A mixture of smells greeted Omar when he was finally released from his temporary prison on board the British destroyer. There was the salty sea smell and the fragrant scent of the fresh flowers blooming. These mixed with the smells of grease and oil that rose from the bowels of the vessel and the mix was topped off with an overpowering thrust of shit and piss that wafted out of the shipping containers. He was grateful to be free of the toilet that had been his bed and was now his friend’s resting place, but the smell clung to his clothing like a baby monkey clutching its mother and he was certain that it had seeped into his skin, his very being.
Photo Credit: Roger Kirby via sxc.hu
I thought I would post a little sample from "The Price of Peace" today. I'm about halfway through typing it up and am already seeing lots of glaring holes in it from when I wrote it 10-11 years ago. Please enjoy this little snippet.
A mixture of smells greeted Omar when he was finally released from his temporary prison on board the British destroyer. There was the salty sea smell and the fragrant scent of the fresh flowers blooming. These mixed with the smells of grease and oil that rose from the bowels of the vessel and the mix was topped off with an overpowering thrust of shit and piss that wafted out of the shipping containers. He was grateful to be free of the toilet that had been his bed and was now his friend’s resting place, but the smell clung to his clothing like a baby monkey clutching its mother and he was certain that it had seeped into his skin, his very being.
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Photo Credit: John Hughes via sxc.hu This is a short story piece that I have been working on this week. I have put the premise for the story down at the bottom so as to not give away too much before you read. Enjoy! “Sir! I have eyes on enemy ground troops coming in from the east. Based on heat signatures it looks like twelve, no, fourteen of them in a loose formation along the tree line.” “Any word on where they’re from?” “No Sir. Just have thermal on them so far. Working on bringing a hi-res camera around now to get visuals and see if we can find out.” “Good work Evans. Thompson, any word from the reconnaissance team that went out last night?” “I’m just finishing decoding their last transmission now Sir. Full update in two minutes.” General Stockton took a deep breath and forced himself to relax a bit. Things had been rough lately, but even with the potential for an attack this morning, things were starting to look up. The fact that the recon team had made it through the Colorado lines and had been able to send an update this morning was more progress than any team had been able to make in almost a month. “Here you go Sir.” Lieutenant Amber Thompson was the best cryptographer in the entire fighting force. The general was amazed at the length of the message she had just decoded by hand in a matter of five minutes from the first signal coming in. She had just handed him the message from the recon team printed in neat block letters from one edge of the paper to the other to make use of every available inch on the page. Stockton glanced over it quickly, registering the entirety of the message, but making special note of the key words embedded deep within the writing. He knew that not every word Thompson had written down was part of the original message, but could clearly pick out her hidden message based on years of understanding they had with each other. “I have an ID on the approaching ground troops. They’re from…Ohio” Stockton raised an eyebrow as he picked up a lighter from the desk in front of him and flicked it on. He held the paper with Thompson’s message on it over the flame until it caught, then tossed it into a metal waste bin on the floor where it became completely engulfed in flame for a few seconds before becoming nothing more than a small pile of ash. “Ohio? Are you sure?” “Positive Sir. Eastern Ohio too by the looks of it. Their patches are closer to orange then the normal red that we see from the western part of the state.” “They’re a little far West aren't they? What was their count again?” Stockton did remember the count of fourteen that he’d been given on this mystery force only a few minutes earlier, but asked again for confirmation and to buy his brain a few extra seconds to sort out this new development. They could easily handle a force that size with the troops they had on hand in this garrison, but the mystery was what an Ohio squad was doing this far west. If they were truly on their own, they would have had to cross over eight hundred miles of various enemy territories. If this was perhaps a recon party from a much larger force, then the intel they had on Ohio was vastly understated. “Fourteen Sir.” There was a very silent pause in the room. “Would you like me to take defensive action Sir?” The general stepped forward to stand directly behind Corporal Evans and his bank of twenty one computer monitors. He could see the small forms of soldiers beginning to move across the open field between the tree line and the garrison they occupied on one screen. “No. Let’s see what they’re up to. Hold fire unless they shoot first.” “Yes Sir.” The heat signatures in the shape of blurry humans grew larger on one of the computer monitors. General Stockton slowly shifted his weight from one foot to the other and back again, hoping that the base would go unnoticed. The entrance was very well camouflaged in the eastern face of the hill. Returning patrols sometimes needed help finding it and they should know where it is and what to look for so there was a chance that this group would pass right on by. Suddenly one of the blurry heat forms seemed to crumble into a ball and then sprawl sideways on the screen. The rest of the Ohio squad dove for cover. Your challenge today is to finish this story. I tried to set it up to go in plenty of directions. The man sitting in seat D27 wouldn't shut up. I had heard about his ideas for fixing the national debt in a matter of weeks by selling water to the homeless on the streets of Omaha, his feelings on why cats were more desirable pets than iguanas, and most recently why time travel was actually possible. It’s not, but that’s beside the point. If it hadn't been for the fact that they made you turn all of your electronic devices off until the plane was safely airborne these days, I would have been able to drown out these nonsensical ramblings. But apparently the FAA and all of the brainless airlines actually believe that my iPod will do irreparable damage to some essential part of the plane’s electronics and cause us to go down in a ball of flames as soon as the wheels leave the runway. Seriously, if they spent as much time worrying about how to get people from place to place faster and more efficiently instead of my iPod, we might actually be in the air instead of sitting on a little used taxiway in Tampa waiting for…honestly I have no idea what we’re waiting for. A stewardess, sorry, flight attendant comes ambling down the aisle, false smile plastered all over her face. She tries to hide her frustration at the situation but I can tell by the little beads of sweat on her forehead that the pressure of the situation is clearly getting to her. I catch her eye as politely as I can. “Excuse me, do you know how long we’re going to be sitting her?” The smile gets even more forced. “We’ll probably be here another ten to fifteen minutes at the most. If I get any more information from the captain, I’ll be sure to let everyone know.” “Thanks” I pulled the airline’s magazine out of the back of the seat in front of me and settled in to try and find an article I hadn't read yet but was again interrupted. “Missy, you said that it would be ten to fifteen minutes about a half hour ago. Now what in the hell are you trying to pull on us here. I don’t know about the rest of these people, but I've got places to be and I can’t sit here on a plane all morning.” I shook my head and muttered under my breath, “important homeless rally in Omaha?” For a big guy, he actually moved pretty quick. He shoved the woman in C27 back into her seat and climbed over her into the aisle, took two giant steps toward me and clasped his hands around my neck before I could even realize the danger I had just put myself in. “What did you say smart ass?” Photo Credit: Andreas Krappweis vai sxc.hu There is some good news and some bad news. The good news is that I am making good progress with writing the "Touch" story. The bad news is that it's taking longer than I expected. The good news about that though is that there will be more story for you to enjoy once it is complete. So while I am working on getting through this story for the first time, I thought I would share a little more of it with you. After walking for a half hour, Alex turned into a small park that was two blocks away from her friend Stacy’s house. Stacy was usually an early riser, even on the weekends, but seven thirty was too early to go ringing doorbells. She walked up to the swings that hung silently in the still morning air like gallows ready for their next victim and plopped down in one of the cracked plastic seats. It bent under her weight and when she lifted her feet off the ground, the swing began a lazy pendulum trip forward and back. Alex and Stacy had spent many days and evenings on these very swings when they were younger. They were perfect seats for trading gossip from school and for the two of them to bitch about their families. Once they got bored of talking, they would spin around in place and watch the chains curl around each other only to let go and spin back to earth with arms and legs spread wide, staring at the spinning sky until they fell to the ground laughing at the dizzy feeling. There were a few times when Alex had run here with Stacy after school to avoid her grandmother. It wasn't that Grandma hit her all the time. And it wasn't like she could even feel it anyway. To that extent, what Grandma had said yesterday after smacking Alex across the face was the truth. But while Alex couldn't feel the physical pain, her emotions were much more fragile and having to look in the mirror and see a bright red welt slowly turn into a purple bruise hurt her more than the physical pain that she couldn't feel. The fact that Grandma had such little respect for her and treated her literally as a punching bag was more than Alex could handle. “Hey.” Alex’s heart skipped a beat as she looked up to find the source of the voice. “This swing taken?” Stacy grabbed the chain supporting the swing next to Alex’s and slowly sat down next to her. Alex relaxed a bit knowing that her friend was nearby. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Alex staring at the same six inches of the ground under her feet as she swayed gently back and forth, Stacy looking around the park and trying to figure out what to say to Alex. “Where were you last night?” Stacy asked. “Out.” “With who?” “No one.” Another minute of silence. “Where’d you go?” Alex didn't answer this time. She was already getting tired of being interrogated and didn’t look forward to all of these same questions if the cops ever caught up to her and brought her back to Grandma’s house. “I don’t want to talk about it!” She said it a little more forcefully than she had intended. “I ran away.” The silence returned for a few minutes as Stacy had understood the underlying message that the conversation about Alex’s whereabouts last night was over and it would be pointless to try and continue it. After a few minutes, Alex slid out of her swing enough to set her feet on the ground. “Can I borrow a few clothes?” Stacy put her feet down too and let a big smile spread over her face. “Yeah, come on.” Photo Credit: loleia via sxc.hu I realized today that I haven't given any short story pieces in a while. and wanted to make sure that I fixed that trend. I posted a smaller piece of this about two months ago but have since expanded on it. As I'm sure you will be able to figure out by the end, this is from my "Touch" story which currently does not have an official title. Please let me know what you think of it. I highly encourage and appreciate feedback either via email or through comments on the blog posts. Your input can help to make these stories even better when they are in a published format in the book. Without further ado, please enjoy some of "Touch." “Alex honey, can you please go get my reading glasses from my bedroom?” “Yes grandma.” Alex trudged down the hall from the living room to the bedroom that occupied most of the back of the small apartment. The bedroom was full of knickknacks that Grandma had collected over the course of her eighty two years. No, knickknacks didn’t really begin to describe it. Every inch of the room was covered in junk. Grandma insisted that the stuff “was really worth something” and that the “damn kids would be grateful to have it someday.” Picking her way over the empty cardboard boxes on the floor inside the door, Alex nearly tripped three times before reaching the relative safety of the nightstand. There were no glasses. “They’re not here Grandma.” “What?” “THEY’RE NOT HERE!!” There was a pause which indicated that Grandma had heard her the second time. The news that the glasses were potentially missing would infuriate her and likely ruin the rest of the day. Not a good sign since it was only just after nine in the morning. The shuffling sound was unmistakable as Grandma made her way to the bedroom mumbling something under her breath about “kids these days” and “do it yourself.”
The sound echoed in the still apartment and left a little ringing in Alex’s ears. For someone in her eighties, Grandma was still awfully fast and Alex hadn’t even seen the hand coming before it broadsided her face. Alex’s eyes watered a bit from the impact and a tear glided silently down her left cheek.
“Oh don’t cry you little baby. You can’t feel it anyway.” “I wasn’t crying!” Alex stormed through the path that Grandma had cleared and out of the room. She wanted to go in her room and slam the door shut, but it wouldn’t do to be stuck in the apartment with Grandma. She had to get out so she went to the kitchen and picked up a handful of granola bars from the pantry before heading out the front door and slamming it shut behind her. It's Friday and time to post another excerpt. I decided to give a little more about my friend who lost his hearing in the freak seesaw accident. Check out the previous portion that I posted here. The first night that I was home, I sat on my bed staring at the stereo system and stacks of CDs on top of my dresser across the room. Something that I had always taken completely for granted now functioned as little more than a paperweight for me. I pulled out the copy of Michael Jackson’s Thriller that I got from my dad for my 11th birthday and put it in the CD player anyway. It was already late so I plugged in my headphones and uncoiled the cord so that I could still sit on my bed and listen. Nothing. I checked the volume to make sure that it was on. The last time I used the stereo, I had left the volume about half way up. I cranked it all the way up and pressed the headphones hard over my ears trying to block out any other sounds from the world and willing my ears to pick up some little hint of sound. Nothing. I twisted the volume knob one more time in a vain attempt to get more volume but it was already maxed out. Nothing. I sat with the headphones over my ears for a few moments, playing Michael Jackson’s famous voice in my head and mentally reciting Vincent Price’s creepy voice over. Nothing. I finally gave in and screamed at the top of my lungs, or what I thought to be the top of my lungs. I didn’t care what time it was and if I woke up my mom and my sister. Or everyone in the neighborhood for that matter. All I wanted to do was listen to my music and that was never going to happen. Ever.
One last note, the story is untitled at this time. If you have a good idea for a title, please throw it in the comments section. Their first game of the tournament had been a draw; 90 minutes of hard fought back and forth that ended just as their star striker angled a kick in the top left corner of the opponent’s net. They all ran around like crazy men, hugging each other until they realized that the stadium was falling silent. The goal had been called off as time had been called just as the ball left his foot. The team huddled on the sideline in a somber group as the video footage was reviewed and it was concluded that he had not gotten the kick off in time.
Game two had not been much better. Karim had managed two shots on goal once he entered the game in the seventy third minute, but neither had resulted in a score. The teams from South America always had lots of speed and skill and it was all his team could do to keep up with them. Karim’s best friend Alexi had been awarded a penalty kick as they entered the second half stoppage time and curled the ball just under the crossbar of the goal, giving the team their first victory of the tournament and all but knocking one of the favorites out of contention. They became the darlings of the tournament after that match. Every media outlet wanted to do interviews with Alexi. Karim was happy that Alexi finally got to use the English he had been practicing for the last two years. Suddenly, everyone was on their side when they faced one of the European powerhouses in the last game in their “Group of Death.” Karim and his mates didn’t need to win the game in order to advance, but wanted to at least draw the match in order to prove that they were not to be taken lightly. They battled to a draw of three goals each with Alexi assisting Karim on the game tying goal in the eighty second minute of play. Another excerpt.
Let me just say to everyone that has been visiting the site, THANK YOU! Every time I see that there are new people visiting, it continues to inspire me to keep writing and posting to keep you coming back. Please share with your friends and keep coming back for more as I am trying to stay on top of updating the site at least once a day, especially here on the blog. That being said, on to the excerpt from a story. Please post your comments with guesses on which of the five senses this story centers around. The shuffling sound was unmistakable as Grandma made her way to the bedroom mumbling something under her breath about “kids these days” and “do it yourself.” When she reached the door, Grandma started carving a path through the boxes on the floor like a jungle guide wielding a machete. Boxes went flying over the bed and through the open closet door revealing the worn down carpet beneath. Alex was still standing by the nightstand, not daring to move a muscle, when Grandma arrived. Grandma yanked open the drawer of the nightstand with enough force to rattle the junk on top. The items tottered back and forth for a moment and then settled back into their spots on the nightstand. Grandma looked down at the open drawer and then up to stare at Alex. Alex had already seen the glasses in the bottom of the drawer and she slowly brought her eyes to meet Grandma’s. I'm not sure if I like this opening yet. Thoughts?
Joe screamed the moment he opened his eyes. He had no idea where he was and that was terrifying enough, but the worst part was that he knew his eyes were wide open and all he could see was darkness. More accurately, he couldn’t see anything at all. After the initial shock set in, he sat up and started taking stock of where he was. He was alone. At least he couldn’t hear anyone nearby. Joe began to feel around with his hands and found grass under him, wet with dew. Early morning or late night. What had he been doing that landed him here? Where was here? I started with hearing loss. I think it was the easiest for me to confront because I have always been so adamant about not wanting to give it up. I have an excerpt from my story below for your enjoyment. It was a freak accident that took away my hearing. Simple really, I was standing on the end of a seesaw on the playground at school one afternoon waiting for my mom to pick me up. My friends Stevie and Jeff were holding down the opposite end so that I could “surf” 10 feet in the air. I’m still not sure what possessed the school to purchase and install such big seesaws but that’s not the point. The point is that a bee landed on Jeff’s nose and he jumped off like someone had stuck him with a cattle prod. Stevie’s only about half my weight so he couldn’t hold the end of the seesaw down all by himself and I crashed down to the ground.
The doctors said that I was lucky to be alive and that somehow I had rattled things loose in my head so that the connections between my ears and my brain no longer...well, connected. They said there was nothing that they could do with the current technology. They said that because I was still fairly young, my body might find a way to heal itself. They said all of this in writing because I couldn’t hear a damn thing they were saying. |
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