the shape shifter breaking through the trees.

Sanctuary... or is it? (Thursday)

Tiana barely managed to scramble over the wall. She dropped to the ground with a hard thud and as she tried to catch her breath, thought to herself, something’s missing.

“Hickory Dickory Dock… the mouse ran up the clock… the clock struck one…” She could hear him chanting as he came closer. “Can you hear it, my prey? Silence! There are no bells here!”

Shhh my child, Tiana was startled to hear an old woman’s voice in her mind, don’t move and don’t make a sound.

The Escape (Friday)

Look to your left my child and you will see an archway, the voice of the old woman continued in Tiana’s mind, when I tell you to run, run as hard as you can!

Tiana could see the archway and wondered where the old woman was hiding.

“Stranger, you are not welcome here!” The old witch called out to the shape shifter.

“Stay out of this old woman, I’m here to collect what has escaped me!” His growl came from nearby Tiana’s hiding place and her heart beat jumped a few notches higher.

“I am warning you, Stranger, leave or suffer the fate that others believe as legend.” Her voice was stern but steady.

“Where is my prize?” He was becoming angry. Tiana could tell that he had turned away from her and was now going towards the old woman’s voice.

“You will find her not, for she has come to a sanctuary.”

RUN! Tiana heard it echo in her mind and she rolled over and ran, her legs ached from the exhausted run earlier. As she neared the Archway she stumbled and fell to her knees. Get up and run you idiot! The old woman’s voice screamed in her mind. Tiana pulled herself up and ran again until she felt the crumbling stone that made up the archway. Tiana was transfixed. Stepping through the archway she no longer saw the landscape of the ruined city, but colors of red, yellow and blue.

“Amazing.” Tiana said out loud and walked forward with her hands outstretched. As quickly as the colors had appeared, they disappeared leaving Tiana disoriented. She blinked a few times to allow her eyes to adjust.

The ruined city was no longer ruined, but quite intact. Bells, deep and resonating filled Tiana’s ears while she stared at the people around her busy with their daily chores. Ahead of her she could see the staircase that led to the bell tower and looking up at the top of the building she could see the circular bases of the largest bells.

Where am I, Tiana strangely wondered to herself.

Destruction & Instruction (Saturday)

Nothing else mattered, only his orders from his master to capture that which had escaped him. Desperately he wondered where his prey had disappeared to when she entered the archway. Turning his attention to the old woman his rage was met with her ice cold stare.

“I have said, you are not welcome here stranger.” Her stern voice gave her more confidence than she felt.

He smelled magic on the air and new she was responsible for his loss. “Where have you sent her witch?”

“Oh dear…” The old witch said, mockingly, “is something missing?”

Losing his patience he crossed the wall and charged her changing as he did into a lion of massive proportions.

She stood her ground surrounded by her circle of grey ash and sang incantations of old.

Her singing brought a pain to his head that he had never before experienced. He felt his head was going to rip in half, and suddenly he burst into blue flames. The ashes left behind were carried on the wind towards the sea.

The old witch, exhausted, hoped that the girl would be helped on the other side.

***

Tiana looked around her in wonder. She jumped at a touch on her arm and looked down to see a small old woman with white hair tugging at her arm.

“Come quickly, we must get you to safety.”

“Who are you? And where am I?” Tiana struggled to keep up with the woman as she weaved through the city toward the bell tower.

“My dear, you are in Gringerni, my name is Celestine, and from the looks of it you recognize my voice.”

“You are the one who saved me, who sent me through the archway!” Tiana new this was the voice of the old woman who had helped her to escape. She also knew that she was no longer deep in the woods beyond Campanella Point.

Arriving at the top of the bell tower the old woman gestured for Tiana to have a seat.

“Young lady, I did not save you, you most likely saw or heard a different person from a different world.”

“How can that be?”

“There are many worlds, parallel that exist. We can all move between them if given the correct gateways. I am a gate keeper, and you most likely saw another me who is also a gatekeeper.”

“Why are we here?” Tiana’s eyes were huge trying to take in everything.

“This is the only place to keep you safe. To keep you from seeing yourself… uh… your parallel you.”

“Why can’t I see the other me?” Tiana was curious about all she was learning.

“There are grave consequences to everything Tiana, and your other you is learning to be a gatekeeper to take over after me, and so you shall be come for the other me.”

FFF #30 A Psych Ward Story

2010-05-04T09:43:00.006-06:00

"I know what I saw and years of anti-psychotics and group therapies couldn't convince me otherwise."

"Is it me, or does this coffee taste weird?"

“Would you just quit trying to change the subject?” I asked throwing my hands up in the air.

“Why do you insist on telling me this wild story?” Kayla shot back.

“It’s not wild, Kayla, it’s the truth.” Frustration was showing on my face.

“Well I think it’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard. Giants with wings… you’re losing it, you really are!”

“I’ll take you there and show you, prove it to you!” I exclaimed.

“I’m sure you will Jenna, I’m sure you will.” Her lack of belief bothered me and I knew that until she saw them in person she would never believe me.

She finally agreed to go with me on the horseback ride, claiming that she didn’t think I was “stable” enough to be okay on my own. I packed enough provisions to last us a few days and waited for Kayla to finish saddling her horse.

***

“How far did you say this place was?”

“God, you’re like a little kid Kayla, ‘are we there yet, are we there yet’ I mean seriously, I told you it’s a ways. Just enjoy the ride.”

“Look, there’s some flagging tape, I wonder who’s been putting flagging tape up this time of year…”

“It’s mine you dork, so I could find my way back to see the giants.”

“Giants… Did you fall Jenna while you were riding?”

“No.”

***

We trailed through the trees following the markers that I had put into place, stopping only twice to rest the horses and to eat. Dusk was quickly approaching and I knew we didn’t have far to go. We were now hugged up against a large rock wall that featured petroglyphs from our ancient Indian friends.

“Kayla, let’s stop and build camp here, tomorrow morning I’ll show you the creatures.” She was about twenty feet behind me and I felt like I had to yell just to be heard.

“Sure you don’t want to ride a little further Jenna? Not like we’ve been riding all day!”

I rolled my eyes at her response and began looking for a small alcove or sheltered area we could build a fire and be somewhat protected from the elements. It wasn’t long before we found an outcrop and began unsaddling our horses.

“Man I haven’t felt this sore in a long time.” Kayla complained.

“Well if you would come with me more often, then you wouldn’t be so sore… would you?” I asked matching her sarcasm from earlier.

“I’m going to tell you now Jenna, if you DON’T have anything interesting to show me tomorrow, I swear, I’ll never go on another horse ride with you again.”

Stirring the fire, I thought about what I had seen a few days before. I began telling Kayla my story, hoping that she would believe it if I told her the whole thing. “I had stumbled upon it by accident, the cavern. Indian artifacts and ancient dwellings lined the entrance next to the same rock wall we were huddled up to for the night. More petroglyphs and dwellings, broken pottery, and torn baskets lead the way deeper and deeper into the rock. Pulling out my flashlight I was shocked to find that I had wondered into a large open room where more ancient furnishings were laying. Flint knives lined the ground in one area, spears next to them. Old leather blankets and rotting furs were strewn everywhere. On the far side of the room I saw another tunnel leading downward. The petroglyphs on the wall depicted winged giants towering above normal people. Curiously I touched the wall, and at the top of the tunnel noticed large X’s and the winged people next to each other.”

“You’ve been practicing your ghost stories again, haven’t you?” Kayla tried to suppress a giggle.

Ignoring her, I continued. “I wasn’t sure what type of creatures could have gone below, definitely didn’t want to run into a bear or mountain lion so I grabbed a spear that was leaning against the wall and a handmade flint knife that still had an edge on it sharp enough to cut through an animal’s hide. I began my descent which became steeper and steeper until finally it turned into stairs, like someone had hand carved stairs in the stone. A chain was connected to one wall like a guard rail. I know I can’t be the only one to have ever seen the creatures, because there were so many man made things, like the chain for example. Someone had to put it there!” I rubbed my eyes and took a drink of water to try to calm my racing heart. “I reached the bottom of the tunnel and it leveled out, shining my flash light about, I saw bars, like cells cut into the rock, you know like the ones you only see in movies?”

Kayla nodded her head.

“Well it was like that, but I couldn’t see anything in them, just hear flapping, like bats. I shined my light on the ceiling, but didn’t see any bats. There were no petroglyphs here, nothing on the walls. My flash light reflected off of something, and when I put it back, noticed it was a pair of eyes coming from the cell to my left. I walked closer, hesitant at first but then thinking I was protected by the bars and peered in. I heard chains moving and watched the eyes blink. They began to move, then there it was in my light a magnificent yet unbelievable creature. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say they were angels, but angels don’t exist, they can’t.”

“You must have been without oxygen too long and your brain started making you think you were seeing things.”

"I know what I saw! I just don’t know how else to explain them to you. They were huge, massive, and stood at least twice my size and they had wings, huge wings that they opened and shut, and then they cried, cried the saddest song.”

I turned to Kayla, who was already dozing in her sleeping bag and knew without a doubt that she would believe me in the morning. I laid in my bag thinking about the beauty of them, their pure white skin, luminescent wings that shimmered in the light, perfectly blue eyes that reflected if the light was held just right. I allowed their beautiful song—much like I think a siren’s song would be—draw me into sleep.

***

We woke just before the sun had lit up the sky entirely and quickly made breakfast and prepared to leave. Kayla seemed to take her time as I wolfed mine down and waited impatiently for her to finish.

I had both of our horses saddled and repacked by the time she had finished her coffee. We rode about another two hours before we finally reached the entrance. I could see Kayla fingering and taking in everything that I had tried to tell her about the previous evening. She began putting pottery pieces and basket pieces along with arrowheads in her pockets.

“What are you doing?! You can’t take those, its illegal!”

"If no one knows, it’s not going to hurt them or us.” Kayla hissed.

I found the spear and the knife just where I had left them next to the entrance leading downward and looked at Kayla with her flashlight taking in the pictures above the doorway. “I wonder why they would draw such interesting pictures. I haven’t ever seen petroglyphs like this before.”

Her eyes about popped out of her head when she saw the cells that lined both sides of the cavern at the bottom of the tunnel. Shining our lights, she screamed and dropped hers when her light touched on a pair of large eyes. Picking up her light and helping her to her feet I told her to look closer at them. Together we walked to the edge of the bars and I heard Kayla’s breath quicken at the sight of the beautiful beings. Standing close to twelve feet tall with massive white feather wings that trailed the ground we were both in awe.

Chains started to rattle and soon, the winged giants that appeared to be angels sat pacing the length of their cell in front of the bars. It was when the angel in the far back corner began to sing that all seemed to quiet down and stand still. Kayla went to him. She knelt down just outside of its cell. I noticed too late what I should have seen before. In front of the last cell was a pile of skeletons, each one with an arm reaching through the bars.

“Who are you?” She whispered.

“Orpheus is my earthly name.” It answered the voice of music echoing in our heads even though we heard nothing with our ears.

“And what are you… Orpheus?” she asked.

“I am one of the fallen angels of God, otherwise known in Heaven as Kokabiel.” With the shocked look on Kayla’s face, he quickly snapped out grabbing her hand and pulling himself to her. He stood to his full height and picking Kayla up by her shirt and holding her arm, before I could even blink, his wings shot out and sent a blinding light every which way. The smell of burnt flesh filled my nose as I looked and tried to see what was left of my friend. Finding nothing but a charred corpse, I fled from the cavern as quickly as possible afraid of what my happen otherwise.

I rode my horse and Kayla’s horse all the way back home. The authorities still cannot find the cavern that I’ve talked about. No one knows it exists, other than me. And the only way I can prove that I was there is with Kayla’s disappearance, and also for the rare artifacts that Kayla had carted back out to her horse pack.
..................

“Do you think you are crazy Jenna?” The newly assigned shrink asked me.

"I know what I saw and years of anti-psychotics and group therapies couldn't convince me otherwise."

Meant To Be

2010-05-01T13:42:00.000-06:00

The call came at midnight. I had a romantic evening planned last night with my wife and we had just gotten the kids to sleep.

“That’s twice this week, hun.” My wife complained from her side of the bed as I quickly dressed.

I arrived on scene, and was quickly briefed. A body was found lying face down in the trash and when I helped roll the body over noticed that it was the homeless man whom I had befriended a few years back.

When I finally made it back home I couldn’t help but think to myself, he died before he ever got a second chance.

Tonight the bench on Stratton’s cobblestone street sat empty. I shook my head and suddenly felt the need to grieve. Sitting down upon it, I placed my head in my hands, and with closed eyes, took a deep breath.

I was greeted with memories of people I had frequently passed: loving couples, mothers with children waiting for the bus, senior citizens taking a breather while on their morning stroll, but more prominently were memories of the homeless man who, a mere twenty-four hours ago, was still living.

He looked to be in his sixties when I first met him some years ago. The memory of the morning I handed him my untouched coffee and the smile on his face followed by a gruff thank you was the first that came to mind. Another memory stuck out of sitting on that same bench talking like old friends do and of him telling me of his life before times were hard.

With my head in my hands, I silently sobbed, thinking about all the things I could have done to give this man a better life other than to offer him a free cup of coffee in the mornings and a friendly chat.

Regaining my composure I dried my eyes, wiped my nose and slowly stood. Turning to look at the empty side of the bench where my friend always sat I smiled, “May God’s grace forever smile upon you.”

Something caught my eye just as I was turning away, an envelope, stuck to the bottom side of the bench, barely visible through the slats. I sat back down and pulling the envelope from its hiding place I began inspecting it. Upon opening I found a letter that read:

I have a feeling that my time is soon coming. I do not regret my life, it has been full of hardships and I have lived as best as I could. If you are reading this, please deliver this to Detective Mills. I don’t know where he lives, but want him to know just how much I appreciate what he’s done for me. There was a morning a few years ago that I had decided that I had had enough of living this life. It was on that morning that a visitor came. The visitor handed me his unopened coffee and sat down beside me. I hadn’t had that much compassion shown to me in ages. Each day came and I was given another cup of coffee and as we sat and chatted we became just like old friends. That visitor was Detective Mills, and to my dearest friend, Może Bożego Łaskę wiecznie uśmiech na was!

Thank You

Antoni Burak
(Your homeless friend)
Stunned I took the letter home to my wife. How did he know what was coming? How was it that I found the letter that had been meant for me? I found a translator site and after a lot of research came to the decision that the translation must be polish. I knew as soon as I read the English translation that we were meant to be friends, the translation read: May God’s grace forever smile upon you.

Guest Write - Bob Clay

2010-04-30T05:29:00.003-06:00

The Night of the Dying E

Somewhere off to his left, a dog barked in the distance. A tired bark that echoed down the dark canyon-like city streets, whose deep shadows were only broken by the orange glare of sodium street lights that speared the night. Wet pavements glistened inside these stark sallow spheres of light, but this was one battle the dark of the night was always going to win.

Parker’s listened intently as the distant canine gave up the effort of barking, the sound replaced by the remote clatter of a railway yard, a long way off, down town maybe. He pressed back further into the shadow of the doorway, just the two gleaming points of his eyes visible in the black.

Silence descended, 3 am silence, even a city has a dead zone at this time of the morning. Parker unconsciously slid the fingers of his left hand along the top of the Colt and pushed the slide back slightly so he could feel the round in the chamber, he’d done it a dozen times in the last hour and knew full well it was loaded and ready to fire, but old habits die hard.

He watched the bar across the road, a neon sign in the window spelt out Ned’s Bar in flickering purple light, but the e was dying, and was darker than the other letters. Parker smiled grimly in the dark, a dying e in Ned, now that was irony.

A distant humming grew closer and became a Mercedes taxi pulling into the street, sliding in and out of existence as it cruised slowly past the streetlights. As it grew closer Parker pressed hard into the door well, trying to become as thin as a razor blade. His right arm dropped to his side as he gently slid down the safety catch with his right thumb.

The taxi stopped outside the bar, the engine still running. Two men got out, big featureless men in overcoats, they moved across the pavement and disappeared into Ned’s Bar with the dying e. The taxi pulled away slowly, its back lights leaving glistening red streaks on the wet road. Parker waited until it had turned out of the street and the sound of the engine had faded into the night.

He crossed the street and stood outside the bar, breathing deeply to flood his lungs with oxygen. He slid the .45 into his coat pocket then pushed the door open. Inside was nearly as dark as the street, the gloomy light broken only by the sputtering neon sign with the dying e and a few dull fly specked lights that hung down from the ceiling on old twisted wire pairs.

There were half a dozen or so patrons, sitting silently in booths that lined one side of a thin railway carriage like room, the other side being the bar, running the whole length and disappearing off into the gloom. A row of empty stools stood off the bar like abandoned pawns in a chess game.

Parker waited, one hand on the bar, the other wrapped around the gun in his coat pocket, he hoped this made the message clear to the drinkers. A barman emerged out of the shadows and stared at him with questioning eyes.

“Parker?” he asked and Parker nodded. The barman pointed down the room,

“They’re waiting for you in the end booth.”
Parker moved off feeling the barman’s eyes on his back. The other customers paid him no heed as he moved beneath the tired lights to the bottom of the bar where the two big overcoats sat waiting patiently, their hats on the table.

“Sit,” said one, dark sallow eyes and beard. He shuffled up the seat to let Parker in. “Envelope,” he continued, nodding to his partner. The other man slid a fat brown envelope between the hats toward Parker.

“Let’s not have any melodramatics,” said the beard pointing toward Parker’s right arm buried in his coat pocket. “We’re just here to deliver the envelope. Delivery boys only. Whatever other shit is going down here is not our business.” He smiled yellowing teeth; “We were told to make sure that you looked at the contents, and that’s all. Once we’ve seen that, we’re done.”

Parker nodded. With his left hand he flipped the envelope over and shook it, a fan of dollar bills partially slid out, thousand dollar bills. The beard and his partner stared at it with wide surprised eyes.

“Jesus that’s a lot of money,” said the beard’s partner. “If I’d known I was carrying that I might have kept on going,” he laughed a dark dry laugh.”

“You probably should have,” said Parker, picking up the envelope and tapping it on the table to slide the money back in. He stood up and slid it into his left coat pocket, his right hand sliding out with the big black Colt.

“What the fuck…. ?” said the beard but whatever question was coming was drowned out by the blast of the gun, the bullet going through his left eye and out through the back of his head with a sizable portion of his brain in front of it. His partner merely gaped as Parker but a bullet into his forehead and another into his throat. Both men were dead before they could slump back into their own blood.

Parker swung around, gun held high, but the barman was pressed against the back wall, arms held out straight gripping the bottle filled shelves. As Parker walked up the bar, the other drinkers were bowed down, their ears still ringing from the gunfire. There seemed little doubt that when questioned later, nobody had seen anything. If you were drinking this late, in this part of town, it did not do to see things.

Outside Parker took a deep breath of the cold air and spat the taste of gun smoke onto the sidewalk. He pocketed the gun, his hand remaining on its warm, re-assuring presence in his pocket. The other hand gripped the envelope full of money as he wondered about the mind of the man who had hired him to kill, and then sent the victims to pay their own nemesis. Not a man he wanted to do business with again, but there was no doubting he paid well.

Parker shrugged and moved off into the shadows, behind him the e in Ned’s Bar finally flickered out.

A man of many crafts, but of one craft I'm certain he's excellent at is Writing. His work has been known to make me laugh, and cry. You can see some of his work on 6 Sentences where he does a fairly regular bit of scribbling. Bob Clay (ex seafarer, GCHQ spook, pole climber and window cleaner. Advanced layabout). View more of his work Here.

My Hunt for the Outcast

2010-04-24T11:10:00.003-06:00

The outcast hangs on my wall. It took me years to track it down and find it. All but ready to give up, I enlisted the help of an experienced guide; Addy is what he told me to call him. He spent day after day tracking, while I spent dollar after dollar just making sure he would keep tracking day after day.

Up to my ears in debt and applying for yet another loan was when the phone call came in, “CJ, I’ve found it, I think we’re ready – pack your things and be at Black Bone Lake by tonight. I’ll be there to pick you up.”

A week off of work last minute really pisses the boss off, so my way around that was to deal with it once I returned, I shoved a note into his hand on my way out the door. I couldn’t get out of the parking lot fast enough. Sure enough within five minutes my cell was ringing.

***

I’ve been searching for the outcast since I saw it on a camping trip when I wandered off alone-I was about six. My dog stood between it and me pushing me back towards camp. I became obsessed with finding it again. Each year I desperately searched, and each year I was sorely disappointed. I searched every part of that mountain that I could think of and never saw anything like it. I had sketched it from memory for Addy, and by god, this phone call was just what I have been waiting a lifetime for.

He met me on the dock of Black Bone Lake, a small fishing boat tied to the dock. “Glad to see you made it.”

“I wouldn’t miss this if my life depended on it.”

After riding the ATV for a day and a half, we hiked further into the backwoods than I had ever remembered going. Miles and miles passed under us as he led me deeper into the darkest parts of the woods.

“I have had to leave visual markers for me to find my way back, this place is so uncharted that I haven’t been able to put it on my GPS, in fact something strange happens here and it messes with all my electronics. Kind of like a magnetic zone.” He whispered, indicating that I should do the same, and from here on out it was the utmost importance to talk as little as possible so as not to hinder our search.

It was the fourth day before we got to a wall of lava rock and from here I was told to take as little equipment as possible. That meant food / water in a backpack, and my bow. I followed him as he hopped from rock to rock climbing our way up the wall. Exhausted and knowing that I probably had lost all the tread off of my favorite pair of hunting boots we settled down just before dusk about fifty yards from a large cave opening made entirely of lava rock.

The wait was intense but I knew the money I had spent on Addy was well worth it when I saw the outcast. An immense beast, crossed between what looked like a bull and a man with horns on its head. I pulled back my bow and shot, hitting it in the lungs first then following up with one in the heart.

I felt the ground shake and my vision go blurry as the body of the beast finally released its soul. I clamored over to the beast knowing it was dead. It was like a character out of a story book, I sat there amazed, petting its fur, and examining every part of it.

***

People ask me at parties and events hosted at my home where I found someone who would create a lifelike replica of a creature such as the outcast. They don’t believe me when I tell them that I shot it in the deepest part of the Rockies.

I believe that if the outcast can exist, so can other mythical creatures. Hmmm I wonder if the storyline in InkHeart is true?

It’s something I ask myself every day when I look at the outcast, the Minotaur, hanging on my wall.

Guest Write - Finnegan Flawnt

2010-04-23T07:14:00.002-06:00

The Funeral

The funeral party hurried up the hill following the fat priest with designer glasses. The wind was blowing in their faces so that they had to squint. The light had the subtle quality of a foggy argument among friends.

Up on the hill by the grave stood the muse of the dead man they had come to bury. She was visible to everyone, mentioned by nobody. The mourners huddled around her gown shuffling nervously as one does in the presence of an angel. The priest was conscious of his inept performance earlier in the chapel. The muse made him feel queasy. He thought of himself as a servant to the Lord and now the muse’s elongated eye lashes brought unease to his heart, a weak muscle constricted by ritual incantations and praying performances. To the feeble-minded, the muse looked like a lion unitiated untamed ready to devour their souls. To the steadfast, she simply rose from the Earth like a tamarix adorned with only a tuft of hair swaying in the breeze, a figure of no failure to fend off bad spirits.

The untertaker put the urn in the square-shaped hollow in the ground, twitched and hid behind the father. As the angel stepped forward, the cinerary container rose from its early grave and became an onion, an orange, an olive: it opened and grew a single leaf: this was the dead man’s fate dangling by the seraph’s unsullied fingers. Thus spake the Great One:

„I have weighed this man and measured him and looked at his life’s work. He spent years in the shade of his endowments, he accrued accolades for his art and he bore the sign of creation on his high forehead. He was a king in his own realm, which stretched from everwhere to nowhere and was governed by but one principle: beauty.“

Then she lowered the ashen cask and disappeared leaving tranquil thought so that even the cleric dropped his defiant demeanour.

The bereaved shuddered at her might and every one of them thought of their own talent and felt elevated by the eulogy. They began to breathe as if reborn. They became mulberry shoots, every single one of the people who had merely pondered life’s small matters a moment earlier, they turned into apollonian arrows hurling themselves at any one standing in their human way. They had come as a flock and left as a truculent platoon. They had meant to pray and fear and departed with death as their friendly companion on the longest journey made by man and woman. The dead only preceded them by a bit, bite-sized and not too big to chew.

Finnegan Flawnt is a fictitious writer and purveyor of fine podcasts, who lives under Milk Wood with two females and a bad conscience. He is also an editor of the online metafiction journal Metazen. He flaunts it when he's got it here and flashes there.

GOD's Cruel Joke

2010-04-20T17:33:00.004-06:00

The wait was finally over. After five years in a cell of old brick, hard dirt floor, and iron grading, the council had requested her presence to give a final decision of her fate.

Dressed in what was left of her rags and smelling of something dead, she stood alone in the center of the room, cuffed and shackled, two large armed escorts on each side.

“Are you Katherine Eliza Bristol?”

She let out a hacking cough and managed to say, “I am.”

“Are you the same Katherine Eliza Bristol that was found aboard the ship Glacial Death, by Constable Alfred Wolfe?”

“I am.” Her answer was said in a hoarse cackling voice which came from not having to speak or be spoken to for such a long time.

“Then let it be known that on this day, the thirteenth day of September, in this year of 1666, that this woman, Katherine Eliza Bristol has been charged and found guilty by this Council of Parliament. The crimes are as follows: Katherine Eliza Bristol you have been tried and found guilty of piracy as you were found amongst the pirates and thieves removed from the ship called Glacial Death, dressed in rags of a whore; guilty of heresy for speaking against the clergy and denying confession upon removal and placement in the cell; guilty of witchcraft for you attempted escape and being able to swim when it is known that woman know not how to swim unless they are inundated with the spirit of the devil.”

Katherine knew that her outlook didn’t look good. She hung her head knowing what was coming.

“You have been sentenced to death by drowning, which will take place tomorrow afternoon.”

Head held high she walked as straight as she could back to her cell. They had decided her blood should be payment to a God who was in her mind as unloving and unmerciful as they came.

She didn’t eat or sleep that night; she pushed her food bowl back through the slot in the door when they tried to slide it under, and sat looking up through a small window high in her room at the stars.

Katherine recalled the past, of what led her to be on death row. The ship she and her father had been on traveling from Spain to Constantinople where she was to be given to be wed to a man from a wealthy family whom she had never met. It was on the third day that their ship had been overcome by pirates and being the only woman on board forced to stay with them and do their personal bidding. So dressed like a whore that they had made her become she prayed daily for death or to be rescued. Being with pirates and in her need to bathe, she had forced herself to learn how to swim.

She blamed God for his cruel joke of sending a rescue crew to find her. When the clergyman announced that she was a heretic for thanking God in her Spanish tongue claiming that she was praying to the devil, as Katherine was brought to land, she panicked. She broke away from her saviors and ran back into the water swimming for the safety of the boat. That was the moment that the name witch clouded over hers. She had been pulled back inland, placed in chains and thrown into the cell that she had now called home for the last five years and given even less of a life than the one she had been forced to endure for the many months aboard the pirate ship. She had spent her time counting the days by making marks on her walls, singing to herself, dancing in circles, and finally just lying on the floor wishing for death to come.

The site of the sun rising caught Katherine off guard as the light through her window spilled across her face. It was soon after that she was collected by her executioners.

She cursed them all to their faces with burning eyes as they tired her to the chair then secured the weights that would hold her under water until death overcame her. “May you burn in hell for your false accusations and may my blood be upon your hands for my unjustified death when you meet with God.”

Those were her last words as she was pushed over the edge of the doc into the slow moving portion of the river just outside of their small town. Her final thought was, at least the wait is finally over.

Guest Write - Edward Dean

2010-04-16T00:01:00.004-06:00

911

Tina was pissed and feeling put upon as she stared at the ‘911’ computer. The Rockland police captain had recently asked her to take over the desk and she accepted begrudgingly. Tina dearly wanted the freedom of a patrol and to ultimately use her degree in Criminology as a detective. She was bored to death with all the little tacky details she was being assigned to. Time and again she tried to use her feminine wiles to get what she wanted but to no avail. Her curvaceous body and stunning blonde hair always got her what she wanted from men but Captain Neely’s stoic nature was non responsive.

Tina toyed with all the silly small town requests that came over the call desk. There were very few that piqued her interest. Domestic violence calls were quite common as were the accident reports. Having been raised in Rockland it tickled her to know who the callers were, though she never let on. To make matters worse, she had been assigned to the afternoon shift.

A lonely Saturday evening call bought her full attention.

“This is 911, what is your emergency?”

A muffled voice announced, “Someone is dead, and I killed her.”

Tina’s mind raced with a sudden shot of adrenaline, as her eyes scanned the computers phone number Identification; it was a local pay phone. Her training immediately kicked in.

“Can you tell me your name and location sir?” She waited anxiously through the long deliberate pause.

The cold calm voice answered. “Don’t be ridiculous. I just wanted to tell you about the death in case it means anything to you.”

Tina’s arm waved frantically for the duty officer as he laughed out loud from his nearby desk. “Come on Tina, what the fuck! Is it the trailer park asshole beating up on one of his latest sleepovers?”

She immediately muted the microphone and frantically screamed. “We got a murder and he’s confessing to it.”

The duty officer Jay, had been trying to get in Tina’s pants from the day she had been assigned but like any good cop, he knew she wasn’t screwing around. He flew out of his chair and flipped on the mike. Tina pushed him aside and spoke. “Sir, if you would give me your location, we can help you and the woman.”

“Don’t ask again bitch. She’s dead as yesterday’s news. I just wanted to let you know.”

Tina heard the responding the click and the line went dead. Her sweat filled face and pounding heart whirled her chair around to face Jay. “Oh my God, oh my God! Do you think this is real? Is he telling the truth?”

“Easy Tina; I got the location from the phone company and I have a car dispatched to the location.”

Her anxious voice screamed back. “They don’t know what the fuck they’re looking for.”

Jay patted her shoulder and answered; “Come on. Settle down. I told them to check out any male in the area; especially the younger ones. There can’t be too many in the area this late. Cool it, so we can back track and get as many details off the recorder as we can.”

Tina’s heart fluttered with relief.

The next evening, when the call came through, Tina instantly recognized the man’s voice.

“Did you find the body yet, because you won’t? You are the epitome of the dumb blonde joke lady.”

Tina’s eyes scanned the caller I.D. and it was a cell phone. Jay dialed up the cell phone company to triangulate the signal. He knew it would take a few minutes.

The quirky angry voice bit hard into her mind. How did he know she was blonde or was he guessing? “If you want to find the body, why don’t you meet me and I’ll show you.”

Tina wanted to accept his challenge but she felt that Captain Neely would never allow it. Her mind raced with the possibilities of a promotion. This was her chance to prove herself.

Her calming sexy voice responded. “Sure, I can meet you in a public place. Just tell me where.”

“I never thought you would have the guts lady but if you want to find the body, meet me at Angelo’s on Main Street, tomorrow night at ten. Is that public enough for you?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Jay shaking his head negatively but Tina defiantly agreed. To make matters worse, Jay informed her that the cell phone the caller used was stolen.

The next morning’s meeting in Captain Neely’s office there was a rush of conversational emotion. The detective sergeant wanted to use Tina as a decoy, as long as she was packing. Captain Neely reluctantly agreed as long as the entire building was staked out. Tina just knew this could be her ticket to the detective squad.

The next evening’s walk to Angelo’s was slow and deliberate as she peered suspiciously into every doorway she passed but the bulge of a 38 caliber in her pocket gave her comfort. She smiled with ease at the dispersed plain clothes officers she recognized.

Her heart beat rapidly as she entered Angelo’s restaurant; her eyes eerily searched the tables. She had no idea who she was looking for, only that he would find her. The voice had asked her to carry a single red rose.

A waiter approached her and sat her at the window table. Tina felt more at ease, assuming the waiter to be a state police plant that was seating her in a very conspicuous spot. The waiter nodded his head to a smallish round man sitting at the counter. He immediately raced to Tina’s table and sheepishly smiled. Tina wasted no time in questioning him but the portly man raised his hand.

“Thank you for meeting me Tina, I’ve been dying to meet you. You are much more beautiful than I was told. Can I buy you a drink? I sure need one, I’m so nervous”

“I’ll just have a Coke if you don’t mind.” With that she signaled the waiter over to take their order. The dark swarthy waiter responded quickly, approaching the table with his tray and napkin draped smartly over his arm; he spoke.

“Hi Tina, it’s been a lotta years since I’ve seen your bitchy face. You haven’t changed much.”

Her questioning eyes flew up into his face as he leaned down toward her.

She stuttered profusely. “Who…who... are you? Do I know you?”

He leaned ever so close to quietly whisper into her ear. Tina’s heart jumped. She recognized the voice as the one on the 911 calls. Her confused eyes flashed to the little portly man sitting across from her.

She asked the waiter, “Who is he?”

The waiter grinned through his deception. “He’s a lame asshole that just wants a date and I fixed him up with you Tina. You remember; in school, just like me. You remember how you treated Rob like a piece of shit because you were too popular and pretty to be seen with the likes of me? You tore me apart when you said you wouldn’t be caught dead with someone like me?”

Tina’s mind raced back to her college years and remembered Rob. She had used him to help her with many of her classes and laughed when he asked her out on dates. Her eyes glanced up in horror at Rob.

“Listen Rob, it was just a silly thing. I thought you would get over it. Did you really kill a woman Rob or is this some kind of practical joke outta your weird mind, because it’s not funny.”

“Oh no Tina, it’s no joke. I never forgot; I never forgave! And to use your words, you could be caught dead with the likes of me. There definitely is a dead body involved Tina and it’s yours!”

Her panic ridden face swung around as she fumbled in her pocket for the .38 snub nose. Rob’s towel draped hand quickly rose to her temple. A silencer muffled the report of his gun as he quickly placed two bullets into her head. The window was painted red with her splattered brain. Tina slumped to the table. Rob simply dropped the gun under the table and casually strode back to the kitchen, where the back door would allow him easy access into the alley.

The café was suddenly filled with six plain clothes officers pinning the poor confused portly man to the floor and screaming for someone to call 911.

*With inspiration and thanks to Rob Crisman’s 6S.

Edward Dean's book, The Wine Thief is a fantastic read and can be found on Amazon.com. Ed is also busy working on getting his latest and greatest novel published. You can find more about him and his work HERE.

Watch What You Say

2010-04-15T19:30:00.003-06:00

Everyone has those days where you know you woke up one the wrong side of the bed and just wish you could start over, right?

Talking to my good friend Ed, who also happens to be the Dean of the school we both work at, after listening to my day’s worth of problems this morning, he turned to me and said, “Well Nic, sounds like it was a pall-bearer-dropping-the-casket start to the day. Shall we go for drinks after work?”

“I’d enjoy that a lot Ed.” I smiled.

A few hours later he was driving me to an out of the way cantina-type restaurant. We talked about work, about home, then the waiter came with our drink orders. He began apologizing profusely when he roughly sat my drink down, tipping it over and dumping it all over my lap.

Ed looked apologetically at me from his side of the table and began pushing napkins my way.

The waiter tried to help me with my skirt and smacking his hand out of the way I said, “Pall-bearer-dropping-the casket start to the day, huh, Ed?”

The waiter suddenly became stiff. Looking up at him, and as casually as possible, I asked, “Are you okay?”

“Who paid you to come in here?!” He demanded.

Ed and I looked at each other, “What are you talking about?” Ed asked.

“Who paid you?!” He was practically yelling at us now.

“Look, we don’t know what you are talking about, we just came here to get an after work drink. What the hell is your problem!” I was angry from my bad day already and just lit in to the guy.

“Y…y…you mean you weren’t paid by someone to come and give me a hard time?” Confusion lined his face and ours.

“No.” Both Ed and I answered.

“Oh shit!” Seeing us looking at him oddly, he then went into his story. “I had a funeral I had to attend about two weeks ago out of state. I was asked to be one of the pall-bearers and when pulling the casket out of the hearse, I dropped it and the whole casket slid out to the ground. Then to make matters worse, the lid wasn’t shut tightly enough and after bouncing open, the body of my dead grandmother came sliding out. I was horrified.”

Ed and I were stunned. We both picked up our jaws off the floor and he continued, “Every day I’ve had someone different come and harass me about the incident telling me I’ve disturbed the dead.”

“I think it’s time for us to be going.” Ed said as he helped me out of my seat.

“As if I thought the day couldn’t get any worse, now look at me! I’m all wet! What was I thinking?”

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I didn’t want to tell the poor lad that I read his story online yesterday. He must not know that it’s all over the internet.”

“Guess I shouldn’t complain then, I really could have had a Pall-bearer-dropping-the-casket start to the day!” We barely arrived safely back to the school, even with all the laughter that had followed.

FFF #28 The Payment Plan

2010-04-13T10:45:00.004-06:00

“The Trouble with me is that I never realize how deep in the shit I am until I’m choking on the stuff.”

“Seriously Frank, they aren’t paying us enough to do this job.” I looked helplessly at my partner.

“He doesn’t care, look at Frank, he doesn’t care if I talk, do you Frank? See, it doesn’t seem to bother him—”

“You were just talking about choking on the shit, right? Well guess what if you don’t shut your god-damn mouth you’re going to be choking on my fist.” My clenched fist was held eye level in the air towards him and I could see the fear in his eyes. “That’s better,” I sighed, “finally some peace and quiet.”

“God, Jack, why are so on edge tonight?” I looked at Frank, anger burning behind my eyes.

“Yeah Jack, why?”

“You shut the Fuck up,” I pointed at our victim tied to his chair, “and hmmm, Frank, I wonder why? Couldn’t have anything to do with this stupid-ass job that the boss gave us, could it?” I continued to ramble on for another minute or so.

“Shut up Jack!” Frank horsely commanded in a whisper. Stooping, he squinted out the window into the dark. “They’re coming, Jack, get ready.”

“Who’s coming?” Our victim looked frightened. “Are they with you?”

“Not with us, but not against us.” Frank turned towards him from the window. “You like to break bad news, Jack, why don’t you tell him.”

“You know I hate this part of the job right Frank?” I looked at him disgusted, my stomach turning in circles – I hated our meetings with them no matter how brief they were. “In order to keep our lives, our families, our homes, our governments, our entire way of life, we have to offer payment.” I was whispering, I knew that the collectors didn’t like loud voices – and I definitely didn’t want to fall victim to one in a rage. I had already seen the kind of damage they could do.

“What do you mean, offer payment, who are they?”

Frank looked at me his disgust prevalent. I knew how much he hated it when I drug the story out instead of just telling them.

“What we do, is work with the third kind—”

“Third kind, you mean, like aliens? What a joke!” His loud laughter ripped through the room.

“Yes aliens you dip shit, and you aren’t gonna think it’s so funny in a minute.” My body was trembling, get a grip on yourself, I kept repeating in my mind.

“Prepare yourselves.” Frank’s voice had turned to a deeply stone hard tone and opened the door a blank look on his face.

I steeled myself for the look at the monstrosities that owned our world.

“AAARRRGGGHHHH!” Our victim screamed, kicked, and fell over in his chair in his struggle to get away.

Another sick night, but at least it was one where I hadn’t fallen victim yet.

I gave them the bird as they entered their strange air craft, and begged myself not to be sick as it hovered higher and higher then took off into the night.

***

“You see Frank—that morning last week, was when I had gotten the phone call from Chief explaining that you were to be the next payment. I was afraid I was going to let you in on it.”

“You’re next Jack, you know that, right?” Frank called out to me as I opened the door to allow Frank to meet his end.

Guest Write - Paul Phillips

2010-04-09T00:00:00.002-06:00

A Surprise Gift

She had dreamed.

She had dreamed of love and happiness. She had dreamed of a perfect life; loving husband, beautiful children and a demanding, yet satisfying career.

She had dreamed of him.

They had met through a mutual friend. Conversation was stilted to begin with, revolving around their mutual passions for material things but never going more than skin deep in their discussions. However, the more they talked, the more they got to know each other, and the more they got to sense something bigger than a casual friendship. They had shared their hopes and dreams, likes and dislikes, wants and needs. They had shared their fears of the future; either being alone or unsatisfied in a relationship.

She had dreamed of him.

They had spent more and more time together – yet apart, becoming closer than just friends but afraid to reach out for more. They lived on opposite sides of the country. They both had commitments they couldn’t break – at least not immediately. They had both realised that something was building and, try as they might, they couldn’t deny it. Searching each other’s souls, desperate for a connection; finding one without even realising it immediately. It took something momentous for that realisation to dawn upon them both.

She had dreamed of him.

She had shocked even herself when she said she loved him. She was just as shocked when he replied in kind. Her heart never knew such complicated emotions. She knew it was wrong; she was married after all and he was much older than she. She justified it to herself by saying that she always felt more comfortable with older men. Guys her own age when much too immature and only ever thought about one thing – not sex, but themselves. Here was a man who claimed to love her, who wanted only the best for her. He called her a princess and he called her beautiful. He wanted to profess his love for her to the whole world, but knew he couldn’t. She wanted to do the same. She had never been treated this way by her husband. She wondered if this was cheating. She wondered if she cared.

She had dreamed of him.

Some time into their relationship, he had told her he was coming to visit her. She had been scared, excited, frightened and anxious. What would he think of her when they actually met in person? Would he still think of her as a princess? Would he still consider her beautiful? She had her own doubts about him as well – of course she did. Would he be the same man in person as he was from a distance? Would his smile and roguish behaviour still be exciting or would she grow tired of it? Would she find him unattractive? Considering the times he had made appearances in her dreams, she had doubted that last one. More than anything, she hoped that this was the chance she had longed for, that she had dreamed about, even as a child. She hoped...

The night before he arrived, she had dreamed of him.

She had waited anxiously in the airport terminal, fussing with her hair and constantly checking to make sure her make-up wasn’t smeared. She had spent nearly an hour in tears when she learned that his plane was delayed. Then, it was time and she had craned her neck in search of the man who could make all of her dreams come true – or dash them on the rocks of her emotional tides. She could see people milling about the terminal and baggage collection but she couldn’t see him. She thought he may have been delayed at customs. Her heart banged against her chest, and she tried to calm herself. He would walk through that gate any minute now, she had thought to herself. She had been right. He had. And she was stunned by his appearance. She no longer doubted her heart or her head. She no longer had any worries about whether he was going to be the man to lead her out of the darkness and into the light of a world that she had previously thought never existed for her. She had called him her personal saviour and now, she so desperately wanted saving.

And still she dreamed of him.

He had returned home after spending a week with her; time had gone so quickly that when he announced that he should be getting ready to go, it had shocked her. Shocked her to tears. She hadn’t been ready to let him go. She had known that he had to go, she had accepted it from the first day but it hadn’t made it any easier. She had held him, clung to him, and enveloped him. He had kissed her, hugged her, and stroked her hair. She had never met another man like him, and she wondered if she ever would again. Sure, they had made plans to see each other again soon, but they had agreed that distance might prove to be a problem. It wasn’t cheap to fly across the country and she had a career to consider. He had told her she was always welcome to come to his city and spend time with him and had promised that he would make the utmost effort to get back and see her as soon as he could. But still those doubts had lingered.

But yet she had still dreamed of him.

Many months had passed and now it seemed their relationship had cooled. He didn’t appear online to talk much anymore. She told herself that he was busy, that he had many more important things to worry about; it wasn’t like they had promised themselves to each other, although she had hoped that they would. She couldn’t stop thinking about him, especially when she was lying in bed of a night, the darkness closing in around her and she could feel his protective arms around her, his lips on hers, his hands on her. She wanted him to commit to her, even though she couldn’t do that for him. He had promised her the world and now she felt like the only thing he had given her were memories.

Still she dreamed of him.

She dreamed that she could hear his voice, dreamed of him being in her home, playing with her son. She could hear him telling her son stories of his home, stories of make-believe, stories her son lapped up and she smiled at the sound of her son’s laughter. She dreamed she heard her bedroom door open, dreamed she could smell his aftershave, dreamed she could feel his fingers gently touch her face. She rolled over, eyes barely open and thought she could see his face above hers. She shook her head, clearing away the cobwebs of her dreams, and felt his lips on hers again.

“Happy birthday, princess.”

Paul Phillips' work can be found HERE. He has also been published online at MicroHorror, Six Sentences, Powder Flash Burns and BlinkInk. He calls Australia home, but sometimes it won't listen.

Too Good to be True

2010-04-08T06:53:00.001-06:00

She had been told that he only had two requirements. The first being that she needed to keep up with the news, that means either watching it every day, or reading it. The second being to put down that damn spoon!

We had met at a local cafe and he reading his paper with a cup of coffee at the table next to mine, and I working on a new story for Thinking-Ten while eating a bowl of soft serve ice cream.

I had noticed him right away sitting at the table next to mine - quite an attractive man! He's most likely married, I told myself and so decided to pay him no mind. When I heard his chair move I didn't look up, but when I heard the chair across from mine move, I did.

Looking me straight in the eye, newspaper in one hand, coffee in the other, and one big goofy grin said, "My name's Laurence, yours?"

Picking my jaw off the ground, I answered with a quick, "Bree."

He laughed a deep throaty laugh then took a sip from his cup.

"So, Bree, do you have any plans for later tonight?" That was what set us off, and every day we met in the same cafe doing the same thing. Most days I was daring and found myself becoming extremely flirtatious - to the point that he told me to "put down that damn spoon!" Followed by, "You don't know what kinds of things that does to me!"

A few weeks after the "spoon" incident, he told me, "if we're gonna make this work, you need to be keeping up on the news. I need to have someone to talk to about worldly events!" Dropping his paper on the table next to me, he left me staring after him nursing a half-eaten bowl of moosetracks at our favorite table.

Needless to say, the news bored me with its repetition, and I couldn't put down the spoon - I love my ice cream too much. Now I just sit here, alone at our favorite table, and stare at him from across the room with his new favorite fling...

FFF #27 - A Bad Day All Around

2010-04-05T19:50:00.001-06:00

Through the hanging vines and prickly bushes, Magart, an ugly faced troll – which is saying something because most trolls are very ugly faced – loudly tromped. His eyes continually searched the ground for any sign of the hidden cache. Hungry for something other than almonds, he desperately searched for his favorite – cashews.

In the midst of the cache, a disheartening sight arose, nasty leprechauns were feasting. Full of disguist, Magart eschewed from the terrible sight and headed back home.

Described later as a terrible day altogether is where our story comes to an end. Magart, after returning to his home under the Northern Bridge disappointed, was confronted by three very tricky, wiry and gruff billy goats… I think you know the rest of the story.

Guest Write - Kim Soles

2010-04-01T23:59:00.002-06:00

The News

Grey slush, wet crud, city dirt is layered, caked in my low-cut winter boots.

I arrive at the heavy glass door facing MacDougal Street that belongs to the building I reside in. A charming studio apartment, a five floor walkup where I work as a graphic designer, carry out secret fleeting affairs with discontent married men, and cook myself superb meals for less than four dollars a day.

“Hello Ms. Craft,” my magnetic mailman greets me like he often does, with a grin bright as treetop snow. When I see him, I blush, my mind rushing with the fantasy that he stars in; he eagerly approves the invite to my room, I whip him up a delightful lunch and finish it off with me as the dessert.

“Hi there Randolph. My, this weather! You must be sick of it,” my eyes catch the twinkling in his.

“Naw, you know how it is, part of the job. I try not to dwell on it Ms. Craft or I wouldn’t be here.” His hands are shuffling the chain that dangles from his waist with a metal ring of a hundred or more keys that is attached to his belt.

He quickly finds the right key, opens and holds the door for me. He asks me to wait, passing three pieces of mail that I have no interest in. After all, I wasn’t expecting payment for the illustration job I did for the noodle shop that will soon open on Prince Street. I shouldn’t receive that for another month.

“Enjoy the rest of the day Randolph. I hear that sunshine is on its way later in the week.”

He continues opening the black iron, ornate slots, stuffing good news and bad into my neighbor’s boxes. He shoots me one last smile as I open the inside door to the ground floor hallway. I close it and appreciate the tender feeling I get from seeing him.

I climb the heap of steps and distract myself while glancing at the letters, finding one worth opening. The envelope is constructed from fine quality paper. I notice there is not a return address. I get to my door and dispose of my sloppy boots on the mat.

The temperature of the room is opposite to the frigid city air. I peel off my coat and sit down at the only table, letter in hand. I struggle getting the tight fitting card out of the hand addressed envelope that turns out to be a 4x5 color print. I don’t recognize the handwriting, yet I’m familiar with the location in the photograph. How I know the setting baffles me for a few seconds.

A chill abruptly strokes my spine and the pit of my stomach turns sour.

It was this past October. The café table where I sat, perhaps moments earlier, stunned while reading the news of my last lover who was found strangled in his upper west side brownstone. The photo depicts the scene where I read the debilitating article about his shocked wife, the one he promised to leave for me. The newspaper is open, displaying the page that determined my future, his ending and her nightmare.

He was the one. And at thirty three I had finally found the man I could spend the rest of my life with.

I held on to my oak table, the room slightly spinning. Panic and intuition inform me that his wife snapped the shot of the deserted newspaper, the view after I fled. After she examined my face, pale as bread flour, horrified, stricken, lost.

Kim Soles is a designer and photographer. Her designs sell at Anthropologie stores throughout the US and she exhibits her spirit nature photography, offering nature photography classes to children and adults. Kim works part time at an educational nature center, surrounded by a hundred acres of enchanting forest and meadow in the city of Philadelphia. A visual artist for many years, she recently began to use words to tell her stories. Her commitment and love for writing has taken on a content life of its own. She enjoys participating in the 6S Writers Network and spends quality time with writers in a local writing workshop.

Spring Done Sprung @ the NOT

2010-03-31T09:24:00.001-06:00

Michael J. Solender @ the NOT had a contest called Spring Done Sprung. My piece is featured today as an Honourable Mention - you should check it out!

The Spring Talent Show

FFF #26 - Hidden Reminders

2010-03-30T01:37:00.005-06:00

“What do you see when you close your eyes?”

“Symbols.”

“What kind of symbols?”

“I’m not sure how to describe them, they are so unique-” I hesitated, “but, I guess I can show you some of them.”

“Show me?”

“Well yeah. I draw them as I see them.”

“And you carry these drawings around with you?”

“Well… Kinda.”

“What do you mean exactly?” My counselor asked a little confused.

I would have never offered to show the renderings to my counselor if I had not of been dressed to meet up with a few girlfriends at one of the local night clubs afterwards that evening.

I saw his greedy eyes as I slipped off my black leather jacket. Standing up, I slowly turned around to face the wall. At the view of my open backed top, I heard his sharp intake of air.

“I think each one of them means something to me, like they are trying to tell me about a part of my life or that something is going to happen.” I heard him get out of his reclining chair and approach me. I shuddered as he lightly fingered each of the patters that lined my back, shoulder, neck and arm. “Please don’t touch me Mr. Schafer.” I quietly requested. His touch had set my skin on fire and I uncomfortably reached down for my leather jacket again. After donning it, I returned to my seat on the couch.

That was during one of our earlier sessions together. Today, I knew, was going to be our fifteenth session.

“Ms. Thompson, have you been seeing any new symbols lately?” His voice was heavily burdened today with desire or lust. I couldn’t be sure.

“Yes Mr. Schafer, I have been seeing one.”

“And what is it?” Eagerness filled his voice and could be seen in his eyes. “And how long have you been seeing it?”

“I’ve been seeing it now for the last few weeks. Do you have some paper? I think I can draw it for you.”

“You haven’t had this one done as a tattoo yet?” I shook my head no. I could see the disappointment on his face at not being able to see my back again.

He stood and went to his printer and pulled a piece of paper handing it to me along with a pencil. I started to draw the image that had been burned into the back of my eyelids for the last three weeks.

“An eye?” He asked as he carefully looked over the drawing. “What do you think it means, Ms. Thompson?”

“I’m not one hundred percent sure, yet.”

“Well, shall we reflect what we’ve decided the others mean?”

“I’ve been told by various tattoo artists that all of mine are tribal tattoos.”

“That’s right. Now let’s start with…” He pondered a moment, “the one on your shoulder, the circle with a wolf head.”

“The Circle with a wolf head – means that I have a connection with animals.”

“The one just below the wolf/circle one that looks almost like a person playing a piano?”

“Oh, the one on my shoulder blade- means that I inspire through my talents.”

“What about each of the dragons?”

“The three dragons each mean that I possess the intellect, power, and courage of the mightiest of all beasts of prey.”

The one on your lower back—”

“that’s the night bat – showing that I have power over darkness and even in people’s minds I can make them happy – make them see the light.”

And together we said, “And the horse on my left shoulder blade…” Mr. Schafer’s voice died out as I continued, “is there to show leadership.

“And the one on your neck represents your life as a two way highway.” I nodded. “So what then does this latest one mean that you’ve been seeing? Hmm?”

"It’s the evil eye, Mr. Schafer, and it’s been looking at you through me for quite some time.” I watched as he scribbled notes or thoughts of what I said in his notebook, seeing his look of confusion I continued. “I see the way you look at me, I can read your thoughts through your eyes.”

I could tell that this caught his attention because his head jerked up and he stared intently at me from his chair across the room.

“Because of your helpfulness, I’ve brought you a gift.” I pulled from my bag a blindfold and took it to him, laying it across his hands. “Put this on Mr. Schafer.”

As he secured his blindfold, with a smile on his face, I took out a needle filled with a sleeping agent and quickly injected it into his arm.

“What the Hell!”

“It’s okay Mr. Schafer, you’ll get what you want before our session is over.” I taunted him in my sing-song voice. As I waited for him to drift into a peaceful slumber, I setup my tape recorder and began telling my story of the day before:

Walking down Fifth Ave I stumbled upon a medium. I just knew that was what she was. We began talking and she told me she doesn’t like to touch people but found it difficult to not touch me. She wanted to touch right where a tattoo, a symbol, was. I allowed her the pleasure of telling me my story and found her information to be fascinating.”

By now my counselor was out to the world, and I quickly began to pull out the needed equipment. On his forehead I began stenciling a copy of “The evil eye” on his forehead. As the night drug on, I continued to tell him more and more of my encounter with the third kind.

“Through her, I found that my body has survived the ages, that it has indeed been a body to serve some of the most ferocious women in all of history. In this re-incarnated state, part of my memories come back with a symbol to help remind me of what I’ve forgotten in previous lives.”

I concluded my story as I put the finishing touches of ink into his newly acquired tattoo. He began to stir, and upset by his evil thoughts about my body and his, I took the needle gun in my hand and started to stab him in the eyes leaving him with only the third or evil eye.

Mr. Schafer screamed out in pain as he came to enough to feel the needle in his eye over and over again. Finally sniffling he settled back into his chair whimpering, “please please let me go.”

“I have a feeling Mr. Schafer, that this is going to be our last session. Enjoy being alone, and feel free to send me your crazies. Oh, and I almost forgot, with you newly acquired tattoo, you’ll be able to show the world what type of a person are you—EVIL.” I gathered my items, stopped the tape recorder and placed the cassette in his semi opened hand. With a smile on my face and a skip in my step, I unlocked his office door and headed off to find where I had parked my car.

Guest Write - Ryn Cricket

2010-03-26T00:01:00.002-06:00

Red Dust

“A rooster can eat a snake, you know.” Li told the older boy in the school yard.

“No, it can’t.” The boy countered. “The snake would kill it before it could even try.”

“Each animal has its own strength.” She insisted. “And if the rooster were provoked. It would kill a snake.”

“I don’t believe you.” The boy taunted.

“Alright, you go get a snake, and I’ll get my rooster.”

The boy ran off into the trees behind the school and Li crossed the dry, red, dirt road to her house on the other side. Her parents weren’t home, so they wouldn’t know that she had taken “Sawan,” her father’s prized rooster. She had to be right.

They met back up in the dusty school yard within minutes. “Alright,” the boy said. “When I count to three, we will both drop them in front of us. Ready? One…two…three.” And the boy almost threw the snake on the ground and it started to slither until Li released Sawan.

Sawan started squawking as if he had already been caught. He ruffled his feathers and flapped his wings in a frenzy. The snake just watched quietly and hissed; watching and waiting. Sawan almost caused himself a heart attack in his noisy display, but he must have known that if he ran away, he could be swiftly attacked.

“Come on, Sawan! Eat him!” Li half-cheered and half-pleaded. Sawan started to calm down. The snake was not attacking him. Maybe he was safe. And in that very moment, the snake lunged, biting Sawan perfectly on the neck. The rooster collapsed almost immediately into a mound of flesh and feathers.

Li fell on her knees in the dry dirt next to the bird and her little mind began to connect the dots.

They found her body floating in the river hours later because she understood that she would always be the victim of snakes.

When Ryn was in the seventh grade she thought she wanted to do three things when she grew up, she wanted to be an English teacher, a writer and a mother. All of that traveling, adventure, and Peace Corps was just research for what was to come. After more than twenty years of being told she would never be able to have children, she had two beautiful baby girls, a year and a half apart. She spends many of her daytime hours teaching English at Case Western Reserve University, and all of the rest of her time, inspiring her two little girls, or being inspired by writing at the writers’ workshop she calls “home.” You can find more of her work online HERE.

A new Publication I'm in!!! WooHoo!

2010-03-25T05:55:00.003-06:00

A welcome surprise graced my day yesterday when I found that I have been published in yet another 6S book called 6S Word of Mouth. What surprised me even more is that my short piece of Flash Fiction is the very FIRST piece found in the book!

My 6 sentences of flash are about helping others find religion.

Buy your copy of the book HERE!

Departure of a Soul Mate

2010-03-24T10:15:00.003-06:00

Straining to hold back tears, she begged herself not to cry.

It had only been a week since his departure – and with an aching heart she sat on the edge of her bed filled with too much pain to move.

Knowing that a week of bliss had to end and that it would be near half a year before she would see him again, she had lived every moment with him trying to remember every smile, whisper, kiss, touch, and each second of their glorious love making.

Eyes closed and picturing his tender smile, she ran her fingers gently across her legs, stomach, and breasts, reminding herself of his heavenly caresses.

Reminiscing in the memory of the final night where they had made love in her bed, she whispered his words out loud to herself as if challenging his voice to be heard, “We are meant to be, forever, more than any words or touch can proclaim.”

It was then that she could feel his hands upon her, brushing lightly with his fingertips, covering her in soft kisses that could be blown away with the wind, and in her moment of pleasure, the silent room echoed the call of his name.

FFF #25 Bad Karma, Wild West Style

2010-03-23T00:32:00.001-06:00

He had been told crawling would get him nowhere. But somewhere deep down inside he knew that even if that was all he had left, was to crawl, it was better than giving up.

Bill Hornsdorf, why did you ever think of marrying that crazy ass bitch anyhow? He kept asking himself over and over again. Oh, that’s right, you fell in love with the woman who gave a good screw and stole your horses.

Seeing her in front of him on the horizon in the setting sun blowing smoke from her six shooter only made Bill more determined to make it home alive. He was going to kill her, even if it was the last thing he did before leaving this life.

***

Sally Skull knew that her third husband Bill Hornsdorf was becoming too involved in HER business. After all, she had been trading horses since she married her first husband, and once divorced from him, Sally started selling not only horses, but her body. They seemed to go hand in hand when times were tough. She could always find a posse to whore with when needed, then steal their horses in the middle of the night leaving them stranded. She didn’t have anything against them, it was just business.

What was she going to do with Bill? She couldn’t just let him walk away from their horrible marriage with half her stock and half her money. By God, all he does is sit in the saloon playin’ cards, drinkin’, and whorin’ with other women, what right does he think he has?

She wasn’t adverse to killing men, hell she had killed over three score – enough that she couldn’t count them anymore… and they all seemed to blend in together. The only man who stood out was her second husband, the lyin, cheatin, som’ bitch, who she killed out of cold blood. The bastard tried to sell her off to some Mexican cattle rancher.

She had whipped him raw then tied his 'man lovin’ ass' and gagged his 'lyin’ ass mouth,' and just to make him pay, drug him behind her horse. After he was pretty much done for, she hung him in a tree and left him there to die. When the lawmen came asking questions she told them she had been out on a drive and that he was supposed to be selling two horses to some fellows south of the border.

If there was anything good that came of that second marriage, it was the last name. No horse trader, man or woman, could ask for a better name. It was one that just stuck. Granted dressing like a man all the time and learning how to shoot like one seemed to help tremendously.

Skull lit up another smoke as she paced the length of the corral. I hate the dirty rotten bastard, she thought. Finishing her smoke the idea hit her and eagerly she planned out the rest of her evening.

***

Bill never saw it coming. He figured if he had to he could beat her into submission if he must, but only as a last resort. He knew he had asked for a ridiculous amount, but felt that from a marriage of hell, it was worth it. Besides, he felt he would get most of what he had asked for after threatening to take her to the law if she didn’t. He knew she had killed more men from trades gone sour than any other outlaw he had heard of in these parts.

Bill had taken his sweet time getting home. He was drunk, happy, and knew his wife wouldn’t expect anything from him.

Wait, what? Had been Bill’s thought when he walked into the house and Skull told him she wanted him to ride with her and check the property boundaries for any disturbances and that she needed to get a new head count on horses she had helped round up over the last week.

Bill couldn’t refuse; she had already packed everything and was completely ready other than having the horses saddled. They rode until the sun was touching the horizon and stopped to fix some quick supper and make camp.

He didn’t notice that she never unsaddled his horse, probably too busy thinking about getting something whipped up to eat. She picked at her food, but she did that frequently, so nothing new there. He watched her go to her saddle and loosen the leather ties holding the bed roll on.

He watched her lay hers out on the ground and then found himself staring at her as she began to unbutton her britches. Oh, how long it had been since he had been with her and seen her naked! She smiled mischievously when she had seen his reaction. Reaching into her pant let she drew a six shooter that had been holstered to her leg.

Bill felt the rounds penetrate his stomach, one in his lower leg and one in his shoulder. Three shots then she smiled and said, “Have a great death Bill, I never really loved you, it was only out of convenience… No, I didn’t have anything against you, it was just BUSINESS.” She turned and shot her horse – one of the lesser stock in her herd and took to his, riding off into the slow sinking sunset.

***

“Mr. Hornsdorf?”

“Yes Sherriff… Deputy… How can I help you fine gentlemen today?” Bill nodded at both men.

“It’s Skull, Bill. She’s been found dead.”

“You don’t say?” Bill feigned a shocked look.

“Can you tell us where she was headed to or from?”

“And where you’ve been?” The deputy piped in.

“All I know was when I saw her last bout a week or so ago, she told me she was headed to Mexico to round up some new horses as well as deliver a few that didn’t go the last time round.”

“And…” A silent pause, “where were you?”

“Why boys, I’ve been right here, or at the Bar trying to get one of those new French saloon girls to let me take a ride, but Henry won’t let em.”

“Skull was found pretty beat up, Bill. Almost didn’t recognize her ‘cept she was wearin’ trousers. Only woman I know who wears trousers in these parts. Her face was smashed in, broken bones, and looked like six shooter bullets shot right into her chest. A rattle snake was jammed into her mouth and bite marks were all over her body. Looks like she suffered.”

“Must have pissed off the wrong horse trader if you ask me.”

“Speaking of horse traders, Bill, that’s other reason we’re here… came to see about cutting a deal about some new horses…”

If you are interested in reading more about Sally Skull, you can find it here: Old West Female Outlaws