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.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
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.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Shootout (three word Wednesday - grimace, phase, stumble)
“All right they’re coming in. Mitch, Nick, Carla go right, try to flank them. Randy, hold the middle with me. Rich, take the others left into the brush.” Eight people in full camouflage nodded their masks in accordance, readied their guns, and carried out Jacob’s plan. The dense forest around them sloped uphill on the right. Mitch would get a good vantage point and wait for an opportunity. He was the ace sniper of the team.
Jacob heard rustling of branches from ahead of them. He took cover behind a large rock, while Randy stood against a wide tree to his left.
“See anything?”
“No.”
Tat tat tat tat tat tat tat tat…
Gunshots. From the left… Rich’s side. Someone had seen or been seen by the enemy. Jacob raised his head, nothing but forest through his visor. A bullet grazed the large rock.
“Get down,” Randy swiveled his firearm around the tree and fired towards the source of the bullet targeting Jacob.
“Can you see them?”
“I saw something move…”
“Don’t waste ammo if you cannot see them…”
Tat tat tat tat tat tat… this time gunfire spawned from the hill. Shots were flying actively from several sources on the left. “Ungh,” the grunt warned that Rich’s side was down a gunner. Rich yelled to fall back.
From the right, Nick’s voice declared a small victory, “Got him...” before tat tat tat tat… “Ou… Got me.”
Jacob peered up the hill, then to Randy, “They got Nick… Randy?”
Randy had advanced twenty feet and shot determinedly forward. He had his eye on something Jacob could not see from his vantage point. Randy ceased his fire, apparently successful. He looked up the hill. Carla had pointed out two more enemy gunners. Jacob stumbled from the rock to Randy’s first tree, scanning the far left. Rich was now alone, running backwards, shooting into the foliage. Rich ducked behind the stump of a fallen tree, signaling two fingers to Jacob before pointing forwards. Shit. They were coming in hard on the left. Rich poked his head over the stump over to receive a splattering on the side of his head.
“Randy! Randy watch out left! They’re coming!” Knowing half the team was down, Jacob resorted to regrouping for stronger defense. He had hoped it would not get to this phase, but their backs were to the wall. Randy had advanced too far ahead into the center to hear Jacob. Jacob heard sticks breaking deep in the foliage on the left. He retreated up the hill.
“Carla, they’re coming around.”
Carla covered Randy in the center until Randy stopped running, a contrast of color from the camouflage across his back.
“Shit they got him.”
And just like that, they got Carla, too.
Jacob hit the ground. Where the hell was Mitch? Jacob pivoted his line of vision. Behind him, two were closing in. Ahead, at least one gunner was over the mound of earth. He had no choice but to disallow the pincer attack to happen. He ran forward, gun extended.
Tat… tat… tat tat tat tat…
He scaled the mound, strafed right to the cover of a tree, and fired openly. His back would be open to the foes behind, he had to land a hit and land it quickly. His foe jumped backwards in surprise, receiving the full impact of Jacob’s gunfire across his collarbone. Jacob circumnavigated the tree taking cover from the two in the rear.
“Hey,” a voice came from ten feet behind him. The voice was not Mitch’s. Jacob swung his gun around, but it was too late…
Tat tat…
Pink paint splattered across the visor of his face mask. Jacob lowered his gun, wiping the visor clean with the backside of his glove.
“Got you!” It was his brother’s friend Kyle. The eyes were all Jacob could see of Kyle’s taunting grimace behind his own face mask.
Kyle extended a hand to Jacob while his two teammates came into the clearing, “Good game, we win!”
“Did you now?”
Tat tat tat tat tat tat tat tat tat...
Mitch always was our ace sniper.
Jacob heard rustling of branches from ahead of them. He took cover behind a large rock, while Randy stood against a wide tree to his left.
“See anything?”
“No.”
Tat tat tat tat tat tat tat tat…
Gunshots. From the left… Rich’s side. Someone had seen or been seen by the enemy. Jacob raised his head, nothing but forest through his visor. A bullet grazed the large rock.
“Get down,” Randy swiveled his firearm around the tree and fired towards the source of the bullet targeting Jacob.
“Can you see them?”
“I saw something move…”
“Don’t waste ammo if you cannot see them…”
Tat tat tat tat tat tat… this time gunfire spawned from the hill. Shots were flying actively from several sources on the left. “Ungh,” the grunt warned that Rich’s side was down a gunner. Rich yelled to fall back.
From the right, Nick’s voice declared a small victory, “Got him...” before tat tat tat tat… “Ou… Got me.”
Jacob peered up the hill, then to Randy, “They got Nick… Randy?”
Randy had advanced twenty feet and shot determinedly forward. He had his eye on something Jacob could not see from his vantage point. Randy ceased his fire, apparently successful. He looked up the hill. Carla had pointed out two more enemy gunners. Jacob stumbled from the rock to Randy’s first tree, scanning the far left. Rich was now alone, running backwards, shooting into the foliage. Rich ducked behind the stump of a fallen tree, signaling two fingers to Jacob before pointing forwards. Shit. They were coming in hard on the left. Rich poked his head over the stump over to receive a splattering on the side of his head.
“Randy! Randy watch out left! They’re coming!” Knowing half the team was down, Jacob resorted to regrouping for stronger defense. He had hoped it would not get to this phase, but their backs were to the wall. Randy had advanced too far ahead into the center to hear Jacob. Jacob heard sticks breaking deep in the foliage on the left. He retreated up the hill.
“Carla, they’re coming around.”
Carla covered Randy in the center until Randy stopped running, a contrast of color from the camouflage across his back.
“Shit they got him.”
And just like that, they got Carla, too.
Jacob hit the ground. Where the hell was Mitch? Jacob pivoted his line of vision. Behind him, two were closing in. Ahead, at least one gunner was over the mound of earth. He had no choice but to disallow the pincer attack to happen. He ran forward, gun extended.
Tat… tat… tat tat tat tat…
He scaled the mound, strafed right to the cover of a tree, and fired openly. His back would be open to the foes behind, he had to land a hit and land it quickly. His foe jumped backwards in surprise, receiving the full impact of Jacob’s gunfire across his collarbone. Jacob circumnavigated the tree taking cover from the two in the rear.
“Hey,” a voice came from ten feet behind him. The voice was not Mitch’s. Jacob swung his gun around, but it was too late…
Tat tat…
Pink paint splattered across the visor of his face mask. Jacob lowered his gun, wiping the visor clean with the backside of his glove.
“Got you!” It was his brother’s friend Kyle. The eyes were all Jacob could see of Kyle’s taunting grimace behind his own face mask.
Kyle extended a hand to Jacob while his two teammates came into the clearing, “Good game, we win!”
“Did you now?”
Tat tat tat tat tat tat tat tat tat...
Mitch always was our ace sniper.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
As Advertised (three word Wednesday - joke, leverage, remedy; and flash Friday)
“Can you get the door, honey?” Shelley shouted from the kitchen.
Shawn placed the newspaper down on an end table and moved briskly to the front door. Who could be ringing the doorbell during the dinner hour? He gazed through the peephole. A distorted image of a bulky delivery man awaited his response. Shawn swung the door open.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Gelinas? I have a package you’ll need to sign for,” he extended a clipboard with a delivery form and a pen clamped under the hinge. Everything appeared legitimate enough. The large brown van parked on the street matched the color of his uniform. Shawn passed the form back, looking around for an absent package.
“Thank you sir, you’re all set!” The large man tucked the clipboard under his arm and left the front steps. In his place, a young woman stepped forward. Bright green eyes gazed playfully under dark, long eyelashes. Her lips were full and glossed, catching the light as if they were wet. Straight blonde hair draped aside her defined high cheekbones and rested on smooth shoulders. Her curves at the bust, the waist and the hips were nothing short of majestic. She wore nothing more than a leopard print bra and briefs. Shawn’s jaw conceded to gravity. A blonde strip of well-groomed eyebrow raised and her welcoming lips formed cute cheek dimples as she smiled. “Hello, Mizzer Gelneez, I am Katya,” her soft voice hinted at a strong Russian accent.
“Uh… hi Katya,” Shawn blinked intentionally to cease ogling. My God, there was a half naked Russian model on his front steps! There are families in his neighborhood with small children! He glanced down the street; a basketball game between the neighborhood boys had come to a grinding halt. “Please please come inside,” Shawn stepped aside, holding the door open. He escorted her into the living room, “Katya, might I ask what you’re doing coming to my house in lingerie?”
“You order zis, no?” She rolled her arm as if presenting herself.
“I ordered… what are you saying?”
“Online order. Lingerie site from Belarus. Remember? You order zis online.”
Shawn jogged his memory. He did place an order a few weeks back for some lingerie for Shelley’s birthday. Of course he opted for an online purchase, buying lingerie in person was one of the most uncomfortable things a man could do. He looked Katya up and down. She was wearing the exact lingerie he had ordered! He recalled the blond in the photo, wearing the lingerie with such a sultry pose. He remembered thinking the message in the margin, ‘As advertised’ was somewhat out of place.
“You like Katya picture online. Your order here now Shawn Gelneez.” Katya winked and sat herself on the couch.
“Katya I ordered the lingerie only, not the model too! You can’t stay!”
“But Katya come from Belarus for you.”
Shelley appeared in the doorway. “Shawn, why do we have a mail order bride in on our couch?” She spoke through gritted teeth and flaring nostrils.
“I, well, uhh… you see, I ordered you some lingerie dear…” Shawn shrugged hopelessly.
“Shawn order from lingerie model site. I am Katya,” she waved innocently at Shawn’s wife.
“Shawn there had better be a good…”
“I told you I only ordered lingerie,” he scurried for some leverage in the argument, but understood how bad this looked to her.
“No need for mad Misses Shawn Gelneez. Shawn got good deal. Pay low moneys. Katya, uh, how you say, on sale.”
Blood rushed to Shelley’s head, “…and how much exactly did you pay for Katya?”
“Well it was in foreign currency but it didn’t look too expensive.”
“Twelve thousand,” Katya again displayed her wonderful dimples.
Shelley roared, “US DOLLARS??”
Katya nodded affirmative.
“Shawn you did not bother to figure out the exchange rate to US dollars?!?!?”
Shawn slouched. He knew he had forgotten to do something. He recalled concluding the order quickly when a call came in over Skype. He could not believe what was happening. He stood there speechless, glancing between Katya and Shelley, searching for something he could say to remedy the situation.
The doorbell rang. “I’ll get that,” Shawn approached the door wanting to crawl under a rock. Whatever news awaited him on his front steps had to be better than his current conundrum. The delivery man stood there once again. “Mr. Gelinas?”
“You didn’t tell me you had a model with you…” Shawn pointed accusingly.
“I have another package for you.”
“Oh no, don’t even go there…”
The delivery man stepped aside, revealing TV personality Ashton Kutcher. “Shawn Gelinas,” Ashton extended his hand. ”You’ve been Punk’d!”
Katya and Shelley laughed and clapped behind him. Ashton pointed out hidden cameras. Shawn reddened in embarrassment. His wife orchestrated the best practical joke he’d ever witnessed. And worse, televised it.
Shawn placed the newspaper down on an end table and moved briskly to the front door. Who could be ringing the doorbell during the dinner hour? He gazed through the peephole. A distorted image of a bulky delivery man awaited his response. Shawn swung the door open.
“Yes?”
“Mr. Gelinas? I have a package you’ll need to sign for,” he extended a clipboard with a delivery form and a pen clamped under the hinge. Everything appeared legitimate enough. The large brown van parked on the street matched the color of his uniform. Shawn passed the form back, looking around for an absent package.
“Thank you sir, you’re all set!” The large man tucked the clipboard under his arm and left the front steps. In his place, a young woman stepped forward. Bright green eyes gazed playfully under dark, long eyelashes. Her lips were full and glossed, catching the light as if they were wet. Straight blonde hair draped aside her defined high cheekbones and rested on smooth shoulders. Her curves at the bust, the waist and the hips were nothing short of majestic. She wore nothing more than a leopard print bra and briefs. Shawn’s jaw conceded to gravity. A blonde strip of well-groomed eyebrow raised and her welcoming lips formed cute cheek dimples as she smiled. “Hello, Mizzer Gelneez, I am Katya,” her soft voice hinted at a strong Russian accent.
“Uh… hi Katya,” Shawn blinked intentionally to cease ogling. My God, there was a half naked Russian model on his front steps! There are families in his neighborhood with small children! He glanced down the street; a basketball game between the neighborhood boys had come to a grinding halt. “Please please come inside,” Shawn stepped aside, holding the door open. He escorted her into the living room, “Katya, might I ask what you’re doing coming to my house in lingerie?”
“You order zis, no?” She rolled her arm as if presenting herself.
“I ordered… what are you saying?”
“Online order. Lingerie site from Belarus. Remember? You order zis online.”
Shawn jogged his memory. He did place an order a few weeks back for some lingerie for Shelley’s birthday. Of course he opted for an online purchase, buying lingerie in person was one of the most uncomfortable things a man could do. He looked Katya up and down. She was wearing the exact lingerie he had ordered! He recalled the blond in the photo, wearing the lingerie with such a sultry pose. He remembered thinking the message in the margin, ‘As advertised’ was somewhat out of place.
“You like Katya picture online. Your order here now Shawn Gelneez.” Katya winked and sat herself on the couch.
“Katya I ordered the lingerie only, not the model too! You can’t stay!”
“But Katya come from Belarus for you.”
Shelley appeared in the doorway. “Shawn, why do we have a mail order bride in on our couch?” She spoke through gritted teeth and flaring nostrils.
“I, well, uhh… you see, I ordered you some lingerie dear…” Shawn shrugged hopelessly.
“Shawn order from lingerie model site. I am Katya,” she waved innocently at Shawn’s wife.
“Shawn there had better be a good…”
“I told you I only ordered lingerie,” he scurried for some leverage in the argument, but understood how bad this looked to her.
“No need for mad Misses Shawn Gelneez. Shawn got good deal. Pay low moneys. Katya, uh, how you say, on sale.”
Blood rushed to Shelley’s head, “…and how much exactly did you pay for Katya?”
“Well it was in foreign currency but it didn’t look too expensive.”
“Twelve thousand,” Katya again displayed her wonderful dimples.
Shelley roared, “US DOLLARS??”
Katya nodded affirmative.
“Shawn you did not bother to figure out the exchange rate to US dollars?!?!?”
Shawn slouched. He knew he had forgotten to do something. He recalled concluding the order quickly when a call came in over Skype. He could not believe what was happening. He stood there speechless, glancing between Katya and Shelley, searching for something he could say to remedy the situation.
The doorbell rang. “I’ll get that,” Shawn approached the door wanting to crawl under a rock. Whatever news awaited him on his front steps had to be better than his current conundrum. The delivery man stood there once again. “Mr. Gelinas?”
“You didn’t tell me you had a model with you…” Shawn pointed accusingly.
“I have another package for you.”
“Oh no, don’t even go there…”
The delivery man stepped aside, revealing TV personality Ashton Kutcher. “Shawn Gelinas,” Ashton extended his hand. ”You’ve been Punk’d!”
Katya and Shelley laughed and clapped behind him. Ashton pointed out hidden cameras. Shawn reddened in embarrassment. His wife orchestrated the best practical joke he’d ever witnessed. And worse, televised it.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
This week of 3ww
The Cortez Case series has moved! Please visit this page for the ongoing story, as well as the collected past installments.
The Cortez Case
The Cortez Case
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