Hello everyone!
Apologies for my recess, I know it's been a bit since I've offered a short story morsel for you all to chew on. Insert excuse here.
For those that have missed my tales, I have some great news. The anthology "Dark Tales of Lost Civilizations" has officially been published! And I'm proud to announce my short story "The Funeral Procession" is included! You can find the book for sale at Barnes and Nobles or Amazon. Here's the link.
Dark Tales
Currently I'm working an editing facelift of my ongoing tale, The Cortez Case. Stay tuned for redone segments and new content!
Monday, March 5, 2012
Friday, August 5, 2011
Third (write anything challenge, August 5)
Hi all, this is my two cents for a writing prompt site. Hope you enjoy. http://wa.emergent-publishing.com/writing-prompts/
Julie walked into a room full of people. Everything went uncomfortably silent and all eyes narrowed in on her. She crossed the room, taking a seat at the hair and make-up station in the far corner. Sure, don’t talk about this week’s casualty in front of her, she thought. Georgia gave Victoria a smirk and a wink, implying the Julie-bashing would continue at a later time. Hair stylists and make-up artists scurried around the stations. She could hear the crowd through the walls; she could envision the leggy blond hostess in the wings, preparing to commence the show. The dreaded elimination show. Three girls remained. Georgia: a quirky dancer and crowd favorite since the start of the season. The tough childhood neighborhood, the abandonment from her father, the face of overwhelmed graciousness... how could the audience NOT vote for her? Then there was Victoria. Not Vickie. She was not a Vickie. She started dancing at three, no, in diapers… or was it while she was in the womb? Ballet, jazz, tap, ballroom, she’s been trained in them all. What is she now? Contemporary, naturally. She danced a hip-hop routine this week that Julie hoped would finally show a sign of weakness. Of course not. She aced it. The judges loved her. The crowd loved her. Julie was certain the voters at home loved her too. She never performed hip-hop before. Her skills were superhuman.
Victoria asked Georgia in a mutter which of two dance outfits would be a better choice for the finale show. Georgia gave her a ‘not in front of Julie’ face. At least Georgia was still humble. Julie felt her skills were par to Georgia but Julie had not once received the same level of praise from the judges. The head judge declared Georgia his favorite. Julie was never a favorite. She had outlasted seven other girls since the show began, hundreds in the pre-show cuts and tens of thousands in the initial auditions. She should be happy to have come as far as she had. Millions of Americans have helped her get this far. The week before the finals. And here she sat in the company of the two that would best her tonight. Victoria, incredible. Georgia, unstoppable. Julie, vulnerable.
Applause raised then diminished as the blond spoke her first greeting to the audience. In moments, the three girls would be called to the stage. Julie felt like she were preparing for her own execution.
Georgia hugged Julie, “you look beautiful.”
“Thanks,” Julie feigned a smile.
Victoria offered a consoling rub of Julie’s shoulder, “I hope we can still be friends after tonight.”
“Of course, Victoria. Always!” I hope you fall off a bridge, Victoria.
A rap on the door preceded a disembodied male voice. “Ladies, you’re up.”
“Good luck,” Georgia said.
“Break a leg,” Victoria added.
Julie walked in silence. A theater of thousands, several cameras, and the blond host came into view. She squinted as beaming lights of the stage met her eyes. Lights that would highlight every tear that would soon roll down her cheeks.
Julie walked into a room full of people. Everything went uncomfortably silent and all eyes narrowed in on her. She crossed the room, taking a seat at the hair and make-up station in the far corner. Sure, don’t talk about this week’s casualty in front of her, she thought. Georgia gave Victoria a smirk and a wink, implying the Julie-bashing would continue at a later time. Hair stylists and make-up artists scurried around the stations. She could hear the crowd through the walls; she could envision the leggy blond hostess in the wings, preparing to commence the show. The dreaded elimination show. Three girls remained. Georgia: a quirky dancer and crowd favorite since the start of the season. The tough childhood neighborhood, the abandonment from her father, the face of overwhelmed graciousness... how could the audience NOT vote for her? Then there was Victoria. Not Vickie. She was not a Vickie. She started dancing at three, no, in diapers… or was it while she was in the womb? Ballet, jazz, tap, ballroom, she’s been trained in them all. What is she now? Contemporary, naturally. She danced a hip-hop routine this week that Julie hoped would finally show a sign of weakness. Of course not. She aced it. The judges loved her. The crowd loved her. Julie was certain the voters at home loved her too. She never performed hip-hop before. Her skills were superhuman.
Victoria asked Georgia in a mutter which of two dance outfits would be a better choice for the finale show. Georgia gave her a ‘not in front of Julie’ face. At least Georgia was still humble. Julie felt her skills were par to Georgia but Julie had not once received the same level of praise from the judges. The head judge declared Georgia his favorite. Julie was never a favorite. She had outlasted seven other girls since the show began, hundreds in the pre-show cuts and tens of thousands in the initial auditions. She should be happy to have come as far as she had. Millions of Americans have helped her get this far. The week before the finals. And here she sat in the company of the two that would best her tonight. Victoria, incredible. Georgia, unstoppable. Julie, vulnerable.
Applause raised then diminished as the blond spoke her first greeting to the audience. In moments, the three girls would be called to the stage. Julie felt like she were preparing for her own execution.
Georgia hugged Julie, “you look beautiful.”
“Thanks,” Julie feigned a smile.
Victoria offered a consoling rub of Julie’s shoulder, “I hope we can still be friends after tonight.”
“Of course, Victoria. Always!” I hope you fall off a bridge, Victoria.
A rap on the door preceded a disembodied male voice. “Ladies, you’re up.”
“Good luck,” Georgia said.
“Break a leg,” Victoria added.
Julie walked in silence. A theater of thousands, several cameras, and the blond host came into view. She squinted as beaming lights of the stage met her eyes. Lights that would highlight every tear that would soon roll down her cheeks.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Second Chance 4 (three word Wednesday - affinity, fidget, mention)
The final installment of the "Second Chance" story. Hope you enjoy and thanks for reading.
Four young teenagers stood in blackness, their faces illuminated by a lone candle fixed in a bronze candlestick atop a centrally located altar.
“Where are we?” The blond girl asked. The thin brunette grinned evilly. The regular boy shrugged. The last boy stared at the three with icy eyes, emotionless. His aura seethed of ominous power.
The plain boy looked from Ellison to the powerful boy, “Well?”
“Interesting predicament, three have died. Three different outcomes,” the boy Death spoke in such a monotone that Russell doubted he truly found the topic interesting.
The brunette folded her arms. Russell again shrugged at Ellison.
Death positioned himself opposite the others. “To hell with you,” he waved his arm.
The brunette descended through the floor slowly, as if succumbing to quicksand. She did not protest or fight, Russell and Ellison watched her departure in amazement.
Ellison finally spoke, “that’s it for Campbell? Why did she just accept her fate?”
Death spoke, “I am returning her from whence she came. Some people are placed on earth to do great things. Others rise only to carry out evil.”
“That explains Hitler and Bin Laden,” Russell thought aloud.
“And Charlie Sheen,” Ellison added.
The emotionless Death continued, “Campbell was sent from hell to carry out a task, and her task was thwarted.”
“Thwarted,” the blonde Ellison squealed, “but, but I’ve been shot!”
Russell lowered his head. All about you, Ellison.
“Campbell was stopped before she got to her intended target,” Death turned his head, “you did well, Russell.”
“My death means nothing?”
Death’s failure to mention, or even acknowledge Ellison irritated her further. He glanced from the candle, back to Russell, “Dr. Peyton Rousseau was the intended target.”
“Doctor… Peyton?” Death spoke of the Hannah Montana clone? She becomes a doctor?
Ellison argued, “Rousseau isn’t her last name, that’s…”
Death interrupted, “Doctors Javier and Peyton Rousseau move to Ghana after medical school. They play a big part in abolishing AIDS in Western Africa.”
“Wow, that’s great,” Russell smiled.
“She marries Javier!?” Ellison scoffed.
“So does that mean I have succeeded what was asked?” Russell looked to the stoic boy with a hopeful expression. He thought he saw Death curling his lip, the faintest indication of a smirk.
“Yes, Russell, you stopped the shooting.”
Ellison’s jaw dropped, “Stop the… helllooo. I’m dead! Doesn’t anyone care I’m dead?”
Death waved his arm again. A glowing circle appeared, levitating over Russell’s head. A feeling of bliss pulsed through Russell’s body.
“The halo will grant you the power to see the light. Go towards the light.”
“What about me?”
Russell stared at his new halo until a bright light appeared over his shoulder.
Ellison fidgeted, wearing a worried expression. “So, one went to hell. One went to heaven. Where’s that leave me,” she cried.
“You’re what we call an Almost.”
“An Almost?”
Russell observed her reaction as the conversation played out similar to the one he shared with Death just days ago. Ellison slumped, facing the candle with an empty stare.
Russell leaned towards her and whispered. She straightened her posture. “Is there anything I can do?”
“I’ll pretend I did not see that,” Death said, “Russell, you are dismissed.”
Russell left Ellison in Death’s hands. The affinity to the soothing glow intensified, overtaking his entire being. He entered the kingdom of Heaven, and the dim room disappeared forever behind him.
#
Ellison snapped her head back and snorted. She must have dozed off. She examined her surroundings. A stranger sat in the seat to her right. To her left, an aisle separated herself from more strangers. The “room” was a giant sphere with many rows of occupied seats. She wiped her chin, checking for drool.
“What the…”
Her hands were aged, larger, well manicured. A black business suit covered her curvier, heavier, older body.
“I’m, like, old!”
Laughter came from all directions, then ceased with an intercom announcement, “Ladies and gentlemen we have reached our cruising altitude of thirty five thousand feet. Please remain seated while our staff provides a complimentary beverage.”
“We’re on a plane? Wow, never been on one before,” she said, facing the old gentleman alongside her. “Where are we going?”
If an expression could have called her crazy without saying a word, the gentleman wore it.
A long legged stewardess in a short skirt travelled the aisle, stopping at Ellison’s chair. “May I get you a drink,” she asked with an icy stare and monotone voice.
Four young teenagers stood in blackness, their faces illuminated by a lone candle fixed in a bronze candlestick atop a centrally located altar.
“Where are we?” The blond girl asked. The thin brunette grinned evilly. The regular boy shrugged. The last boy stared at the three with icy eyes, emotionless. His aura seethed of ominous power.
The plain boy looked from Ellison to the powerful boy, “Well?”
“Interesting predicament, three have died. Three different outcomes,” the boy Death spoke in such a monotone that Russell doubted he truly found the topic interesting.
The brunette folded her arms. Russell again shrugged at Ellison.
Death positioned himself opposite the others. “To hell with you,” he waved his arm.
The brunette descended through the floor slowly, as if succumbing to quicksand. She did not protest or fight, Russell and Ellison watched her departure in amazement.
Ellison finally spoke, “that’s it for Campbell? Why did she just accept her fate?”
Death spoke, “I am returning her from whence she came. Some people are placed on earth to do great things. Others rise only to carry out evil.”
“That explains Hitler and Bin Laden,” Russell thought aloud.
“And Charlie Sheen,” Ellison added.
The emotionless Death continued, “Campbell was sent from hell to carry out a task, and her task was thwarted.”
“Thwarted,” the blonde Ellison squealed, “but, but I’ve been shot!”
Russell lowered his head. All about you, Ellison.
“Campbell was stopped before she got to her intended target,” Death turned his head, “you did well, Russell.”
“My death means nothing?”
Death’s failure to mention, or even acknowledge Ellison irritated her further. He glanced from the candle, back to Russell, “Dr. Peyton Rousseau was the intended target.”
“Doctor… Peyton?” Death spoke of the Hannah Montana clone? She becomes a doctor?
Ellison argued, “Rousseau isn’t her last name, that’s…”
Death interrupted, “Doctors Javier and Peyton Rousseau move to Ghana after medical school. They play a big part in abolishing AIDS in Western Africa.”
“Wow, that’s great,” Russell smiled.
“She marries Javier!?” Ellison scoffed.
“So does that mean I have succeeded what was asked?” Russell looked to the stoic boy with a hopeful expression. He thought he saw Death curling his lip, the faintest indication of a smirk.
“Yes, Russell, you stopped the shooting.”
Ellison’s jaw dropped, “Stop the… helllooo. I’m dead! Doesn’t anyone care I’m dead?”
Death waved his arm again. A glowing circle appeared, levitating over Russell’s head. A feeling of bliss pulsed through Russell’s body.
“The halo will grant you the power to see the light. Go towards the light.”
“What about me?”
Russell stared at his new halo until a bright light appeared over his shoulder.
Ellison fidgeted, wearing a worried expression. “So, one went to hell. One went to heaven. Where’s that leave me,” she cried.
“You’re what we call an Almost.”
“An Almost?”
Russell observed her reaction as the conversation played out similar to the one he shared with Death just days ago. Ellison slumped, facing the candle with an empty stare.
Russell leaned towards her and whispered. She straightened her posture. “Is there anything I can do?”
“I’ll pretend I did not see that,” Death said, “Russell, you are dismissed.”
Russell left Ellison in Death’s hands. The affinity to the soothing glow intensified, overtaking his entire being. He entered the kingdom of Heaven, and the dim room disappeared forever behind him.
#
Ellison snapped her head back and snorted. She must have dozed off. She examined her surroundings. A stranger sat in the seat to her right. To her left, an aisle separated herself from more strangers. The “room” was a giant sphere with many rows of occupied seats. She wiped her chin, checking for drool.
“What the…”
Her hands were aged, larger, well manicured. A black business suit covered her curvier, heavier, older body.
“I’m, like, old!”
Laughter came from all directions, then ceased with an intercom announcement, “Ladies and gentlemen we have reached our cruising altitude of thirty five thousand feet. Please remain seated while our staff provides a complimentary beverage.”
“We’re on a plane? Wow, never been on one before,” she said, facing the old gentleman alongside her. “Where are we going?”
If an expression could have called her crazy without saying a word, the gentleman wore it.
A long legged stewardess in a short skirt travelled the aisle, stopping at Ellison’s chair. “May I get you a drink,” she asked with an icy stare and monotone voice.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Second Chance 3 (three word Wednesday x 2 - figure, juicy, stress, blink, kind, occasion)
Hello, been awhile, my apologies. The tale is a continuation of Second Chance and its sequel, the story of Russell's brush with Death. Enjoy, and thanks for reading.
“Why are you following me?”
The blond girl spun; her aggressive tone called unwanted attention from several students in the school hall. Russell lowered his head. As if being the “new kid” wasn’t already a lightning rod for stray eyes. He had scanned as many kids as possible without slowing his gait, sizing each up for hints of a concealed firearm or an unstable demeanor.
“I don’t know what you mean Ellison. I’m going this way too. You just happen to be going the same way in front of me,” he lied. She wouldn’t believe the truth. If he confessed she was not long to this world, she’d interpret him as a threat and he’d spend the morning in the principal’s office. He didn’t have that kind of time to kill. He knew Principal Louis Kerry from church, and though he was very personable to adults, had a reputation as a hard-ass to students. Russell reminded himself, he’d be welcomed as the latter.
The blonde blinked at him, at a loss of words but frustrated regardless. He allowed her to continue down the hall before pursuing at a safe distance. Russell contemplated his next move, giving a judgmental glare to a prudish teacher whose face reminded him of the surface of a walnut, a stern-faced janitor shorter than the mop he toted, and a gender confused creature from the cafeteria staff.
Could it be an adult? What if it were? He hadn’t the strength to outmuscle an adult should the occasion arise. Most of the male students stood taller or broader than he, now that he looked around. Why did Death put me in this predicament? Why could I just have died like everyone else? He frowned, realizing his last thought was more of an assumption than anything else.
Ellison trotted rudely through a conversation, nudged a student with her shoulder, and vanished into a classroom. Today isn’t the best day to be on your high horse, princess. Russell wondered how fast he’d be called out in her homeroom. He had no identification. No teachers were advised of the arrival of a new student to his knowledge. He squeezed between a stocky boy in baggy shorts and a dumpy girl with a logo tee shirt reading ‘JUICY’ to take a seat at the rear corner of the class. Position myself to watch everyone.
Ellison carried on in hushed chatter with a Hannah Montana look-alike and a brunette with an anorexic figure; their pointing and giggling clearly in ridicule of anyone showing imperfection.
God, I used to hate girls like that…
“Forget them, way out of your league,” the boy in front of him observed Russell’s interest in Ellison and crew. It was the boy with glasses from the bus.
“Huh? Oh,” Russell chuckled, “not like that junior, way too young for me.”
The boy raised an eyebrow before continuing, “I’m Javier.”
Javier? Does anyone these days give their kids normal names?
“Russell Ward,” the handshake was both unanticipated and weak on Javier’s part.
“Why are you so concerned about them?”
Noticing a teacher had entered, Russell leaned forward and lowered his tone, “Javier, you don’t know anyone that’s been under a bit of stress lately? Not-right-in-the-head, like, gonna-go-postal any minute sort of person, do you?”
Javier’s blank stare was enhanced through the contortion of his glasses.
Russell frowned, “OK then. You aren’t by any chance hiding a loaded gun, are you?”
“What’s wrong with you,” Javier asked. He turned to face the teacher before Russell could reply.
“I’m Mr. Donahue for those that don’t know me,” the thin teacher announced over diminished mutterings. ”I’m your homeroom teacher. I need everyone to take a seat for attendance.”
Students reluctantly lowered themselves into chairs, Ellison and her clique last to disperse. Russell watched with disdain. Little miss perfects think they’re above the law.
“Ellison, Campbell, Peyton when I say ‘take I seat,’ that includes you,” the teacher stepped around his desk.
What is with these names? Isn’t Peyton a boy name and Campbell a soup?
“One sec,” Ellison replied.
Wow. Bold. Russell remained vigilant, scanning the room. All students were seated, all eyes on the three young ladies.
The teacher crossed the room.
Russell sat sideways in the desk, leaning forward. He pulled up his pant leg and collected the switchblade.
Campbell, the underweight brunette, revealed a pistol from within her cardigan, “Don’t tell us what to do, Mr. Donahue.”
Peyton screamed.
Students scurried to the door. Ellison attempted to rationalize through the noise, “Campbell put it away, you don’t need to…”
“Shut up, Ell, or you’ll get some of this too,” the brunette scowled at her.
Mr. Donahue lunged to seize the weapon.
Russell sprung from the seat, knife in hand.
BANG. BANG.
“Why are you following me?”
The blond girl spun; her aggressive tone called unwanted attention from several students in the school hall. Russell lowered his head. As if being the “new kid” wasn’t already a lightning rod for stray eyes. He had scanned as many kids as possible without slowing his gait, sizing each up for hints of a concealed firearm or an unstable demeanor.
“I don’t know what you mean Ellison. I’m going this way too. You just happen to be going the same way in front of me,” he lied. She wouldn’t believe the truth. If he confessed she was not long to this world, she’d interpret him as a threat and he’d spend the morning in the principal’s office. He didn’t have that kind of time to kill. He knew Principal Louis Kerry from church, and though he was very personable to adults, had a reputation as a hard-ass to students. Russell reminded himself, he’d be welcomed as the latter.
The blonde blinked at him, at a loss of words but frustrated regardless. He allowed her to continue down the hall before pursuing at a safe distance. Russell contemplated his next move, giving a judgmental glare to a prudish teacher whose face reminded him of the surface of a walnut, a stern-faced janitor shorter than the mop he toted, and a gender confused creature from the cafeteria staff.
Could it be an adult? What if it were? He hadn’t the strength to outmuscle an adult should the occasion arise. Most of the male students stood taller or broader than he, now that he looked around. Why did Death put me in this predicament? Why could I just have died like everyone else? He frowned, realizing his last thought was more of an assumption than anything else.
Ellison trotted rudely through a conversation, nudged a student with her shoulder, and vanished into a classroom. Today isn’t the best day to be on your high horse, princess. Russell wondered how fast he’d be called out in her homeroom. He had no identification. No teachers were advised of the arrival of a new student to his knowledge. He squeezed between a stocky boy in baggy shorts and a dumpy girl with a logo tee shirt reading ‘JUICY’ to take a seat at the rear corner of the class. Position myself to watch everyone.
Ellison carried on in hushed chatter with a Hannah Montana look-alike and a brunette with an anorexic figure; their pointing and giggling clearly in ridicule of anyone showing imperfection.
God, I used to hate girls like that…
“Forget them, way out of your league,” the boy in front of him observed Russell’s interest in Ellison and crew. It was the boy with glasses from the bus.
“Huh? Oh,” Russell chuckled, “not like that junior, way too young for me.”
The boy raised an eyebrow before continuing, “I’m Javier.”
Javier? Does anyone these days give their kids normal names?
“Russell Ward,” the handshake was both unanticipated and weak on Javier’s part.
“Why are you so concerned about them?”
Noticing a teacher had entered, Russell leaned forward and lowered his tone, “Javier, you don’t know anyone that’s been under a bit of stress lately? Not-right-in-the-head, like, gonna-go-postal any minute sort of person, do you?”
Javier’s blank stare was enhanced through the contortion of his glasses.
Russell frowned, “OK then. You aren’t by any chance hiding a loaded gun, are you?”
“What’s wrong with you,” Javier asked. He turned to face the teacher before Russell could reply.
“I’m Mr. Donahue for those that don’t know me,” the thin teacher announced over diminished mutterings. ”I’m your homeroom teacher. I need everyone to take a seat for attendance.”
Students reluctantly lowered themselves into chairs, Ellison and her clique last to disperse. Russell watched with disdain. Little miss perfects think they’re above the law.
“Ellison, Campbell, Peyton when I say ‘take I seat,’ that includes you,” the teacher stepped around his desk.
What is with these names? Isn’t Peyton a boy name and Campbell a soup?
“One sec,” Ellison replied.
Wow. Bold. Russell remained vigilant, scanning the room. All students were seated, all eyes on the three young ladies.
The teacher crossed the room.
Russell sat sideways in the desk, leaning forward. He pulled up his pant leg and collected the switchblade.
Campbell, the underweight brunette, revealed a pistol from within her cardigan, “Don’t tell us what to do, Mr. Donahue.”
Peyton screamed.
Students scurried to the door. Ellison attempted to rationalize through the noise, “Campbell put it away, you don’t need to…”
“Shut up, Ell, or you’ll get some of this too,” the brunette scowled at her.
Mr. Donahue lunged to seize the weapon.
Russell sprung from the seat, knife in hand.
BANG. BANG.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Second Chance 2 (three word Wednesday x 5 - effect,immense,shimmer,absolve,hiss,ridicule,hint,lust,sheen,engulf,imminent,tamper,gait,nudge,ripen)
It has been five installments since he last entered the ring. Miss me? (Mime hug.) I pun. I'm fueled for crumping!
...is an anagram for the 15 words I have missed over my 3ww hiatus. But I know you're not here for the anagrams, so on to the story, this is a "part two" of an earlier 3ww that resulted in many requests for a sequel. You can find part one here... Second Chance ... hope you enjoy.
“This is the school bus stop right?” The young Russell approached a blond girl he had known for years as ‘the neighbor’s daughter.’
“No I’m standing here ‘cuz I feel like it,” the girl hissed, texting in fluid motion.
“Sorry for the trouble little lady, was just a question.” Russell had long ago forgotten the art of conversing with pre-teens effectively. The glare of imminent doom told him she not only was unappreciative of the ‘little lady’ comment, but also doubly irritated for interrupting her texting concentration.
“I’m Russell.”
“That’s nice.”
He frowned, “I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name?”
“I didn’t give it.”
“OK I guess I’ll call you Miss Sheen.”
“How’d you know my last name?”
Russell nudged her, pointing down the road, “You live there, don’t you? You’re Dave and Kelly’s kid.”
“Kerrie. My mom’s name is Kerrie,” confusion engulfed the girl.
“That’s right, I could never get that right…”
“Are you some kind of stalker?” The girl squirmed with the discomforting feeling her privacy had been tampered.
“Seriously Miss Sheen if I were stalking you, I’d probably know your name.”
“Don’t call me Miss Sheen. My name is Ellison.”
“Nice to meet you, Allison.”
“Ellison. With an E.”
What kind of name was Ellison? Russell forgot what an immense feat it was to get information out of girls like Ellison. She was the type of girl twelve year old minded boys lusted after, texted love notes to, had difficulty speaking in front of. Russell was long beyond such angst, and his forward approach was something little Ellison Sheen was not used to. As soon as the bus turned the corner, any shimmer of friendship vanished and she resumed her proud, snobbish gait onto the bus. That’s right, can’t be seen talking to the new guy. At the least Russell felt absolved of the stalker label. Distancing himself from the ripened sweaty odor of the overweight driver, he sat on an unoccupied bench seat in the middle of the bus.
He confirmed the switchblade was still under his right sock, playing the motion off as an itch. If he was to diffuse a threat in the school, he needed something. It wasn’t much, but he wasn’t going to be the one to bring a gun into a Middle School. The jeans were baggy enough to show no sign of a concealed weapon.
“What do you plan to do with that?” A monotone voice said beside him. Russell glanced across the aisle to find the pale boy he had met two nights ago. The boy named Death.
“Fancy meeting you here,” Russell rolled his eyes.
“You are bringing a weapon to school.”
“Self defense. You and I both know self defense will be needed today.”
A boy with glasses in the seat behind Russell leaned over the backing, “Who are you talking to?”
“Oh, uh, no one. Just thinking aloud. Sorry.” Russell stared at Death across the aisle. Death spoke indifferently, “He cannot see me, only those whose time draws near can see me.”
“You shouldn’t talk to yourself. People will think you’re crazy,” the boy with glasses ridiculed before retracting into his seat.
“They’re bringing a gun, you’re bringing a knife. I hope you have a plan,” Death stated with an eerie calmness.
“It’s better than nothing. Can you tell me anything at all about…”
“No. That would be cheating.”
Russell sighed. The bus pulled into the unloading area at the school entrance. He and Death were quick to get off the bus. Russell stopped on the curb, overwhelmed at the scene of hundreds of kids greeting one another from their returns from summer break. The boy with glasses disembarked the bus, passing right through Death as if he were air, sending a shiver up his spine.
“There’s so many kids. Can’t even give me a hint?”
Ellison stepped out of the bus glaring a disgusted look towards Russell and his pale ‘friend,’ and stepped around Death towards the school.
Death squinted at Russell. Russell swallowed hard, “Ellison, come back!”
...is an anagram for the 15 words I have missed over my 3ww hiatus. But I know you're not here for the anagrams, so on to the story, this is a "part two" of an earlier 3ww that resulted in many requests for a sequel. You can find part one here... Second Chance ... hope you enjoy.
“This is the school bus stop right?” The young Russell approached a blond girl he had known for years as ‘the neighbor’s daughter.’
“No I’m standing here ‘cuz I feel like it,” the girl hissed, texting in fluid motion.
“Sorry for the trouble little lady, was just a question.” Russell had long ago forgotten the art of conversing with pre-teens effectively. The glare of imminent doom told him she not only was unappreciative of the ‘little lady’ comment, but also doubly irritated for interrupting her texting concentration.
“I’m Russell.”
“That’s nice.”
He frowned, “I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name?”
“I didn’t give it.”
“OK I guess I’ll call you Miss Sheen.”
“How’d you know my last name?”
Russell nudged her, pointing down the road, “You live there, don’t you? You’re Dave and Kelly’s kid.”
“Kerrie. My mom’s name is Kerrie,” confusion engulfed the girl.
“That’s right, I could never get that right…”
“Are you some kind of stalker?” The girl squirmed with the discomforting feeling her privacy had been tampered.
“Seriously Miss Sheen if I were stalking you, I’d probably know your name.”
“Don’t call me Miss Sheen. My name is Ellison.”
“Nice to meet you, Allison.”
“Ellison. With an E.”
What kind of name was Ellison? Russell forgot what an immense feat it was to get information out of girls like Ellison. She was the type of girl twelve year old minded boys lusted after, texted love notes to, had difficulty speaking in front of. Russell was long beyond such angst, and his forward approach was something little Ellison Sheen was not used to. As soon as the bus turned the corner, any shimmer of friendship vanished and she resumed her proud, snobbish gait onto the bus. That’s right, can’t be seen talking to the new guy. At the least Russell felt absolved of the stalker label. Distancing himself from the ripened sweaty odor of the overweight driver, he sat on an unoccupied bench seat in the middle of the bus.
He confirmed the switchblade was still under his right sock, playing the motion off as an itch. If he was to diffuse a threat in the school, he needed something. It wasn’t much, but he wasn’t going to be the one to bring a gun into a Middle School. The jeans were baggy enough to show no sign of a concealed weapon.
“What do you plan to do with that?” A monotone voice said beside him. Russell glanced across the aisle to find the pale boy he had met two nights ago. The boy named Death.
“Fancy meeting you here,” Russell rolled his eyes.
“You are bringing a weapon to school.”
“Self defense. You and I both know self defense will be needed today.”
A boy with glasses in the seat behind Russell leaned over the backing, “Who are you talking to?”
“Oh, uh, no one. Just thinking aloud. Sorry.” Russell stared at Death across the aisle. Death spoke indifferently, “He cannot see me, only those whose time draws near can see me.”
“You shouldn’t talk to yourself. People will think you’re crazy,” the boy with glasses ridiculed before retracting into his seat.
“They’re bringing a gun, you’re bringing a knife. I hope you have a plan,” Death stated with an eerie calmness.
“It’s better than nothing. Can you tell me anything at all about…”
“No. That would be cheating.”
Russell sighed. The bus pulled into the unloading area at the school entrance. He and Death were quick to get off the bus. Russell stopped on the curb, overwhelmed at the scene of hundreds of kids greeting one another from their returns from summer break. The boy with glasses disembarked the bus, passing right through Death as if he were air, sending a shiver up his spine.
“There’s so many kids. Can’t even give me a hint?”
Ellison stepped out of the bus glaring a disgusted look towards Russell and his pale ‘friend,’ and stepped around Death towards the school.
Death squinted at Russell. Russell swallowed hard, “Ellison, come back!”
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Keeping Up With the Necros (three word Wednesday X 2, demure, offend, volatile, charm, feast, robust)
A cold got the best of me last week, so I thought I'd compensate for my absence with six words thrown into the mix this week. This one is for my friends Ernest, Mike, Scott, and Phil; friends of the real world as well as an online realm of days gone by, called Everquest.
A blond maiden waited patiently at the base of a granite stairwell. Her olive robe intricately decorated with runic symbols grazed the grass as she paced; her soft beauty and demure disposition an illusory shroud of an experienced adventurer. She gazed from a clock in the town square, to an unusual bickering couple. A bald man no taller than the blonde’s knees carried on an animated conversation with a sleek elven woman with flowing white hair and grape colored skin. The human blonde was clearly the mutual friend that brought these two well dressed casters together.
The gnome man flashed a shiny charm at the dark elf.
“That isn’t! Where’d you get that?” The dark elf squinted her solid white eyeballs.
“Got it from the High Inquisitor of the Violet Guard,” he boasted.
“The Violet Guard of Nethershadow? But it takes a full raid to get into that stronghold!”
The gnome nodded, feasting on her jealousy. The dark elf retrieved her knapsack and pulled it open.
“Is that the Satchel of the Red Dragonguard?”
“Oh this old thing? Yeah, it actually regenerates mana just by carrying it around. A must have. You mean you don’t have one?” Her thin face twisted into an evil smile.
“I, uhh, well not yet. I’m working on that,” the gnome rubbed the back of his head. “Don’t you need an exalted reputation for the Red Dragonguard to sell you one?”
“You mean you’re not one of their most exalted necromancers? Sorry, didn’t mean to offend, most necromancers I know are in their highest graces. Maybe you can tell them you know me. Then again, don’t. I don’t want my reputation tarnished.”
“I said I’m working on it Akisha,” the gnome snipped, looking through his own smaller plain satchel. He revealed a black metal wand topped with a glowing blue orb in an inset of claw shaped bones.
“The Wand of Seven Manticores?” Akisha yawned.
“Yes.”
“I have one of those too,” she revealed an identical rod. “Is yours enchanted with the Aura of the Southern Crusader?”
“No,” He frowned, looking at the bored human blonde that was trying to evade the conversation. “Lacie?”
“You never asked, Masren. I can enchant it for you later,” the blonde shrugged, watching the town square clock tick.
Masren and Akisha displayed shoes, belts, rings, and other objects of grandeur, attempting to one-up each other by throwing jabs like, “I’ve had this for ages,” “I sold an extra one at an auction last week,” and “I wouldn’t be seen dead with that.” Akisha summoned her mount from the stall and a rare zebrasi from the Plane of Nature appeared. Masren countered by beckoning a robust dragon whelp (with a gnome sized saddle) from the underworld of the frozen continent, Velious. A half elven young man in chainmail walked up alongside Lacie while the show-and-tell was beginning to turn volatile.
“Have they been at this all day?” The half-elf nudged the blonde lady.
“Hours,” she rolled her eyes, “Thank the Gods you are finally here, Keudar. Now we can go.”
“Not yet. Fahna will be joining us shortly too. I told him to meet us here after he visits the druid trainers...”
“What?” Lacie slouched in despair, “You mean I have to wait here longer and listen to these two?”
The bickering necromancers conjured skeletal minions and drew weapons. Keudar pointed, “Looks like it’s about to get interesting at least.”
A blond maiden waited patiently at the base of a granite stairwell. Her olive robe intricately decorated with runic symbols grazed the grass as she paced; her soft beauty and demure disposition an illusory shroud of an experienced adventurer. She gazed from a clock in the town square, to an unusual bickering couple. A bald man no taller than the blonde’s knees carried on an animated conversation with a sleek elven woman with flowing white hair and grape colored skin. The human blonde was clearly the mutual friend that brought these two well dressed casters together.
The gnome man flashed a shiny charm at the dark elf.
“That isn’t! Where’d you get that?” The dark elf squinted her solid white eyeballs.
“Got it from the High Inquisitor of the Violet Guard,” he boasted.
“The Violet Guard of Nethershadow? But it takes a full raid to get into that stronghold!”
The gnome nodded, feasting on her jealousy. The dark elf retrieved her knapsack and pulled it open.
“Is that the Satchel of the Red Dragonguard?”
“Oh this old thing? Yeah, it actually regenerates mana just by carrying it around. A must have. You mean you don’t have one?” Her thin face twisted into an evil smile.
“I, uhh, well not yet. I’m working on that,” the gnome rubbed the back of his head. “Don’t you need an exalted reputation for the Red Dragonguard to sell you one?”
“You mean you’re not one of their most exalted necromancers? Sorry, didn’t mean to offend, most necromancers I know are in their highest graces. Maybe you can tell them you know me. Then again, don’t. I don’t want my reputation tarnished.”
“I said I’m working on it Akisha,” the gnome snipped, looking through his own smaller plain satchel. He revealed a black metal wand topped with a glowing blue orb in an inset of claw shaped bones.
“The Wand of Seven Manticores?” Akisha yawned.
“Yes.”
“I have one of those too,” she revealed an identical rod. “Is yours enchanted with the Aura of the Southern Crusader?”
“No,” He frowned, looking at the bored human blonde that was trying to evade the conversation. “Lacie?”
“You never asked, Masren. I can enchant it for you later,” the blonde shrugged, watching the town square clock tick.
Masren and Akisha displayed shoes, belts, rings, and other objects of grandeur, attempting to one-up each other by throwing jabs like, “I’ve had this for ages,” “I sold an extra one at an auction last week,” and “I wouldn’t be seen dead with that.” Akisha summoned her mount from the stall and a rare zebrasi from the Plane of Nature appeared. Masren countered by beckoning a robust dragon whelp (with a gnome sized saddle) from the underworld of the frozen continent, Velious. A half elven young man in chainmail walked up alongside Lacie while the show-and-tell was beginning to turn volatile.
“Have they been at this all day?” The half-elf nudged the blonde lady.
“Hours,” she rolled her eyes, “Thank the Gods you are finally here, Keudar. Now we can go.”
“Not yet. Fahna will be joining us shortly too. I told him to meet us here after he visits the druid trainers...”
“What?” Lacie slouched in despair, “You mean I have to wait here longer and listen to these two?”
The bickering necromancers conjured skeletal minions and drew weapons. Keudar pointed, “Looks like it’s about to get interesting at least.”
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Second Chance (three word Wednesday - abstain, halo, prayer)
A sudden whirl of air startled Russell awake. The discomfort told him he dozed off in his recliner again. The flickering muted TV was the only source of light in his living room. What time was it? He peered, but the clock was obstructed by a thin boy in his pre-teens. The boy wore exclusively black, and appeared surprisingly pale in the darkness of the room. Russell was taken aback by this visitor. He was at the empty nest phase of life, yet his grandchildren were not yet as old as this stranger.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?”
The boy stepped forward, “I am Death.”
“You’re... excuse me? Death?” Russell tried not to laugh. The boy nodded affirmative, showing no hint of humor.
“Bullshit.”
“You disbelieve me? Try to move.”
Russell found himself unable to simply move his arm from his chest to his face. “I… I’m dead?”
Unable to smile, the boy squinted in confirmation, “Heart attack.”
Russell absorbed the realness of his grim news. “Why aren’t you a big scary skull faced Reaper if you are Death?”
“Death can come in many forms,” the boy summoned a spiral-bound notebook from thin air. Russell decided to abstain from further patronizing, “So, what happens now? Do you have a halo for me or something?”
“Halo… hardly,” Death observed information from the notebook, “three counts of charity donations, but two counts of stealing... not many random acts of kindness… a regular prayer though… look at all those lies…”
“So it’s to hell with me then?”
“Not so fast, you’re what we call an Almost.”
“What happens to Almosts?”
“Nothing really,” Death lowered the notebook, “You’re looking at it. You don’t go anywhere.”
Russell was able to see his own body lying cold and motionless, clutching his heart in his favorite recliner, “But... my wife... my kids…”
Death stared indifferently.
“Death, you take many forms, why come to me as a little boy?”
“I have prepared for an upcoming event.”
“An event?”
“A mass homicide. First day of school at the local middle school. Lone gunner, goes crazy.”
“What?? That’s horrific! We have to do something!”
“Yes quite a tragedy,” Death stated, devoid of emotion, “Kids aren’t receptive to the Grim Reaper look, so here I am.” He looked down at his ‘costume.’
“When is the first day of school?” Russell reached right through a calendar that still displayed the month of July.
“In two days.”
“We have to stop it from happening!”
“How are you to stop anything? You’re dead if you haven’t noticed.”
“Is there anything I can do?” Russell pleaded to the boy.
Death folded his arms, staring through him to his corpse on the recliner. “Well I have liberty to give Almosts another chance if I see fit. Your heart is in the right place. We cannot use that anymore however,” he gestured to the cold sixty four year old body. “I tell you what. I will grant you your halo if you stop the school shooting.”
“Really? Thank you! I’ll do whatever it takes...”
Death waved his arm. Russell propelled back into the recliner and solidified. His feet hardly reached the footstool of the chair, and his clothes draped over him like a king sized bed sheet.
Death spoke, “You have one chance to save many lives. Don’t mess it up.”
The hand across his face revealed no scruff, and a full head of hair.
“Being forewarned and failing to act will get you a ticket in the other direction.”
Russell picked up his reading glasses with a small hand, and angled them to view his reflection. A prepubescent version of himself stared back. “I… I’m a little boy!!”
Death gave another affirmative squint, “I’ll see you in two days, one way or the other.” He disappeared abruptly, a clapping sound of air reoccupying the place he stood.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?”
The boy stepped forward, “I am Death.”
“You’re... excuse me? Death?” Russell tried not to laugh. The boy nodded affirmative, showing no hint of humor.
“Bullshit.”
“You disbelieve me? Try to move.”
Russell found himself unable to simply move his arm from his chest to his face. “I… I’m dead?”
Unable to smile, the boy squinted in confirmation, “Heart attack.”
Russell absorbed the realness of his grim news. “Why aren’t you a big scary skull faced Reaper if you are Death?”
“Death can come in many forms,” the boy summoned a spiral-bound notebook from thin air. Russell decided to abstain from further patronizing, “So, what happens now? Do you have a halo for me or something?”
“Halo… hardly,” Death observed information from the notebook, “three counts of charity donations, but two counts of stealing... not many random acts of kindness… a regular prayer though… look at all those lies…”
“So it’s to hell with me then?”
“Not so fast, you’re what we call an Almost.”
“What happens to Almosts?”
“Nothing really,” Death lowered the notebook, “You’re looking at it. You don’t go anywhere.”
Russell was able to see his own body lying cold and motionless, clutching his heart in his favorite recliner, “But... my wife... my kids…”
Death stared indifferently.
“Death, you take many forms, why come to me as a little boy?”
“I have prepared for an upcoming event.”
“An event?”
“A mass homicide. First day of school at the local middle school. Lone gunner, goes crazy.”
“What?? That’s horrific! We have to do something!”
“Yes quite a tragedy,” Death stated, devoid of emotion, “Kids aren’t receptive to the Grim Reaper look, so here I am.” He looked down at his ‘costume.’
“When is the first day of school?” Russell reached right through a calendar that still displayed the month of July.
“In two days.”
“We have to stop it from happening!”
“How are you to stop anything? You’re dead if you haven’t noticed.”
“Is there anything I can do?” Russell pleaded to the boy.
Death folded his arms, staring through him to his corpse on the recliner. “Well I have liberty to give Almosts another chance if I see fit. Your heart is in the right place. We cannot use that anymore however,” he gestured to the cold sixty four year old body. “I tell you what. I will grant you your halo if you stop the school shooting.”
“Really? Thank you! I’ll do whatever it takes...”
Death waved his arm. Russell propelled back into the recliner and solidified. His feet hardly reached the footstool of the chair, and his clothes draped over him like a king sized bed sheet.
Death spoke, “You have one chance to save many lives. Don’t mess it up.”
The hand across his face revealed no scruff, and a full head of hair.
“Being forewarned and failing to act will get you a ticket in the other direction.”
Russell picked up his reading glasses with a small hand, and angled them to view his reflection. A prepubescent version of himself stared back. “I… I’m a little boy!!”
Death gave another affirmative squint, “I’ll see you in two days, one way or the other.” He disappeared abruptly, a clapping sound of air reoccupying the place he stood.
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